After the Exhibition: A Jack Haldean 1920s Mystery (A Jack Haldean Mystery) (14 page)

‘Whistler? Oh, the artist, you mean. The chap who painted his mother.’

‘That’s the one.’

The door opened and Jack absently pocketed the book.

Daphne Askern, together with John and Colin Askern, came into the room, followed, rather to Jack’s surprise, by Daniel Lythewell.

‘Where’s Betty?’ asked Colin.

‘She’ll be joining us in a minute,’ said Bill. ‘Mr Lythewell, what are you doing here?’

‘I was with Mr Askern when Colin telephoned, Chief Inspector, and I must admit to my share of curiosity. Do I understand that you think there is some truth in this extraordinary tale of young Betty’s?’

‘Of course there isn’t any truth,’ said Colin vigorously. ‘It’s just a storm in a teacup. Furthermore—’

Mr Lythewell held up his hand and Colin subsided into angry silence. ‘If there is any truth in the story, Mr Rackham, may I ask what you want with us?’

Daniel Lythewell, thought Jack, was definitely wary. That was understandable. Colin Askern was angry and defensive, Mrs Askern looked apprehensive, but John Askern … John Askern looked frightened.

Bill smiled. ‘In the first instance, Mr Lythewell, nothing very much. We conducted a search of Signora Bianchi’s cottage and found a photograph of her which, I believe, is your work, Askern.’

Jack produced the photograph.

‘Yes, that’s mine,’ agreed Colin reluctantly.

‘As Signora Bianchi is currently missing, if I can put it like that, I want your permission to use it in the official police investigation.’

Colin hesitated. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I have the greatest regard for Signora Bianchi and I don’t want to see her image posted up for everyone to see. She wouldn’t like it. And,’ he added, holding out his hand, ‘as it’s mine, I’ll have it back.’

‘I’m sorry, Askern, this is the only picture of the Signora we have. I’ll need to hold on to it for the time being, even if we can’t reproduce it. I’ll let you have a receipt for it, of course.’

‘But nothing’s happened to her!’ broke out John Askern. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘She’s gone away for a few days, that’s all.’

‘As you say, sir,’ said Bill smoothly. ‘Tell me, sir, were you personally acquainted with Signora Bianchi?’

John Askern licked his lips before replying, ‘No.’ Beside him, Daphne Askern moved uneasily. ‘That is, I met her once or twice, but I wouldn’t call that an acquaintance.’

‘I see.’ Bill looked at him thoughtfully and decided to try a shot at random. ‘I don’t suppose you knew her when you studied in Italy, by any chance?’

There was no mistaking his reaction this time. Askern’s face was ghastly and he swayed on his feet. ‘No! No, I swear I didn’t! You’ve got this all wrong, I tell you.’

Colin Askern reached out a hand to support his father. ‘Get me a chair for him, will you?’

‘
Italy?
’ repeated Daphne Askern in a stunned whisper.

Mr Lythewell helped Colin escort Mr Askern to a chair.

Bill waited until he was sitting down. ‘Mr Askern, where were you on the evening of Saturday the twenty eighth of April? Last Saturday?’

Mr Lythewell cleared his throat. ‘Is that the evening my niece says she saw this … er … occurrence?’

‘It is, sir.’

‘I was here!’ broke out Askern desperately. ‘Daphne, tell them I was here.’

Daphne Askern looked bewildered. ‘Of course you were here, John. We had dinner and then you said you had some work to finish off, so you went into the study. I know you were here. I came to ask you about something or other, but you’d gone for a stroll on the terrace with your cigar. I looked around for you, then you came in through the French windows and told me that’s what you’d been doing.’

Bill couldn’t help exchanging a satisfied glance with Jack.

‘Askern,’ said Mr Lythewell quickly. He’d seen the glance. ‘Don’t answer any questions. You’re obviously in no fit state to defend yourself.’

‘But there’s nothing to defend myself
from,
’ blustered Askern, some of his self-assurance returning. ‘I tell you, I hardly knew the woman. Why on earth should I take it into my head to run off and strangle her, eh?’

‘Did we say Signora Bianchi had been strangled, sir?’

Once again the colour drained from John Askern’s face.

‘Betty told you,’ said Colin sharply. ‘Betty told me, at any rate, and I told you. Speaking of which, where the devil is she?’

As if on cue, the door opened once more and Betty came in. She was holding something wrapped up in a towel in her hands.

