Long Time Coming (14 page)

‘How did you persuade them to let me go?’

‘By vouching for you, you clot. By assuring Moynihan’s boss, who enjoys a regular round of golf with
my
boss, that your explanation for visiting Quilligan, quixotically implausible as it may have seemed, was entirely consonant with your character and that a less likely German spy than you would be hard to find. Friends in high places, Cygnet. They’re invaluable, even when you don’t know you’ve got them.’

‘Good Lord, Linley, I can’t thank you enough.’ Swan shook the other man’s hand a second time to make his point. ‘I thought things were going to take an ugly turn today, let me tell you.’

‘Rough stuff, you mean? I expect they held off until they could establish what we knew about you. Which was nothing, of course. Except that you’re not working for the Germans.’ Linley’s face took on a look of mock solemnity. ‘You aren’t, are you?’ Before Swan could reply, he went on: ‘Just joking. You look pretty bloody awful, I have to say. I take it the accommodation here is seriously sub-par. Did you book into a hotel before all this blew up?’

‘The Shelbourne.’

‘Excellent choice. And it’s only a short walk from here. What say
you soak in the bath there and spruce yourself up, then meet me for lunch? Jammet’s, in Nassau Street, at one. A little
cuisine française
at the legation’s expense to help you forget your disagreeable tangle with the forces of law and disorder. We can chat about old times and you can tell me what you’re really up to in Dublin.’

Linley was right: it was only a short walk through the shopping streets of central Dublin to the Shelbourne Hotel. But geography was no measure of transition in this case. From the forbidding purlieus of the Castle, Swan passed at once into a different realm. The shop windows of Grafton Street were filled with all the luxuries he had learnt to forgo in London. No barrage balloons floated overhead. And St Stephen’s Green, which the hotel overlooked, was a riot of colourful flower-beds: no vegetable plots despoiled the parks of Dublin. He was in a place apart, where there might be an emergency, but there was still no war.

The comforts of the Shelbourne rapidly restored his equilibrium. He had always been able to rely on his own resilience. It was, he knew from long experience, one of his more abiding characteristics. Two hours after his hangdog arrival, he exited into the warm lunchtime air at a self-confident amble, in a clean shirt and pressed suit, bathed, buffed and shaved, revived and ready to face the world.

Linley was already waiting for him at a prime window table when Swan reached Jammet’s. A bottle of champagne was on ice to celebrate their reunion. There had been many worse seniors to fag for at Ardingly than Miles Linley, several out-and-out sadists among them. Thus Swan was not just enormously grateful for being rescued from the clutches of Special Branch, he was also delighted to have discovered an Englishman in Dublin he could happily spend a few evenings (not to mention lunchtimes) with during his stay in the city.

The champagne and starters were seen off during an exchange of summarized autobiographies covering their adult years. There were
Oxford experiences to compare, though Swan was careful to say nothing about how his university career had ended. After that, their life stories diverged. The Diplomatic Service seemed, when Swan came to think about it, an obvious avenue for Linley to follow, with his natural charm, easy manner, cosmopolitan air and undertow of cynicism. Swan did his best to make his own tale of wandering from one unorthodox but well-paid job to another sound like the pursuit of a true vocation, though whether Linley was convinced was an open question.

‘Cardale’s a generous employer,’ Swan explained as their roast mallard main courses arrived and a toothsome Saint-Émilion was opened. ‘So, I didn’t quibble when he asked me to make overtures to Quilligan on his behalf. An all-expenses trip to Dublin sounded like a welcome break from London, to be honest; more of a holiday than anything else.’

‘A lot of people think that,’ said Linley as he nodded to the sommelier in approval of the wine. ‘And with good reason. Éire’s must be the only tourist association in Europe that’s still in business. We get a good few journalists over from Britain to research pieces condemning the Irish for staying neutral, but I notice they never fail to fill their boots while they’re here. The GNR’s had to lay on extra trains from Belfast to cope with the shoppers. Make sure you take a few pairs of silk stockings back with you, by the way. They’ll win you a lot of favours with the ladies. I suppose I should be glad to be here myself.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘Not exactly. It’s unreal, isn’t it? A make-believe refuge from the war. It’ll come to their doorsteps soon enough if we can’t hold Herr Hitler at bay for them. Meanwhile, we dips have to watch our step. And we advise visitors from the mainland to do the same. I have to say, Cygnet, it was naïve of you to think you could just stroll into the Curragh for a chinwag with Quilligan without attracting some unwelcome attention. De Valéra’s scared stiff the IRA will try to attack the North using weapons and expertise supplied by Germany. It’s a fair bet that’s why their chief of staff has gone to Berlin. So, Dev has to do everything he can to keep the lid on them. Hence internment for
the duration. And hence Special Branch keeping a careful eye on any contact they have with the outside world.’

