Dangerous Deception

by Anthea Fraser

  I nodded. He didn’t take my arm and we climbed stiffly, separately, my hands in fists against my sides. The sun had come out again, but I hardly noticed. The salt wind lifted my hair and blew it in a cloud across my face. In it, I could detect a lingering memory of the perfume I’d worn the night before – Philip’s Cabochard.

  We stopped again and turned to look back the way we had come. We were now almost on a level with the castle opposite, and its time-worn battlements faced us, grey and forbidding, across the intervening space. It struck me that we were studying it with much the same calculation as its enemies of old had done. How many of them had succeeded in storming it?

  Below us, in the dip, we could see the collection of parked cars, our own among them. Just beyond them, at the foot of the path up to the castle, stood a small, white-washed cottage with some kind of table outside, round which half a dozen people were milling. The path itself was dotted along its length with tiny, bent figures, but our searching eyes could discern no other approach to the castle.

  “The corridor must be on the sea side,” Philip remarked, his eyes narrowed against the sun. He was staring across, his fair hair blowing in the wind, his body braced, hard and firm, against it, and I felt a surge of irreparable loss such as I’d known when my parents were killed. He’d been mine, and I’d let him slip through my fingers. On cue, the words of a song my mother used to sing came into my head: Careless hands, that can’t hold on to love.

  I held my own hands straight out in front of me, looking down at them. They were long and slim and brown, and the circle of Philip’s ring was no longer discernible. Careless hands don’t care when dreams slip through.

  “What on earth are you doing?” His amused voice broke into my introspection.

  “Nothing,” I said, self-consciously putting my hands behind me.

  “Well, we might as well go down. I can’t see anything from this side that will be of any help.”

  It was easier going downhill and we reached the car fairly quickly.

  “Let’s take an apple each to eat on the climb.” He unlocked the door and rummaged in the packages lying on the back seat. I wished dully we could get in and drive away without going near the castle, but Philip, apparently sharing none of my misgivings, had already relocked the door and was walking towards the cottage. I fell into step beside him.

  As we drew nearer, I saw that on the table outside it were piles of postcards and pamphlets such as that passed to me by Sinbad, and the woman in charge was doing a brisk trade.

  “You have got the brochure?” I asked belatedly, biting into the sweet, crisp fruit.

  “Yes, in my pocket. We needn’t waste money on another.”

  Ahead of us a family with two children were already starting the ascent. The smaller child at once started to whine, and her father scooped her up and set off up the slope bearing her on his shoulders. Two other couples who had been purchasing brochures fell in behind us. As Sinbad had directed, we were now surrounded by ordinary holidaymakers; if only our presence here was as innocuous as theirs.

  “How long will you stay on,” I asked Philip, “after Tuesday?”

  “No longer than I can help. I’ll catch up on my sleep on Wednesday and start for home the next day. What about you? No doubt you’ll be wanting to get back and report to Bryn. It must be one hell of a strain for him, having to keep his distance, but he couldn’t be seen near the Zimmermans. I must say, though, I’m surprised that Carol’s not here.”

  “Carol?” I said sharply.

  “Carol Lawrence. After all, it was her baby.”

  So I’d been right the first time: Carol Lawrence was Goldilocks. Of course – Bryn had asked for her when he phoned the Plas Dinas. ‘Miss Lawrence, is it?’ Gareth had said, and I’d led him on to my own name.

  We had reached the point where the proper ascent began. Philip flung his apple core into the long grass and looked up the steep path ahead of us. “Ready?”

  I drew a deep breath. “Ready,” I echoed.

  “Then – excelsior!”

  Side by side, we set off for the castle.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Look here upon this picture, and on this;’

  Shakespeare: Hamlet

  FROM the beginning, the going was harder on this side and for some time, intent on the climb, neither of us spoke. We had overtaken the couple with the children and there was no one within earshot when Philip remarked suddenly, “I hope they haven’t got a dog at that cottage; it might bark at an awkward moment.”

  “That would be all we need.”