Colin gazed at the towel, then at her. ‘Betty …’ he began. There was real anxiety in his voice.

‘I’m sorry, Colin. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m tired of lies and I’m tired of having you not believe me.’

‘Betty, please!’

‘I was in the bathroom. I heard you and your father whispering on the landing. You were talking about “
It
” and you said “
It
” was in your wardrobe, so I went to have a look. I found this.’

She unwrapped the towel. Inside was a black metal cash box with a red and gold line round it.

They all gazed at the box. Colin swore. John Askern gave a frightened whimper.

‘It’s Signora Bianchi’s,’ said Betty. ‘It’s got her name on the bottom of the box. You’re the burglar, aren’t you, Colin? You broke into Signora Bianchi’s cottage. You stole this last night.’

Colin Askern said nothing.

Bill Rackham walked across the room and took the box from Betty’s hands. ‘Let’s see what’s inside it, shall we? Askern, have you got the key?’

‘Don’t give it to him, Colin!’ said John Askern urgently.

Colin Askern shrugged. He looked utterly defeated. ‘What’s the point? It’ll be opened anyway.’ He reached in his pocket and, pulling out a key on a piece of string, passed it over to Bill.

‘Thank you,’ said Bill, putting the box on the table and turning the key. ‘What have we got here? A passport for one Carlotta Bianchi and various papers … And look at this. A marriage certificate for Carlotta Santarelli and John Cedric Askern.’

There was a strangled gasp from John Askern.

‘I take it,’ said Bill quietly, ‘that Carlotta Bianchi and Carlotta Santarelli are the same woman?’

John Askern hid his head in his hands but Colin Askern nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, they are.’

‘Marriage!’ yelped Daphne Askern. ‘
Married?
’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘You were
married
to that woman!’

Once again, Bill exchanged looks with Jack. ‘A concealed marriage seems like a pretty good motive for murder to me, especially in the light of everything else that’s gone on.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ began John Askern helplessly. ‘Daphne,
please
!’

‘Married,’ Daphne Askern repeated. ‘Oh, dear Lord, married!’

Bill cleared his throat with an official-sounding cough. ‘Mr Askern – John Cedric Askern – I arrest you on suspicion of having murdered Signora Carlotta Bianchi, formerly Carlotta Santarelli. I would be obliged if you would accompany me to the nearest police station where you will be questioned. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used as evidence at your trial.’

‘Let me tell you what really happened—’ began Askern.

Lythewell cut across him. ‘No, Askern! Don’t say a thing. You’re not guilty of anything. I know that and when we get a lawyer we can prove it.’

Once again the door opened. Kingsdown, the butler, stepped into the room. He attempted to get Mrs Askern’s attention, but she had collapsed into a chair, brokenly muttering, ‘
Married!
’

The butler coughed and then coughed again. Colin Askern, distracted nearly to fury, swung round on him. ‘What the hell is it?’

Deeply affronted, the butler blinked and drew himself up to his full height.

‘Signora Bianchi, sir.’

‘Who?
’ yelled Bill.

Everyone froze in their place.

A woman, a beautiful woman, clearly the original of Colin Askern’s photograph, came into the room. She was naturally poised but warily on the defensive. As she gazed round at the stilled group, she drew back in puzzled surprise. ‘What is the matter? Is something wrong?’

No one answered.

She shook her head impatiently, then turned to Colin. ‘Colin,
tesoro mio,
what is going on?’

‘Mother,’ he said weakly, ‘where have you been?’

‘Mother?
’
echoed Betty. ‘Colin, d’you mean to tell me Signora Bianchi is your
mother
?’

‘I didn’t mean to tell you any such thing,’ he said gruffly. He buried his face in his hands for a moment. ‘Look, this is just all too complicated to explain.’

‘I think you’d better try,’ said Bill grimly. ‘Signora Bianchi, where on earth have you been?’

She looked at him coolly. ‘And who are you, to demand where I have been?’

‘Don’t get on your high horse, Mother,’ said Colin. ‘Not now. This is Chief Inspector Rackham of Scotland Yard. Would you believe he’s just arrested Dad for your murder?’

She stared at him, open-mouthed, then threw back her head and laughed. ‘My murder! But I am not dead.’

‘I can see that, Madam,’ said Bill, whose patience was obviously being stretched very thinly indeed. ‘However, in view of the circumstances, it was a natural conclusion to reach.’

