The Desolate Garden

by Daniel Kemp

  “You're missing the plot, George. Whatever Paulo has done, it looks as though he has been well and truly caught. The Russians won't want him back to embarrass themselves. They'll want him dead, then write a glowing obituary about him. A Knighthood would only make that more certain.”

  “Yes, you're right. I hadn't thought of that,” he replied, ruefully. Then, as the doors opened, he added, “Couldn't he come and live with us at Eton Square? Then maybe Loti could come too. They would love Mrs Squires' cooking, and I could look after them both. What do you think, Harry? Does it sound a good idea?”

  The idea of his reunited family had possibilities; however the security issues would, it seemed, prevent this being practical. My mind was lingering on Eton Square, and the problem I had there, when Judy appeared from the front desk. Her attention was on a letter still unopened in her hand and she was agitated, not looking where she was going. Fortunately, it was into George that she collided.

  “He's gone, Harry! Paulo left this as by way of explanation.” Abruptly, and without an apology, she forced the thick envelope into my hand. It was addressed formally to Lord Harry Paterson, Earl of Harrogate.

  “It was under the door to my room this morning, Harry. I checked at the concierge desk, and they said our friend had settled his bill early this morning and left with his chauffeur. What the fuck's he playing at?” She was more than agitated, as the look on her face and her language betrayed; she was almost white with anger.

  It has been my pleasure to meet you all especially you, Harry. I could see the same devil-may-care attitude that I believed to be in your great grandfather. Alas, I will never be around to ask you if this belief of mine was true. I trust that by now your companion, Mrs Meadows, has worked out exactly who Alexi Vasilyev is, and who he represents. Please forgive me for my intrusiveness in regards to Judith, but I had to be sure she was who she said she was. It's my carefulness. The same caution that has kept me alive all these years. Alexi is American CIA, but you can never use that information; it would not only cost him his life but many others as well. You are not built that way, Harry, and I suspect neither are George and Judith.

  You see, Katyerena was my daughter's name before we all became Westernised, and the name Katherine would suit her better in her career in the CNN organisation. It would save unnecessary questions, you understand. When she told me that was her cover name when she met Howell, I knew that Alexi was sending me a message. So I met him and made a deal, the last one I shall ever make in the life that I have previously led. I intend to retire, Harry, and live out my remaining days in a less complicated manner.

  I became suspicious at our first encounter when I asked who authorised Grömwohld as the contact point. Up to that time only George and old hands at Moscow Centre knew of the means that I supposedly used to keep in contact with Tanya, or 'Mother' as the natives had come to know her as. I knew then that there was, what dear old Maudlin would call 'a bad apple' in the new FSB with contacts in London. That is when I began my preparations to disappear, so I have had ample time to make them with the same degree of carefulness I have already mentioned. You will not find me, Harry, so don't waste your time, or allow the lovely Judith, and whatever department she works for, to waste theirs. At this point of my final communication with you, there is a part of me that wishes I could say sorry for what I have promised in my side of the bargain I have made with Alexi. The truth is that I cannot; I am many things, but not a hypocrite. I have never experienced what others describe as a family, even when I had Maudlin in my life, or Katherine now. There is something missing in me to understand what that words means to others. I have heard it referred to as love and devotion, or duty and support. My response has always centred around me. I came first in every thought I have ever had, and it is still the same. When George and I were alone, I attempted to explain what it is that has moulded me into becoming the inconsiderate person that I am, but it was impossible to convey my life in mere words…and in any case, I'm not sure that I really wanted to. I felt it more as responsibility than an effort to find the connection or attachment that I'm certain George was looking for. The accountability that I feel is not confined to the past where I had little control, but more to the present and the immediate future, that I do indeed control.

  You see, it was I who exploited the circumstances that dictated the need for your visit. My meeting with Alexi was before Katherine told me of Willis and Howell. Her telling me was done to confirm his suspicions to Moscow, and then for them to believe in what now happens. I am to die, Harry, or at least seemingly so.

  The easiest lesson I ever learnt is that money will buy you anything, I have bought Alexi, and I have bought my death. A few hours from now my car will explode outside my home and three burnt-out bodies will be found, two human and one of a dog, they will be unrecognisable. Viktor, my driver, will be one. (there are good reasons for this that I cannot go into) The other human, I'm grateful to say, has been arranged to take my place in this tragedy. Alexi cannot go back on his word, as I will expose him if he does, and I cannot go back on mine. I have given him George, and that was why you were enticed here. The killer you search for will settle on nothing less than everything, and he could not discover who was communicating with me after he discovered the link to Maudlin. He is Russian, you understand. Treachery of the Motherland is an unforgivable, unpardonable crime. They are embedded with patriotism, particularly if you were born in Stalingrad and had read your history.