  He flung me a mocking, sideways glance. “Cheer up, Clare, remember you’re doing this for love!”

  “Well, you’re certainly not,” I retorted. “Why are you doing it, Philip?”

  “Just for the hell of it, I suppose. The element of risk, outwitting authority.”

  “Not to mention,” I added spitefully, “defrauding the insurance companies, in other words your step-father. Your own personal revenge.”

  “How very astute of you, dear Clare.” His voice was light enough, but there was a dangerous undercurrent. That, I realised, was what he’d meant about my hurting Matthew; I hadn’t known, then, that insurance was involved.

  The track twisted and looped its way up the steep hillside, bringing us ever nearer to the ancient battlements towering above us until, rounding the final bend, we saw the gateway directly ahead – the entrance to the castle.

  I paused, holding my side and gasping for breath after the steep climb. Philip ran a hand testingly over the heavy hinge and looked at his fingers. “Oil,” he said softly. “Well maintained – it must be closed every night.”

  “You’d think,” I remarked acidly, “that after resisting the Normans and Cromwell, it wouldn’t have too much trouble keeping us out.”

  Philip opened the booklet and read aloud. “This magnificent fortress, standing four hundred feet high and surrounded on three sides by steep, almost vertical precipices, could be taken only by surprise or by starvation.

  “I plump for surprise. It’s in a state of ruin anyway – we could easily climb over some of these walls.”

  “With a four-hundred foot drop below?”

  “On this side, you goose.”

  “Morning sir, miss.” A peak-capped figure ambled towards us. “That’ll be one-fifty each, if you please. Grand day after yesterday, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed,” Philip answered pleasantly. “I suppose rain’s not very good for business?”

  The man shook his head. “Had to close early. A blow, that, slap in the middle of the busy season.”

  “What time are you usually open till?”

  “Five-thirty, sir.”

  He touched his cap and moved on to the couple who’d come up behind us.

  “Gatehouse on the left, guard-room on the right,” Philip murmured, referring to the plan. “I think our passage must be over there. It looks as though we have to go down some steps.”

  I said quickly, “Well, now we’re here, we might as well see everything else first.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Playing the tourist, are we?”

  “As instructed,” I reminded him. “I meant to ask when you had the map out: how far is Pen-y-Coed from here?”

  “Five or six miles up the coast.” He glanced at me. “Let’s be logical about this. If this was where Harvey made his discovery, and he came back to check it the next day, why would he waste time going on to Pen-y-Coed? Surely his most likely course would be either to hot-foot it back to the hotel and a phone, or drive to Cardiff or Swansea to report the find in person. You said he mentioned contacting the authorities.”

  “But he was found at Pen-y-Coed,” I said stubbornly.

  “Exactly. Which to my mind means he was never here at all. There’s not a shred of evidence to prove he was, nor, for that matter, that his death wasn’t accidental. For my money, he dug up some sort of artefact, perhaps in a cave on the cliffs, and when he returned to re-examine
it, he slipped, lost his footing, and fell to his death.”

  Admittedly it sounded plausible, and I wished I could believe it. I’d much prefer Dick’s death to have been an accident rather than a deliberate act of violence.

  Continuing our exploration, we wandered through an archway into what had once been the Great Hall. Stone steps, hollowed in the centre by centuries of wear, led at one end to a ruined gallery, opposite which was the remains of an enormous chimney. I went over to the deep window embrasure and looked through the slit-like opening at the sunlit hillside.

  Below me, the rocks on this northern face fell sheer and steep, while to the right fields spread out to the horizon. In one of them, minute in the distance, a tractor was at work. On my left, far below, lay the flat brown sands of low tide.

  I turned to find Philip beside me. “Except for the tractor,” I commented, “the view can’t have changed much over the centuries. It’s easy to imagine them here, keeping watch for the approach of the enemy.”

  “Well, the enemy is now within,” Philip said shortly. “Come on, we can’t put it off any longer; let’s have a look at that corridor.”

