Long Time Coming (39 page)

‘No?’

‘Of course not. What do you take me for?’

‘Someone who does what he’s told to do, whatever it is and whoever suffers as a result.’

‘This is the best I can do for you, Cygnet. It’s the best anyone can do for you.’

Swan said nothing, but went on staring hard at Linley. A minute or so silently passed. Then Swan took a last drag on his cigarette and threw it down at the foot of the door.

‘Well, then?’ Linley raised his eyebrows. ‘Will you withdraw your statement?’

I hadn’t been prepared for how strongly Esther Banner would resemble Rachel. Her hair was shorter and shot with grey and naturally there were more lines around her eyes and mouth, but the similarity in her bearing and gestures, quite apart from her looks, took me aback. She was even dressed similarly, in clothes that belied her age.

She was fretful and confused and more than a little angry that no one, not even her daughter’s lawyer, had yet given her straight answers to straight questions about how and why Rachel had become a murder suspect. She was bound to take a leery view of the new boyfriend she’d never previously met or heard of, but whose uncle she
had
heard of, of course. I was aware I had a great deal of explaining to do. And so was she.

Marie-Louise hovered in the background, shooting me eloquent glances of caution and complicity, until Mrs Banner asked her to leave us alone. There was no sign of Mrs Meridor. An upward roll of Marie-Louise’s eyes as she left the room seemed to indicate the old lady had taken to her bed, for which I couldn’t blame her.

Mrs Banner asked surprisingly few questions as I recounted the events Rachel and I had become caught up in, but her gaze never left me. Nor did a frown – of scepticism, concentration, anxiety: I couldn’t tell which – ever leave her. I claimed not to know why Sir Miles Linley merited special protection or why Eldritch had served
thirty-six years in an Irish prison. And I said nothing about Jean-Jacques Nimbala. Those were revelations for another day. There were more than enough for her to cope with as it was.

What they amounted to in the end was that neither Rachel nor I would be charged with Ardal Quilligan’s murder, but our freedom came at a price, one Rachel and her family would have to pay: clinching evidence that Desmond Quilligan had forged the Picassos would now never come their way; and I was responsible for putting it out of their reach.

‘I had to do it, Mrs Banner,’ I concluded defensively. ‘There are forces the likes of you and I simply can’t compete with.’

‘Do you love my daughter, Stephen?’ She was still looking hard at me. This, for her, was evidently the crucial issue. Not
what
I’d done, but
why
.

‘Yes,’ I replied, relieved to be able to state such an uncomplicated truth. ‘I do.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, because she’ll need your love in the days and weeks and months ahead. I’ve given up on the case, but Rachel’s never been able to let it go. What would we do with the money now, anyway? You can’t buy back the past. So, don’t apologize to me for the bargain you struck. Apologize to her.’

‘I will, as soon as I get the chance.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Tomorrow, I hope.’

‘Maybe we’ll have heard from Joey by then, as well.’

‘I’m sure it won’t be long before you do.’

‘You can’t be sure of anything with Joey.’

She stood up and walked over to a cabinet on which silver-framed photographs were arranged. She brought one back to show me. It was a picture of her as a young woman, sitting in the very chair she’d just left, with the same bookcase behind it. She was heavily made up, pearl ear-ringed and sleekly coiffed, wearing an elaborate dress decorated with lace flowers.

‘That was taken on my twenty-first birthday, in 1939. I can hardly believe now I was that person. So much has happened to me since, so much I wish hadn’t and quite a lot I wouldn’t change for
the world. Joey and Rachel, for instance. I want the best for them. I always have. I think that’s why I started the case against the Brownlow estate. For their sakes. It was a mistake. I see that now. It’s too closely connected with this house and my father and … all the things my children should be free of. When my mother dies, I’ll sell up and that’ll be the end of it. This isn’t my home any more and I don’t want it to be theirs.’

‘Are you saying … you’re actually pleased I disposed of the negatives?’

‘What I’m saying is that Joey and Rachel have to put all that behind them. Maybe what’s happened is a blessing in disguise. Although I’ll only be able to believe that when the police let Rachel go and say she’s no longer a suspect.’

‘Well, they soon will.’

She took the photograph back to the cabinet and set it down, then turned to face me. ‘Are you sure Rachel loves you as much as you love her, Stephen?’

