The Quality of Mercy (25 page)

‘Not the case, I assure you,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s very useful for the Party to have Comrades who can mix well in all areas of our corrupt society.’ He smiled to show he was half-joking. ‘We have Comrades in every department of government both here and in the United States. In the art world, movies . . . wherever opinions are formed and there are people with the power to change things. The danger is . . .’

‘That we get to like the capitalist world too much . . . ?’

‘Even that doesn’t matter if we are prepared to obey orders – even if we don’t like them or understand them.’

‘And I don’t take orders?’

‘The Party has not asked anything difficult of you yet, so Mr Coombs tells me, but there will come a time when you have to choose . . .’

‘Mr Rose,’ Verity said, her feathers ruffled, ‘I don’t know who you really are and I certainly don’t intend to take orders from you.’

‘Not orders – advice.’

‘I don’t intend to take your advice either. I make up my own mind and what I witnessed in Spain has led me to doubt whether the Party is the same one I joined in 1934. I rather think it is now merely an arm of the Soviet Union.’

‘The Soviet Union is the Communist Party militant and Stalin is its spirit.’

‘That must have been how the Jesuits spoke of their Church in Queen Elizabeth’s time.’

‘We are crusaders of a kind.’

‘Not in my book.’

‘Then you may expect an uncomfortable time ahead,’ Rose said, raising his hat.

‘Before you go,’ Verity said, taking Basil’s lead from his hand, ‘can I ask a question?’

‘As many as you like,’ he said courteously.

‘Did you kill Georg Dreiser?’

‘Dreiser?’ He seemed genuinely surprised by the question. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know why. Perhaps he asked you to sell his Dürer drawing. Did you think, Why share the money with a Jewish refugee? No one knows he has it so I’ll kill him and steal it.’

He looked shocked. ‘Miss Browne, those are very harsh words. Is that really how you see me? No, I did not steal it and I certainly did not kill him.’

‘But he did show you the drawing at the stables – during the polo?’

‘He did and I had to tell him it was a fake – a valuable fake – nineteenth-century probably but not worth anything like what he thought.’

‘So you gave it back to him and left?’

‘I did. I left him alive.’

‘So where is the Dürer now?’

‘I have no idea. It would be tragic if it has disappeared for good.’

‘Even if it’s a fake?’

‘A nineteenth-century fake might still have things to teach us and if it was copied from Dürer’s sketchbook – now lost to us – it would be invaluable.’

Verity looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘That it would be invaluable?’

‘That you did not steal it.’

‘That is your privilege, Miss Browne, but I should tell you that – if I hear you make any such accusation against me in public – I shall not hesitate to sue. I have the beginnings of a reputation in the art world on both sides of the Atlantic and it would not be good for me if your wild allegations got around. I hope you understand me.’

Her heart pounding, Verity let Basil pull her away. ‘And I should get that dog trained,’ he shouted after her, ‘before it kills someone.’

11

Joan had managed to slip away from the hotel while Mandl was at the German Embassy. She said he was in an evil temper. Having – predictably – failed to sell his new gun to the Royal Navy, he had proceeded to insult Mountbatten, accusing him of wasting his time. Now, he was in bad odour with the Embassy for attempting to do business with an unfriendly power. Goering had asked to see him as soon as he returned to Berlin and Mandl knew he would have to buy his way out of trouble by presenting the great man with some very expensive gifts. Altogether it was the worst possible outcome from what he – somewhat naively – had considered a perfectly normal sales trip.

‘Mandl’s going straight to Berlin so I will have two days – perhaps more – before the gate closes on me.’ Joan had finally decided to leave him and go to America but first she had to get her child out of Vienna.

They discussed the plan Edward had suggested. It was dangerous but the past weeks in England had allowed her to look at her life dispassionately.

‘If I stay with Mandl, he will lead me a life of misery. He will prostitute me to ingratiate himself with powerful Party officials until I start to lose my looks and then he will beat me. I shall be allowed to make a few second-rate propaganda films and then I will disappear. I’m still young with a career ahead of me if only I can get to California. You will help, Edward?’

‘I shall do my best, Joan, but it is a very great risk – for you, I mean.’

‘And for you. This may damage you if you get a reputation for being a reckless adventurer.’

Edward blanched. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said bravely. ‘Just do what we have agreed.’