‘But you’ve been able to persuade them my visit was entirely innocent?’

‘I’ve been able to persuade them to give you the benefit of the doubt. But Moynihan won’t have liked being told to release you. He’ll probably be monitoring your movements from now on. I certainly wouldn’t recommend calling in at the German Legation for tea and cakes.’

‘It’s not at the top of my list.’

‘Glad to hear it. What is?’

‘Well, I have to see Quilligan’s brother. He’s a solicitor. I need him to agree that the document Cardale’s solicitor drew up is legally watertight. After that, it’s just a question of waiting for Quilligan to sign himself out of the Curragh.’

‘Then you take him back to London?’

‘Post-haste.’

‘Excellent. Better still, it’s a perfect match with the argument in your favour I put to Superintendent Hegarty. An IRA member willing to give up the struggle, especially one with Quilligan’s reputation, is a moral victory for the government. It might encourage others to follow his example. They should actually welcome your intervention.’

‘What is his reputation?’

‘As bloodthirsty as most of his kind. But he’s a survivor of the Easter Rising, which gives him the status of a folk hero. And they tell me he’s a gifted artist into the bargain. He’s supposed to have sacrificed a promising career with palette and brush in England to resume the quest for Irish unity. I take it the death of Cardale’s daughter might have had something to do with that decision?’

‘You take it correctly.’

‘Thought as much.’ Linley paused to savour a succulent forkful of mallard.

‘The Irish authorities will be pleased to see the back of Desmond Quilligan. You’ll be doing them a favour.’

‘Not as big as the one you’ve done me.’

‘Not at all. Easing pressure points in Anglo-Irish relations is my job. But … one good turn does deserve another, doesn’t it?’

‘Absolutely. If there’s anything I can do …’

‘There might be, Cygnet, yes. There very well might be.’ Linley took a sip of wine and beamed at Swan. ‘I’ll let you know.’

The morning was cold but dry. Eldritch and I sat muffled up on one of the benches lining the main avenue across Green Park, Eldritch coughing and puffing his way through a succession of Sobranies while I made a show of reading a newspaper. He hadn’t forgiven me for alerting Rachel Banner to his existence and promising her she could meet him, but, as he’d tartly informed me over breakfast, he wasn’t about to let me mismanage a second encounter with her. Accordingly, he was waiting for her in the park along with me. We were where I’d told her we’d be at the time I’d told her we’d be there. But, as yet, she wasn’t.

‘I see Smith’s rejected the latest deal,’ I said, in a feeble effort at distraction.

‘Who?’ growled Eldritch.

‘Ian Smith. The Rhodesian Prime Minister. I’d have thought you’d take a keen interest in African affairs, since you were born there.’

‘I was born in the past. You won’t find that in a world atlas.’

‘Still, I expect you’d go along with Smith. Keep the blacks in their place. That sort of thing.’

He cast me a wary glance. ‘Are you trying to provoke me, boy?’

‘I told you not to call me boy.’

‘No. It was “son” you objected to.’

‘Well, you can—’

‘
Excuse the interruption
.’

I recognized Rachel’s voice at once. I looked round and saw her standing behind us on the grass, a few yards away. She was dressed as she’d been the day before. She looked cold, her face pale, her shoulders hunched. I heard Eldritch let out a sigh. Then he stood up and turned to face her.

‘Miss Banner,’ he said simply, discarding his cigarette and grinding out the butt. ‘I’m Eldritch Swan.’

‘I know who you are.’ She stared at him for a moment, then smiled at me. ‘Hi, Stephen.’

‘Hello, Rachel,’ I said. ‘Come and sit down.’

She took a few steps towards us. But that was all. ‘You ruined my mother’s life, Mr Swan,’ she declared flatly.

‘I ruined my own in the process,’ Eldritch responded. ‘If that’s any consolation.’

‘It’s some. But not a whole lot. You knew Mom when she was a young woman. She liked you. She told me so. She thought you liked her. Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But still you tried to cheat her. How does that work? Please tell me. I’d really like to know.’

‘You know how it works. There’s no mystery. I saw a chance of making myself rich. I took it.’

