Closed Circle (24 page)

One of Quincy's most endearing characteristics was his modesty. "My father made my wealth for me while I was still in diapers. And my brother Theo's made sure I've kept it. I'm just the grateful beneficiary of their acumen. Theo has the brains. And Maudie had the beauty. There was precious little left for me except to have a lot of fun." But he had not come to Venice in search of fun. He had come to offer a helping hand. "If the McGowan Steel Corporation had gone bust, Fabian would have ridden to our rescue. So, it's only fair I should try to do the same."

He proved to be as good as his word. He knew nothing of Charnwood Investments "Fabian always kept us at arm's length where business was concerned' but he did know how to entertain women of any age and how to oil the wheels of any nation's legal system. He established an immediate rapport with Martelli and persuaded the American Consulate to do far more than our own had troubled to. When he was not amusing us, he was encouraging us. And when the day of the inquest finally came, his presence alongside us in the court seemed magically to guarantee a favourable outcome. Whether something more than magic was at work such as a bribe I had no way of knowing. But I would not have put it past him.

Certainly the inquest did go smoothly. Most of it, of course, was conducted in Italian. If the presiding magistrate expressed his distaste for the circumstances surrounding Max's death, it was not translated for our benefit. And what he said about Max's character was likewise never conveyed to us. Diana and I were questioned in English, but the convoluted process of translation had the effect of neutralizing our answers, draining them of shame as well as feeling. I could not judge how an Italian court would react to the events we described, but I felt sure it would not be with the narrow-minded sourness of a middle-class English jury. And nor was it. When the verdict came, it was calmly, almost clinically, pronounced. Omicidio involontario, as Martelli had predicted -and as Quincy may have taken steps to ensure.

We went to Harry's Bar afterwards, then returned to the Lido and dined at the Excelsior, buoyed up by a sense of release amounting almost to gaiety. Late in the evening, glancing around the table at my companions, I felt a sudden sense of remoteness from them, of remorse for being pleased that the book had been closed on the death as well as the life of Max Algernon Wingate. I made some excuse and went out onto the terrace to smoke a cigar, watching the white horses of the Adriatic roll in at me from the limitless night, wondering what I could have done or not done to avert this bitter end to our twenty years of friendship.

"You're thinking about Max, aren't you?" asked Diana, coming up silently behind me to thread her arm through mine and lean her head against my shoulder. "I could see it in your face as you left."

"I can't help it."

"I don't want you to. We'll never forget him. We'll never try to."

"None of it was his fault, you see."

"You still think somebody else murdered Papa?"

"I'm not sure. I don't suppose I ever will be." Feeling goose-pimples forming on her arm, I added: "Shall we go back in?"

"In a moment. The sea by night is ... so lovely."

"Not as lovely as you." I kissed her and saw the lights from the dining-room dance in her eyes. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

"I think so."

"Only think?"

"What does it mean for us, Guy going back to England? Will we stay together?"

I should have told her then. I should have revealed my secret while I had the courage. But I knew I could delay a little longer. So all I did was kiss her again and murmur "Of course' in her scented ear. Next day, we collected our passports from the Questura, then took the speed-boat out to San Michele, where we laid flowers on Max's grave and bade him a wordless farewell. Soon, we would be leaving Venice. But Max would be staying for ever. No blame attached to us. The court had said so. And yet he would remain, while we were free to go.

We were booked aboard the Orient Express leaving Venice on Wednesday afternoon. It was the twenty-eighth of October and time was running short. Not that there was any tension in the air as breakfast commenced at the Villa Primavera. Diana and I preserved a fictional decorum, which doubtless deceived nobody, by descending separately from our respective rooms. Accordingly, I found myself alone with Vita for ten minutes or so before Diana joined us, Quincy having gone for his regular morning tramp along the beach.

"I'm glad to have this chance of a quiet word," said Vita. "It's high time I asked what your intentions are towards my niece."

I set down my coffee-cup and smiled at her. "I'm not sure I know."

"Then you should. She's in love with you, Guy. That's obvious to me, even if it isn't to you. So, what do you propose to do about it?"

