by Bill Kitson
‘Having fun?’
Eve had stopped work and was looking over her shoulder. I smiled apologetically, ‘I was doing until I recalled something really odd. Think about that box the diptych was stored in, Eve, why was it such good timber?’
Eve frowned. ‘Sorry, Adam, I’m not with you. I thought you were simply ogling my backside.’
‘I was, until I noticed the grain on the dining table and it reminded me of the timber that box was constructed from. It was far too good for what was nothing better than a pallet, albeit an imitation one. I think it might be worth having another look at it.’
‘What do you think we might discover that we didn’t find before?’
‘I’ve no idea, but there has to be some reason that Harfleur made it like that.’
‘Are you sure he did make it?’
I stared at Eve. It was my turn to be perplexed. ‘Why do you say that? Who else could have made it?’
‘I don’t know. All I’m saying is that we’ve assumed it was done by Harfleur, but perhaps that wasn’t what happened. Possibly he was given it like that and simply put the diptych inside.’
I didn’t think much of Eve’s idea and mentally discarded it. To my mind it seemed obvious that the container had been made specifically to house those paintings and that could only have been done by Casper Harfleur. Which only proves how wrong I can be. Luckily, I didn’t voice my doubts to Eve. Had I done so, I don’t think I’d have ever heard the end of it.
I changed the subject. ‘Before you start vacuuming I’m going to phone Tom Fox again. If he’s in residence I want to find out what he meant by that cryptic comment he made about spies in the neighbourhood.’
I tried his number several times, when the vacuuming allowed, but without success. In the end, Eve suggested we ought to forego the telephone and visit him. ‘Apart from anything else you wouldn’t want to discuss that sort of thing over the phone, particularly if ours is bugged.’
She was dead right, it was hardly a topic that should be aired with others listening in. ‘You’re right. I’ll drive over to Elmfield and have a chat with him.’
I picked up my car keys, but found my way out of the house barred. ‘You’re going nowhere on your own,’ Eve told me. ‘No way am I going to allow you to go swanning off, leaving me to push that bloody vacuum round. If I was to let you out of here, the pair of you would probably finish up in the pub.’
I handed her the keys. ‘OK, if that’s how you feel, you drive.’
‘That suits me fine. I was getting sick of housework and I’d far rather drive your car than that vacuum any day.’
We never made it to Fox’s house that day. Before we got through the door, the phone rang. It was Michael Phillips, with news that puzzled us for a while. ‘Mother’s been at it again. She was sorting through more of that stuff from the spare rooms at the vicarage and she found some old photos of the inside of St Mary’s Church that I think you should take a look at.’
I explained that we were just about to drive to Elmfield, so we could call in at the same time, but Michael asked if we’d mind going to Dinsdale instead. ‘I really think you should inspect the photos while you are inside the church. That way you can see what mother found.’
I explained our change of plan to Eve. ‘For some reason he wouldn’t explain, those photos have got Michael really hot under the collar – or in his case the dog collar.’
Eve groaned. ‘OK, we’ll go, but only if you promise not to come out with any more dreadful puns.’
My pledge given, we set off for the church. When we arrived, Michael and his mother were waiting in the porch. On entering the building he led us towards the Lady chapel. ‘I want you to look at the place where the diptych used to hang before Mum shows you the photos.’
‘Have you arranged for it to be replaced?’ Eve asked.
‘No, unfortunately the man I had in mind for the job fell from a ladder and has broken his arm, so it will have to wait a bit longer. I don’t suppose that matters. After all these years a few more weeks is neither here nor there.’
We inspected the site, and then waited as Marjorie delved into her handbag. After a few moments she produced the images and presented them to us.
One glance was sufficient to tell us why they had been so eager for us to see the photos in the chapel. ‘These look nothing like the pictures we saw in the museum,’ Marjorie said.
