The Mask of Memory

by Victor Canning

  She said, ‘You like this house, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do, love.’

  ‘You’d like to live here with me? We could be happy here, couldn’t we?’

  He grinned. ‘ We could be happy anywhere.’

  ‘No, not at Lopcommon. There could be no question of that. But this is the house for us. For me, and for you. Oh, Maxie … sometimes in the last days I felt I couldn’t wait for this moment. I just felt if I didn’t tell you I’d burst. Darling, it’s all ours. No, all yours…’

  She held out her hand to him with a key resting in its palm.

  For a moment he felt that he wanted to take the key and throw it through the window into the river. He was angry with himself more than with her. He should have known from the time she had turned off the main road, known as they drew up on the bridge. Maybe any other man in love with her would have known; though poor himself, could have read the lines of naive generosity which embroidered her love. To hide even the smallest open show of his feeling, he put his hand over the key on hers and pulled her to him, burying her face against his shoulder.

  He said, truth and his passion for her and the anger from her generosity mixed and slow-moving in him, ‘ Oh, girl … what can a man say to someone like you? Do you think there’s any part of me that wants anything else than your love?’ Hands on her shoulders he held her away from him, looking hard into her eyes. ‘If I said no to you, that we were going back to my cottage and that must be the place for our love, would you take that?’

  She was silent for a moment and then she held up the key, her face smooth with happiness, her eyes shining, and she said, ‘Tell me to throw this in the river and I’ll do it. Tell me, Maxie…’

  Suddenly he laughed, shaking his head, and said, ‘My God, you’re a wild one, and a sudden one, and love has given you a bagful of tricks. Where’s the woman who walked the sands lonely and empty? Where’s Mrs Tucker who couldn’t tell one day from another because all the days were the same? I thought I had a bird to free from a cage out of love, a bird that would be feared of flying, that would pull back from liberty … And what have I got? A fine falcon that bids fair to out-fly her tiercel. A real goer that even in a cage treasured all the powers of freedom and, tossed up, takes the wind under her wings and heads for the high blue … Oh, girl, one thing I ask you is not to stop surprising me with your real gifts. Not this—’ he nodded towards the house, ‘—though it’s a fine and over-generous one, but the gifts that come from yourself…’

  And talking, his anger smoothed away by the power of his own words – thrown out without fair thought or care for any exaggeration, just words that were more a balm for himself than for her – he saw the moistening in her eyes and felt the hard movement of a doubt about himself. It was not she who was being led and mastered and made another’s creature, but himself marked for that. And it seemed to him that for his own manhood’s sake and the old score he longed to settle against all the deprivations of his own life’s form, there must come a time when some gift must be rejected. Some act of rebellion was necessary for him against the smooth lines which Fate was laying down for him with her. He was being left no work to do, no subtleties to deploy, no crafts to display. Things which came too easily had no value … or was it to be, despite all the ease now with which first she, and then her gifts, had come to his hands, that in the final act of dispossession – a cloud with constant changing form in his mind – he would be left entirely alone and find himself wanting?

  He opened the door with the key, picked her up and carried her over the threshold. They went round the place together. The previous tenants had left the house on the weekend of her husband’s death. Already she had brought over some of the things she wanted from Lopcommon. All the furnishings in the house were hers, most of them from her old home in Scotland. She did not say so but he knew that there would be little here to remind her of Lopcommon. She took him up to the granary floor of the barn and was full of ideas for converting it to make a study or a studio for him…

  ‘We can put in a large window. You’ll be able to sit and work and watch the river. We’re twenty miles from the town, and the village is a mile away. There won’t be any embarrassments. I shall sell Lopcommon Barton … Oh, Maxie, Maxie, my love! We shall be so happy here.’

  She was like a girl, a young girl with a first love colouring all her days, and his heart warmed for her. As she talked away, opening doors and cupboards and picking up ornaments to show him, he felt a sudden fondness for her, a deep unexpected affection. The snows of her loneliness had melted and were running down the high brooks full of chatter and brightness under a too absent sun. He reached for her suddenly and spun her round, holding her close to him.

  She knew the look in his eyes and she said, ‘Oh, no Maxie, not now. There’s so much to do…’

  He grinned, picked her up and said, ‘Aye, that’s true, and things must be given their proper priorities. This is our house. Love comes first in it.’ He began to carry her up to one of the bedrooms.

  Kerslake, wondering how Quint was going to take the news, picked his words very carefully.

  He said, ‘Yes, sir, she’s back. But not at Lopcommon. I had a call from her solicitor a short while ago. She phoned him to make an appointment to see him tomorrow. Apparently she’s been back three days, living at a house she owns over near Stone bridge. That’s about twenty miles away.’

  ‘Three days?’ Quint made no attempt to hide his anger. ‘ How could she be living three bloody days within twenty miles of this place and her car not reported? For God’s sake! We’ve been sitting around here for days and when she comes back it’s three days before anyone lets us know. What kind of force have you got here?’

