“But what were they doing out there?”
He grimaced. “Not much good, as it turned out, though not for want of trying.”
“But—”
“They were the undercover we’d arranged.”
“Police?” I looked at him in bewilderment. “Then they’re not—?”
“Yes, it really is their honeymoon, but as this operation was coming to the boil, I gather their Chief asked if they’d mind combining business with pleasure.”
“Good heavens! So how much did they know of what was going on?”
“Philip was keeping them briefed.”
“Philip?”
He bit his lip, obviously having let slip more than he’d intended.
I said quietly, “After all this, don’t you think I’m entitled to an explanation?”
“It’s a long story, Clare, and I promised Philip—”
“I don’t want to see him,” I interrupted.
He was safe, that was all that mattered. I was not strong enough to listen to his carefully composed expressions of regret, to see his eyes slide evasively from mine.
Matthew said gently, “Everything will be explained in the morning. Now, my dear, you’re going to bed. Do you realise it’s after one o’clock?”
But I’d no intention of being placated. “Please,” I insisted, “whenever and whatever it is, I want you to tell me. Don’t make me see Philip.”
Behind me the door rocked open, and the voice I’d thought never to hear again demanded tensely, “Has she come round?”
I stiffened, clinging to Matthew’s hand, but he extracted it with a little pat and rose to his feet. As the door closed behind him, Philip came quickly round the corner of my vision. His face was white, still spattered with mud, with a streak of blood down one cheek, and his jaw where Bryn’s fist had caught him was bruised and swollen. He sat down and took both my hands tightly in his.
“Clare,” he said. “Thank God you’re safe.”
I sat without moving, drained of emotion.
“Darling, I know you’re exhausted, but this can’t wait – I have to explain why I was so brutal yesterday.”
He paused, and I felt him look at me, but was incapable of meeting his eyes.
“You see, the risks hadn’t mattered before, when I’d nothing to lose. Then, unbelievably, just when the danger was greatest, it suddenly seemed I’d everything to live for.
“I don’t think you realised how desperate it all was; it was quite on the cards that I wouldn’t come out of it. Bryn never completely trusted me, I knew that. If you had to be hurt, it seemed preferable for it to be then, before anything had a chance to develop.”
Again he paused and again I remained silent.
“Also, it was going to be hard enough for you to extricate yourself from Morgan when Carol arrived, without having you as worried for my safety as I was for yours.”
He raised my hands and held them against his cheek. “God, Clare, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Imagine how I felt; after loving you all these years, just when it seemed you might feel the same, I had to push you away.”
The lump of ice inside me was beginning to dissolve. He turned my hands over and kissed the palms, one after the other.
“I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this now, but I had to explain, try to make you understand. Now, I’ve kept you long enough; Mrs Davies is waiting for you, so let me help you upstairs.”
I had still not said a word, but he didn’t seem to expect one. He helped me up, supporting me so that my injured foot was off the floor, and we slowly progressed into the hall. The staircase had never seemed so long, and my legs felt like rubber.
At my door, Philip handed me into Mrs Davies’s care and she helped me to undress and slide into bed, where comforting hot-water bottles awaited me.
Then it was dark and my eyes closed of their own volition and I slept as never before.
Chapter Seventeen
‘O! wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful!’
Shakespeare: As You Like It
I WOKE slowly to the sound of the bedroom curtains being swished back and the titillating smell of buttered toast and coffee. The events of the past night rose like bubbles to the level of consciousness, and I thought with relief – at last, it’s almost over. Almost: but despite his words last night, there was still a barrier between Philip and me, the reserve which only a frank and full discussion could dispel.
It was Mrs Davies, not Mair, who stood smiling down at me. I blinked up at her.
“What time is it?”
“Almost twelve – you’ve had a good sleep.”
“Twelve!” I struggled up in the bed, looking at the clock for verification. “The day’s half gone!”
She laughed. “You had more than your share of yesterday, and you’ve been well out of it, I can tell you. We’ve had quite a time trying to explain things to the guests. The sudden departure of the Zimmermans, following on the disappearance of Mr Rees and Miss Lawrence, to say nothing of Mr Hardy’s swollen jaw – it was really too much for them.”
I said with a clutch of apprehension, “What happened to Bryn, do you know?”
“The ringleader? In Swansea jail, with the rest of them.”
“He wasn’t hurt, then?”
“Not that I know of.”
I relaxed, glad that the confrontation which could have ended so disastrously had in fact produced no fatalities. Added to which, as I admitted ruefully to myself, unprincipled and ruthless though he was, Bryn undeniably had charm.
Mrs Davies moved to the door. “Mr Bennett would like a word, when you’re ready.”
“Of course – please ask him to come in. Perhaps he’d like some coffee.”
“I suggested it, but he said it’s almost lunch-time. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”
There were dark rings under Matthew’s eyes, but his mouth had lost the tightly-drawn tension of last night.
“And how are you this morning?” He bent to kiss me. “Or perhaps I should say, this afternoon?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“And the ankle?”