She was right, the depiction was the same but the paintings we’d seen appeared to be of a far superior quality, and the frames were totally different. The frames, I suspected Harfleur had used, were a different shape, being deeper, wider and more solid-looking than those in the photos. But I couldn’t be certain from black and white prints.
‘I’m concerned by what Adam said about the weight of the diptych and I don’t think the hinges on the original support will be strong enough. I’d rather have the existing ones replaced.’ Michael pointed out.
I agreed with him before Eve gave voice to our suspicions. ‘What I don’t understand, is why any of this happened. Why would Andrew Kershaw commission Harfleur to restore the paintings, put them into different frames and then hide them away? It doesn’t make sense. Moreover, what possible motive could the vicar at that time have had to go along with a scheme that has all the hallmarks of a fraud? And why would Mark Bennett allow himself to become involved for that matter?’
Those were excellent questions, but ones for which at that time none of us could supply answers. One thought did occur to me. ‘I don’t believe this was intended to be a fraud.’
‘Why not?’ Marjorie asked.
‘Because in order to perpetrate a fraud there has to be a victim, someone to be swindled out of money or possessions and in this case there were no victims, except perhaps for some parishioners who were denied the sight of the diptych. We can be fairly certain that no attempt was made to sell the forgeries, if in fact they are fakes. I might not be an expert, but like our friend at the museum, I could see the quality in those paintings.’
‘I checked with one of the churchwardens who remembers the old vicar,’ Michael told us, ‘and from what he told me, I have absolutely no doubt that he would never have countenanced any sort of shady goings on, even if they were represented to him as being for the benefit of the church. By the sound of it he was an old-fashioned puritan type.’
‘I think we ought to take another, much closer look at what we found, and in far better light,’ Eve commented. ‘Adam already has some doubts regarding the box they were in.’
I didn’t tell them my thoughts, there seemed to be little point without the container there to show them. Instead, Michael agreed to arrange to have the diptych removed from the museum so that we could inspect both the paintings and their casing the following day.
‘Before I do that, I’m going to collect Chloe from the Grange,’ Michael told us as we headed for the door. ‘Her aunt and uncle have gone to London for a few days and I don’t like the thought of her being alone in that big house. I don’t think it’s wise to take chances in view of everything that’s been happening around here and, let’s face it, Elmfield Grange is pretty secluded. Would you be kind enough to drop Mother at the vicarage on your way back?’
We agreed, and when we arrived, Marjorie invited us in for a cup of tea. As we waited for the kettle to boil, we chatted about the mystery of the paintings. After a few minutes, the whistling sound told us the water was boiling. It was the closest we got to drinking the tea.
Chapter Eighteen
Marjorie had just poured the water into the teapot when the phone rang. She hurried out to answer it and returned only seconds later, her face etched with concern. ‘Could you take me to Elmfield Grange? Michael says when he arrived Chloe was trying to help an injured man into the house. He’s very dazed and Michael says he thinks the man’s been attacked.’
‘Wouldn’t they be better calling the police or the ambulance service?’ Eve asked.
‘Michael suggested it, but at the wo
rd “police” the man got very agitated.’
‘That sounds as if he’s a dodgy character. How did he come to get injured? Was he trying to break in or something?’
‘I don’t think he’s a burglar but I didn’t get chance to ask much. I think he’s had a bump on the head.’
I remembered the assault Michael had suffered and wondered if this man had been attacked the same way.
Fortunately the road to Elmfield Grange was free of traffic. I kept my foot firmly on the accelerator, hoping we didn’t encounter a police car as I was well over the speed limit for much of the short journey. Our arrival at the Grange would have graced any adventure film. I pulled the car to a shuddering halt, accompanied by screeching brakes and spattering gravel. Within seconds we burst through the front door and headed for the sitting room where Eve and I had interviewed David and Valerie Kershaw.
Chloe and Michael were standing alongside a chaise longue on which their uninvited guest was reclining.
‘How is he?’ Eve asked.