‘I believe she does, yes.’

‘I’ve no doubt Mama would tell me, if she recovered her senses, that it would be madness to let my daughter have anything to do with a nephew of Eldritch Swan.’

‘Eldritch isn’t quite the unprincipled rogue you think. And I’m no more responsible for his behaviour than you are for your father’s.’

The remark was out of my mouth before I’d measured the risk of antagonizing her. At first she didn’t respond, but gazed down at the photographs, tilting one of them – a picture of Isaac Meridor, I guessed – the better to see it. Then she looked up and said, ‘You’re right, of course. Papa doted on me, but I know the wealth he used to buy the Picassos and the rest of his art collection wasn’t reputably come by. He was a loving father, but a ruthless man. I’m glad in a way that I was cheated out of my inheritance. One day I hope Rachel will be too.’

‘So do I.’

‘Where is your uncle now, Stephen?’

‘I don’t exactly know.’ And technically that was true, since I
didn’t have the address of Nimbala’s apartment. ‘But somewhere here in Antwerp.’

‘You look a lot like him, you know. Like he was when I knew him, I mean. It’s … unsettling.’ She frowned thoughtfully at me. ‘But if Rachel really is as stuck on you as you are on her … I suppose I could get used to it.’

We were interrupted shortly afterwards by Marie-Louise, who reported that Mrs Meridor was asking for her daughter. I took that as my cue to leave. While Esther headed upstairs, Marie-Louise saw me to the door. ‘You have seen Eldritch?’ she whispered, reinforcing my suspicion that Mrs Meridor would have forgotten her request by the time Esther reached her room, for the simple reason that she had never made it.

‘Yes. I’ve seen him.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Staying with a friend.’

‘What friend?’

‘He’ll explain to you later. What I can tell you is that the police are going to release Rachel. Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘
Everything?
’ She grasped my hand.

‘Yes. I promise.’ And with that I was smothered by a hug.

Making promises on Eldritch’s behalf was reckless, of course, but my encounter with Esther Banner had left me in an optimistic mood. Rachel
was
going to be released, after all. Everything
was
going to be all right. Like Marie-Louise, I badly wanted to believe that. And I could see no reason not to.

A surprise was waiting for me at van Briel’s house, however. Isolde Linley hadn’t taken our cancelled meeting for an answer and wasn’t going to let me avoid her any longer. I heard her voice as I climbed the stairs to the lounge and then I saw van Briel waiting for me at the top with a grimace on his face that expressed everything he wasn’t free to say.

She was wearing an elegantly cut black dress that made her appear out of time as well as place amidst van Briel’s modernistic furnishings. But remoteness from her normal milieu hadn’t dented her determination or her confidence. ‘My lawyer advised me against coming here, Mr Swan,’ she said, staring at me coolly and rolling the name
Swan
around her tongue as if to emphasize that it wasn’t the name I’d been going by when we’d last met. ‘And your lawyer’ – she twitched an eyebrow in van Briel’s direction – ‘is clearly put out by my visit. Well, I’m sorry for that. But I hope you’ll agree you and I need to discuss my brother’s death.’

‘I’ve explained to Lady Linley that this isn’t a good idea, Stephen,’ said van Briel.

‘It’s OK, Bart. I’m happy to talk to her.’

‘Maybe we should—’

‘No, no. Really.’ I smiled at him, though how reassuring he found my insouciance I couldn’t tell. ‘Why don’t you leave us to it?’

He looked torn between his professional obligation to me and a keen desire to be somewhere else. It was Isolde who eventually resolved the conflict for him. ‘Neither of us wants to put you in an invidious position, Mr van Briel. You can’t be blamed for what we say to each other while you’re not here.’

Van Briel puffed out his cheeks, gave me a second longer to reconsider, which I didn’t, then surrendered. ‘OK. I’ll … take a walk.’ He touched me on the shoulder as he passed and murmured, ‘Good luck.’

We said nothing until the front door had closed behind him. The silence was so complete I could hear his short-paced footsteps on the pavement outside. ‘Well?’ said Isolde as they faded away.

‘Well, what? You must know what happened. And why.’

‘You and Miss Banner deny killing Ardal. But someone killed him. And the knife they used belonged to Miss Banner.’