  Lassiter at the bedroom window, the light fast going from the sky, turned and said, ‘Did the solicitor know she owned this house?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Apparently she lets it furnished. The last tenants left just before she went away with the Dougall man.’

  ‘And it never occurred to the fool to let us know that?’

  ‘Well, sir, I suppose he didn’t think it was relevant. As for not picking up the car … well, it was reported. Ten minutes after Browning spoke to me.’

  Lassiter smiled to himself. Kerslake had done no wrong, but he was loyal to his kind. He said, ‘She’s back. That’s the main point. The man Dougall’s living with her, I presume?’

  Kerslake nodded.

  Quint said nothing. Days of frustration, days on which at every evening report to Warboys he had sensed his frustration and growing anger, and these an indication of the concern of the men behind him, harrying him, no doubt, with less subtlety than Warboys would ever use to one of his own agents. And three of those days wasted because of the damned stupidity of a country solicitor and some stupid village policeman.

  Lassiter said, ‘Do you know the house?’

  Kerslake said, ‘Yes, I do. Would you like me to phone and make an appointment for—’

  ‘There’s no need for an appointment,’ Quint said. ‘You go down to the car. You can drive us out. We’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Kerslake left the room.

  Quint said to Lassiter, ‘When you go to get your coat in your room phone London and tell them we’ve found her. That’s something Warboys can pass on at least.’

  ‘There’s something more important than that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How you tackle her. It’s no good glaring at me. You’ve got to settle it before you get in the car with our young friend. Waiting around has put us both on edge, but that’s nothing to do with her. If you pitch in right away – and you’ve no reason to do that – you could get her in a fine state. She’ll be damn-all use to us like that. And don’t get edgy with me. I’m thinking of you and the job.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake what do you think I am? She’s done nothing criminal. We just want her help.’

  Lassiter smiled. ‘I think you’re so relieved that you’d enjoy being
hard with her – and regret it within ten minutes. So I suggest you leave it to me, for the first few minutes. There’s no need – unless we’re forced to it – to go into the business of Bernard marrying and keeping it secret. She’s going to have enough to cope with. We want her on our side. Don’t forget – she’s Mrs Bernard Tucker. She’s got a lot of surprises coming to her.’

  For a moment or two Quint said nothing, then he smiled and nodded. There were plenty of other men he could have had with him who wouldn’t have risked offering the advice or would have deliberately withheld it to: enjoy the difficulties he could make for himself. But not Lassiter – and Lassiter, he knew, was not doing it entirely for him. Lassiter had done it for the sake of the job more than anything else.

  He said, ‘You’re right. Though I should have calmed down in the car. We’ll just play her gently – and not too long. Let her get the picture and then have a night to sleep on it.’

  Lassiter went to his room for his coat, poured himself a drink, and sipped at it while he waited for his London call. Mrs Tucker, Bernard’s wife, the wife of a man who had been one with them, and more than them. She deserved a little special treatment and, for all he had said; he knew that Quint could have been a long time coming to that. The curiosity about the woman which had been slowly building in him over the past days was suddenly stronger now that he knew he would see her soon. He had seen photographs of her, turned her house over three times, read her diary, poked around the cottage of her lover and – after a personal call from Warboys to the man – he and Quint had talked to her doctor about her absent-minded stealing fits. Quint – beating his heels, frustrated, his mind turning to any bizarre possibility – had wondered whether she might have known Bernard’s hiding place. In one of her states she could have taken the papers and either destroyed or hidden them – a wildness of thought which Lassiter did not share. Now, in a little while, he was going to see her and talk to her. As that happened he knew that a great deal of the dead Bernard would be alive for him.

  When they got to the house she answered the door to them. Kerslake had been left to sit in the car. Lassiter handed her his card, introduced Quint, and said that they were old friends of Bernard’s and also business associates. They would be glad if she could spare them some of her time. There were various professional matters which Bernard had left unfinished and they hoped that she could help to clear them up. He expressed sympathy for her in her loss and regret that they had to disturb her so soon after her husband’s death.

  The oaklined hall was decorated with holly and Christmas hangings for the festival which was little more than a week away. Margaret looked at the card and said, ‘The Home Office? That’s the Civil Service, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is, Mrs Tucker. We’ll explain about that.’

  She led them into the sitting-room. A log fire burned in the open grate. She offered them drinks which they both refused. There was no sign of the man Dougall.

  Margaret, confused, said, ‘ Why did Bernard never tell me he was in the Home Office? I understood from him that he worked for a business firm … something to do with tea-broking.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Lassiter. She was taller than he had imagined from her photographs, and looked younger; a well-set-up, fine-bodied woman. Not beautiful, but with a good face. It was not difficult to imagine her as she must have been when Bernard had first met her. A distant loyalty to Bernard and a genuine concern for her peace of mind moved in him. He went on, ‘Bernard had no personal desire to mislead you. It just so happened that his position in the Home Office was a highly confidential one. He worked in the most delicate areas of the affairs of State. Whether he liked it or not he was obliged to practise certain … well, polite fictions. Shortly before he died he was given clearance to let you know the real truth. Sadly … well, he died before the opportunity came. Later we’d like to come and talk to you again and then we’ll be happy to answer any questions about Bernard’s life that we can, and help you with any problems you have … I mean concerning his flat in London, his personal effects, and financial matters connected with his employment. But for the moment, Mrs Tucker, we must limit ourselves to a single matter of importance in which we need your help. It concerns some very important State papers which were in your husband’s possession and which we must recover.’