“I haven’t tested it, but it feels a little easier.”
“It’s amazing you’ve escaped with nothing worse, after all you’ve been through. And, heaven help me, I sent you away for a holiday!”
“Seeing you and Philip together is better than any holiday.” My voice shook. It seemed my control was more precarious than I’d realised. He took my hand.
“There’s a lot for you to forgive, Clare; I hope you feel the ends justify it. Still, Philip insists that all the explanations come from him; he’s planning to take you out for the day. I did say you should be resting that foot, but Mrs Davies has unearthed an old walking stick, which at least will help keep your weight off it.”
I adroitly changed the subject. “You never explained your miraculous appearance on the scene?”
“It was thanks to your postcard; I nearly had a stroke when it arrived yesterday. Clearly it had been written before Philip showed up, but I knew you must have met during the weekend, just as things were coming to a climax.
“I phoned here immediately, but neither of you could be found and it wasn’t the kind of message I could leave with anyone. So I threw a few things into a case and hotfooted it after you.
“I couldn’t just suddenly turn up here, though – it might have endangered the whole operation – so I stopped off at the Plas Dinas. I phoned again from there, shortly before six; this time it was the chambermaid who answered. She said you were both out but she’d see you got the message to ring me. Obviously, you didn’t. But I wasn’t aware of the urgency, or I’d have kept phoning; like Philip, I still thought the action was due to take place tonight.”
“How did you hear of the change of plan?”
“Young Dacombe phoned me at home, and Mrs Withers gave him the Plas Dinas number, which I’d left with her. He rang about nine, explained he was the police watchd
og we’d arranged, and admitted he was worried; Philip had disappeared and there was no sign of you, Rees or the Lawrence girl. He’d alerted the local police and was about to set off for the castle.
“I was all for going with him but he wouldn’t hear of it. I suppose he was right – I’m a bit long in the tooth for cops and robbers. So I came on here, not knowing what on earth was happening and out of my mind with worry for you both.”
“Well, fortunately we survived.” I wiped the butter off my fingers. “And now I suppose I’d better get up, if Philip’s waiting for me.”
“He’s been waiting for you a long time, Clare.”
I didn’t encounter anyone on my way downstairs, but I could see Philip’s car drawn up outside. He was leaning against it, staring up the hillside where I’d climbed with Clive my first morning.
He turned as he heard my halting footsteps, and came to help me. “How are you this morning?”
“Not too bad, considering, thanks to the improvised crutch. I must say that’s a magnificent bruise you have there.”
He smiled fleetingly. “Will you come for a drive? We need to talk, don’t we?”
I nodded and he took my stick and helped me into the car. It was a day similar to yesterday, a pale blue sky with ragged clouds blowing across the sun. I wished the explanations were behind us and we could be natural with each other.
“The Mortimers and the schoolmarms are to be given a brief resumé after lunch,” he said, breaking the silence. I made an effort to help him out.
“What about the old ladies? Are they still there?”
“Oh yes, they were only on the fringe – I’m sure they never realised what Bryn was up to. He’d used them before, but only to listen and report anything that might prove lucrative. He used to tell them it was to help his business. Euphemistic, or what?”
We came to the corner where the road branched left towards the coast and the castle. Philip took the right-hand turn and we started to climb. Far below us at the foot of the valley, a toy-like train scuttled importantly along the silver track, a curl of smoke blowing over its back like a tiny medieval dragon.
We climbed continuously for several miles, the road twisting and turning past the odd stone cottage and isolated farm. Then there were no more buildings, just the grass and the sky. We might have been on the top of the world. Philip steered the car on to the turf and stopped. The silence was complete.
“Can you manage to walk a little way?” he asked. “We won’t go far.”
I nodded. He helped me out and, with him supporting me on one side and the stick on the other, we moved slowly up a small incline away from the road. The view was panoramic: sweep after sweep of fields, the silver skein of streams threading between them, and clusters of houses nestling in the valley. At intervals, clumps of sheep were bunched together like blobs of icing on the grass, and immediately below us a copse waved scarlet and copper banners against the grey rock.
A stone wall ran zigzagging beside us, before giving up farther along in a heap of stones. Everything smelt fresh and newly washed after last night’s storm and it was very still. A lark was singing somewhere, and in the distance a dog barked once.
Philip spread his mac on the grass and with his assistance I lowered myself on to it. The wall was at our backs and all Wales spread before us. My mouth was dry. Now, I thought, he can’t put it off any longer.
He leant forward, his hands clasped round his knees, not looking at me. “I don’t know how much you took in of what I said last night – I know I wasn’t very coherent. Did you get the gist of it?”
“I think so.”
“That’s the most important part, but I’ll go back to the beginning and then perhaps you’ll see what I was up against. And it’s further back than you might think, because I actually met Bryn a year or two ago, at Plas Dinas.”
“Yes, he told me.”