  I sighed, turning reluctantly from the peaceful scene. The castle, magnificent even in its crumbling decay, depressed me. We returned to the courtyard and walked over to the far corner. Nearby, the family with the children were posing while the father took a photograph.

  Philip said, “I’ll go first. Watch your step.”

  I followed him through the low entrance and down a flight of steps, and at once a dank, cold smell came to meet us, redolent of the past. On our right, a series of spy-holes provided the only source of light, directing their narrow beams on to the wall opposite, where they were all but absorbed by the damp stone. Philip started to count the apertures under his breath.

  “There are more steps halfway along,” he warned over his shoulder. “They’re bound to be slippery, and the rock even here is worn and uneven. Take care how you go.”

  Cautiously, hands pressing against the walls for support, I went after him.

  “Here are the steps now.”

  He started down them and I followed. But despite my caution, my foot slid on a treacherous piece of rock, and before I could regain my balance, I’d hurtled down the remaining few steps, coming up hard against Philip. He caught my arms, holding me like a vice pressed tightly against him. Then, as I righted myself, his hands fell away.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” He was breathing quickly.

  “No. Sorry if I winded you; I lost my footing.”

  “Don’t twist your ankle, for God’s sake – it’s lethal down here. I’m not surprised everyone else is giving it a miss. All right to go on? That spy-hole is the sixth – three to go. You’d better take my hand.”

  I did so, feeling his fingers tighten round mine. The little round holes were still appearing at regular intervals on our right. I peered through one as we passed, but all that was visible was sky and sea.

  “Eight,” Philip counted, “nine. Now, one – two – three – four paces.” He stopped, and I of necessity with him. “Nobody behind us, is there?”

  I looked back up the dark, echoing passage to the square of light at the far end. “Not a soul.”

  “Keep your ears pricked.” He felt in his pocket for a torch, flicked it on, and bent to the left-hand wall. Then he gave a quick exclamation.

  My heart did a somersault. “What is it?”

  “Someone has been here; the edge of the stone’s proud, look – it’s not been completely pushed back.” He straightened, meeting my eyes. “Could be you were right after all. I’d better check; we don’t want to go through all the rigmarole, only to find the cupboard is bare.”

  I said quickly, “No, Philip, don’t touch it – it’s too risky. Someone could come in any minute – let’s go back.”

  “But dammit I have to look. If Harvey was here, he could have moved them somewhere else for safety, in which case we might as well pack our bags and go home.”

  I stared at him, and he added succinctly, “We wouldn’t have a hope of finding them, would we, now he’s been done away with?”

  Been done away with. The phrase echoed ominously in my head. So now Philip accepted it, too. His fingers were scrabbling under the rock and slowly, surely, it began to inch out from the wall.

  “I’m not sure how heavy this is.” His voice came back to me, resounding against the dank stone. “Can you take one end?”

  I slid my hands under the emerging slab and its ancient chill struck through to the core of my body. I shuddered.

  “Hang on, Clare. Soon be – out – in the sunshine – again.”

  He staggered against me as the stone came away, revealing a dark cavity. “Lower your end to the floor – gently – and we’ll prop it against the far wall.”

  The task completed, we turned to peer into the hole.

  “It goes back for miles,” I said.

  Philip flicked the torch again. “At least some of them are still here, but I’ll have to do a quick count. God, look – this one’s been tampered with!”

  He reached inside and pulled out a cardboard tube some three feet long. The polythene which had enclosed it had been torn back, and the exposed cardboard felt cold and slightly damp.

  “Make sure it’s still inside, while I count the rest.”

  He shoved the tube at me and turned back to the cavity. I was actually holding it, the key to the whole business.

  Breathing quickly, I stood the tube upright and felt gingerly inside. A roll of canvas, I thought, as my fingers made contact. Cautiously, my heart beating high in my chest, I tugged it a few inches clear and carefully turned it back. In the dim light from the spy-holes something glowed vibrantly – rich, velvety red, midnight blue and emerald.

