Dangerous Inheritance (18 page)

De Richleau gave his friend a puzzled look. ‘I had no idea you knew that d'Azavedo had a son, let alone that he was mixed up in politics.'

Simon's full lips parted in a wide grin. ‘D'Azavedo is an unusual name. Saw it in a secret report sent me a week or so ago. Thought he must be some relation to your old forger. He is now a Colonel in the Security Service.'

‘Is he indeed! May one enquire the reason for your interest in Ceylon's Secret Police; and, for that matter, how you come to be so well informed about political developments there?'

‘Well now, I'll tell you. For many years my firm has financed
one of the biggest tea planters when they needed additional capital to buy estates that came into the market. Quite a lot of properties on offer now. Owners getting cold feet about what may happen if Mrs B. continues her ultra-Socialist activities. Our friends maintain that no Ceylonese Government would be quite so crazy as to take over Tea; so they want to buy. But Ceylon is in a muddle—a really nasty muddle. And the possibility of an immense loss of income has never yet prevented a dictator Government from cutting off its nose to spite its face if it's set on living up to Marxist ideals. So it was decided that I should go out and take a look at things personally before we agreed to risk our mun.'

‘Your what?' enquired the Duke.

‘Our money.'

‘Of course. It's so long since I heard you use that expression I had forgotten it. When are you going?'

‘Next month. In the meantime I called for all the information available about the place. And the sort of people we merchant bankers employ to get us that sort of thing are pretty good. They have to be.'

‘As you are going to Ceylon, you will be seeing Fleur.'

‘Um. Very fond of Fleur.'

‘I know. I remember those fabulous toys you used to bring down to Cardinal's Folly for her, every time you went there when she was a child. I don't wonder she always looked on you as her favourite “Uncle”.'

Simon wriggled his narrow shoulders. ‘Had a lot of fun seeing her little face light up. Probably gave me more pleasure than the toys did her. It was fun, too, taking her to dinner at the Savoy Grill when she was older and studying in London. Vechelli and most of his waiters knew that I was an old friend of Richard's and that she was his daughter. But we must have looked a queer couple to people at other tables. She used to laugh about that and say, “Let's lead them on a bit—pretend you're a rich old so-and-so and keeping me in a flat in Maida Vale!” Then she'd insist on holding hands across the table.'

De Richleau laughed. ‘By then she had become a real little Don Quixote, delighting to tilt at all moral conventions and
denounce her class as parasites battening on the masses. But I imagine that as you've always held such strongly Liberal views you were not greatly shocked at finding that she had become a red-hot Socialist?'

‘Ner,' Simon grinned back. ‘I listened to all the old clichés as seriously as if she'd been Moses with the Tablets. And I'd rather the young became Communists than Nazis any day.'

‘That's very understandable in your case, dear Simon. But if you ever get caught up in a revolution it's quite certain that you will be shot. The Pinks always pay the penalty for their ideals. Only the Reds or Blues have any chance of surviving and coming out on top.'

‘How's Fleur's marriage going? Heard anything lately?'

‘Not for some months; but well, as far as I know. The man she married, Douglas Rajapakse, struck me as a very decent fellow: warm-hearted, intelligent, civilised. Were it not for the colour of his skin he would be accepted anywhere as one of us. But there was no escaping the fact that Fleur would have to adjust herself to becoming a member of an Asiatic family, and when she found their way of life to be so different from our own she might feel that she had made a terrible mistake. Naturally Marie Lou and Richard were intensely worried about her future; but as the marriage has survived for over two years, it looks as though she is happy with her husband and means to remain with him.'

‘Hard luck on old Richard and Marie Lou,' Simon commented. ‘I mean, her living so far from them. Expensive trip to Ceylon, and Richard can't get even half the cost for the two of them tax-free, as he could if he were a business man.'

