A Grave Man (33 page)

‘Come on! Don’t be so gloomy. It may not happen,’ Edward ventured.

‘You know it will,’ she replied and, turning on her stomach, she swam back to the steps.

She signalled to Natalie for a cigarette and the two of them sat on the edge of the pool, their feet in the water. ‘Is it my imagination,’ she asked in a whisper, ‘or is Simon avoiding us?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Natalie replied thoughtfully. ‘He’s just waiting for the right moment to hear what you have to say.’

‘What will you do when war comes?’ Verity asked.

‘You think it must?’

‘Yes, I do.’

Natalie sighed. ‘Simon has promised to take me to England.’

‘Will you go?’

‘I think not. I shall take what comes here. This is where I belong. And, you know, for an actress there will always be . . .’

‘Protectors? Men?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Nazis even?’

‘I don’t expect you to approve, but yes. I know some Germans. They are not all . . .’

Verity stubbed out her cigarette in an onyx ashtray shaped like a dolphin. ‘I’m afraid they are, Natalie . . . or almost all of them,’ she corrected herself, remembering Adam.

She got up and went over to Edward who was towelling himself. ‘Natalie says Simon is waiting for the right moment to talk to us.’

‘I’m not looking forward to it, V. I have a weak hand. I must bluff and I never was that good at poker.’

In the end, the moment came when Edward least expected it. It was slightly embarrassing because it wasn’t clear whether they were invited to stay for dinner. The other guests started to drift away to dress and the Lewishohns went too, saying nothing one way or the other.

Verity was talking to Daisy Fellowes and Edward found himself standing next to Sir Simon. ‘I think we had better go,’ he said. ‘You will want to go and dress and we must not hold you up.’

‘Must you?’ he replied lazily.

Edward wondered if he was being insolent and the thought prompted him to say, ‘Before we go, can I give you a word of warning?’

‘A word of warning?’ Sir Simon raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes. You see the Foreign Office has evidence that the Castlewood Foundation has close links with the Nazi Party and that Himmler himself is taking an interest in your activities.’

‘Such nonsense!’ he responded with studied indifference.

‘It’s not nonsense. For one thing, you must give up this mad expedition you are planning to Tibet. It is just a front for the Nazis to pursue their perverted and ridiculous idea of – what do you call it? – racial hygiene. You explained it to me at Swifts Hill. I thought then that it was obscene but I put you down for an innocent dupe of clever villains. The more I have learnt about the Foundation the less I believe that.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Lord Edward. I am no one’s dupe.’

‘I believe you are funding operations at the Clinic carried out by Dominic Montillo which are similar to those being done by German doctors in their asylums and prison camps.’

Sir Simon seemed genuinely shocked. ‘That’s outrageous! Have you any proof? No, I thought not. I ought to sue you for slander and I will not hesitate to do so if you repeat these baseless allegations. The Castlewood Foundation is a reputable medical charity whose work is applauded on both sides of the Atlantic. I would be angry if your accusations were not so absurd.’

‘So you deny that any operations of this kind are being carried out at the Clinic which, I understand, you own?’

‘As it happens I do have an investment in Dominic’s Beauty Institute – though I don’t know what that has to do with you – but I do not own it. If I did, I would be proud to admit it. What operations are you accusing Dominic of carrying out? May I remind you that he is a much-admired surgeon and the work he does repairing ruined faces and physical deformities is out-standing. His patients worship him. He has just operated on Maggie Cardew and the repairs to her will transform her life for the better.’ Edward could think of nothing to say. ‘And further-more, though he would not like me to say it, Dominic is doing it for nothing – as a favour to me and to her brother and because he is a good man.’

Edward braced himself for one last attack. ‘So you categorically deny that any operations are carried out at the Clinic which would be illegal in England?’

‘Such as . . .?’ Sir Simon responded coldly.

‘Abortions, castrations, experiments on mentally or physically handicapped patients without their permission?’

‘These are wild allegations, Lord Edward. I can’t understand what has got into you. Now, I think you had better go.’

‘The Foreign Office is concerned about your activities. If it hears that you have involved the Duke of Windsor . . .’ Edward knew he was making himself ridiculous but decided he might as well finish what he had planned to say.