"It's not as simple as that. You see .. ." I hesitated in the face of another opportunity to confess. And then the opportunity was gone.

"Well, hello, you two!" roared Quincy, advancing suddenly into the room, panting slightly from his walk. "Great morning, don't you think?"

"Yes," we chorused. "Absolutely."

"I met the mail-man outside. He gave me a letter for you, Vita. Leastways, I suppose it's for you."

"What do you mean?"

"See for yourself." He dropped an envelope in front of her, addressed by typewriter to Miss Charnwood, with no initial.

"Posted locally," said Vita. "How strange."

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"It may be for Diana."

"And it may not."

"True, but '

At that moment Diana appeared, smiling, at Quincy's elbow. "Something exciting?" she asked.

"A letter for Miss Charnwood," I said. "The question is: which one?"

"Let me see." Vita passed it to her. "Well, there's no handwriting to recognize. It could be for either of us."

"Do open it, my dear," said Vita. "Put us out of our misery."

"Very well." She slit it open with a knife from the table, pulled out a single sheet of paper and frowned at whatever message it contained. "How extraordinary!"

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know.-Some sort of ... diagram. It means nothing to me. Aunty?" She handed the sheet to Vita, who peered at it for a moment, then let it fall onto the tablecloth, where we all had a clear view of it.

The sheet was blank save for a pair of concentric circles drawn in ink. They were perfect discs, the inner one about an inch in diameter, the outer about twice that. For some reason, I was reminded of the game Charnwood had played with a five-shilling piece. But this time there were two circles and no conjurer to pluck a meaning from them.

"What do you make of it, Vita?" asked Quincy.

"Nothing," she replied. But something caught in her throat, something suggesting dismay rather than puzzlement. Her face had lost much of its colour and, in her eyes, there was a hint of alarm. "Some absurd prank, I suppose."

"A mighty pointless prank, wouldn't you say if nobody understands it?"

"I would, Quincy, yes."

Diana picked the sheet of paper up and stared at it, then at the envelope. "Posted yesterday, here in Venice," she mused. "What can it mean?"

"I don't know," said Vita. "And I don't propose to gratify whoever sent it by racking my brains trying to find out. If you'll excuse me, I have packing to attend to." She rose hurriedly from the table, still dabbing toast-crumbs from her lips, and bustled out, leaving the rest of us to stare at each other with furrowed brows.

"Poor Aunty," said Diana. "This seems to have struck a nerve."

"Anonymous letters are always distressing," I suggested.

"But it isn't a letter," said Quincy. "Just a diagram. It's not abusive or threatening so far as I can see."

"And it wasn't necessarily even intended for Aunt Vita," said Diana. "It could have been for me."

"But it means nothing to you?" I asked.

"Nothing at all."

"Unlike Vita," said Quincy, nodding thoughtfully.

Diana looked at him, then at me. Bafflement was turning to concern on her aunt's behalf. She replaced the sheet of paper in its envelope, clutched it pensively in both hands for a moment, then offered it to me. "Keep this for me, Guy, would you? Just in case Well, just in case."

"Certainly." I took it from her. "But '

"I'll go and see how she is. She may want to talk to me. Would you both excuse me?"

"What about But she was gone before I could finish the sentence. "Your breakfast?" I murmured through a grimace as the door closed behind her.

"I think she's lost her appetite," said Quincy. He grinned ruefully.,

"So it seems." I slid the envelope and its cryptic contents into my pocket. "Or been deprived of it."

"By an anonymous Venetian geometer? Just as well we're leaving, then."

"Yes. I think it is. From every point of view."

The upheaval of departure drove the subject of the strange letter and Vita's reaction to it out of my thoughts. By late afternoon, we were aboard the Orient Express as it pulled slowly out of Santa Lucia station. I looked through the window of my cabin at the flat expanse of the lagoon drifting past us and remembered how much happier I would have felt leaving three weeks before, when Max's death had reduced my intentions to a single burning determination. Now, nothing was quite so simple. Diana and I were lovers. And her father's debts were about to be called in. A Sword of Damocles hung over us, but only I could see it. Soon, very soon, I would have to speak out or watch helplessly as the sword descended.