  With held breath I swivelled the tube on the floor and cautiously started to unroll the canvas, gasping as my eyes met other eyes – gentle, painted eyes in the face of a Madonna.

  “Is it still inside?” Philip asked without turning, his voice echoing in the hollow rock.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “it’s here.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Reverently I slid my precious discovery back into the tube, pulling the torn outer cover round it as best I could.

  “They’re all accounted for, then. God, what a relief! Give it to me.” He reached out and I put the tube into his hand, my mind whirling furiously. Who did these masterpieces belong to? Had some major art gallery been robbed?

  “Right, give me a hand with the slab again.”

  Mechanically I helped him lift the stone and manoeuvre it back into position. Inch by inch it ground its way home, till there was nothing to distinguish it from its fellows.

  “However did Bryn discover the cavity?” I asked.

  “He played all round here when he was a boy. Used to hide things in it even then, but never told anyone about it. So when he needed a secret hiding place, it was the obvious choice.”

  “And – Dick Harvey?”

  “God knows how he stumbled on it. Of course, the corridor is one of the features of the castle. Being an archaeologist, I suppose he’d pay it particular attention. It’s even possible that when Sinbad brought the Zimmermans he didn’t push it far enough back, either, though I can’t believe he’d be so careless.”

  “The Zimmermans came here?”

  “Yes; Bryn wasn’t happy about it because, as you said, it doubled the risk, but they flew over specially; insisted on seeing what they were paying out for. Come on, then, let’s get out of here – I could do with some fresh air. Shall I go first again?”

  He moved ahead of me, holding his hand out behind him. I put mine into it, and this time he held it loosely. Balance restored, I thought – or perhaps it was simply that he was more relaxed now the first part of our mission was accomplished.

  We came up the final flight of steps like divers emerging from the deep, and leant for several minutes against the sun-warmed stone, blinking in
the brightness. It seemed strange to be back so quickly among the crowds, when less than two minutes previously we’d been alone with our secret.

  “Anything else you want to see?”

  I shook my head. “Let’s go.”

  “Right, we’ll find somewhere to eat lunch.”

  The sun was warm on our backs as we went down the hill. Philip whistled tunelessly under his breath, but my mind was still seething with my discovery. Two million pounds’ worth of paintings! Where had they come from?

  Outside the cottage, the woman was still selling brochures. There was no sign of a dog – a small comfort. But as we drew near to the car park I stiffened.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Look!”

  His eyes followed mine. Immediately alongside our car was a small red Austin.

  “Good heavens, girl, there are hundreds of that model – it doesn’t have to be the same one. Anyway, you said it passed us, back on the main road.”

  “It did; it must have turned round and come back.”

  “Don’t look like that, Clare; there’s no need to panic.”

  “Oh, none at all! We’re only about to remove some of the world’s great art treasures, that’s all. Let’s shout it from the rooftops!”

  “Be reasonable, now!”

  “I’m not eating my lunch here,” I said firmly.

  “Fine, we’ll find somewhere else. Get in.”

  He switched on the engine. “The driver’s probably one of those,” he said, nodding to where groups of picnickers huddled on the grass over hampers and primus stoves.

  “Then the sooner we’re away from them, the better.” I reflected wryly that I seemed more worried than Philip did.

  As we jolted over the grass, I settled back against the warm leather of my seat, slotting the latest pieces of the jigsaw into place. Elmer Zimmerman, that bald, unprepossessing man, was buying some two million pounds’ worth of masterpieces from Bryn, and shipping them, presumably, to the States. But how had Bryn got hold of them in the first place, and what of Carol Lawrence, whose baby it was?

  There was nothing now to stop me going to the police – nothing but the thought of what would happen to Philip. And in that moment I acknowledged two things. The first was that even if he had the Crown Jewels hidden in Cefn Fawr, I could not lift a finger to stop him, if by so doing I placed him in any kind of danger. And the second, following on that, was that I myself was his greatest potential threat, since I was the forged link in the chain.