Take No Farewell - Retail (58 page)

‘What could Angela possibly have learned about Victor Caswell?’

‘I don’t know. They’ve been under the same roof for several days. Perhaps Victor let something slip. Perhaps Turnbull did.’

‘Even so, it seems out of character for Angela to contact you in this way. Why didn’t she simply telephone?’

‘Presumably for fear that she’d be overheard. For the same reason, I can hardly telephone her and ask, can I?’

‘You must go, Geoff. I do see that. I’m only trying to warn you. Be careful.’

‘Caution won’t help Consuela.’

‘Nor will impetuosity. Do you really think Spencer met you in that pub by chance?’

‘It was a plausible route to Paddington station. What else am I supposed to think? That he followed me there? Why should he have done, for God’s sake?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just … Suddenly, events are running out
of
control. Why is everybody so eager for you to visit Cap Ferrat?’

‘The question is, Imry, will you act for me in my absence? I’ll go anyway. I have to. But my conscience would be easier if I could still keep my promise to Consuela. That’s why I’ve come to you.’

‘You want me to meet her brother and his wife in Liverpool and escort them to Hereford?’

I smiled. ‘Who else can I ask?’

Imry smiled back. ‘I’d be offended if you did ask somebody else. I’ll go, of course.’

‘Stay at the North Western. I’ll call you there before you leave for Hereford on Tuesday.’

‘Very well.’ He sighed. ‘This is the slimmest of chances, Geoff. You do realize that, don’t you?’

‘Would you rather I didn’t try? Would you rather I just sat back and waited for Thursday morning to come?’

‘Of course not. You must go. You have no choice. I only hope you don’t regret it.’

‘I won’t. Succeed or fail, I won’t regret anything this journey brings.’

Chapter Twenty-One

THE BOAT-TRAIN CONNECTING
with the Calais-Mediterranean Express left Victoria at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning. Twenty-four hours later, I was in Nice. The air on the Cote d’Azur was clear and cool, radiant with the promise of spring. But the cares and pledges of a London winter were all that filled my heart.

From Nice I took a local train to Beaulieu, where I booked into the Hotel des Anglais next to the station. There I forced myself to take lunch and a bath before setting out for Cap Ferrat. I needed to be calm and orderly, confident about what I was doing and why. This was no time to lose either my nerve or my temper. Though every action was charged with urgency, I could not afford to hurry. Yet if I delayed too long …

The Villa d’Abricot was scented and somnolent when I reached it late that afternoon. I walked slowly up the drive, recalling my previous visit, when Rodrigo had come charging from the house as I arrived. My first sight of him had since been followed by my last. He now lay in an unmarked grave in Hereford while his sister languished in a London gaol and the man who had killed him idled his days away here with his lover, his friend and
my
wife.

I pulled the bell, reminding myself once more of the different tactics I had prepared for every possible form my reception might take. During the long train journey from
England,
I had thought of nothing but how best to exploit what Imry had accurately called ‘
this slimmest of chances
’
.

The door was opened by Turnbull’s Italian manservant. He was clearly surprised to see me, unsettled by such a breach in the predictable pattern of his day. ‘
Signor
Staddon! I did not … I was not told to expect you.’

‘Hello, Enrico. Is my wife here?’

‘Your wife? Yes. That is, no.’ He flushed. ‘She is out,
signor
. They are all out. The Major,
Signor
Caswell,
Signor
and
Signora
Thornton,
Signorina
Roebuck and … and
Signora
Staddon is with them.’

‘An afternoon at the casino, is it?’

‘I … I do not know. It is not … Do you wish to wait for them?’

‘Yes. I rather think I do.’

‘Come in then,
signor
, come in.’ I followed him into the hall. As we moved towards the morning-room, an idea came into my head. Turnbull and his guests were all absent. There might be no better time for a confidential word with the valet of one of those guests.

‘Is Gleasure here, Enrico?’

‘Gleasure?’ Enrico’s expression suggested he had no liking for the man. ‘
Si, signor
. He is here.’

‘I’d like to see him, if I may.’

‘Then … I send for him.’ He gaped at me in amazement. ‘If you are sure it is him you want to see.’

‘I’m sure.’

