by John Gardner
‘How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreeched.’
Then he laughed, and asked the air, ‘I wonder if my old father will curse the day, and remember himself unbreeched when I was conceived?’
At around five in the afternoon, C turned up with Gus. Max stood outside the door and handed his chief a small tape recorder, similar to the one Naldo had seen beside Caspar’s bed. Gus looked like a gentleman farmer, in rough tweeds, pipe clamped between his teeth.
‘I want you to talk it all through with Gus.’ C laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I think it will be tonight, Naldo. The telephone was done this morning, I’ve got young Curry Shepherd in place with a team. Curry’s in charge and I’m not going to be present when it happens. He’ll give you plenty of warning.’
‘How is it going to be tonight?’ Naldo sounded oddly indifferent.
Gus found a wall socket and plugged in the tape machine. ‘Two conversations,’ he said, and pressed the play button.
They heard the ringing tone, then James answering in the guarded way of their trade. Not giving the number: simply saying, ‘Yes?’
It was C himself on the tape. ‘James. You recognize my voice?’
‘Of course.’ Calm.
‘A tiny problem. I wonder if you’d do me the favour of coming in sometime tomorrow.’
A long pause. Then — ‘Er … when?’
‘Just suit yourself. We need your wisdom.’
‘For what?’
‘I don’t know if it’s around the family yet, but Caspar’s provided us with a letter from the grave. You heard about that? From Naldo, perhaps?’
‘Naldo seems to have disappeared, but I did hear a whisper, yes.’
‘Need to talk to you about it, James. Caspar’s letter isn’t kosher, you see. Just a friendly chat.’
James’s voice, which until then had been clear, almost young, now sank beneath his years, and the stress with which he must have lived. ‘Yes, of course. Of course I’ll come in. You say to suit myself: would noon be convenient?’
‘Noon it is. Look forward to seeing you, James.’
C had closed the line abruptly.
‘There must have been a little panic, and some thought.’ It was Gus speaking. ‘The next call was an hour later. To Alex himself. At work. At GCHQ, where he’s reinstalled, but under restraint regarding confidential documents.’
‘Alex Railton’s office,’ the secretary said.
‘Is Alex around?’ James appeared to have got his wind back. His voice had regained its strength.
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Tell him it’s his Uncle James.’
‘James?’ Alex guarded, knowing for certain the tapes would be picking it up.
‘Alex, sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a small family crisis. Can you get to town tonight?’
‘Tonight?’
‘I think it would be a mistake to leave it any later. You know how our bloody relatives panic.’
‘Ten. I can’t make it until about ten, and I’ll need feeding.’
‘Good. See you tonight then, Alex.’
The click as the stop button was pressed sounded like a gunshot. Gus spoke. ‘Ten could mean eight, nine, or eleven. It won’t be ten on the dot. You caught the key words, Naldo?’
Naldo nodded. ‘Crisis. Panic. Feeding.’
‘That’s it. I think we should all be ready by eight. Though there’s a team at Cheltenham, so we’ll get some idea, once he’s left.’
C left them, saying he would be by the telephone. Barbara brought tea, and Gus set up the tape machine with a recording device. Just tell it as it lies,’ he said.
Naldo sighed. ‘Once is never enough is it, Gus?’
‘Hardly. Take it gently.’
‘Well,’ Naldo began. ‘It starts, I suppose, by Caspar’s grave.’ He told the story of the voice in his head saying ‘Now it begins.’
‘It took me a long time to realize that it was my father who said it, aloud. It’s difficult to accept that, down the years, one’s family has lied and betrayed, almost on a regular basis. You know everyone, up to Andrew?’
Gus said he did, reeling off the names.
‘So it took me a long time to come to terms with Caspar’s sons, and my father. It’s understandable, I think.’
This time Gus just nodded. Naldo rambled a little. He told of the meeting with Arnie, the dossiers Arnie had seen, and his own feeling of hatred for Penkovsky who he saw as a doubled-dyed villain. ‘I could forgive him his international duplicity, because that saved the world from disaster, which was what the Soviets wanted anyway. I could never forgive him for the stuff he fed everyone about Caspar. I can’t forgive Blunt, period. Blunt just rubbed it in.’