‘He’s awake, but we can’t make sense of anything he says. We think he might be suffering from concussion.’
Both Marjorie and I recognised the man as soon as we got a clear sight of him. It was the stranger I’d seen on several occasions since our return from honeymoon, the man Chloe thought had been following her. On closer inspection I realised the man was younger than I’d first thought, possibly around the same age as me. His face however was lined and etched with signs of stress. This, together with his prematurely greying hair, gave a much older appearance.
I approached him and asked how he felt. ‘Do you think you could tell us what happened to you?’
There was no reply. The injured man stared blankly back at me. Michael and Chloe had joined Marjorie and Eve who were watching from near the door. The stranger reached out for the glass of water Chloe had provided, but the table it was resting on was just out of reach. As I went to help him, I heard Eve tell the others, ‘I don’t care what he says, I think that man is concussed. I believe he needs hospital treatment, and if he was assaulted, the police ought to be informed.’
The man muttered something. I took a step back, astonished by what I’d heard, then turned and signalled to Eve. ‘Can you come over here, Eve.’
She came over a little reluctantly. ‘Ask him those questions again would you, but this time in German?’
‘Why me, and why German?’
‘Because you speak German far more fluently than I do, and when you were talking just now he muttered “Keine Polizei” and “Kein Krankenhaus”, which I believe means no police, no hospital, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
A few minutes later, following several bursts of quick-fire German between Eve and the stranger, she reported, ‘He says he was walking along the road when he felt a bang on the head and when he woke up he came here because it was the nearest house.’
That story was more remarkable for its omissions than what he’d told her. It didn’t explain why a German citizen was walking along a lonely country road in North Yorkshire, or why he didn’t want the police or medical attention. One thing was for certain; if he insisted on keeping away from the authorities, there was no way he could stay at Elmfield Grange. ‘Do you think it would be safe to move him?’ I asked Eve.
‘I think it would be OK. He said he’s feeling all right, apart from a headache. What do you have in mind?’
I had several things in mind, none of which I cared to divulge in the presence of others. Most of my thoughts concerned his story, or rather the lack of one. What he’d told us had been a pack of lies. I was fairly certain he’d been en route to Elmfield Grange and I was convinced I knew why, but this wasn’t the moment to share my knowledge with anyone else.
‘I think we ought to take him to Eden House until he’s fully recovered.’
Eve stared at me as if I’d taken leave of my senses. ‘Why our house?’ she demanded.
‘Because unless someone else has a better idea; you speak German far better than anyone round here. Put it to our friend and see how he reacts.’ I paused and added, ‘And, Eve, don’t take no for an answer.’
She blinked at the final remark, but didn’t challenge it. Instead she turned to the stranger and spoke to him at length. Despite his obvious protests, I could tell she was winning him over. My sole contribution was to instruct her to use the expression ‘It would be better for everyone’ and to emphasise the final word. That clinched the argument. He stared at me, clearly wondering how much I knew, or had guessed, then nodded. I asked Eve to reiterate my statement pointing out that it would be safer for everyone.
A short time later I helped our guest to his feet and we said goodbye to the others. He paused by Chloe and Michael, bowed slightly and muttered, ‘Danke.’
On reaching Eden House, he climbed out of the Range Rover unaided. To be on the safe side I handed the house keys to Eve and guided our guest towards the door. Inside I took him through to the lounge, where Eve made him comfortable on the sofa. Having attended to him, she turned to me and said, ‘OK, Adam, what exactly is going on?’
‘I’m not sure, Eve, but I thought if we were able to get him alone, away from the others, Herr Jäger would explain.’
It’s difficult to be certain which of them was more astounded by my simple remark. Both stared at me in open-mouthed astonishment for several seconds. Eve recovered first, although her mouth moved several times before she actually managed to speak. ‘Herr Jäger? You think this man is ...’ She looked at me, then at the man on the sofa, then back to me, ‘You believe he’s ...’
