‘Majorca. He has an apartment in Palma. Bought it years ago and retired there after winding up his law practice. Nothing grand, so he tells me. The sun’s good for his arthritis. In case you’re wondering, he got nothing out of the Picasso fraud.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. You see, when he came and told me all about it twelve years ago, he advised me to go to the police and tell them what Grandfather had done. He repeated the advice when he heard about your mother’s suit against the Brownlow estate. “Get if off your conscience, Simon,” he said. “Put the record straight.”’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because of Linley’s stake in the gallery. Because I was afraid I’d be dragged down with him. Because it was easier and safer to do as he told me.’

  ‘Plus you didn’t want your old school chums getting to know who your father really was and what he did.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He looked directly at Rachel. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know. I was ashamed of my father. And my grandfather.’

  ‘The police would have been powerless to act anyway without proof,’ I pointed out. ‘Did you have any?’

  ‘I didn’t, no.’

  ‘It would still have helped our case,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Hold on.’ I’d spotted, as she apparently hadn’t, the revealing emphasis in Cardale’s answer. ‘You had no proof. But did someone else?’

  Cardale sighed. ‘Ardal claimed he had incontrovertible evidence that the Picassos were forged by his brother during the Second World War, scuppering Grandfather’s story that Isaac Meridor bought the fakes himself.’

  Rachel glanced across at me, a smile playing around her lips. This was more like it. This was what we needed. ‘What kind of evidence?’ she asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me. He simply said that, as and when I was ready to make a clean breast of it, he’d supply the material that would render any denials by Linley futile. He didn’t seem to doubt I’d be ready sooner or later. It was just a question of time.’

  ‘He could have come forward himself,’ said Rachel.

  Another sigh. ‘He said it had to be my decision, as Desmond’s son. He’s away from it all, on his Mediterranean island. I’m the one who’d have to face the flak. He encouraged me to do it, but he wasn’t going to force me.’

  ‘This “material” he has …’

  ‘I honestly don’t know what it is. But I’m sure he still has it.’

  ‘Could it be the Three Swans?’ Rachel was asking herself the question as much as anyone else.

  ‘I don’t see how,’ said Cardale.

  Nor did I. But it hardly mattered what the material was, so long as it was still in Ardal Quilligan’s possession. ‘Are you willing to go to the authorities with whatever Ardal has?’ I asked.

  Cardale bowed his head and slapped the back of his neck a couple of times, nerving himself to take a long-overdue decision. Then he looked up at us and said, ‘Yes. I’ll do it. I’ve had enough. Linley can go hang. The Brownlow estate can … carry the loss. You win, Miss Banner. I’m throwing in the towel.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rachel said coolly, with more satisfaction – and probably disbelief – than gratitude.

  ‘We can’t do anything without the evidence,’ I cautioned.

  ‘I’d better phone Ardal, then,’ said Cardale, shaking his head in surprise that the time his uncle had predicted would come … had come at last. ‘Before I change my mind.’

  Cardale led us through to a drawing-room, furnished and decorated, like the kitchen, in the style of an earlier age. There were newspapers and books scattered around and enough paintings stacked against one wall to suggest the room was used as an overflow for the gallery. There was a deep hollow in the cushion of a leather armchair facing the television, a whisky bottle and tumbler standing ready on a small table beside the chair. The air was frowsty, the light thick.

  Cardale hoisted a telephone off the floor, plonked it on the table and slumped down in the chair. The tangled cable put up some resistance when he raised the receiver to his ear. He nodded to the French windows as he dialled.

  ‘Would you mind waiting outside? I’d like to be alone when I speak to him.’

  ‘Why?’ Rachel asked, frowning suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t know. I’d just be … happier.’

  ‘Maybe I’d be happier sitting in on the conversation.’

  ‘I’m not trying to trick you. I simply—’ He broke off, his attention switching to the person on the end of the line. ‘Hello?’ he shouted. ‘Hello?’ Then the connection improved. ‘Ardal? It’s Simon … Yes, I know … Yes … Just hold on.’ He looked back at us, covering the mouthpiece of the receiver with his hand. ‘Please, Miss Banner.’ He nodded at the French windows.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, sensing somehow that it really would be better to leave him to it. ‘Let’s do as he asks.’