‘I will and . . . and thank you,’ she said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You are a good man. In two or three years you will come to Hollywood as my guest.’

‘I hope so,’ he smiled. ‘By the way, it doesn’t look as though I am going to get an opportunity to ask Mandl if he killed Georg. Do you think he did?’

‘Poor Georg,’ Joan said, her face clouding. ‘He was such a gallant young man and so intelligent. You know why I found him so attractive?’

‘Because he loved you?’ Edward hazarded.

‘You are right,’ she said, surprised at his acuity. ‘Of all the men who lusted after me, he was the only one who loved me for myself. Every night he came to the theatre and how could I resist him . . .? We both knew we had no future together. He was poor. I was poorer. I needed a rich protector – or at least I thought I did.’

‘Did Mandl kill him?’ Edward repeated.

‘Out of jealousy? I don’t think so. Georg was of no account to Mandl. Why would he risk an important arms deal by killing a Jewish refugee who was no threat to him?’

‘He’s possessive. You said so yourself.’

‘He is. I am not saying he could not commit murder. He probably already has for all I know. But I don’t think he ever knew Georg and I had been lovers and even if he guessed it . . . well, it was some time ago.’

‘And you didn’t see Georg at Broadlands? You didn’t have a rendezvous?’

She was silent. ‘Because of all you are doing for me, I owe you the truth. We did see each other briefly and he asked me to meet him at the stables during the polo.’

‘And did you go?’

‘I went and . . .’

‘And . . .?’

‘And we talked.’

‘That was all? You just talked?’

‘We kissed.’

‘You made love?’

‘No! Of course not! Anyway, we were interrupted.’

‘Someone came? Who was it?’ Edward asked excitedly.

‘I did not see.’

He sank back in disappointment. ‘You did not see?’

‘I ran away. I thought it might be my husband. But I smelt him! He was smoking a Camel. Not Mandl’s brand.’

‘How do you know it was a Camel?’

I know because I smoke them myself when I can get them.’

‘I thought you smoke Sobranies?’

‘For the effect,’ she said, smiling and looking for a moment like a young girl. ‘When I try to believe I am Greta Garbo.’ She giggled. ‘Now I must go. Goodbye, dear Edward.’

As she stood up, a sudden gust of wind made her reach to secure her hat. On an impulse, he pulled her towards him and kissed her on the lips. Still clutching her hat, she responded. Then, gently pushing him away, she laughed and said, ‘Really, Edward, I did not think you could be so . . . so dashing –
romantisch
. What would your little girl say?’

Edward felt a pang of guilt. ‘It is bad of you to tease me,’ he managed. ‘It was just a kiss, nothing more.’

‘I hope it was something more,’ she said, ‘but take care. Those people over there are looking at us. The English are so easily shocked.’

‘They are jealous. But you must go. We shall meet in a week’s time.’

‘God willing,’ Joan said, suddenly serious.

He raised his hat and watched her walk away from him – well aware that his eyes would be following her. She was, he thought ruefully, a beautiful woman and he did not regret his kiss but it was – how had she put it – ‘his little girl’ whom he loved. How Verity would hate that description!

‘Lord Louis told you that I wanted to ask a few questions about the death of my friend, Georg Dreiser?’

Edward had found the grooms mucking out the stables at Broadlands. They seemed happy to take a break from their work. He and Verity, with Basil in tow, were back at Mersham determined to finish the investigation.

‘Yes, my lord. I hopes as you don’t think we had anything to do with it. The police . . .’

‘No, please don’t misunderstand . . . I am merely trying to get it all straight in my head. His parents . . . you know,’ he said duplicitously, ‘they want to know what happened. Quite natural. You can imagine how they feel. They thought their son was safe in England and then this. The irony is that he didn’t even like horses. He was afraid of them.’

‘Then why was he here, my lord, at the stables?’

‘Well, there’s the question, Jim. We think he must have been meeting someone. You didn’t see anyone hanging around . . . any of Lord Louis’ guests, for instance?’

‘Not then, my lord.’ It was the older man, Alfred Johnson, who spoke. ‘We was at the polo with the ponies. It were only when we heard the young lady screaming and the dog barking that we came runnin’.’

‘But when you came to telephone for an ambulance and fetch the stretcher, you said you didn’t hear anything?’

