by Daniel Kemp
I have never been one to handle sickness and invalidity well. I'm not proud of myself for that, nor am I unashamed to admit it, but the thought of being cared for, or caring for someone whom you've loved, as they decay and begin to fall into the abyss of death, is frightening and one I'm sure I would run from. To me, marriage carries that obligation. I openly criticised Elliot for running away when Alice was given a short time to live, almost coming to blows with my father, but I was a simple hypocrite hiding behind his honesty that I refused to accept. Was it my increasing years, with the dwindling amount of time before me, that now was driving me towards forming a lasting relationship solely in order to fulfil the tradition of propagating Patersons. Or, were the increasing feelings of affection I felt towards Serena genuine love? It was honesty I needed, not a quality I'd easily recognised in the past. Where to look was my problem, and who to ask.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Blythe's and Lies
Appendia was in American hands when Dicky took his desk with Douglas Simmons already imprinted on the CIA databank. It wasn't long before more names were added, but the CIA's main interest was in a different area. It was a readymade slush fund wallowing in money. One that they took full advantage of even beyond Simmons's death in 1991, but way before that date Paulo had his whole fist inserted in it, as far up as to his shoulder. Central and South America were the powerhouses where Paulo built the next Jerusalem of communist beliefs on the back of information he reaped from that source. Russian policies towards the break up of the Soviet Republic, its attitude towards the wars in the Gulf and Yugoslavia were based on reports that Paulo provide courtesy of Panama. The Americans sounded their car horns in joy when poor old Douglas had a fatal accident on the treacherous road between Brasilia and Anápolis. Shame, said Paulo, and carried on regardless whilst spinning Nicolás in circles.
Back at home, Dicky worried about everything. He worried about security at Westminster Bridge Road, the increasing supply of classified information emanating from Russia and he worried about his relative General Louis Eugène Ferguson-Blythe who had recently passed peacefully away, aged ninety-six. At times, when not fully occupied on other missions, he contemplated asking his brother why the Blythe name was reversed to his own, the correct way, but throughout the sixty-three years of Louis's marriage to Natalie, Dicky never seemed to have the time.
The name of Blythe derived from German roots in the fourteenth century, and by the late eighteenth century found itself firmly ensconced in the House of Hohenzollern with Elisabeth Ludovika of Bavaria marrying the romanticist King, Fredrick William IV of Prussia. Through intermarriage, and other ways that Royals found to amuse themselves, the Hohenzollern linked up with the Saxe-Coburgs and lo and behold, the Windsors took the throne of Great Britain. Smith, Ferguson and other surnames were affixed to the original Royal family name through marriage. Dicky was related to the Windsors, as was his brother of course, but Louis changed the hyphen on marrying in 1918. Why Dicky never inquired into the reasons for that decision can no longer be addressed. However, the modification to the hyphen was the reason, or so he said, for an English aristocratic's regular visits. Although Natalie disliked intensely the attention her husband was getting from this elderly man there was little she could do. She possessed good judgement, as it was the same man who had raped and mutilated Percy's fourteen-year-old sister Rachel, months before she'd married.
* * *
On the fifth day of the exodus from Harrogate Hall Joseph telephoned me with his discoveries.
“We never found a Rachel Crow, my Lord, but we did find a Rachel Severndoog admitted to the infirmary from an address in Cork, with internal bleeding. The year was 1917, and she was aged fourteen. The record showed that she died two days after being admitted. There were other children's names in that register with somewhat odd-looking surnames, like Judge B and Playwright C. Five just had the letter M after their name. There were several others that I've made notes of.” Whereas George went all around the houses with his explanations, Joseph was usually expeditious in his.
“We found something else, amongst the graves in the churchyard. Neither of us are really sure it's what you wanted nor if it's understandable, but I've made an exact copy. I think it's Russian, my Lord. It was not a headstone as such, more an elaborately decorated plaque, robustly fixed against the wall. It had fifteen large rocks cemented around it making sure it, and the wall, wouldn't move. It was metal and virtually untarnished. As though it had recently been put there. Mrs Franks was impressed beyond measure by the place, all overgrown with ground elder and cornflowers. She said it was hauntingly pretty. There's one thing I'd like to add, my Lord.” I presumed he wanted my permission as he'd stopped speaking. I gave it and he carried on.
“The cement around that plaque was of a totally different colour than the cement in the wall. There had been no attempt to age it by adding more lime or chalk to the joints. The wall looked as though it was built at the same time as the church, as the pointing on both was crumbling in places. It's a guess, but I'd say that plaque came in the last month, but I'm no expert. I hope that helps, sir.”
If the plaque had been put there yesterday I doubt it would have helped. This convoluting mystery surrounding Percy Crow was snowballing. I thanked him for the information, asked if Mrs Franks was enjoying herself overall, and reflected on the feasibility of hosting two marriages on the same day at The Hall. I did not think about a third. Serena arrived home the next day, minus Tanta. She hadn't changed her natural hair colouring of brown from the day she'd left.