‘The Foreign Office! I don’t believe it, Lord Edward. I invited you to Swifts Hill as a gentleman and a friend of my friends. If you ever repeat any of these slurs against me and the Foundation, I repeat, I will not hesitate to sue.’

‘Very well. I have tried to warn you but I see it is pointless. One last question, Sir Simon. Have you seen anything of Graham Harvey here in Cannes?’

‘Of Graham?’ His surprise was genuine. ‘What on earth would Graham be doing in Cannes?’

‘Trying to kill you, I believe. You should keep a lookout for him. He has been collecting evidence against the Foundation and I am very much afraid that he may take the law into his own hands.’

‘Graham . . . attack me? After all I have done for him? Now, I really think you are mad, Lord Edward. Please go before I call the police.’

‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Edward said as they drove back to the hotel. ‘I have been an utter fool. I have shown all my cards and my opponent has laughed at them. I spoke before I had the evidence. That was fatal.’

‘No,’ said Verity kindly. ‘You gave him a warning for which he should be grateful. If he takes no heed of it, he only has himself to blame.’

‘Look here,’ Edward said after a minute or two. ‘I have just had a thought. What if Harvey is after Edmund Cardew and not Sir Simon?’

‘Why should he be after Cardew?’

‘Because I think Cardew killed Maud.’

Verity opened her mouth to protest but he cut in. ‘No, wait a minute – listen to this.’

14

Verity had never been to a casino before. It was capitalism at its worst in her view and her face displayed her disapproval as she and Edward stood, rather self-consciously, in the bar talking to George Forrester – the English bartender who knew everything that went on. The casino on La Croisette was one of the most famous in France. Built to impress, it was decorated in the Empire style with heavy curtains, mirrors, massive chandeliers and gilt chairs scattered about. There were private rooms for the very rich and privileged but from eleven in the morning tables of roulette and
chemin de fer
were always available for play in the magnificent main room. It did not really become crowded until after dinner – the casino boasted a first-class restaurant – and by eleven there was hardly room to breathe.

There was a preponderance of men. The women, although by no means disreputable, were not, Edward thought, what his sister-in-law, the Duchess, would consider ladies. Some of them, Verity was fascinated to see, wore special rings on their fingers in which they could lodge their cigarettes when they played a card or laid a chip on the green baize. Everyone smoked. The sweet scent of Turkish and Egyptian cigarettes and the heavier masculine aroma of Havana cigars lay over the gaming tables like a miasma. There were very few Americans but many Belgians – enriched by their ruthless exploitation of the mineral wealth of the Congo – and some English industrialists who had made fortunes during the war.

‘No, my lord, I have not seen Mr Cardew though he comes in most nights when he’s in Cannes. He was here yesterday and the evening before.’ Forrester looked at the clock above the bar. ‘It’s probably a bit early for him but I saw the Duke of Windsor come in. Why not try your luck at the tables while you are waiting? The young lady may bring you good fortune.’

Edward decided he would try to avoid bumping into the Duke. He had no business with him and there might be embarrassment. However, he thought he might as well risk a few francs. ‘After all,’ he said to Verity, ‘we don’t want to look like private detectives. If you come to a casino, it’s expected that you gamble.’

They were directed to the discreet
caisse
, where Edward exchanged fifty pounds for a pile of coloured gambling chips.

Reluctantly, Verity followed him to the
chemin de fer
table. There was an empty chair and she sat down, unaware that she was signalling that she wanted to play. The croupier slipped two cards out of the wooden ‘shoe’ and she turned to Edward to ask what she should do with them. ‘Look at them,’ he told her. Gingerly, she picked them up. ‘You need nine,’ he whispered, ‘and you‘ve got it!’

Twenty minutes later, having said
banco
whenever Edward told her to, she rose from the table three hundred pounds richer than when she sat down.

‘You have it. I don’t want them,’ she said, pushing the chips at Edward.

‘I’ll keep them for you. Now, the roulette table . . .?’

The green baize, the soft glow of the lights, the intent eyes watching the silver ball as it circled and circled before settling in a tiny slot on the wheel mesmerized her. There was something fascinating about the whole experience but she insisted she did not want to play.

‘Look at that old woman with the talons,’ she whispered.

Edward looked and saw a bejewelled harridan who could have been eighty staring vacantly at the roulette wheel.

