Dangerous Deception (15 page)

The task completed, we turned to peer into the hole.

“It goes back for miles,” I said.

Philip flicked the torch again. “At least some of them are still here, but I'll have to do a quick count. God, look – this one's been tampered with!”

He reached inside and pulled out a cardboard tube some three feet long. The polythene which had enclosed it had been torn back, and the exposed cardboard felt cold and slightly damp.

“Make sure it's still inside, while I count the rest.”

He shoved the tube at me and turned back to the cavity. I was actually holding it, the key to the whole business.

Breathing quickly, I stood the tube upright and felt gingerly inside. A roll of canvas, I thought, as my fingers made contact. Cautiously, my heart beating high in my chest, I tugged it a few inches clear and carefully turned it back. In the dim light from the spy-holes something glowed vibrantly – rich, velvety red, midnight blue and emerald.

With held breath I swivelled the tube on the floor and cautiously started to unroll the canvas, gasping as my eyes met other eyes – gentle, painted eyes in the face of a Madonna.

“Is it still inside?” Philip asked without turning, his voice echoing in the hollow rock.

“Yes,” I whispered, “it's here.”

“Thank God for that.”

Reverently I slid my precious discovery back into the tube, pulling the torn outer cover round it as best I could.

“They're all accounted for, then. God, what a relief! Give it to me.” He reached out and I put the tube into his hand, my mind whirling furiously. Who did these masterpieces belong to? Had some major art gallery been robbed?

“Right, give me a hand with the slab again.”

Mechanically I helped him lift the stone and manoeuvre it back into position. Inch by inch it ground its way home, till there was nothing to distinguish it from its fellows.

“However did Bryn discover the cavity?” I asked.

“He played all round here when he was a boy. Used to hide things in it even then, but never told anyone about it. So when he needed a secret hiding place, it was the obvious choice.”

“And – Dick Harvey?”

“God knows how he stumbled on it. Of course, the corridor is one of the features of the castle. Being an archaeologist, I suppose he'd pay it particular attention. It's even possible that when Sinbad brought the Zimmermans he didn't push it far enough back, either, though I can't believe he'd be so careless.”

“The Zimmermans came
here
?”

“Yes; Bryn wasn't happy about it because, as you said, it doubled the risk, but they flew over specially; insisted on seeing what they were paying out for. Come on, then, let's get out of here – I could do with some fresh air. Shall I go first again?”

He moved ahead of me, holding his hand out behind him. I put mine into it, and this time he held it loosely. Balance restored, I thought – or perhaps it was simply that he was more relaxed now the first part of our mission was accomplished.

We came up the final flight of steps like divers emerging from the deep, and leant for several minutes against the sun-warmed stone, blinking in the brightness. It seemed strange to be back so quickly among the crowds, when less than two minutes previously we'd been alone with our secret.

“Anything else you want to see?”

I shook my head. “Let's go.”

“Right, we'll find somewhere to eat lunch.”

The sun was warm on our backs as we went down the hill. Philip whistled tunelessly under his breath, but my mind was still seething with my discovery. Two million pounds' worth of paintings! Where had they come from?

Outside the cottage, the woman was still selling brochures. There was no sign of a dog – a small comfort. But as we drew near to the car park I stiffened.

“What's the matter?”

“Look!”

His eyes followed mine. Immediately alongside our car was a small red Austin.

“Good heavens, girl, there are hundreds of that model – it doesn't have to be the same one. Anyway, you said it passed us, back on the main road.”

“It did; it must have turned round and come back.”

“Don't look like that, Clare; there's no need to panic.”

“Oh, none at all! We're only about to remove some of the world's great art treasures, that's all. Let's shout it from the rooftops!”

“Be reasonable, now!”

“I'm not eating my lunch here,” I said firmly.

“Fine, we'll find somewhere else. Get in.”

He switched on the engine. “The driver's probably one of those,” he said, nodding to where groups of picnickers huddled on the grass over hampers and primus stoves.

“Then the sooner we're away from them, the better.” I reflected wryly that I seemed more worried than Philip did.

As we jolted over the grass, I settled back against the warm leather of my seat, slotting the latest pieces of the jigsaw into place. Elmer Zimmerman, that bald, unprepossessing man, was buying some two million pounds' worth of masterpieces from Bryn, and shipping them, presumably, to the States. But how had Bryn got hold of them in the first place, and what of Carol Lawrence, whose baby it was?

There was nothing now to stop me going to the police – nothing but the thought of what would happen to Philip. And in that moment I acknowledged two things. The first was that even if he had the Crown Jewels hidden in Cefn Fawr, I could not lift a finger to stop him, if by so doing I placed him in any kind of danger. And the second, following on that, was that I myself was his greatest potential threat, since I was the forged link in the chain.

I knew then that whatever the consequences, I had to tell him the truth, today, before he went back to the hotel to find Carol Lawrence waiting.

‘Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and bad together.'

Shakespeare:
Antony and Cleopatra

PHILIP was not driving fast. The high hedges slipped gently past us on either side as the road began to rise again. I barely saw them; all my attention was centred on trying to find the best way to admit how I had deceived him.

With every minute my sick apprehension grew; it was entirely possible this new, hard Philip would report me to Bryn, and there was no knowing how he would react. On the other hand, Philip might think I'd deliberately made a fool of him, and exact his own revenge. For there was no denying that almost all I had learned had been directly from him.

Over and over I practised the opening words of my confession, but none of them seemed right. For I now realised that my thoughtless dabbling in what didn't concern me was directly responsible for bringing us both into real danger.

His voice interrupted me. “Keep your eyes open for a picnic spot.”

I moistened dry lips. “We must be out of sight of the road.”

“Still worrying about that car? It wasn't necessarily following us, you know, just going in the same direction.”