‘And to hell with the consequences for my mother?’

‘I’m afraid I put her out of my mind.’

‘Has Stephen told you what happened to her?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry, Miss Banner. Truly I am. But if there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s—’

‘Advice? From you? I don’t believe it.’

‘You don’t have to. You don’t even have to hear it if you don’t want to.’

‘No. Go on. This should be … memorable.’

‘Look,’ I said, fearful that Eldritch had resolved to sabotage the meeting before it had properly begun, ‘why don’t we—’

‘No, Stephen,’ said Rachel. ‘Let him give me his advice.’ She was breathing heavily. ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘It’s simple enough,’ said Eldritch. ‘Blaming your mistakes and
misfortunes on other people is as futile as it’s fallacious. I cheated your mother, yes. More correctly, I enabled someone else to cheat her. But as for all the things that went wrong later in her life, and in yours and your brother’s, loading responsibility for them on to me is … unworthy of the sort of woman Stephen tells me you are.’

Rachel stepped closer still and looked Eldritch in the eye. ‘You have a fucking nerve.’

‘You know what I’ve said is true. Whether you admit it or not is up to you.’

‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ – she looked round at me – ‘I don’t think this is going to work.’

For the moment, I couldn’t help agreeing with her. I stood up. ‘For God’s sake, Eldritch, show a bit of humility.’

‘Not something I’ve ever been good at, I’m afraid, Stephen. I thought it might come with age, but—’

‘You both be sure to have a nice day,’ cut in Rachel. With that she swung on her heel and started to walk away.

‘Hold on,’ I said, running after her.

I was nearly at her shoulder when Eldritch shouted, ‘
Miss Banner
.’

She stopped and turned round. To my surprise, I saw her eyes were red and tearful. ‘Yes? What else do you have to say to me?’

‘Stephen said you wanted to be involved in our attempt to prove Geoffrey Cardale stole your Picassos. I can’t believe you don’t. Whether you think I’m … cruel and contemptible … is really beside the point. So, please sit down. Hear me out.’

‘More advice for me, Mr Swan?’

‘No. A proposition.’

‘It had better be good.’ She walked slowly back to the bench and sat down. As I sat down beside her, she took out a cigarette. I lit it for her. She dried her eyes with the heel of her free hand and gazed past me across the park. She didn’t so much as glance at Eldritch. ‘Go ahead.’ I silently echoed the sentiment she’d just expressed. This had better be good. I was well past being surprised that he’d given me no inkling what his proposition might be.

‘Desmond Quilligan, the man who painted the fake Picassos
your grandmother destroyed, drank himself to death twenty years ago. We visited his old landlady, Mrs Duthie, yesterday. She gave us his sister’s address in Hampshire. It seems Isolde Quilligan married an old schoolfriend of mine, Miles Linley. In 1940, he was working at the British Legation in Dublin. He knew I was trying to lure Quilligan to London, but not why. Not the real reason, anyway. Did Isolde know? I can’t be sure. Maybe Quilligan told her later. In which case Linley also knows. How they came to marry is anyone’s guess. They didn’t know one another as far as I was aware. Clearly something changed after I was locked up. Probably lots of things. What I can say is this. Knowing Linley as I do, if he found out, he probably sought to capitalize on his discovery.’

‘How?’ asked Rachel.

‘Perhaps by blackmailing Cardale.’

‘If that’s true, he and his wife aren’t going to help us prove a damn thing.’

‘Indeed not.
If
it’s true. We need to find out. We also need to see a painting of Quilligan’s which Isolde took away with her after his death. It’s called
Three Swans
. It’s the last thing he ever painted. And since his death was essentially self-inflicted, it might represent a form of suicide note.’

‘Addressed to you?’

‘Perhaps. Three swans seen flying together portend a death. So goes the superstition. But according to Mrs Duthie there was only one swan in the picture. It seems to be some kind of riddle.’

‘Is this all you’ve got?’

‘Yes. But we’ll get more if we play our cards right. I can’t be seen by Isolde or her husband. Especially her husband. With any luck, they don’t know I’m out. And I’d like to keep it that way. They wouldn’t speak to me under any circumstances. But you two might be able to extract some valuable information from them if you catch them on the hop, perhaps even get to see
Three Swans
. You need false names and a cover story. The names I’ll leave to you. The story is that you’re interested in the artistic career of Desmond Quilligan and you’ve been told they have most of his pictures: could you take a look at them?’