‘You haven’t told Ashley about this?’
‘No. And I’d prefer not to.’
‘You could have Mellish deal with it.’
‘He acts for the estate rather than me, George. I suspect he would feel bound to inform Ashley of any potential liability.’
‘I notice Arnavon doesn’t say how much he paid.’
‘No. He doesn’t, does he? Within reason, I could recompense him from my own resources, thus resolving the matter without the need for anyone else to become involved. But it would have to be within reason. What I need is someone reliable to travel to Paris on my behalf, to verify what Mr Arnavon has said and to negotiate a private agreement with him if at all possible.’
George puffed at his cigar and grinned at her. ‘You mean me?’
‘I wouldn’t want to interfere with your work, of course.’
‘Ha!’ George laughed. ‘I shouldn’t worry about that. No one’s likely to begrudge me a spot of leave. They’d probably be grateful not to see me slumped behind a desk for a while. And it’d be no hardship to spend a few days in Paris.’
‘Please don’t antagonize Mr Arnavon, George. Or Monsieur Soutine, in the event that you locate him. I’d like this settled quickly and quietly.’
‘Don’t worry, Win.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘I’ll be on my very best behaviour.’
‘I know you will.’ She reached out her hand and waggled his left ear lobe affectionately. ‘Thank you, George. Thank you so much.’
‘I could ask after James while I’m there,’ George said as they ambled back towards the house. ‘I’m sure you’d like some news of him.’
‘Don’t ask too pointedly, please. James must be allowed to do what he feels he needs to do. I think of him often, of course. Far oftener than Ashley and Lydia suppose. I worry about him. But there’s nothing I can do to help him.’
‘He’s always been a strong-willed boy.’
‘Yes.’ Winifred smiled wistfully. ‘I rather admire that in him.’
‘That NCO he was planning to start the flying school with might know something.’
‘Mr Twentyman. Yes. James trusts him.’
‘I’ll have a quiet word with him.’
‘I’d like to know that James is safe and well, that’s all.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ George frowned as he puffed at his cigar, as if considering the scale of the task ahead of him. ‘There’s no danger I’ll bump into Brigham in Paris, is there?’
‘None. He’s been granted extended recuperative leave by the Foreign Office. I believe he’s spending it at his villa in Cannes.’
‘He’ll invite you down there if you give him the slightest encouragement.’
‘I won’t be encouraging him, George, however slightly. That door is closed.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘The Secret Service man James and Ashley have both spoken of. Mr Appleby. It might be best to avoid him if at all possible.’
‘He’ll have no interest in me, Win. I’ll just be doing what I’m supposed to do at work: a little quiet brokering.’ George laid a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. ‘Leave it to me.’
SAM TWENTYMAN ASSUMED
when he took the job of chief mechanic for the fleet of cars servicing the British Empire Delegation to the Paris Peace Conference that conferring would be suspended on Sundays and peace would therefore reign in the cavernous garage of the Hotel Majestic at least one day a week.
But Sundays, he discovered, though quiet by comparison with Monday to Saturday, were not wholly lacking in demands for transport, although those demands were so unpredictable that the drivers and mechanics on duty were usually either too few or too many.
The latter was the case this Sunday, with the consequence that a couple of drivers’ card schools were in session, the players seated on spare crates and boxes. The mechanics were whistling and joking while they checked and retuned some of the engines. And Sam was in his cubby-hole office, sipping treacle-sweetened tea to aid his concentration as he sought to bring order to the chaos of his predecessor’s paperwork.
Quite how the small, smiling, morning-suited oriental reached the threshold of his office without anyone noticing him Sam could not afterwards have said, nor how long he was there before coughing delicately to signal his presence. But so it was and so he did.
Sam started with surprise, spilling his tea and cursing as some of it spattered across the garage ledger. ‘Blimey O’Reilly, where did you spring from?’
‘So sorry.’ The man bowed, wringing his hands apologetically as he did so. He gazed at Sam through large, round, steel-framed spectacles and went on, smiling, ‘You are Mr Twentyman?’
‘Yeah. That’s me. Sam Twentyman.’
‘My name is Yamanaka. I am with the Japanese delegation.’
‘Really? Well, what can I do for you, Mr Yamanaka?’