With a shrug of the shoulders, Enrico took himself off, leaving me to pace the morning-room and rehearse the various ways in which I could seek to penetrate Gleasure’s defences. I knew him to be cautious and deferential, loyal to his employer and jealous of his station in life. I suspected his loyalty had a price, however, and I could not help wondering how he viewed the prospect of becoming Imogen Roebuck’s servant as well as Victor’s. It was no good appealing to his conscience, but dented pride and an eye to the future might yet mean he could be persuaded to speak out.

I had been alone no more than a couple of minutes when the door opened and Enrico was back. ‘
Mi scusi, signor
. Gleasure is … He is not able to come at once.’ I frowned. This sounded like a deliberate slight and did not augur well. ‘He will be with you in ten minutes. I am sorry, but …’ There was another eloquent shrug.

‘Very well. I’ll wait here … for ten minutes.’

‘
Si, signor
.’

The door closed and I was alone again. Whatever Gleasure thought this delay might achieve, it was imperative that I should not allow it to undermine what little confidence I had. To calm my nerves, I lit a cigarette and wandered round the room, admiring again the opulence of Turnbull’s furnishings. Silk and satin were all about me, enriching the pastel shades of carpets and curtains. Every hem was extravagantly fringed, every tassel richly worked. One small console-table displayed marquetry of gorgeous subtlety. Another supported a scaled-down gold replica of the statue in the conservatory. And between them, on the wall, hung a large oil painting depicting one of Turnbull’s favourite subjects: frolicking nudes in a mythical landscape. His taste was not mine, but his taste was unquestionably expensive. My mind wandered to the money in Victor’s safe, the robbery at Peto’s Paper Mill and Malahide’s death only a few days after identifying the fourth member of that long-ago conspiracy. Had some of the money been spent here, I wondered, on the comforts Major Turnbull was determined to enjoy?

I had finished the cigarette, and begun another, gazing from the window into the garden as I smoked it, when the door opened and Gleasure entered the room. He smiled warily.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.’

‘No matter. How are you, Gleasure?’

‘Well, thank you, sir. And somewhat surprised, I won’t deny, to see you here.’

‘Because of my wife’s presence as a guest – or whatever she is – of Major Turnbull, you mean?’

‘I merely meant that, in all the circumstances, I did not expect you to visit us.’

‘In all the circumstances? That’s a coy way of putting it. But then I suppose a valet has to be something of a diplomat where his employer’s way of life is concerned.’

‘As you say, sir.’

‘You must see and hear many things which
diplomacy
obliges you to forget.’

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then said: ‘What exactly did you want to discuss with me, sir?’

It was now, my instincts told me, or never. Further prevarication would achieve nothing. ‘I’m here, Gleasure, because I’m trying to save the life of an innocent woman. And I think you can help me.’

‘Me, sir? I really don’t—’

‘I’m talking about Mrs Caswell. Mrs Consuela Caswell. I take it you’re aware she’s due to hang on Thursday?’

‘Yes, sir.’ His face betrayed not the slightest reaction. ‘I’m aware of it.’

‘At her trial, you testified that you did not take any telephone calls for Victor on the afternoon of the poisoning.’

‘I believe I did, sir, yes.’

‘That wasn’t true, was it?’

‘Are you accusing me of perjury?’

I stubbed out my cigarette and moved towards him. ‘I’m giving you a chance to re-consider what you said in view of the appalling consequences of allowing a … misunderstanding … to go uncorrected.’

‘I’m not at all sure I take your meaning, sir.’

‘I think you do. Spencer’s told me exactly what you told him: that Grenville Peto telephoned Victor at least half an hour before Rosemary and her mother arrived and that Victor therefore knew they were on their way.’

‘Ah.’ Gleasure frowned thoughtfully. ‘He’s told you that, has he, sir? Not a gentleman to confide in, young master Spencer, I fear.’

‘Why did you, then?’

‘Drink, sir.’ He grinned. ‘In my cups, I’m not always as
diplomatic
as I should be.’

‘So, you admit it’s true? You took a call from Peto that afternoon?’

‘Oh, I admit nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I have my position to consider.’

‘Your
position
? You’re willing to let Consuela hang just so you can keep your job? For God’s sake, man, this is more important than your monthly salary!’