‘It belongs to her flatmate, actually. It was stolen from their basement flat in London last Friday.’

‘So you say.’

‘What do you really want from me, Lady Linley? If you
genuinely believe I had a hand in your brother’s murder, you shouldn’t feel safe at the moment, alone here with me, a kitchen full of sharp knives just a few strides away. But you don’t look worried. You don’t look worried at all. Why is that?’

‘I want you to tell me what happened, Mr Swan. That’s all.’

Suddenly, I understood. She wasn’t there to accuse or berate me. She didn’t believe Rachel had killed Ardal. She didn’t know what to believe. ‘Does Sir Miles know you’re here?’

‘We can leave my husband out of this.’

‘I don’t think we can, I’m afraid. He’s responsible for Ardal’s death.’

She glared at me. ‘That’s a monstrous suggestion.’

‘It is, isn’t it? But it happens to be true. I don’t know if he explicitly approved the murder. Probably not. Probably this man Tate I’ve been dealing with took the decision. But responsible? Yes, I think we can fairly say Sir Miles is that all right. Ardal phoned you the day he died, didn’t he, to warn you he was going to deliver proof to us that your brother Desmond forged the Meridors’ Picassos? You told your husband about the call. He told Tate. And Tate took the action he deemed necessary to stop the proof reaching us.’

Her indignation had turned to dismay. ‘How do you know Ardal phoned me?’

‘Tate told me. And how could he know, unless Sir Miles told him?’

‘Who is this … Tate … you keep referring to?’

‘Ask Sir Miles. He can explain how these things work. If he wants to.’

Her self-control was faltering. She began fiddling with her wedding ring and looked past me, focusing, it seemed, on someone and somewhere else. She was breathing more rapidly, but also more shallowly. I wasn’t sure what she’d expected to hear from me, but I was in no mood to hold back.

I told her everything then: about the photographs Ardal had taken at Cherrygarth in October 1940; how Desmond had concealed them in one of the paintings she’d auctioned off; about the
lengths Ardal had gone to obtain the painting and preserve its secret; where he’d been – and where he’d ended up – on the day of his death; and how I’d been forced to do a deal with Tate to hand the photographs over in return for Rachel’s freedom. I told her. And she listened. To every word.

I poured myself a stiff drink when I’d finished. She said nothing, except a hoarse and belated ‘Thank you’ when she noticed the glass of vodka and very little tonic that I put in front of her. She took an unladylike gulp.

‘Do you mind if I ask why you married Miles Linley?’ I said, sitting down opposite her. ‘I mean, honestly,
why
?’

She looked at me, and sipped her vodka, but still said nothing.

‘Was it for the money and social status you judged he’d give you? The knighthood you could foresee even then? The advantages your children would enjoy? I’d guess at something along those lines and I wouldn’t be far wrong, would I?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said in an undertone.

‘Oh, but I do. His promise to Eldritch, for instance. How could you let him break that?’ Her momentary frown of puzzlement gave me my answer. ‘You didn’t know, did you? I suppose Sir Miles never thought you needed to know. He promised to get Eldritch out of prison at the end of the war, Lady Linley. That’s why Eldritch withdrew his statement and said nothing at his trial. Because he took his old school friend at his word. More fool him.’

Most of the colour had drained from her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, then stood up. ‘I’d like to go now. I … I have a coat.’ She swayed and I jumped up, thinking she might be about to faint. But she recovered herself with a visible start. ‘My coat, please,’ she said, her voice by now barely a whisper.

I fetched it from the hall and helped her on with it. ‘Would you like me to phone for a taxi?’ I asked.

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’

‘Eldritch is here, you know. In Antwerp. Do you want me to give him a message?’

She thought about that for a few seconds, then turned to look directly at me, as if to avoid any possible misunderstanding on the point. She shook her head. ‘No message.’

‘She has gone, hasn’t she?’ van Briel asked, entering the lounge with exaggerated wariness to find me alone, sipping a second vodka.

‘Yes, Bart. She’s gone.’

‘How was it?’

‘Strange. I ended up feeling sorry for her.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t think she understood until now that all those sacrifices she made to get what she wanted may have ended up costing her brothers their lives.’

‘You’ve got yourself into some heavy stuff, Stephen.’