‘I hate this,’ Verity said suddenly. ‘It’s . . . it’s wicked.’

‘Let’s slip away,’ Edward agreed. ‘I can’t see Cardew but I can see . . . damn!’

It was the Duke of Windsor and, to Edward’s surprise, when he saw him, the Duke came straight over with a group of friends, some of whom Edward had met before.

‘My dear,’ he said, addressing Verity, ‘you look ravishing. May I ask, that pendant – did Lord Edward give it you? Wallis would love it.’

Verity blushed and nodded. It crossed her mind that the Duke might be hinting that she should take it off there and then and give it to him to give her.

‘I think I am going to be lucky tonight, Fruity.’ He turned to his close friend Fruity Metcalfe. ‘May I ask a favour, Miss Browne . . . ?’ Verity was surprised he remembered her name. ‘Will you stand by me at the table and put your hand on my shoulder? I know it is asking a lot but . . .’

She was hardly able to nod her head. Here she was, a paid-up member of the Communist Party, helping the Duke of Windsor win at cards. It was absurd and grotesque but she did not want to make a scene.

The Duke seemed to have a great number of chips of various colours and sizes. ‘Where shall I put them – on the red or the black? Even or uneven?’ he asked, looking up at Verity.

‘Red,’ she found herself saying. The croupier swept the ball into its orbit and the thirty seconds during which it spun – creating, momentarily, a silver aurora – seemed to Verity to last an eternity. At last, the ball dropped into a slot bearing a red number.

‘Shall I leave it there?’ he said, pointing to the pile of chips, apparently entranced by his winnings.

Verity nodded approval and again the wheel spun and again the Duke won.

Edward and Fruity Metcalfe were standing discreetly behind her, Edward praying that she would not do anything silly like overturn the tables and declare herself outraged. As the Duke’s luck – or rather Verity’s – continued, a small crowd gathered about them. Finally, the Duke declared that he would stop while he was ahead and rose from his chair. He thrust several large denomination chips into the hole where tips for the croupiers were collected and, for a brief moment, Edward wondered if he might make the appalling mistake of trying to give Verity some of his winnings. He must, however, have seen something in her face because, gracefully, he kissed her hand and told her how much he had enjoyed her company.

As Edward turned away from the table, he saw Edmund Cardew and, a second later, Graham Harvey. Harvey, sweating badly in a dinner-jacket two sizes too big for him, stumbled across the room towards them. He had his hand in his jacket pocket. Cardew, who had not seen Harvey, walked towards Edward with a smile on his face. As though in a dream Edward saw Harvey draw a black snub-nosed gun from his pocket.

‘No!’ he cried, taking two steps towards Harvey and putting out his hand as though expecting him to hand over the gun.

There was a bang and then a shocked scream from a woman standing nearby. Edward felt as though he had received a terrific punch in the chest and he fell to the floor.

As soon as he had fired, Harvey dropped the gun and was immediately overpowered by those around him. He looked at Edward in amazement. ‘You?’ was all he said before he was taken away.

It had all happened so fast. The Duke had been standing behind Edward and – momentarily unaware of why he had fallen – started to go to his aid. Metcalfe, grasping the danger the Duke was in, tried to hustle him away. As the initial shock passed, the Duke seemed to understand what had happened.

Twisting free of Metcalfe’s grasp, he shouted, ‘For God’s sake, he tried to kill me,’ and then, seeing the blood staining Edward’s impeccably starched dickey, cried out in a shrill voice – almost a scream, ‘I am not leaving until they get a doctor. This man saved my life.’ Metcalfe once again took his arm and, still protesting, the Duke was led away.

Verity fell to her knees beside Edward, holding his head, shocked into silence.

Edward was still just conscious. ‘V, I . . . I think I have been shot.’ To his surprise, his voice was little more than a whisper.

Verity had not actually seen Harvey fire – her view was obstructed by the Duke and his friends – but she had heard the shot. At first, she thought the Duke had been assassinated but, seeing Edward lying on the floor, she understood immediately what had happened. She felt more frightened than at any time since she had left Spain. It was her worst nightmare – Edward would die and she would be truly alone. It was a moment of absolute clarity when she recognized that he was the only person in the world she really loved and trusted. Even her father, whom she adored, could not be more to her than this man dying in front of her.