‘I’m not sure anything can be, sir. To a gentleman like yourself, who’s never had to wonder where the next crust’s coming from, a conscience probably seems indispensable. To me it’s a luxury. One I’ve never been able to afford.’

‘So, it all comes down to money, does it?’

‘Life generally does, in my experience.’

‘Very well. How much do you want?’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘Are you offering me a bribe?’

‘How much does Victor pay you? Seventy pounds a year? Eighty? Ninety? No more than a hundred, I’ll be bound.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll pay you five hundred if you go to the authorities and make a sworn statement leading to Consuela’s reprieve.’

‘Really, sir? You’d pay as much as that?’

‘I doubt you’ll relish staying on after Victor marries Miss Roebuck. Watching a former servant enjoy the comfort and social status of a rich man’s wife could be a galling experience for somebody who values money as highly as you do.’

He nodded. ‘There you may have a point, sir. But not a sufficiently persuasive one for me to risk being charged with perjury. Five hundred pounds would be poor compensation for serving a term in prison.’

‘It would never come to that. Plead duress. Say Victor threatened to sack you if you spoke out. I assume that’s the truth anyway. I’ll back you up. The odds are that no charge will ever be brought.’

‘I’m not a betting man, sir. Odds don’t appeal to me.’

‘Then perhaps something else will.’ I fixed his eyes with
mine.
‘You spun a tale to Mrs Caswell’s brother at Victor’s bidding, didn’t you? You laid the bait that led him to his death.’

‘I never—’

‘Thought it would come to that? Maybe you didn’t. But it did. And now her other brother is on his way to England. You met Rodrigo. You know what he was like. Well, Francisco’s no different, take my word for it. He’ll want revenge. If I tell him how you deceived Rodrigo, what do you think he’ll do?’

There was a fractional loss of confidence in Gleasure’s voice when he replied. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Only with the consequences of your own actions.’

‘If I
do
make a statement confirming Mr Peto telephoned that afternoon …’

‘Francisco will be none the wiser.’

‘And you’ll pay me five hundred pounds?’

‘If Consuela is reprieved, yes. Not otherwise.’

He thought for a moment, then said: ‘How could I be sure you’d honour such a bargain?’

‘I’d deposit the money with a solicitor of your choice, to be released as soon as my condition was fulfilled.’

‘Aha. Well, that would be good enough, certainly.’

‘What’s your answer?’

‘My answer? Well, I’d need to think about it. It’s not a simple matter, is it?’

‘It seems simple to me.’

‘Yes, but that’s because—’ Suddenly, he jerked his head round and held up a hand, straining, it seemed to hear something.

‘What is it?’

‘Major Turnbull’s Lanchester, coming up the drive.’ As I listened, the distant note of a car engine did indeed reach my ears, though far sooner than it would have done if I had not been warned. ‘They’re back earlier than expected. I don’t think we should be found together, do you, sir? Not in all the circumstances.’

‘I still haven’t had your answer.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Hotel des Anglais in Beaulieu.’

‘I know it. I could see you there tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. I’ll have reached a decision by then.’

‘Time’s of the essence, Gleasure. I can’t afford to wait.’

‘You’ve left me little room for manoeuvre, sir. But I do have to make certain … dispositions. Give me until tomorrow morning. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.’

‘It still means—’

‘They’ll be with us any minute. It’d be best if I met them in the hall.’

I stared at him a second longer, then conceded. ‘Very well. Tomorrow at ten.’

‘I’ll be there, sir, never fear. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’

He bustled out, leaving the door open. I had, I knew, only a few minutes of leisure in which to consider whether he would be as good as his word and how, in the interim, I should deal with his master. Once I had discovered what Angela wanted to tell me, Gleasure’s evidence might become redundant, but I could not assume it would. So far, my plans were working well. But there was a long way to go.

I heard the front door open. Enrico’s greeting was drowned by a gush of competing voices in which Celia’s whine and Victor’s growl were uppermost. Then Turnbull’s booming tone swamped them all. It was followed by a pause. Gleasure must have spoken during this, because Turnbull suddenly bellowed my name in what sounded more like derision than anger. Then Angela cut in, though I could not hear what she said. Victor muttered something in response. The next thing I knew, footsteps were approaching the morning-room door.