Signora Bianchi gave an expressive shrug, pulled up a chair and, with complete self-possession, unpinned her hat, peeled off her gloves and sat down. She seemed very much at home.

Daphne Askern gave an outraged shudder. ‘
Impudence
,’ she muttered.

Signora Bianchi looked at her appraisingly. ‘You disapprove, yes? You are John’s wife, yes? You disapprove?’

‘I most certainly do! What are you doing here? Why did you come to Whimbrell Heath?’

For the first time since Signora Bianchi had entered the room, John Askern spoke. His voice was little more than a croak. ‘They know we were married. You’d better tell them everything, Carlotta. I can’t think straight.’

‘Everything?’

He nodded and she shrugged once more. ‘Very well. John and I were married in Italy. Hastily.’

John Askern winced and Daphne Askern raised her eyebrows in horror. ‘Well, really!’

Carlotta Bianchi gave a frank, open smile and Jack suddenly realised she was enjoying herself very much. Wherever Signora Bianchi was, she was the centre of attention and that’s exactly how she liked it.

‘John was very respectable, a man of appearances, a man to whom the opinion of others mattered – oh, so much. Me,’ she added, with another expressive shrug, ‘I am not so, but I was young, and the good and holy nuns who brought me up, they said I should be married, so I was. However, John, he says it is wrong for me to entertain myself with parties and balls and I should think no more about dresses and affairs, but stay in our tiny house with no visitors and no society, just content with baby. Me –’ she crossed herself rapidly – ‘I am not the Blessed Madonna.’

‘No,’ growled John Askern, recovering some of his self-assurance. ‘You’re right there. You led me up the garden path, all right, but I married you fair and square, then you ran away with Marco Bianchi and left me holding the baby.’ He looked up at Colin. ‘You. So what could I do? I came back to England.’

‘You told me Colin’s mother had died,’ said Daphne Askern.

‘She was as good as dead to me,’ said John Askern. ‘Yes, I said she was dead. As far as I was concerned, she was in the past.’ He looked at Daphne pleadingly. ‘What could I say? It was all so long ago. It was fine. It’s been fine for years until
she
showed up again.’

‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Why did you show up again, Signora Bianchi?’

‘I have my reasons,’ said Signora Bianchi proudly. ‘I wanted to see Colin. I knew he must be big and strong and I wanted to see my son.’

‘I’ll tell you why you showed up again,’ said John Askern. ‘Your precious Marco had died, you wanted to embark on another affair, but this time you wanted some money. You came here, shamelessly told Colin the truth, got him on your side …’

‘Not entirely, Dad,’ put in Colin.

‘Not entirely?’ repeated John Askern scornfully. ‘The woman bewitched you. You said I should give her everything she wanted. Well, let me tell you, my boy, I haven’t
got
the money.’

‘But you’re well-off.’

‘It’s my money,’ said Daphne Askern coldly. ‘Protected by trusts. Even if I’d known the truth of this disgraceful business – which I most certainly did not – I would never countenance handing money over to this woman.’ She glared at Signora Bianchi, then averted her eyes.

Jack looked at Bill. ‘Does that sound suspiciously like blackmail to you?’

Bill nodded. ‘It’s beginning to.’

Signora Bianchi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Blackmail? No, I tell you. Signora Askern, what would you have done if I announce myself openly to you? Told you that your ’usband is not your ’usband but mine? That your marriage was never a marriage? That you are not married in the eyes of the law or of the holy church? That is important to you, yes?’

‘I … I …’

‘You would have paid. You would have been grateful to me for going away and you would have paid,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘That is not blackmail.’

‘Well …’ began Bill.

She ignored him and turned on John Askern. ‘I told you that is what I should have done, but you would not hear of it. I wanted to be – what is it you say? Open and above the board. Besides, it is not for me I want the money. It is for Luigi Mantonelli, my – my companion, shall I call him? He is a gifted man, he makes the moving pictures, the films, yes? Before the war, in Italy, he made moving pictures. Italian films, they were good, yes, good, I tell you, and Luigi made them. But now?’ She shrugged. ‘Everyone is in Hollywood, in America. He wants to go to Hollywood, to make the perfect picture, and Colin will come with us and be a star.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ put in Colin, his colour rising.

‘But yes! You have the good looks, you have the talent and, with Luigi behind you, it will be a wonderful film, believe me. But in Italy, since the war, we are poor, so I tell him, I tell Luigi, I will get the money, and my son, he will be a star. That is business, yes? That is not blackmail.’