* * *
Appendia could not be deleted from Dicky's list of concerns. A member of the immensely rich Rothschild family was discovered by the CIA as having dealings with it just about the same time as Margaret Thatcher was constantly requiring Dicky's presence at No 10 in regard to Anthony Blunt.
If the CIA looked too deeply, so Dicky argued with himself, they may not find any Crows nesting, but they would undoubtable find Reillys. Having discovered that name it would not be too long before they traced the fledgling Irish politician's love partner, Percy. If that was the case, then how long before Percy's secret was wrapped up in Langley? Dicky needed a mammoth diversion. In July 1981 he started to bait his trap. He threw the name of that famous family of Rothschild into the air, letting it land on the feeding tables in both Washington and London.
“Prime Minister! It would seem that the Americans came across the name whilst investigating Sir Anthony. They saw, for want of a better word, an opportunity to interfere in the Irish Republic's economy. Their ultimate aim can only be a vague calculation, ma'am, but my best analyst's believe they want to undermine the present government to install one of their own liking. Probably one more anti-us than the present one. The inference is that our Foreign Office is involved and are assisting. Whether that's the solemn truth or not is for them to say, but they are implicated by association.
Oh yes, Prime Minister, our information comes from the most impeccable source, our highest; the Russian mother file. Apparently there's a slush fund where the CIA siphon away budgeted monies that the Rothschild family now contribute to. One can only speculate on why they are doing that. The registered bank that's being used is in Central America and one departments of mine is running an external brief on it as we speak. We have no idea how much has been accumulated, but put the CIA budget together with the world's most wealthy banker, and well, we could have Armageddon.” He pushed a red file marked Prime Minister Only across her desk.
He remained in that office for a further half an hour answering her questions without blinking an eyelid. Across the ocean Jimmy Mercer's father lost his position and office some three days after that meeting in Downing Street, as the Appendia banking operation was parked up waiting for the fines to be paid, but it wasn't a permanent demolition of Appendia, nor Mercer. Just a sideways step for him that neither he, nor his son, forgot.
Nobody found an ounce of truth in Dicky's report, neither did they find a lie, it was sufficient
though to close prying eyes into what Margaret forcibly told Ronnie; Blunt is our business. It's a British matter that has nothing to do with you.
Both the Irish MPs at Maudlin's house party hung on every word that Percy whispered into their ears, believing it all, sending it on its passage to other ears. The phone lines between Ulster Volunteer Force soldiers began to glow bright red as messages were passed of forthcoming violent insurrections, all overheard by Special Branch officers. In Charlie Reilly's government office the flow of intelligence data made him so deliriously mad with excitement that he organised the assassination of the father and son members of parliament who had shared Percy's company and started those calls, whilst the British army rounded up countless numbers of the UVF. A win-win situation, Dicky told Hugh Banners, and for a while he was right, until the long tentacles of an unforgiving CIA reached out and snatched the crown from his grasp. Charlie Reilly was added to the Irish Embassy delegation to New York later that year, leading to a meeting that changed the whole playing field.
* * *
My right knee was aching like mad. The late humid August weather had made it almost impossible for me to walk any distance without a stick to aid me. If only we had a vote at birth on our future then maybe I would not have chosen rugby as my first love as a sport, but life is what it is and love is a consequence of living. Serena had not left my side since her return and I sensed a question of commitment in the air. It was not the question that bothered me as much as the answer. Should it be a lie or the truth, and would I recognise either before answering it?
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Instincts
“There must be a catalogue, Serena. They would have been too vain for their own good, I just know it!”
“Tiffany's or Graff's, Harry? Both are splendid, so I'm told,” she smiled heavenly then added while flexing the fingers of her left hand, “but it's best to visit the De Beers shop in Old Bond Street for the ultimate diamond collections, I believe.”
I'd opened my mouth before giving it any real thought, simply following my instincts which, to be honest, had not always served me that well. Joseph had excited me.
“I'm joking, Harry, don't look so worried. You seem to have mislaid your sense of humour since I've been gone. You have great qualities, and one of those was your ability to see fun everywhere. Are you slowing down in old age?”
We were in the south lounge, part of the so-called garden wing, with the doors wide open, overlooking the Italian garden with its clipped yew and concealed statues, watching the sunset and the last boxes being unloaded from the lorry that had fetched her entire wardrobe from Portugal. We had spoken at length about her family home and her intentions of storing some of the paintings, with other valuable items, that Tanta was overseeing, resigned to the fact that many objects could be taken without her consent.
“If Nico was alive he would want his staff to have the things he treasured, it would be right in his eyes. My family are in my soul, not in what was owned, Harry. I have a duty to keep some of it, it case I have a child, but as to the rest,” those thick lips of hers curled at the corners, as her hands spread wide in surrender to the inevitable.
“I once made a joke about my need of a bath-chair, Seri, is that day edging ever closer, do you think?”
“I love your age, Harry. Old enough to have done everything with no past dragging you down, and young enough to go and get what you want. I suspect that if you had your life over again you'd never change a thing. Am I right, H?”