  It was obvious Rachel had misgivings. As we stood on the flagstoned patio, watching the dumb show through the glass, she stared intently at Cardale, twirling her fingers round the top button of her raincoat as she watched him. Much was riding on this one telephone call and it was possible, though I didn’t believe it for a moment, that our host had deceived us about its purpose.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, resting my hand on Rachel’s arm. ‘It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘I guess so. I guess I … just can’t quite believe it. All the lawyers; all the letters; all the journeys: and this is how it ends.’

  ‘It’s not over yet.’

  ‘No.’ She turned to look at me. ‘But we’re close, aren’t we?’

  Ten minutes must have passed, during which Rachel smoked two cigarettes and paced up and down the patio, before Cardale, the receiver now cradled against his chest, waved us back into the sitting-room.

  ‘He wants to speak to you, Miss Banner,’ he said, offering her the phone.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Go ahead.’

  She cast me a wide-eyed glance, then moved to the table and took the phone. ‘Hello? … Yes. I’m Rachel Banner.’

  Cardale rose from the chair and stepped across to the French windows, where I was standing. He rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s as good as done, Fordham.’ He didn’t seem to notice my tardy reaction to the use of my fictitious surname. ‘You’ll soon have what you want.’

  ‘Better late than never.’ I didn’t intend to let him off lightly.

  ‘You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t have tried to cover it up. The truth is I’m relieved it’s all going to come out. I may end up losing the gallery, I suppose. Maybe even this house. But whatever happens, however bad the fallout … I’ll be free. I realize now how much that counts for.’ A cloud had visibly lifted from his expression, a burden from his shoulders. It seemed we really had done him a favour.

  ‘You won’t tell me what the material is?’ I heard Rachel ask. There was a pause as Ardal Quilligan replied. Then she said, ‘All right. Tomorrow … Yes. I understand … Yes … Goodbye. And … thank you.’ She put the phone down and nodded to herself, settling something in her mind.

  ‘What did he say?’ I prompted.

  She looked at me. ‘He’ll call the gallery tomorrow afternoon to make arrangements to deliver the material.’ She shrugged. ‘We have to wait a little longer.’

  ‘But not much longer?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. There was still a measure of disbelief to conquer. ‘He confirmed what he has will clinch it for us. And he’s willing to hand it over. I think it really is going to be all right.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Rachel and I were both buoyed up by the exhilaration of what we’d achieved when we left Cherrygarth. We treated ourselves to a celebratory late lunch at an Italian restaurant. The second bottle of wine was probably unwise, though at the time it seemed the perfect fuel for our foretaste of triumph, a triumph which encompassed much that went unstated. A grey afternoon in Richmond, through which we laughed and ate and drank. The occasion felt magical, though it wouldn’t have looked so to any observer. The magic was all in our eyes and minds.

  Telling Eldritch what had happened should have been a relishable prospect, given his implied scepticism about my ability to handle matters properly. As it was, I didn’t really want to see him and thereby break the spell that had somehow been cast over Rachel and me. Clearly, however, he had to be told. So, back to the Ritz we went, only to be informed that he wasn’t there, though he had left a message for me. ‘There has been a development which I need to deal with. But there is something else we need to address later. Be in your room at ten tonight. E.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Rachel asked, leaning over my shoulder to read the note as we stood in the foyer.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Does he always issue instructions like that? “Be in your room at ten.”’ She laughed. And so did I.

  ‘It seems to be his style.’

  ‘Looks like you have an empty evening ahead of you – until ten.’

  ‘Want to help me fill it – starting with champagne in the bar?’

  ‘Are we still celebrating?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Then, lead on.’