‘Blunt’s the number one in my book: ran the entire Cambridge lot. First one recruited, and last one unmasked. Might even have helped the Ks run your dad. Now, just give us the time-scale, Naldo. The nuts and bolts. How the setting up was achieved.’
First, Naldo said, he was set up by his own father. ‘He knew exactly what Caspar had, and who he’d be pointing at. How, I don’t know, but it would be after Caspar gave him a spare set of keys to Eccleston Square. There is a space, though. A couple of weeks before my dear father passed the buck to me, old Caspar and Phoeb spent five days with Sara and Dick. I should imagine that was when James went in, and took a good look through the documents. Also, I think he had, for years, relied on his relationship with his cousin. He pretty well knew that Caspar, as honourable as he was, would never turn him in. It’s even just possible that Caspar refused to believe anyone else was involved.’
‘It would be easy for a man like Cas to go into a psychological block. To refuse belief that his sons had been turned.’
Naldo nodded. ‘And James continued to rely on family …’
Gus said that Caspar probably considered James to be too old to do more damage.
‘It would be in character for Cas, yes. But James was still seeing so many people. Little dinner parties, meetings with Maitland-Wood, Tubby, a lot of the active gang. They talked, just as old mates talked to Blunt. Both Blunt and James simply passed on the chat. James did it through Alex, I suspect. Anyway, when he looked at Caspar’s plan — the two diaries, the document called Bogeyman, everything — he knew that whoever went through it was bound, in the end, to see that Caspar was fingering him. It’s quite plain, Gus. Caspar all but gives the name. James played Croesus to Caspar’s Dionysus.’
‘And so blocked all the intelligence Caspar had risked his life for in the 1930s. I even followed that myself.’
‘There was no way my father could hide it. For all he knew, there were other copies of the real diary, and Bogeyman, around. He had only one course, and that was to rely on family loyalty. The original covering letter, a copy of which I’ll bet Mr Morris has somewhere in his office, was doctored.’
‘You’re certain of this?’
Naldo told of how he had gone to old Handy Hammerstein with the first page of the original covering letter, ‘the one that asked James to remove the diaries and all else from the Eccleston Square house’. And how Handy admitted to the forgery. ‘I was always puzzled by it, especially when I realised Caspar was fingering James in those documents, setting the trap. I suppose the old boy was appealing to James’s better nature. He was certainly saying, “James old love, I know what you did. I know who you worked for. Do the decent thing.”’
‘The forgery,’ Gus egged him on.
‘There was plenty of room for it. The original letter began: “My Dear James, This is a brief resume of the contents of my private box …” etc. Then, even at the start, in the letter, he began to spell out to James exactly what he was doing. Now, when I got the letter, it began: “My Dear James, or Naldo who’ll doubtless be reading this i
f his father’s not available.”’
He told of the evidence gleaned from the frightened Hammerstein. ‘He admitted to me that James had brought him that page, and that he inserted the bit about me. So, once my father had passed the buck, in the Reform Club that night, the letter was already doctored. Even then, I was being set up, on the grounds that a son like me would never betray a father like James.’
‘Flaps and seals?’ Gus asked. He was inquiring if James had the ability to remove the letter from its envelope, and return it with no signs of tampering.
‘No problem for my father. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. In fact he taught me all the ways: from steam and carbon tet, to tweezers and bamboo.’
‘And you’re sure there was time?’
Naldo gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Gus, we know there was time, for Christ’s sake. We both know he’s guilty.’
‘Maybe, but we might have to make the evidence stick. I’m playing defence counsel. You’ve given us one end of the documents. What about the other? What about the letter from the grave?’
Naldo went through it all, just as he had done for C. This was the hardest part, but he spoke steadily, showing no emotion until towards the end.