‘I assist Commissioner Kuroda. You have heard of him?’
‘Er, yes.’ Sam had never met Commissioner Masataka Kuroda, security officer to the Japanese delegation, but knew, because Max had told him, that he was a friend of Sir Henry Maxted. Kuroda had given Max invaluable information about the Japanese government’s dealings with Fritz Lemmer and the importance of the so-called Chinese box, a cache of documents stolen from the Chinese delegation on its way to the conference.
‘He wishes to speak with you, Mr Twentyman.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Only he can tell you. He is waiting for you outside. Will you come?’
‘Well, I’m not—’
‘It has to be now, Mr Twentyman.’ The smile was still in place. But Yamanaka’s tone was earnest. ‘Delay is not possible.’
Before leaving Paris, Max had asked Sam, as his most trusted friend – in fact, his only trusted friend – to deal with anything affecting his interests that occurred in his absence. He had not been able to say what might arise. But he had upset a lot of people during his time there. And not all of the consequences of that had necessarily worked themselves out.
‘Chances are nothing will happen, Sam. But I know I can rely on you to do your best for me.’
‘That you can, sir.’
‘Don’t take any risks on my account, though. I’m not worth it.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
A gleaming limousine was parked in the mews. Yamanaka opened a rear door for Sam to climb in, where Kuroda was waiting – a tall, thin, ascetically gaunt old man, morning-suited like his assistant, though there the resemblance ended. Sam had difficulty imagining such an obviously serious man ever actually smiling.
‘Mr Twentyman,’ Kuroda said, his voice soft and precise. ‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me.’
‘Pleasure, I’m sure, sir.’
‘Let us hope so.’ A closed glass panel sealed them off from Yamanaka and the driver. Kuroda tapped on it with the handle of a tightly furled umbrella. The car started away.
‘Where are we going?’ Sam asked, faintly alarmed.
‘I am going home, to Japan. My journey begins at the Gare de Lyon. We travel there together. Then you will be free to return here, while I board a train for Marseilles.’
‘You’re going home, in the middle of the conference?’
‘I have no choice. I have been summoned. To answer certain . . . accusations.’
‘Sorry to hear that, sir.’
‘The accusations are groundless. I will be exonerated. That is certain. Unhappily, that is not the point.’
‘No?’
‘You are Max’s friend, Mr Twentyman.’ His eyes were sorrowful and far-seeing. ‘He spoke of you. And my enquiries confirm what he said.’
‘They do?’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And even if you did, you would not tell me.’
‘Well, I—’
‘Please, please.’ Kuroda dismissed the matter with a wave of the hand. ‘It is so. And it is rightly so. We are both friends of Max. And he is a friend of us both. Listen to me carefully, Mr Twentyman. I must speak to you of secret things. If it became known to my superiors that I had spoken of them to such a person as you, then I would face accusations I could not answer. But my removal from Paris forces me to confide in you. Will you respect my confidence?’
Sam swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. You may trust Yamanaka, but no one else. You understand?’
‘I’m not at all sure I do, sir, no.’
‘No. But you will. There has been a change in the balance of power within my nation’s government since the delegation left Tokyo late last year. The Emperor is ill. The court is divided. To remain in office, Prime Minister Hara has had to agree to send Count Tomura to serve as joint deputy of the delegation under Marquess Saionji. He arrived last week. His son is a junior member of the delegation and has caused much trouble. Now his behaviour will go unpunished. Count Tomura represents a political faction that believes the military should control all aspects of government. He is an enemy to my lord Saionji. And me, of course. He is behind my summons to Tokyo.
‘I am fearful of what Count Tomura plans to do. Officially, his purpose is to stiffen the delegation’s resistance to pressure from the United States to make concessions to China over Shantung. You have read about this, perhaps?’
Sam shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
Kuroda raised a single eyebrow to signal his disappointment at Sam’s failure to follow the news of Sino–Japanese relations and cast a weary glance out at the Seine as they travelled along the Cours la Reine. The French Foreign Ministry building on the Quai d’Orsay, where, as Sam knew, the business of the conference was painstakingly pursued amid the unrolling of maps and the tabling of demands, appeared ahead of them on the other side of the river.