‘I’m fairly sure that Herr Jäger is Chloe’s uncle, Deborah Jäger’s younger brother, to be precise.’
Although my remarks were addressed to Eve I was watching him as I spoke. His expression didn’t change – except at the mention of his name and that of Debbie. Eve turned to him and repeated what I’d said, adding, ‘Is it true what Adam suggested? Are you Chloe’s uncle?’
Hearing the questions in his own language loosened his tongue. He reeled off a long statement, only parts of which I was able to grasp. I asked Eve to translate. Before doing so, she said something that made him smile.
‘What was that about?’
‘I told him he should speak slower, because my husband isn’t very bright.’ Eve’s idea of exacting revenge can be very sadistic. ‘Anyway, he confirmed what you guessed, he is Chloe’s uncle, and his sister was born Devorah Jäger.’
‘Ask him if the reason he’s reluctant to have the police involved is because he is in the country illegally, or because he is afraid the Stasi are after him and would get to know where he is? Also, if that is so, why are they chasing him? I can’t believe it’s simply because he’s Jewish.’
Eve’s surprise was apparent ‘How do you know he’s Jewish?’
‘Ask Herr Jäger if he’s lost something recently.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Ask him and I think you’ll find out.’
Eve did so. ‘You were right, Adam, I’d forgotten about that locket you found by the church. It belonged to his mother.’
‘Yes, and along with the one Chloe wears, it also has the Star of David on the back. Besides which, his sister’s name Devorah is the Jewish form of Deborah.’
Eve stared at me for a moment then asked, ‘So why do you believe the Stasi might be after him?’
‘Because I think one of their operatives is in the area at the moment. The man I’m talking about has been passing himself off as a private investigator with the cover name Lumsden.’
Eve gave me another long stare of incredulity mixed with disbelief, before turning to Jäger and repeating my assertions. He nodded a couple of times and made several comments, the last but one of which caused Eve to laugh aloud. Her expression changed however when he continued, and the final part of his speech had obviously troubled her. I could tell by her face that it was to do with far more than family relations.
‘Herr Jäger
has asked me to congratulate you,’ Eve said eventually, ‘because each of your wild guesses turns out to be accurate. He is Jewish, but that isn’t why the Stasi are hunting him. Lumsden is a Stasi operative, a former member of the Hungarian secret police. The reason they are tracking Herr Jäger is that they believe he will lead them to something they have been seeking for a long time.’
‘You said the man posing as Lumsden is Hungarian?’
‘Is, or was, why?’
‘I just remembered that incident at St Mary’s, when I saw Herr Jäger briefly. He vanished the moment he heard you salute the magpie. Now I know why. He mistook your mention of a magpie with the word Magyar, which is Hungarian for ... well, Hungarian. He must have assumed you had identified Lumsden, the Hungarian.’
‘Oh, right, I get you.’ Eve translated this last bit, to which Jäger nodded and reiterated something he’d said earlier. Eve smiled again.
‘What’s the joke?’ I asked.
‘He was referring to my earlier comment about you. He said if my definition of “not very bright” is correct, he’d hate to think what classes as genius round here. He also asked how you’d worked it all out.’
‘It all stemmed from the assumptions we’d made about Andrew Kershaw and his past career. If we were correct and he was a spy, his espionage activities would doubtless have taken him behind the Iron Curtain, and with our guesswork about Chloe’s mother and her maiden name, the East German connection was already there, in the back of my mind.
‘As to how I guessed Herr Jäger to be Chloe’s uncle? For ages I was certain he reminded me of someone, but it was only when I saw them in the same room that I spotted the resemblance. You remember the photos in the locket? We guessed the girl to be Chloe’s mother, if so, then logically the younger boy in the other photo would be Debbie’s brother. That’s why I thought it better to get him away from the others before we asked him to confirm it, or before someone else noticed the likeness. And I think it would be better to prepare Chloe before the reunion proper takes place.’