‘I know,' the Duke agreed. ‘About nine months after Fleur was married they went out to see how she was getting on. That was in the spring of ‘59, and Richard told me afterwards that they couldn't possibly afford to go every year. I've gathered since, though, that there is a plan for them all to spend a holiday together in Beirut or somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean this winter. I should think Douglas could afford to bring Fleur to England every other year, and you may be sure she would be happy enough to flaunt him about the place; but I can't see
Marie Lou enjoying presenting a dusky son-in-law to the County; so for them to meet half-way seems a good idea from every point of view.'

Simon rubbed a finger up and down the arc of his large Semitic nose and his weak eyes squinted a little through his glasses as he said, ‘Would be if it weren't for Mrs. Bandaranaike and her boys. They're formulating legislation to prevent Ceylonese subjects taking money out of their country. Jolly tough ones, too. I'm told they'll be permitted to take out only one hundred and fifty pounds once in every seven years.'

‘But that is iniquitous,' exploded the Duke. ‘The worst possible form of Socialist tyranny.'

‘Hard on people who've been used to coming to Europe now and then. Bad for Ceylon's external relations too. Anyway, however well-off Douglas may be this is going to scotch his bringing Fleur to meet her people in the Med. The currency restrictions in Ceylon have been getting worse for quite a time. No firm is now able to import anything into the country without a permit. If machinery breaks down and an incompetent Civil Service delays granting a permit to bring in the parts needed to get it going again, the firm is in a muddle. Sort of muddle that can cause a serious loss of profits. That's one of the things that is worrying Rex and me.'

‘Rex? What has he to do with this?'

‘Well now, I'll tell you. Since the nineteen-thirties, as we are both bankers, Rex and I have been into quite a lot of things together. Our London-New York tie-up has proved very useful. Anyhow, among other things in which we've shared risks was financing the estate purchases of these tea planters I was telling you about. Now they want more mun; if we decide to give it them, it will come fifty-fifty from us again. So Rex is going to meet me in Ceylon and we'll take a look at things together.'

‘That will be pleasant for you, Simon; although I should have thought that either of you could have relied on the other's judgment. For both of you to go looks to me suspiciously like a holiday on your expense accounts.'

Simon's head came forward and he tittered into his hand. ‘Well, you're right in a way. But old Rex hasn't been very well
lately. Nothing serious, thank God—just felt a trip through the sunny parts of Asia for a few weeks this winter would do him good. He'll look in on his contacts in India, then come down to meet me in Ceylon. Afterwards I'll fly on with him to do a little business in Singapore, Bangkok, Manila and Hong Kong. From there I'll turn back, while he heads for home across the Pacific.'

‘I take it Rex will be travelling in the aircraft that his bank bought for him to make his trips to Europe. I wonder if he will feel up to flying it himself?'

‘Flying's always meant a lot to Rex. Expect he'll fly her part of the time anyway. But he usually has his Captain do any night shifts. She's a lovely thing. Beds for six passengers, and every comfort laid on.'

‘Yes. The idea of this trip makes me envious. I wish I were coming with you.'

‘Why don't you, then? I'm planning to leave about October 24th. I could go via Rome and you could meet me there. For that matter, I could leave a little earlier and pick you up here. That would be best. I'd be on hand then to look after you all the time.'

De Richleau shook his white head. ‘Thank you, Simon; but I don't think I ought to. Although I must confess I'm greatly tempted. In these days I need sunshine to warm my old bones, and here it can become quite chilly in the winter. It is dull, too, as no-one ever comes here during November and December.'

‘Um,' Simon nodded his narrow head up and down like a toy china Mandarin. ‘Same as the South of France in the old days. Square in front of the Casino at Monte looked like an empty film set all through October, November and December. People just couldn't be persuaded to go south till the New Year. Then almost overnight the Café de Paris became like the Tower of Babel.'

‘Yes, I remember. Well, in a more limited way it is like that here. During the spring and early summer I could fill the villa with friends three times over, and from after Christmas or during high summer there are plenty of people I like to have who are happy to come out to stay. But not during those last
months of the year. It's not that I want to have people staying all the time. I enjoy a quiet week now and then, just browsing in my library. But I do get bored if for several weeks at a stretch I have no-one here to talk to.'

