The Desolate Garden

by Daniel Kemp

  My perception of her so far had been mixed, which the relationship to the figure in the photograph had only helped to complicate. With Maudlin knowing her family, I wondered how much she knew of the Patersons. Her appeal to me was twofold. Firstly, I found her challenging in an intellectual sense. The way she had introduced herself to me at Dukes was clever, something I would have been proud of myself. Her approach had completely disarmed me, and taken me by surprise. She was quick-witted, sharp and seemed intuitive and shrewd in her deliberations. Her second appeal lay entirely with her physicality; again, it was the challenge that attracted me. In physical law opposites attract, and my positive sexual chromosomes were being drawn inexorable towards everything that was once negative to me.

  “Yes, I was.” I was going to leave my answer at that, but I was regretting some of the ridicule I had aimed at her. I continued in my reply, “The milk count is down, and we're waiting on the vets' report. It's a worry. We've had problems with an influx of badgers this winter, and it could be TB in the herd. There's conjecture as to if badgers do spread the disease, but if there weren't so many liberal tree-huggers about in this neck-of-the-woods, then I'd trap them all. The badgers I mean no; come to think of it…I'd shoot the huggers as well!”

  She pulled up a chair beside me and stared at the chart on the computer screen.

  “My, you are radical. Hope that doesn't reflect your own political views. I marked you down as being more of a liberal than an intolerable right-wing fascist. Don't worry, it's only rhetorical, no need to divulge your leanings. I'm not here to find any sleepers hidden in any of the panelling.”

  I wondered about that throwaway remark all through breakfast, and barely said a word apart from polite answers to Judith's sincere questions regarding the estate and its management. Mixed with the memories of Elliot's first declaration of suspicion of Maudlin, my emotions were ragged and my thoughts confused. The eight months I'd had to examine those files, the ones that had caused the anxiety in father's life, were unfinished and inconclusive. The photographs I'd retrieved from my mother's memorabilia had unearthed some surprises, but nothing overtly connected to the unaccountable missing monies. In total there was £300 million that could not be found amongst the ledgers from 1935 to 1970; in today's money, that equates to roughly £2 billion.

  I was following her along the corridor from the dining room to the library, it was as if she was in a hurry to continue from where we had left off the previous evening; or was it, I speculated from her tactical remark, only minutes ago?

  “Do you think you could have some sort of portable heater brought in this morning, Harry? It was freezing enough in there yesterday. This wind and rain chills my bones.”

  I considered the obvious reply, “They're on show, that's why,” but my change of nature prohibited me. I liked me being understanding and humane, so I decided to continue to like myself.

  “Of course I can, I don't suppose it will harm the books for a day or two. My apologies…I don't feel the cold as much as you must.” I just could not help it, but it was not as blatant as before.

  She had the same cardigan on, but had replaced the black leggings she wore under her skirt on Friday for thick beige corduroy riding trousers.

  “We'll be here longer than a day or two, H. A week at least…maybe more.”

  “I had better send out for more cigarettes then,” I offered, courteously. She stopped and turned to face me, smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

  “In that case, could you order Rothmans for me I find your Dunhill too strong and too big. I seem to be wasting more than I'm enjoying.” She most certainly was not a diffident girl!

  “Nothing too much for Madam, nothing at all!” I was quickly becoming annoyed at liking myself.

  We entered, and as she was about to load the recording equipment with new tapes, I touched her hand. She did not recoil; instead, she looked dispassionately and detached from me, as if to emphasis her Wednesday evening warning of no touching. Or, was it simply shock?

  “Before we begin this morning's session, I'd like to ask you something off the record, and I'd like an answer to it, Judith; again, just between the two of us.”

  I had let go of her hand, but she had not sought to distance herself from me. We remained close and we were looking directly into each others' eyes.

  “Yesterday in your preamble, before these machines were on, you stated that your mission was to find out who murdered my father, and how. You never mentioned why. I don't believe you make any oversights. I believe there is a purpose behind all that you say, and all you don't.”

  “I believe the same could be said of you, Harry. Neither of us are fools. Your father was a very important chap, perhaps more than you realise. I have no reason to ask why. I know why…it was to cover up something he had found out. But here's the thing H, did he know what he had found, and did he tell you? Want me to turn them on now, or do you want to cry on my shoulder and confess all the sins of your family in private?”

  They were whirring, and Judith was into her stirrups. I was confused again. Was I being suspected in some way in a cover up, or the actual murder? Sometimes, honesty can be too much. Her acerbic little diatribe had found a mark. How did that anodyne remark of 'out of sight, out of mind' come into existence? Certainly not from our trade. Keep both eyes fixed on that round object, catching rather than dropping it otherwise you could end up dead!

  “We grow plums in those huge poly-tunnels of ours, over where the racing stables were once. We sell the wine made from them all over the world. Our biggest market is in Japan, would you believe? Top restaurants in your own town of London stock it. It's becoming very fashionable, I'm told. They even had a bottle at Dukes, if you noticed. Before its full fermentation it's quite acidic. Remind me to offer you some of that immature, sour, variety before you depart.”

  “I'll take it then that you don't want to shed your tears all over me, Harry?”