As darkness fell and we neared Verona, I headed for the bar car. The ladies would be about their toilettes for another hour or more before dinner and the best way to forget my troubles seemed to be by downing several Manhattans while the pianist warmed his fingers to some rag-time melodies. For the moment, I desired no company but my own. Quincy McGowan, however, had other ideas.

"Great minds, Guy. A long cool drink before things get busy, eh? And a little ... conversazione ... before we leave Italy. I bet you'll be glad to cross the Swiss border."

"I confess I will'

"Before we do, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Oh yes?"

"My gorgeous niece, Diana. Since she's grown to remind me more and more of Maudie, I just can't help feeling .. . well, protective."

"That's quite understandable."

"It's why I came to Venice. It's why I left Pittsburgh. You see ..." He lowered his voice to a rumble. "My brother Theo got wind of some bad feeling among Charnwood Investments' American creditors. We made a few enquiries. Asked a few discreet questions. For anyone concerned about Diana and Vita, the answers were ... alarming."

Trying to appear and sound bemused, I frowned and said: "In what way?"

He grimaced. "Seems a lot of people powerful people don't believe Fabian lost as much money as reported. Seems they think it's salted away somewhere. Their money, put out of their reach by Fabian and accessible only to his sister and daughter."

"That's absurd."

"Maybe. But they believe it. They feel cheated. And I guess you can't blame them."

"What do they .. . propose to do?"

"Oh, some of it they've already done." He paused and my growing sense of guilt invested the brief silence with vast significance. "According to Theo's informants, they've set spies on Diana and Vita."

"Spies?"

"This Faraday Vita's told me about sounds like one."

"Good God. Well, I never liked him, but '

"And there are others."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Sure to be."

It was becoming hard not to read double meanings into his remarks. I cleared my throat. "But neither Diana nor Vita knows anything about Charnwood's money. If there is any hidden, they can't lead his creditors to it."

"Oh, I agree. But we're in a minority. Fabian's clients want their money back. If they can't get it by spying, they'll try other ways. Faraday's given up and gone away, hasn't he? It seems to me the subtle approach has been abandoned. I worry they may resort to something cruder." He left the last word hanging in the smoky air, then pointed to my glass. "Another drink?"

"Good idea. I think I need one." So I did. But I was also grateful for the breathing space afforded by the coming and going of the steward. The pianist played on. Conversations around us joined in a collective murmur. And the click-clack of the rails paced my thoughts through the gathering night. But I was already outrun.

"Why don't you say it before I do, Guy?"

"Say what?"

"You're one of their spies, aren't you?" Somehow, the force of his gaze seemed to preclude a denial. I did not take my eyes from his face. I was aware of no change, however slight, in my expression. But I said nothing. "I knew before I met you. Your name, Guy. Yours and Wingate's. They crop up in the fine print of just about all the indictments Hiram and Richard Babcock are going to have to answer to next month. As directors of the Serendipity and Happenstance Investment Trust, the Blue Hills Corporation, the Tuscarora Corporation, the Wide Horizon Investment and Disbursement Company.. . Need I go on?"

"No." Clearly, he had found all this out before travelling to England. I was a known if dubious quantity to him before we even met. "You needn't."

"Of course, it can't be proved you were given such lucrative positions in return for acting as the Babcocks' agents in illegal deals with Canadian brewers, though what your other qualifications were I can't imagine. And it can't be proved you knew they'd been propping up their companies' share prices since the Crash by embezzling funds from the Housatonic Bank, of which Hiram was president. But I can read between the lines. You left the States to avoid being dragged down with them. Since then, I reckon you've been looking for an alternative source of income. And I reckon you've found one. I hope they paid you well for following Diana to Venice."

"Now look '

"Hold on!" He raised his hand. "Let me finish. Then you can say whatever you like. You're a con-man. So was your friend. But I have no argument with how you choose to make a living. And I don't expect you to admit spying on Diana. Just don't try to deny it. It's not important, you see. She's sweet on you. That's obvious. But how do you feel about her? The same?"