Philip glanced back over his shoulder, hesitated as though about to say something, then, instead, continued. “We went fishing together, and I must say I enjoyed his company. He was interesting and amusing to be with – and, having grown up hereabouts, knew the best pubs to go to, which was another advantage! During those two days we covered all kinds of topics, among them, our jobs; he told me he was an art dealer, and I mentioned that I was in insurance.
“Then the holiday ended, we said our goodbyes, and I never expected to see him again. But you know how it is: once you’ve met someone, you seem to keep hearing about them in various contexts – like never having heard of a place, and then seeing it mentioned all the time. And sure enough, a few months later his name came up a couple of times in connection with some rather dubious dealing.
“I was surprised, but there are always rumours circulating and I didn’t pay too much attention. Until we heard him mentioned in the context of a series of frauds we’d been looking into for years, and it was at that stage that I began to wonder if I could make use of our acquaintance to get at the truth.
“I was reluctant to do it, though – it smacked too much of duplicity – and I didn’t make a move until things came to a head with the fire at Portland House.”
He turned again to look at me, a smile touching his mouth. “Which, as I obligingly told you, cost us a cool two million. And again, though obviously we’d no proof, it seemed highly likely Bryn Roberts was involved.
“It was at this point that Carol arrived on the scene – a different kettle of fish altogether. Bryn, as I know from personal experience, can be warm, friendly and amusing, even if he uses these traits to his own ends. Carol, on the other hand, has no redeeming features.”
I said drily, “You amaze me.”
Philip grinned. “All right, she’s a looker, I don’t deny that, but she’s as hard as nails. If she wants something, she goes for it, no matter who gets hurt in the process. She and Bryn met about a year ago, and he fell for her pretty heavily. Before long, they were planning The Big One.
“If you’re wondering how I know all this,” he added over his shoulder, “she filled me in pretty thoroughly during our day at the castle. Very full of herself, she was. She couldn’t have known how illuminating it was.
“Their first move was to get her installed as secretary-cum-bookkeeper to Lord Glendenning, but in view of Bryn’s gallery connections and the occasional whispers about him, they kept their association secret.
“So, she settled into her job, quickly made herself indispensable, and became a trusted member of staff. But as the Hunt Ball drew near, she and Bryn began to crystallise their plans.
“The old boy has gout and never goes to the Ball, but the rest of the family does and traditionally the servants are given the evening off, with one exception who stays behind to serve his lordship his supper. You can guess who volunteered last time.”
He paused, his eyes following the scroll of an aeroplane across the sky.
“The rest was easy,” he continued. “Though the pictures they’d selected were valuable, they were fairly small and easily portable. So when the time came she passed them out to Bryn, set fire to the gallery, and made great play about ‘rescuing’ a whole pile of other canvases and trying to contain the fire till the brigade arrived. Needless to say, the gallery was completely gutted and Glendenning gave her a handsome cheque in gratitude for the number she’d saved.”
“So what aroused your suspicions?” I prompted.
He grimaced. “Insurance men always suspect fires, specially if valuables are involved. But although by now we had Bryn firmly in our sights – and this seemed to be very much his style – there was nothing whatever to connect him with Carol, and he continued to be seen around with his usual harem. As for Carol herself, Lord Glendenning wouldn’t hear a word against her, and it did seem that she’d fought hard to save the majority of the collection.
“The cause of the fire was soon established – a cigar butt in a wastepaper basket; which was a clever touch, because it had happened before, when one of the servants had found the basket merr
ily ablaze. The old boy’s a bit absent-minded, and he’s very fond of his port.
“They were also careful to take paintings from only one corner of the gallery, thereby backing up her story of not being able to reach them for the flames, and left enough paintings to be found among the ashes to obscure the exact number that were lost.
“Bryn meanwhile had removed them from their frames – which are still missing, by the way – wrapped them as we saw, and shot straight up here to Cefn Fawr, probably even before the fire was out.
“The next development was sheer luck – good for me, disastrous for them. I was out on business in a little market town not far from Portland House when I saw them together, having a drink in a bar. I knew who she was – there’d been photos in the press after the fire. So I reported back to Matthew, and we dreamed up the Big Split.”
“And you never told me.” My voice was low.
“No; I accept full blame for that. Matthew was very anxious you should be put in the picture – he hated the whole idea anyway. But I made it a condition that you weren’t told.”
That hurt. Philip wasn’t looking at me; he was still clasping his knees and staring out over the valley, but a nerve jerked at the corner of his mouth, and I knew that for him, too, this was the hardest part.
I moistened my lips. “Are you going to tell me why?”
“Ostensibly, because your reactions would be carefully watched in certain circles, and it was imperative that they should be entirely natural.”
“And – unostensibly?”
I saw his knuckles whiten. “It was by way of an escape clause for you.”
“Which,” I said bitterly, “I seized with both hands.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I would?”
“I was pretty sure; the writing had been on the wall for months. It occurred to me that you’d met someone else, which was why I fell so readily for your story about Bryn.”
“Your story,” I corrected him. “I only confirmed what you said.”
“I was pretty wound-up anyway by the time I arrived at Carreg Coed,” he said grimly, “and when I saw you waiting in the bar—”
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