‘No, sir, we was too far off, like, and in too much of a hurry,’ Jim answered.

‘And the rain was fair drummin‘ on the corrugated iron,’ Johnson chipped in.

‘But you had seen someone hanging around the stables before that?’

‘Not hangin’ around as you might say,’ Jim corrected him. ‘Lord Louis likes to take his guests on a tour of the stables to look at the ’orses.’

‘Was that on the morning of the polo match?’

‘No, sir. The day before.’

‘I see. Lord Louis took all his guests to see the ponies?’

‘Not all. Some ladies don’t like it.’

‘But the German lady, the film star . . .?’ Edward trusted Joan would not mind being called German.

‘Aye, she were there. She were a looker, eh, Alf? I’m sorry, my lord.’ Jim checked himself.

Edward grinned to show he wasn’t a prude. ‘So – forgive me for asking this – no one asked you to . . . to do anything? I mean, I know you wouldn’t . . .’ He stopped, seeing their faces.

‘Lord Louis’ a very generous master and we’d never do anything unless he ordered us to,’ Johnson said disapprovingly.

‘No, of course not . . . of course not.’ Edward, seeing the suspicion in their eyes, realized he had been clumsy.

‘Like, we wouldn’t be talking to you if the guv’nor hadn’t said to,’ Johnson continued, almost insolently.

Edward was being told, firmly enough, that if any tricks had been played that day, they knew nothing about the perpetrator.

‘When exactly did Button go lame?’ He felt the grooms relax.

‘Not until the morning of the polo match. He were all right the night before.’

‘What caused it?’

‘Who knows, my lord?’ Johnson said. ‘He may have knocked his leg . . . No obvious cause, but it does happen.’

‘No one could have done it on purpose . . . lamed him, I mean?’

Johnson shook his head. ‘No, there was no cut or anything – no mark. Why should they? He ain’t a racehorse.’

Edward thought for a moment and tried again. ‘Were you surprised that Button lashed out at poor Mr Dreiser?’ He was certain the grooms had something to tell him but he couldn’t seem to find the right question.

Johnson scratched at an armpit. ‘He is a stallion . . .’

‘That’s quite rare for a polo pony, isn’t it?’

‘They’re mostly mares – yes, my lord.’

‘And are stallions more skittish . . . more difficult to control . . . more excitable?’

Johnson looked at Jim before replying, ‘Mebbe, my lord, mebbe, but Button was quiet enough.’

‘So what could have upset him?’

‘He’d had his oats because we thought he would be ridden and he heard the other ponies go . . . he might have been upset.’

‘But you wouldn’t have expected him to lash out?’

‘Not but the man
did
something. He didn’t like horses, you say? Mebbe he unsettled him in some way.’

Edward tried another tack. ‘They found a cigarette lighter in the stable.’

‘It weren’t ours,’ Johnson said quickly.

‘No, of course not and we don’t think it belonged to the dead man either. But it shows someone went into the stable. There was no sign of the straw being burnt . . .? I mean, the smell of smoke might have panicked Button.’

‘If there
had
been a fire . . .’ Johnson agreed, ‘but there were no sign of anything like that.’

Edward was ready to give up but said on a whim, ‘Is it an old wives’ tale or should a woman not handle a stallion when she’s . . . you know, when it’s her time of the month?’

Jim guffawed and Johnson looked at him with contempt. ‘I never heard that, my lord. We doesn’t like girls round the stables, leastways, if they ain’t going to ride the animals but I never heard . . .’

‘No, no. Forgive me! Such silly stories get around.’ Edward gave up. He would get nothing out of these two. ‘Well, you have been most kind. Just one of those mysteries, eh? An accident . . . a freak of nature.’

‘Mind you,’ Johnson said, relenting slightly now the inquisition was almost over, ‘I did smell cigarette smoke, now I come to think of it, when I was taking Button out of the stable. But I didn’t think anything of it. Mebbe you’re right, sir, and there were someone messing about. To be straight with you, I don’t think as though Button would go mad like that without a reason.’

‘After you’d brought Button out of the stable, I remember you saying you thought he might have been drugged.’

‘I was mistaken, my lord,’ Johnson said firmly. ‘Mr Rush – the vet, see – he said there were no sign of drugs.’

‘And you believe him?’