‘Then why not come out to Ceylon with me?' Simon urged. ‘Even if you are eighty-five, you're as fit as a fiddle. And I'd be on hand if you did fall ill.'

‘No, Simon; no. If it were just to Ceylon and back I might. But you will be going on with Rex to Singapore and those other places. A series of long flights would prove too much for me; and I wouldn't like to risk flying back from Ceylon with only Max. He is a dear faithful fellow and one could not have a better valet, but he would be no use whatever to me in an emergency.'

At that moment Petti announced lunch, and as they moved along to the far end of the terrace—where they were still enjoying their midday meal out of doors—no more was said of the matter. But that night after dinner, as they lit two of the Duke's long Hoyo de Monterrey cigars, he raised the subject again.

‘While resting this afternoon, Simon, I was thinking over what you told me before lunch about Ceylon. I had particularly in mind your secret intelligence to the effect that Mrs. Bandaranaike's Government intend to introduce legislation which will prevent capital assets, or money earned in the country, from being sent out of it. If you are correct that means that I shall never receive any money from the proceeds of my mine, even if it were being worked competently and they were considerable.'

‘Um,' Simon agreed, waving the lighted end of his cigar under his big nose to sniff its fine aroma. ‘You won't see a penny after these new laws go through, which they may any time after the New Year. That is, unless you take to smuggling; and that might land you in a muddle.'

‘Then it seems my wisest course would be to sell the mine.'

‘You mean in the next month or two, so that you can get your money out while the going is still good?'

‘Yes. Do you see anything against that?'

‘Only that other people must know what's in the wind. That
means no well-advised European or U.S. jewel-mining company would make you an offer. Limits your market to the locals. You'd probably get a much better price if you hung on until the muddle in Ceylon sorts itself out and pressure of one kind or another forced them to alter their policy.'

‘Sound advice, Simon; but that may not happen for another ten years, and I'd wager against my having that long to live. In any case the mine has proved more or less a white elephant. When d'Azavedo had it the Olenevka property was estimated to be worth half a million rupees—that's getting on for forty thousand pounds. I imagine it is worth considerably less now; and, of course, these new laws will further reduce its value. Fortunately, I'm in the happy position where it would not cause me the loss of a wink of sleep even if Ceylon had a Marxist Government and they stole the mine from me; but as I did receive this inheritance I may as well get what I can out of it.'

‘You'd like me to dispose of it for you then, while I'm in Ceylon?'

‘No, I don't wish to saddle you with that; and no doubt there will be numerous papers to sign, so I'll handle it myself.'

Simon's full mouth broke into a happy grin. ‘You mean you've decided to go out there with me after all?'

‘Yes. It provides a good excuse to enjoy a few weeks' sunshine. But I shan't go on with you and Rex to Hong Kong. I shall remain in Colombo. Fleur will take care of me there. One thing, though, I do mean to ask you: that is, instead of flying direct from Hong Kong to London, you should return via Ceylon; so as to pick me up and see me safely back here.'

‘Of course I will. Only too delighted. And how pleased old Rex will be when he hears that you'll be with me in Colombo.'

De Richleau smiled. ‘I'm so glad that this affair has come up. I had only Prince Voralburg and his daughter coming to stay for a week early in October, then no-one until the Osbornes and the de Brissacs come here for Christmas. Now this trip will fill in my autumn splendidly. I could leave any day in the last week of October, so just arrange matters as suits you best.'

It was on the 21st October that Simon returned to Corfu to
collect de Richleau and his man Max. After a night at the villa they flew via Athens to Rome, and next day caught the Comet that was to take them to Ceylon. The old Duke appeared hale and hearty, and was in excellent spirits. It is probable that he would have been just as cheerful even had he known that it was to be the last long flight he would make in his life.

When the Duke and Simon arrived at Katunayake airport early on the morning of October 24th they found Fleur there to meet them. Douglas, she said, sent his apologies for not being there too; but the previous day he had had to go up to Kandy and would not be back in Colombo till that afternoon. Her bronzed skin showed up her violet eyes to perfection and made her more attractive than ever. Embracing them in turn, her laughter and kisses showed how delighted she was to see them.