I was not reassured; at that moment the whole world seemed a threat.

When I didn't speak, he added, “He was making no attempt to keep out of sight, was he?”

“Nevertheless, he doubled back to the castle when he found he'd lost us.”

“Or simply missed the turning the first time.”

I shook my head. Philip hadn't believed me about Dick either, at first. “Look, there's a turning here. Let's try that.”

He made a sharp turn and we found ourselves amid the branches of a little copse. The track wound on out of sight, but a short way down on the left was a five-barred gate.

Philip pulled off the lane on to the grass edging it and stopped. Getting out of the car, I was relieved to see that a large, leafy bush screened us from anyone passing on the road.

Beyond the gate lay a field, sloping away a little to the south-west, enclosed on the two nearer sides by high hedges. Over to the right and now several miles distant, Cefn Fawr raised its grim fortress to the sky, a reminder that my explanations were overdue.

Philip handed me the packed lunches. “You take these while I get the cool-bag out of the boot – I put the drink cans in it. And I'll bring my mac to sit on; the grass will be wet after yesterday.”

I slipped the retaining wire off the gate and it swung open. The field was warm and sheltered and smelt of clover. We spread the mac in the right-angled corner nearest the gate and I unpacked the sandwiches and fruit, still worrying how I could tell what must be told.

Philip handed me a can of shandy and a plastic mug and gestured to the sandwiches. “Help yourself.”

My heart had started a series of low, thudding beats which I thought he must surely hear. “Not for the moment.”

“Aren't you hungry? I must say I am.” He took a sandwich and bit appreciatively into it. The time could no longer be delayed. Carefully I set down the shandy can. It had made my hand very cold.

“Philip, there's something I have to tell you.”

“Sounds serious. Can't it wait till after lunch?”

“No. If I don't tell you now, I'll never be able to. And Lord knows what would happen then.” My voice shook and he raised an eyebrow.

“All right, go ahead if you must.” He reached for another sandwich.

The sun was warm on my head and the stubbly grass patches felt knobbly under the macintosh. I pressed my hand down on them. My mouth was very dry.

“I'm afraid I lied to you – at least by implication. I'm not Goldilocks.”

I didn't look at him. Time stretched between us, measured by my heartbeats. Then he put down the sandwich he was holding. “What are you talking about?”

“I don't know Bryn – I've never seen him in my life – and until just now at the castle, I hadn't the remotest idea what all this was about.”

There was a brief, taut silence, then he said harshly, “Is this some kind of game, Clare?”

My nails bit into my palms. “No, honestly – you've got to believe me!”

“How
can
I believe you?” His voice was like a whiplash. “You know I'm Aladdin, don't you, and all about Sinbad and Beanstalk. Are you trying to tell me you're psychic or something?”

I shook my head hopelessly. “Please, Philip, just listen.”

Stumblingly I began to tell him what had happened, beginning with the missed turning on the M4 and my decision to look for the hotel where he'd stayed with Matthew. And all the time I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, distractedly tearing up handfuls of grass as I spoke. But I knew, as he sat immobile, listening, that his own eyes never left me. I could feel them burning into me, trying to determine if I was, after all, telling the truth.

When I'd finished, with the letter enclosing the plan of the castle being pushed under my door, there was a long silence. My heartbeats were drumming in my ears, pulsing in my temples. Above them, I could hear the carefree chirruping of a cricket in the long grass.

Then Philip said tonelessly, “My God!”

“I'm sorry,” I said through stiff lips.

“Sorry!” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Good God, Clare!” His voice deepened as the full implications began to strike him. “What possessed you to let yourself get embroiled?”

I said dully, “I told you, I didn't realise it was dangerous – not until I'd seen the plan and it was too late to draw back. I – I thought it was some kind of game.”

“Then how did you know about Bryn?”

“I didn't, until you told me. He'd signed himself ‘Jack'.”

Philip said without expression, “If they find out, they'll kill you.”

“I know,” I said, and shivered.

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because the real Goldilocks will be there when we get back.”

He stared at me frowningly. “How do you know?”

“There was a note in your room – before you arrived – saying she'd been delayed. I took it.” I stared fixedly at the gold disc that was the top of the shandy can.

“You bloody little fool!”

“I know, but there's no point in going into that now. What are you going to do?”

“What would
you
have done, if Aladdin had been someone else?”

“I'm not sure. I was planning to find out as much as I could, and then go to the police. At the time, though, I'd very little to go on.”

“And now that I've obligingly filled you in?” His voice was dangerous.

I said, “Somehow you'll have to trust me, Philip. I swear to you that if you – if you let me go, I won't contact the police.”

He said oddly, “If I let you go?”

I licked my lips. “I realise I've no claim on you, none whatever. But for Uncle's sake—”

I stopped and at last looked up at him. His face was pale beneath the tan, and there was an expression in his eyes that I couldn't begin to understand. He said violently, “
Clare
!” and then, a little shakily, “Do you honestly think—”

I waited, watching him anxiously, and he drew a deep breath. “How much exactly do you know? This is important.”

“Well, Jack is really this man called Bryn, who seems to be the organiser. Why all these code names, anyway?”

“Because, as I said, he's obsessed with secrecy and was afraid of information falling into the wrong hands.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Ironic, that.”

“You're Aladdin, of course,” I hurried on, “and one of them at the hotel is Sinbad.” I stopped, glanced at him and away again. “Then there's Goldilocks. You were right, by the way, it is Carol Lawrence.”

Philip drew in his breath sharply.

“You said it was her ‘baby', though I don't know why. Anyway, Bryn apparently hid these paintings in the castle after the fire, though
what
fire—”

I broke off. Very dimly, something was beginning to stir at the back of my memory.

“Go on,” Philip ordered.