I had never given that question much thought, as I've never been one to hanker after changing what cannot be changed. I didn't think before I answered. One of a myriad of faults of mine.
“Maybe there's been some lives I've interfered with that would have been better without me being in them, but overall I'm content with myself, Seri.”
“Content alone, Harry, are you?”
Was this the moment when I had to stand up and be counted in either the yea or nay queue?
“No, not alone, Seri. I just meant content with what I've done.”
“Why have you never married, Harry?” I laughed, but it was a feigned gestured disguising my true emotions.
“One reason would be the amount of room I would permanently need for ladies' clothes and the like. Normally they only require a coat hanger or two for an overnight stay.”
“You are an insincere cad, Harry P, who is frightened by commitment. Sex is not all a woman can give you.”
“It's a good place to start, Seri.”
“Do you only see the animal side, or does your admiration go beyond the perspiration of lechery? Does your immorality not recognise the tenderness and true affection found in love, H? There's more to find in a woman's arms than just the sexual pleasure of desire.” She stood, looking down disapprovingly at me.
“A man who does not appreciate all that you said is not an admirer of women, Seri, and that I am,” as a way of defence I offered.
“Why then confine your admiration to only the bedroom? I'm off up to that room that's been cleared, to see how the unpacking is going. I'll meet you down in the gym and sweat some sense into you. Be there in twenty minutes. No later!”
With her slim back to me, she passed across the dipping sun and was gone. Did I really say that I did not regret my past? I limped across the courtyard, with the accompanying echo from the metal ferrule of my stick, towards the stables in search of a brain that perhaps I never owned. My Nokia rang before I got there. It was George.
“Harry, I've proposed to Sophie, and she's accepted me. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Bloody hell, George, are you sure?”
* * *
“You insensitive swine! Is that what you really said, Harry?” The equipment in the gym held no fascination for Serena when I told of George's news, nor did I. I didn't think I'd done anything wrong, but she did.
“It's no wonder you've spent so many years on your own with no wife, Harry P. All you had to do was say congratulations and leave it there, you oaf. Better still you could have offered here as the venue. Tanta's creative juices will fill the place with a modern make-over, and God knows it needs it! You are a fool, H, but I'm still in love with you.”
“Are you proposing, Seri?” Oh dear, I thought, immediately having said it.
“I'm an old-fashioned girl, H. I'm waiting for you,” grinning from ear to ear, she replied.
Serena needed no excuse to favour London, but a pending marriage was as good as it gets as far as she was concerned, whereas for me, I could think of hundreds of reasons not to return. On the drive down we briefly discussed the inquiry I was undergoing into the distant relative, as she put it. Katherine's name cropped up, and she asked if I had any plans to meet her again.
“There will be a time, Seri, but I haven't reached that stage yet. Why do you ask?”
“No real reason, Harry, just my curiosity.”
“I'm a trifle curious myself over something your father once told me. He spoke of a company in Panama called Appendia. Name ring any bells?”
“No, not one, H. I'm sorry.”
“How about a Russian chap, a Tovarisch Sergeyovitch Korovin? Or a Paulo Korovin, to give him his simple name?”
“That's another no, H. Incidentally are you still going to offer George that trip to Ireland that we all spoke of?”
“I hadn't given it much thought, to be honest. He might like a honeymoon around Whitecliffe, where he was born. They could have a tour around the Carmelite convent while there.”
“You're all heart, Harry P. Are you thinking of York for our honeymoon?”
“Sarcasm won't even get you on the bus, Seri.”
George did not look his normal jovial self as he opened the door and ushered us into the rear sitting room.
“Sophie has taken over the whole front of the house, top and bottom. I have strict orders not to enter any of it until told. Haven't a clue what she's up to. Said she's making a new beginning by wiping away the past and it's to be a s
urprise. I've been kicked out most days. Drives those policemen mad not knowing where I'll be.”
“Harry wants to apologise, George, for being such a brute when he heard yours and Sophie's great news yesterday. I'm afraid it was my fault really as I was dumping all my clothes on him and he was in his normal panic when things don't go his own sweet way.” Serena smiled and George melted before her.
“I'm pleased he does. As I took huge offence at it.” It was Sophie who was standing in the centre of what once was Elliot's private meeting room when entertaining his lady friends. I called it his red room. As once, on a visit of mine to London from Cambridge, he emerged red-faced from exertion. Nobody needed to tell me what he was up to, as I had experienced that sensation myself more than once at university.
Sophie had that air about her that demanded attention, not through beauty, although I was not so callous as not to recognise George's appreciation of her, but through an earnest, donnish sense detectable in senior lecturers and head teachers. I wondered if that was one of the appeals that George had found.
“It was as though you either questioned George's ability to choose his partner in life for himself or, more to the point, you questioned my suitability.” She hadn't finished her censorship of me.
“I stand corrected and humbly apologise, Sophie. Neither were my motives. I was simply bowled over by the news and dumbstruck. I wasn't thinking,” I wasn't allowed to finish.
“It would have better if you had been struck by something, Harry Paterson, as dumb you were,” now Serena had joined in.