  Margaret said, ‘You mean he did secret work … well, like the things you read about?’

  Lassiter smiled. ‘In a way. Though it was all perfectly straightforward and correct. Commander Tucker was a man highly regarded in his profession; Had he lived he would undoubtedly have been knighted for his services. I should tell you that we’ve read the report of the inquest on his death. We don’t want to embarrass you; but I hope you will be kind enough to answer a few questions for us – questions that have nothing to do with his accidental death. A loss, I may say, which we all in the service greatly mourn.’

  Lassiter paused. He did not care much for his last sentence, but then you never knew with women. It could be something which she expected, even though she had meant to leave Bernard. There were conventional expressions which the living – no matter their true emotions – expected about the dead.

  Margaret said, ‘I’ll help you as much as I can. But I really knew nothing about Bernard’s work. And I understand now why.’ She understood the plain, brief facts, but not, she felt, the necessity for a man to shut off the major part of his life from his wife. For a moment or two she was seized with compassion for the Bernard who had been obliged to close so much of his life to her. The man Lassiter, kindly and considerate, went on talking, explaining to her about the papers which Bernard had brought home to work on, explaining how carefully he would have guarded them, how they were now missing, and that a duly warranted search of Lopcommon while she had been away had failed to bring them to light. He was frank, but unemphatic, and this to some extent cut away the beginnings of resentment she could have felt for the intrusion. Instinct prompted her to the knowledge that behind these men rested a great source of power and influence. Dimly now, she realized that the same kind of aura had hung about Bernard.

  Lassiter finished, ‘Well, that’s the position, Mrs Tucker. So far as your personal life is concerned – while naturally we have become aware of the circumstances – that is not something which concerns us. All we are concerned with is these papers. My colleague, Mr Quint, worked directly under the orders of your late husband. So, I think it’s best if I leave it to him to do the rest of the talking.’

  Margaret nodded. She liked Lassiter, but for the other she had no feeling. He had sat silently watching her, a lean-faced, dark-haired man with a quality of stillness about him as though he were tightly wound, tensed against the thrust of strong inner energies seeking exercise. As she turned slightly to him, he gave her a faint bow of the head and smiled.

  He said quietly, ‘ You weren’t at home when Commander Tucker arrived on the Saturday. Had he telephoned to say he was coming for that weekend?’

  ‘No. But then he seldom did. He just turned up, mostly without warning.’

  ‘On the Sunday he worked most of the day on these papers?’

  ‘Yes. At least I imagine they were these papers. He said it was a big business report he had to prepare.’

  ‘Did you see them at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where would he have kept them on Saturday night?’

  ‘I imagine in his safe. Either the one in the study or the one in the bedroom.’

  ‘During that Sunday did he go out at all? I mean leave the house – until he went for his walk in the evening?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’re not absolutely sure?’

  ‘No. But usually he would come and tell me if he was going anywhere.’

  ‘He finished his work not long before you usually have drinks in the evening. Did you see him go up to his bedroom?’

  ‘No, but I heard him. I was in the sitting-room and the door was open. I imagine he went up wit
h his papers, put them away, changed and then came down for his drink. It was then that—’

  ‘Yes, we know. The point is, Mrs Tucker, that it is a fair assumption that Commander Tucker went up to his bedroom with these important papers. He put them in his safe – or left them in the safe in his study. But the papers were not to be found in either safe, and not to be found in the course of very thorough searches which we have carried out at Lopcommon. That suggests, in fact, that either he didn’t put the papers in one safe or the other, or that he did and they were subsequently taken out by someone.’

  ‘I can’t imagine by whom.’

  ‘Neither can I. I don’t think they were taken out because I don’t think they were ever put in any safe. Commander Tucker hid them – almost certainly in the house somewhere. Have you any idea whether he had any secret hiding place around the house? Particularly upstairs?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I opened both his safes myself. The one in the study had private papers which went to my solicitor. The bedroom one just had an empty box file. I left it there.’

  ‘Yes, we saw it. The papers were in it originally. I gather you don’t intend to live at Lopcommon again?’

  ‘That’s right. I shall sell it or let it furnished – as I used to let this house.’ She was easier with him now, but she knew she would never like him. When he spoke to her his eyes never left her face. Lassiter, she noticed, seemed at times to be paying little attention. He stared at the ceiling or his eyes went slowly round the room. Seldom did he look at her. She had the odd feeling that he was bored and could not care less about these papers.

  ‘When you came here – just before you went away – you brought a certain amount of stuff from Lopcommon?’

  ‘Yes. Chiefly my own personal stuff.’