‘The Shantung peninsula was wrested from Chinese control by Germany in 1897. The Japanese army expelled German forces in 1915 and have occupied Shantung since then. Japan’s present policy is to insist the occupation continue. The Chinese are naturally opposed to this, as is the United States. Marquess Saionji is suspected by some of sympathizing with the case for restoring Shantung to the Chinese. Count Tomura is here to ensure he does not yield on the issue.’
‘Very interesting, sir,’ said Sam, feeling he should say something.
‘But you do not know Shantung from Southend.’ Kuroda surprised Sam by smiling thinly at him.
‘You’ve, er, heard of Southend, have you, sir?’
‘I have been there, Mr Twentyman. I strolled along the promenade with a young lady in Southend long ago, when I was also young.’
‘Blimey.’
‘It is true. And what I am about to tell you is also true. Count Tomura is set upon more than Japanese retention of Shantung. He has a greater, darker objective. I do not know what it is. He has arranged for me to be recalled to Tokyo to prevent me finding out. I will speak now of matters I believe you will be aware of because Max has told you of them. Never admit your awareness of these things to anyone else except Yamanaka. To do so would put his life as well as yours at risk.
‘The faction Count Tomura represents was responsible for hiring Tarn to find and kill Lemmer. Thanks to Max, he failed. That failure has led to a change of policy. I believe the faction now hopes to neutralize the threat Lemmer poses as a result of his acquisition of the Chinese box by coming to terms with him rather than eliminating him. How that is to be achieved I do not know. Why they should wish to enter into an alliance with him I also do not know, though I may learn the answer to that question in Tokyo.
‘There is a fly in the ointment, however: someone who knows too much about Tarn and Lemmer and Count Tomura’s fellow travellers to be allowed to live. I sense Count Tomura is particularly concerned about him, perhaps for personal reasons. I speak of le Singe. There is a belief that he entered our delegation’s hotel, as well as Marquess Saionji’s residence, without being detected, perhaps more than once, and stole – or memorized the contents of – various secret documents. Since his arrival Count Tomura has taken large collections of such documents into his keeping, ostensibly to safeguard them. But he is a tiger who roars so that none will challenge him and discover he is lame. There is a secret touching him, buried deep within all the other secrets. I believe Sir Henry Maxted may have learnt what it is. And I believe he may have learnt it from le Singe.
‘If I am correct, le Singe is a threat to Lemmer as well as Count Tomura. He has nowhere to turn for protection. But his wits and his wiles will serve him well. He will not be easy to find. Count Tomura will therefore seek out those he suspects of knowing le Singe. Max is one. But Max has disappeared. So, where will he turn? Who is there close to Max who might also be able to locate le Singe?’ Kuroda looked at Sam searchingly.
‘You mean—’
‘Exactly. You, Mr Twentyman.’
‘Oh, my giddy aunt.’
‘Quite so.’
Sam clapped a hand to his mouth in dismay. ‘You’re sure about this, sir?’
‘Sure enough to give you this warning. I believe they will come for you eventually.’
‘But . . . I don’t know where le Singe is.’
‘They will not believe you. Nor will they believe you do not know whatever they suspect le Singe knows.’
‘You’re saying they’ll kill me, aren’t you?’
‘I am sorry to say they will, if it seems to them to serve their purpose.’
‘What can I do?’
‘You have a little time, Mr Twentyman. I do not think they know yet who you are. And I sense Count Tomura is proceeding at a cautious pace. Other issues will determine how fast he can move. I suspect he wishes to settle the Shantung issue before proceeding with his other objectives, whatever they may be. But they will include le Singe. That is certain. And therefore, sooner or later . . .’
‘They’ll include me.’
Kuroda nodded solemnly. ‘Yes.’
‘Bloody hellfire.’
‘As to what you can do, only two courses of action commend themselves. The first is flight.’
‘Run and hide, you mean?’
‘But hiding, I sense, is not your forte. Nor probably your inclination.’
‘What’s the second course of action?’
‘Find le Singe before Count Tomura finds you. Learn the secret that will bring him down. And then . . .’
Sam gulped. ‘Bring him down.’
‘Yamanaka will help you if he can. There is a laundry in Rue Frédéric-Sauton – la Blanchisserie Orita – where you can leave messages for him and he for you. The owner is a cousin of his and can be trusted. You have that?’