  Drunk on each other as much as the champagne, we moved from the bar to my room. Before either of us, I think, quite knew what was happening, we were making love amidst warm lamplight and sultry shadows. We’d met only two days before, but I felt as if we’d known each other much longer. There was nothing hurried or impetuous about what we did. Beyond the tenderness lay a trust we were both surprised by in the other, beyond the passion a glimpse of a future sweeter and fuller than any we’d previously anticipated. We laughed a lot, I remember. It was the laughter of discovery and disbelief.

  The phone rang while we lay together afterwards, sharing a cigarette. I answered only because I thought it might be Eldritch. If he was back, I wanted to stop him coming to the room. But it was actually my mother, calling to see how I was. Rachel had to stifle a giggle as she rested her head on my shoulder, listening while I proffered bland answers to questions about what Eldritch and I were doing and how comfortable the Ritz was.

  ‘Will I ever get to meet her?’ Rachel asked after I’d rung off.

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘And will she like me?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  I kissed her. ‘Because nobody could fail to.’

  ‘Plenty have.’

  ‘They must be fools, then. And my mother’s no fool.’

  Nor, of course, was my uncle. Neither of us wanted him to know we’d become lovers. So, much as I wanted Rachel to stay, she had to leave. We showered and dressed and I walked her to Green Park Tube station. She blew a kiss to me as she vanished down the escalator to the Victoria line and I walked back to the Ritz feeling as if there was only air beneath my feet.

  I left a message for Eldritch at reception and went into the bar for more champagne. The last thing I wanted to be now was sober.

  Eldritch found me there half an hour later and, as far as I could judge, believed my euphoria was solely due to the success of our trip to Richmond. ‘You’ve done well,’ he said, sounding as much as if he meant it as he was ever likely to.

  ‘This means we’ve won,’ I pointed out, too stridently, it seemed, for his taste.

  ‘It means we’ve a chance of winning,’ he corrected me. ‘We need to see the material first.’

  ‘Ardal’s promised to hand it over.’

  ‘But when?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘It needs to be.’ He lowered his voice and raised a cautioning hand. ‘Linley isn’t going to sit idly by, Stephen. Obviously, we’ll have to hope Cardale can keep his mouth shut. But there are other things to worry about. Brenda Duthie rang me late this afternoon. That’s why I wasn’t here when you returned. She’s been burgled.’

  ‘Burgled?’

  ‘She came home from shopping to find her back door had been forced open and every drawer in the house emptied, the contents strewn around. But some money she keeps in the kitchen was still there and her late husband’s gold hunter hadn’t been taken either. Theft clearly wasn’t the motive.’

  ‘So … was anything taken?’

  ‘The painting Quilligan gave her and the photograph of Simon Cardale as a child he had stapled to his easel.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘Not as far as she can tell, though it’s too much of a mess to be absolutely certain. She’s very upset, particularly about the painting. They left the frame and the stretcher behind, presumably for ease of carriage. She blames us for this happening and she’s right to, of course. For every action there’s a reaction.’

  ‘What do you think they were looking for?’

  ‘Anything connected to Quilligan. Linley’s behind this, Stephen. You can be sure about that.’

  ‘You’re not seriously suggesting he broke into the house?’

  ‘Not personally, no. Of course not. But he may have resources he can call upon.’

  ‘What resources?’

  ‘Government personnel.’ Eldritch lowered his voice still further. ‘The intelligence services.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. Why should they want to help him?’

  ‘There may be reasons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Eldritch hesitated. He was either unable or unwilling to reveal what reasons there might be. ‘Linley’s a retired diplomat,’ he said at last, in a tone that suggested he knew how weak his argument was. ‘He might be owed a few favours for services rendered.’

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that. If you really have good cause to suspect MI5 are involved, now’s the time to come out with it.’ But he wasn’t going to. I could tell that just by the tight set of his mouth and the evasive look in his eyes. The secret of what had really happened to him in Dublin couldn’t be shared – with me or anyone else.

  ‘The burglary happened, Stephen,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I’m not imagining it. Any more than Brenda Duthie is.’

  ‘OK. It happened. I’m sorry for Mrs Duthie. But what are we supposed to do about it?’