  “Haven't got anything to cry about, Judith. Unless you're going to tell me that your leaving today then I'd cry a bucket but, knowing that you're not, I won't bother. Incidentally, have you heard anything from the police about the CCTV at Eton Square? Have they got any pictures?”

  “Yes, they have, from the outside cameras. The hood was black, the trousers black, the shoes were black, the face might have been black, but whoever it was never smiled for the photographic session. Went in through the front door, though. You can see them drilling out the lock. You can buy little, almost silent ones nowadays at any DIY store. Slow speed varieties, the same sort used in some departments of ours. No deadlock. I understand from George, the valet chap, that Elliot had a habit of entertaining late at night, and one particular lady visitor had a key. There were no cameras on inside the house. This, apparently, was Elliot's last job on retiring to his bedroom.”

  Without further comment or hesitation, and without waiting for any reply of mine, she threw the first ball. “I'm going back to last night, I got how you came to us. I'm clear on that. What I want to know now is how your skills suited our purpose, what use did we put you to, and what was it that you expected.”

  “Trimble said he wanted me for my degrees, but mostly I think it was for my name. Together they suited his purpose admirably, as he put it. I was to be seconded under the Defence Intelligence Staff banner, and apply for a position in a private English company who would be favoured in a forthcoming takeover of certain petrochemical assets owned at present by BP in Antwerp. “With your qualifications they'll snap you up. You will be in there at the start, and you will open doors for them. You'll be making history, my boy!” That's how he sold it to me.”

  “Were you expected to make that history for him directly, or through a handler?” her eyes narrowed as she asked.

  “He told me, “Only ever to report to me Harry. No dirty hands on you before you step through my door…I should say not! We don't want you corrupted and shown the other side of life too soon. Only pure unadulterated chemicals for you to wo
rk with. Refreshing bubbles bubbling away above your Bunsen burner. We'll strip them clean, the two of us together, with you carrying the cross of Saint George and me sweeping up behind.”

  “Were those the exact words he used, Harry? It's seven years ago, now.”

  “Perhaps not verbatim, but the essentials and the references are his, plus the terminology. He was so excited about it all. I might as well have not been there. He reminded me of a dog with a toy almost jumping through rings. I'm sure that, had there been burning ones and I'd asked him, he would have jumped without questioning it.”

  “He never showed any exuberance or jauntiness towards you when here, on that shooting weekend. No high spirits whilst banging away at all those grouse?” She asked.

  “No. If anything, I'd say he looked downcast and gloomy. He never said much at meals or on the drive…he was a bit subdued, as though he had a heavy load on his mind.”

  “You said that he spent time alone with Elliot. Did your father reflect Peter's mood, do you think?”

  “I honestly don't remember. He was never a 'hail fellow well met' sort of person…a serious man, my dad. And I suppose it's true that familiarity does breed contempt. You stop looking for signs, after a while.”

  “Hmm. I'm surprised, Harry. You have struck me as a very deliberate and observant man. Why wouldn't you notice if your father was either nonplussed or excited, I wonder?”

  “Possibly because he always seemed that way to me, back then.” I had added the 'back then' quickly, as my lie about the close happy family ties in my previous recount had to be maintained.

  “Hmm, yes…possibly, I suppose.” She opened the red and black book for the first time, and scribbled something quickly.

  I had lied about Elliot's reaction. On the Sunday, the day they all departed, he did something completely out of character. 'Give me your hand, Harry. Congratulate me. I've been able to help my country,' he said, before patting me heartily on the back. In my silent reflection I almost missed her next question.

  “Did Willis and Howell meet your father separately or were they always together at their meetings?”

  “Always together. I never saw father on his own with either of those two.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, certain.”

  “Hmm…I see.”

  This idiosyncratic 'Hmm' seemed always to proceed the need of additions to the black and red book of hers; sometimes hastily, as though she didn't want to stop the flow, other times more deliberately, as though she needed time to think about my reply. This was one of the latter. She sat with her chin resting on her clenched hands, staring at the pages. Her lips pouted in a frown, in deep thought, until at last she gave a tiny sigh and said, to no one in particular, “Could be.” Then she immediately carried on.

  “When you were accepted into this BP buy-out company, how was Peter's reaction? The same euphoria, or a different reaction altogether?”

  “Different, yes, as though he expected it. He seemed a touch pensive, I remember him saying, “all well done then Harry. Get yourself settled, and I'll be calling on you when I have the need.” Very perfunctory, it surprised me.”

  “What was your role inside the petrochemical company? I've got the name on file, also your position, but I want you to tell it and, like before, expand on it. Tell me what you worked on, and what were its uses.”

  “I first worked on Polymers and man-made fibres; that category breaks down into many products, all used either by consumers or in industry. Polyethylene is what your milk comes in all the takeaway cartons for coffee, soups, etc. Polyvinyl chloride, PVC, makes pipes, amongst many other things. Polypropylene goes into appliances and packaging, then there's polystyrene and polyester, nylon and acrylics. All these products are made from spin-offs of the oil industry: liquefied petroleum gas, natural gas, or crude oil.”