He had known his Uncle Caspar probably a shade too well. He knew the man’s hiding places, and his obsessions. ‘He always made drafts of important letters; and always kept them for three months at the least. I knew where the bodies were buried.’
Naldo described how his first suspicion came. ‘The covering note to Leo Morris — the one that gave the eight-year instruction — was unsigned. Nobody bothered about that. Morris wouldn’t because Caspar sometimes didn’t sign memos. Often he left them blank or, as a personal joke, signed them C, in green ink. This one was so important that, knowing the man as I did, Caspar would have signed it. But he didn’t, so I looked at his letter of confession very carefully. The signature was undoubtedly his. You didn’t have to be a graphologist to tell that. But there were two sheets — you’ve seen it?’
Gus gave him a quick nod, not looking up from the notes he was taking. The tape recorder rolled on, but, as many had noticed, Gus Keene was always a belt and braces man.
‘It’s that last page.’ Naldo was starting to speak quietly. ‘Cas was under stress, visited his doctor the day before his death. We now know what the doctor told him, and what decision he took.’
‘How?’ Gus asked, even though C had given him the answer.
‘Because I knew where Cas kept all the drafts of his letters. At the point of death he wouldn’t change the habits of a lifetime. That was dear old Caspar’s way. Neat. Efficient. Obsessive even. He always felt that, being minus one arm and one leg, he had to make up for it in other ways. When he worked for the first C, for instance —’
Gus held up a hand to halt the conversation, knowing that unconsciously Naldo was playing for time, delaying the worst moment.
Naldo said he was sorry. Told how he had gone to Eccleston Square, and found the draft of Caspar’s letter. ‘When you type it, the second page comes out just as it does in the so-called letter from the grave. It reads:
‘There are no regrets. I have long believed that when the time is right, one should grasp it. I did just that, and if God exists he will allow me to look down and smile on you now. Farewell, a long farewell, and the rest of that Shakespearean tag. Sincerely,
‘Then Caspar’s signature. But it’s the first page that’s altogether different. Here’s the draft.’ He pushed the pages of neat writing towards Gus. Even the corrections on the page were neat.
‘Read it to me,’ Gus said evenly.
‘Must I?’
‘It’s best. You’ve done it once for C. I need it for the tapes. With luck you’ll never have to read it again.’
Big Herbie’s lips moved. He was counting down the silence in German.
‘Caspar committed suicide, you know that, Gus?’
Once more the nod.
‘He carefully polished a suicide note, meant only for C’s eyes.’
‘Read it from the draft.’
Naldo’s voice only cracked once.
‘My Dear C,
Forgive me. You will already have heard of my death when you read this later today. I ask you to comfort old Phoeb for me, and not let anyone else into a last secret. Alas, there is another little secret which will have to be unveiled, but, for the moment, let us stay with my death.
I went to the quack yesterday afternoon. The pain has been getting worse, and I cannot bear to go on any longer. It has been with me, as you know, for years. Now, my mutilated body cannot cope. The quack tells me it could happen any time. In fact, I know as I write this, I could feel the pain and leave in the twinkling of an eye. Therefore I have chosen to make my own terms. I am on some stuff for my heart and yesterday the doc pointedly told me that I must on no account take more than the required dose. So, I am lunching with three men who we both knew of as Paul, John and George — you might as well call me Ringo, eh?
I shall take well over the prescribed dose with my coffee, and the rest will be silence. Thank God I’m not afraid to die.
The other secret. It will come out for I have left instructions for James. If he does not do the right thing, then you must go for him. I am sorry. I have betrayed you. You should have been told years ago. I should have gone to your predecessor in the early forties. I could not betray my beloved cousin, even though I know he is a Soviet penetration, and probably has been since the 1930s. There is evidence. He is retired, and so surely can do little more harm. Forgive me for not feeling his collar when I first knew. I still have no idea why, though I think I know how. It could not be money, so he must be a believer. Please, please, forgive me.