  ‘At the very least, we should be on our guard. We’ve poked a stick into an anthill, you and I. Stand still too long and we’ll be badly bitten.’

  ‘But we’re not standing still. Ardal Quilligan will be in touch tomorrow to arrange delivery of the evidence we need.’

  ‘Yes. But there are things we can usefully do sooner than that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I want to know who’s put us up to this. And why.’

  ‘Did you press Twisk to tell you?’

  ‘Of course. Naturally, he refused. I explained I was bound to be circumspect in what I told him about progress in view of his client’s anonymity. In fact, I was vague to the point of uselessness. It didn’t seem to worry him. I imagine his fee is all that concerns him. There was certainly no budging him on the central issue. His client remains nameless. But I don’t propose to leave it there.’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘It’s more a question of what you can do.’

  ‘Me?’

  Eldritch leant towards me. ‘While I was at Twisk’s offices, I asked to use the lavatory,’ he whispered. ‘An advantage of old age is that such a request arouses not the least suspicion. I released the latches on the sash window while I was in there. The number of cobwebs on it suggests to me it’s never opened. So, I doubt anyone ever checks the latches. An agile young man like yourself should be able to climb in without much difficulty. Then you can go into Twisk’s office and take a look at the file he consulted during our discussion. And then … we’ll know who his client is, won’t we?’ He smiled. ‘Drink up. We have a busy night ahead of us.’

  I might have put up more resistance to Eldritch’s proposal if I’d been sober, or if the evening hadn’t left me giddy with wish-fulfilment. The fact remained, though, that he’d engineered us a chance to put a name to the mystery man – or woman – who was pulling our strings. To hear Eldritch tell it, the risks were minimal. There was no way I could refuse to make the attempt.

  We set off for Holborn on foot at half past midnight. There were still a few knots of drunken revellers in Shaftesbury Avenue, but all was quiet by the time we reached Hatton Garden. The diamond merchants were doubtless burglar-alarmed to the hilt, but Eldritch assured me the same wasn’t true of F. J. Twisk, solicitor and commissioner of oaths.

  His offices comprised the extended rear of an architect’s practice in Ely Place, accessed by a door off the alley running through to Hatton Garden, just along from the Old Mitre pub. A six-foot wall blanked off a light-well, into which, according to Eldritch, the lavatory window looked. The light-well was currently consumed in darkness, of course, but Eldritch had brought a torch. We’d come equipped. And it was true: there was no sign of an alarm box.

  ‘Twisk’s client chose him because of his proximity to the diamond district,’ said Eldritch, as we took a slow walk along Hatton Garden after completing our reconnaissance. ‘They evidently thought it more important to send a message to me than question the security of Twisk’s premises. That misjudgement’s handed us a golden opportunity.’

  ‘Of getting ourselves arrested, you mean?’

  ‘That isn’t going to happen. I’ll be there to make sure the coast’s clear when you come back out.’

  ‘And if it isn’t?’

  ‘We wait until it is. It’s very simple, Stephen. I’d do it myself if I was thirty years y—’ He pulled up sharply and looked at the sign above the shuttered frontage of yet another diamond merchant: L. BURG & SONS. ‘Well, well, they’re still going, then.’

  I allowed him twenty seconds for silent reminiscence, then said, ‘Are we going to do this or not, Eldritch?’

  Eldritch nodded. ‘You’re right. Let’s get on.’

  Ely Court was as empty and quiet and shadow-shrouded as it had been during our first walk along it. There was no reason to hesitate now and my nerves couldn’t have borne any further delay. Eldritch gave me a leg-up, an effort that started him coughing, hard though he tried to stifle it. It wasn’t the best of starts, but I was already scrambling over the wall, aware that it was too late to turn back. I flashed the torch into the void on the other side and gauged the drop to the flagstones below, then lowered myself as far down as I could before letting go. I made a safe landing. Eldritch was still battling his cough in the alley as I shone the torch at the building and spotted the frosted glass of the lavatory window. I moved towards it.

 

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