  “Let me try to summarise all that if I can. Where there's oil these polymers can be made, is that right?”

  “At present, yes, but you need the expertise. That's where the science of chemical engineering comes to the fore, and folk like me. Bio-fuel is the future.”

  “Go on, Harry. I'm all yours.”

  “After a year or so they moved me into the speciality chemical field, which is a high-value, rapidly growing market where the products have diverse applications in the industrial world. There's electronic chemicals, commercial gases, adhesives and sealants, coatings for high-grade projects, and the materials needed for the decontamination of anything from used oil to nuclear waste. The biggest growth of all is in synthetic organic polymers, and that was really my personal forte. They're made from waste products ideal for the developing world, where there is no oil, or very little.”

  “You might have to excuse my ignorance in something that you are obviously so expert in, but could you reverse this process, and create fuel from polymers?” Judith innocently asked.

  “You have it. That's the end game; fuel from waste products or existing bio-diverse products farmed for fuel, like used cooking oil or seaweed, for example, not the agricultural produce that was first suggested. There are investigations into other methods too, but I have no wish to appear too esoteric. Many compounds are found in polymers, carbon being the most important. It's a common factor, so most have the consistency to ignite. Benzene used to be added to petrol as an aromatic compound polymer. It made it smell better but it can still be used for other purposes. It's still used as an additive but also, in the right formula, a substitute. Phenol is used in anything from cosmetics to antiseptics, from aspirin to herbicides. Ethanol is pure alcohol. There are other elements that, if combined with phenol and ethanol, give you a petrochemical base constituent. From that, the replication of fuel could be, in theory, constructed. It's a long way off replacing non-restorable assets, but it's on the right tracks.

  There's another thing though that's more relevant and more of today's world. In the Northern Hemisphere, Russia and Canada in particular, there are billions of barrels of oil locked up in the rock strata and under deep sand, but the cost of extracting this wealth of oil and gas has been prohibitive. Now, though, with the technology that we have developed in this country, and the cost of conventionally drilled oil, it's proving more cost-effective. There's a theory going around that the Russians have cut back in production to hike the price up, so that their vast reserves locked away can be extracted. Their only trouble is that they don't know how to do it, and don't want to pay for the knowledge nor the expertise needed. They want to steal it!”

  “That's interesting, very interesting. All that within your remit, Harry?”

  “Well, not just that now, no. I got shifted over into the biotechnology side, which is vast. I focus on metabolic pathways of pathogens, manipulating these using biochemistry. It truly is fascinating. Take protozoa, as an example. It's a single-cell organism living in algae that feeds on organic matter and lives in the soil, so after drilling or extracting the oil…” I was not allowed to finish, as an obviously bored Judith raised her hand and waved for me to stop.

  “As you say, a fascinating subject, no doubt, but I really have heard enough, thank you. Managed all this as well as us and the estate here, did you?”

  “Oh yeah, easily. Part-time for them and you, plenty of time for other things. I found a niche for myself.” I would be a liar to deny that it was not my aim to be boring. I liked being in control for a while.

  “Hmm. I can see that.” She rubbed the back of her fingers as if suffering the first symptoms of arthritis. “I want now to move on to your first venture into the field for us, and to how Trimble kept his reins on you.”

  “He would simply phone. I was living in a company owned apartment, about 25 kilometres from Antwerp, in a place called Mortsel. He called me there three days before my first operation.”

  “Before you go any further, was there any; 'living in' company to soothe away your aches and pains in Mortsel, H?”

  “No, no one permanent. There were a few transient relation
ships I pursued at the time but nobody stayed to do my washing and ironing, no.”

  “You're so romantic, Harry. I do so miss that age of romanticism, don't you? I'll need their names, give them to me at lunch, will you? Carry on. What did he say?”

  “He said he had sent me something in the post. I was to open it, and take the contents to a Lutheran Church in Grönwohld near Hamburg, in Northern Germany, and to leave it there at the far end of the chancel on the lectern side of the church. I was to do this by nine-thirty on the following Sunday, one hour before the first gathering of the day.”

  “What was in the parcel?” that narrowing of her eyes again.

  “It was a small lithographic print of a robed figure giving communion to a bearded, kneeling man. I was to place it upside down on the shelf that holds the song books in front of the first pew.”

  “What were you to do then?”

  “Well, there was something I had to do before that. I was to knock on a house…number 17 Steinern and ask for a Dietmar Kohl. If I was asked who I was, I was to give my full name, Lord Harry Paterson, adding that I was an old friend.”

  “You obeyed that directive, Harry?'

  “Yes, I did,” I declared.

  “Hmm…strange. After that, you went straight to the church and left the sketch…then what?”

  “I didn't find it quite as easy as you put it. I was trying to hold myself together a bit; I was thinking of Richard Burton in The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. Peter had said to wait until the congregation had left and then, to see if anything was left.”

  “Like what?”

  “He didn't say, only that whatever it was it would be underneath the pew where I had left the print on view.”

  “Tell me that there was something there, Harry, please?” she demanded, excitedly.

  “No, there was nothing there that time.” I paused just long enough to let the disappointment fill her face, then added, “But I found this; the second time I looked.”