There are no regrets. I have long believed that when the time is right, one should grasp it. I did just that, and if God exists he will allow me to look down and smile on you now. Farewell, a long farewell, and the rest of that Shakespearean tag.
Sincerely,
Caspar Railton
‘That’s it.’ Naldo lit a cigarette, his fingers shaking.
‘So how did a suicide note to C become a letter from the dead, Naldo?’
‘It’s a puzzle, but then my whole bloody family’s devious. You live so long in the damned labyrinth of secrets that you cannot escape. Everything my family has ever done has been devious: illusions; blind corners that are not there; mirage effects; nothing straight or plain; everything web upon web of complexities. The service makes you like that, Gus. This whole bloody country makes you like that, and when we all become a sort of United States of Europe, it’ll be more devious than ever.’
‘Tell me, Naldo. I need it for the tape.’ Gus spoke sharply. ‘Anyway, time’s running out.’
Naldo said OK, right he would tell Gus what he figured out. First, he checked on the letter. ‘Sat down and typed it at his machine and saw how the second page came out. All that had to be done was to write the first page and send the thing off. There must have been a temptation to post it to C himself, but I think my father jibbed at that.’
‘So, what’s your theory?’
‘I thought it out logically. Couldn’t get it straight, then realized it had been sitting in front of me from the very day of Caspar’s death. I thought Phoebe was rambling when she said things like, ‘Is Alex coming back?’ which she did say. She also said, ‘Has James been told?’ and ‘I think Alex phoned James’. You bet Alex phoned James. I don’t know why, but Alex drove to London on the day Caspar died. Maybe he’ll tell us — or you, Gus, when you sweat the little bastard. But he came down, and, somehow, he went into the Hide, Caspar’s study. There, I guess, was the letter, all prominent and addressed to C, Private and Confidential. If you were Alex, and working in close harmony with James, what would you do? Open it, which is what I guess Alex did, and, when he read it, I guess he panicked. Phoebe knew he had spoken to James. He told her so, and I reckon James stayed very cool and dictated a new letter which would fit on page one, leaving page two or
iginal and with Caspar’s signature.
‘It must have been very inviting. “Put it in the post, Alex. Pop it in and we’ll be home and dry.” But my dear old father knew his trade. “Best not use it now,” he would have said. “Better later.” I’d even put money on him first thinking of giving it ten years — I know he doesn’t expect to live long. He talked about it before Cas died. So, in the end, I would think he compromised and dictated a memo over the telephone. Alex would do the rest. It would be easy. Destroy the evidence. Probably took the original envelope, together with page one, with him and burned it back in Cheltenham. He’d post it on his way out, and then risk ad libbing if his visit was mentioned. Bet he drove like the wind, Gus. Little shit. If I —’
‘Go through the timings for me, Naldo.’ Gus hammered at him, knowing now how Naldo, wound like a spring, could launch himself into tributaries of hate and venom.
‘Timings? Yes, Alex’s timings. We don’t know, probably we’ll never know — unless you beat it out of him, Gus — why he chose that particular day to come up to town. We do know he must have arrived after eleven, because Caspar left Eccleston Square for The Travellers, and death, at about that time. He got there between 11.30 and 11.45, according to the barman. He and his old friends drank quite a lot before going into lunch, at just after one. So Alex drives in, sometime after eleven. If it had been any earlier, Caspar wouldn’t have left until Alexander was out of the way. I’m pretty certain of that.’
‘So, Alex hung around Eccleston Square for how long?’
‘’Till about 1.30, I’d guess. That would’ve given him time, plenty of time, to have found the letter to C, gone through his panic with James, and done the rewriting. Caspar died at the end of lunch, around 3.10. C and I were at the house just after 3.30, and I spoke to Alex in Cheltenham at 3.45. We know he wasn’t in during the morning. We don’t know why he came up to town at all.’
Gus gave a curt nod. ‘But we do know it couldn’t have been for anything sinister?’
‘We know he couldn’t have had any hint of Caspar’s plans. Unless Cas rang him and said something to alert him, but I doubt it.’