  Hitler hated the whole Russian population, and his propaganda machine portrayed the people as neolithic subhuman creatures with deformed skulls of huge proportions. His barrage and destruction of that city held more of a symbolic significance to him than a military strategy. It was one dictator against a city named after another. He intended its obliteration as a sign that his will was the strongest. After complete destruction of the place he planned on bulldozing whatever was left, after the artillery and bombing had finished, and erecting, on Mamayev Kurgan the highest point, an allegorical monument designed by his architect Albert Speer. It would show Mother Russia suspended upside-down from a gallows, clutching her heart whilst a perpetual flame burnt below her head. That was how the German's hung their captives; upside-down, in rows upon rows, until they died from pain or hunger. When they were able, Russian snipers were ordered to shoot them dead, to put them out of their suffering and silence their cries.

  In my own city of Leningrad the siege lasted almost three years, and until recently the plans that Hitler and Speer drew up for his victory over Russia were displayed in the Astoria Hotel. It shows palaces for Germans, with his subhuman depictions of Russians chained as slaves and housed within a separate moated and walled section of that city. It was their intention that whoever remained after the war would die inside those walls. There was to be no sanitation or fresh water supply to the area. It would save on bullets, and was a cheaper way towards annihilation of a race. When all were gone, it was proposed to use the area as a rubbish dump. If you are Russian, Harry, these things stay in your mind forever. You become protective and solicitous about the welfare of your homeland.

  Alexi does not know the identity of your killer; if he did, I would tell you. But I know this much; he will attend the funeral of your father and brother. He needs to see George in the flesh. Tanya, or Loti, as she is known, is also at risk. I was required to give up that information as part of the arrangement I made…it settles the matter, you see.

  If you feel what I don't, then you must discover the identity of this man before he takes that revenge. I do sincerely hope that the steps that I have taken in my attempt to expose this killer to you are successful. No doubt you will discuss what I have detailed here and shower me with your condemnations, but remember one thing. This man who has murdered your father and brother has been looking for me over a long period of time. It is only recently that he has discovered what he searched for. You have the advantage; for the first time he has shown himself. When you catch him all is finished, and
I will be out of your life forever.

  It was signed simply, Paulo.

  I had opted for the emptiness of the terrace, and the crisp fresh air, to read alone the letter Paulo had addressed to me much to the undisguised annoyance and frustration of Judith and George. The feeling of love that I had declared to myself earlier this very morning had been overtaken by the words that I had finished reading, now neatly refolded, resting on top of the roughly torn beige envelope. Although, as I say, I had finished reading it, I had not finished with it. In the seconds it took for my companions to descend on me, I stared at the blue water of the lake, trying to find something in my memory that would rationalise his sentiments towards his son. But I could not. No other written or spoken words came to me. I was ashamed of myself for thinking that I could have helped this man. George was the first to speak, as Judith, unopposed, grasped the letter. “Well, what did he say?” He asked.

  I did not reply; not because I wanted to ignore his question, but because I could not find the right words to hide the betrayal and condemnation from the man he wanted knighted. Nothing I could find felt adequate for him, his son. Experts could argue forever over which form of narcissism Paulo suffered, but I was not one of their number. All I knew was that I wished Maudlin had never gone to Spain to record the names of those who had joined the International Brigade.

  My personal expert, Judy, added her analysis as an opening to the debate. “He is a manipulative bastard of the first degree, and no mistake! Clever, though…I'll give him that. It's simple really, then. All we do is look out for someone with 'killer' written across his forehead on Sunday, and we've cracked it. Shouldn't be so difficult to do for you, Harry, with your shrewd judgement of character!” A waiter appeared with two coffees and one tea at that precise moment, stopping me from shouting my reply, but not stopping George's persistence. Judy had reached into her bag for her cell phone.

  “Someone tell me what's going on, please?” he asked.

  “Here, read it yourself, George. Don't take her interpretation as gospel…sometimes our Mrs Meadows gets confused by facts. Who are you calling or is warning a better word to use?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Horseflies

  It was late Friday evening when we arrived at Harrogate. Joseph and Mrs Franks, had been assiduous in the painstaking detail they had taken over my late instructions regarding our arrival and needs. In all, twelve more rooms had been made ready, and dinner for fourteen prepared. Tanya, with her escorting team drawn from the Static Protection arm of Special Branch, had already arrived, but she had chosen to wait for us before eating, excusing herself from their company by saying, “It will give the soldiers here more time to get organised without having an old fuddy-duddy like me around in their way.”

  “The gun room is awash with weapons, sir. Might I ask why?” Joseph attentively asked, after reporting Tanya's words.

  “Oh, it's nothing really. They're for all the dignitaries on Sunday…you know all the protocol and procedure that has to be seen to be done before they can tick the box. There will be more from the Yorkshire Constabulary here for the funeral, so you'd better warn the kitchen. We don't have to, I know, but better to stay on the right side of the law. It won't hurt to give them a few rounds of sandwiches,” I replied, trying to divert Joseph's enquires.

  “Your brother Maurice has compiled a list of those who have accepted. There are 387 names down for Sunday, and there are a further 22 names on a Home Office memorandum that arrived yesterday. I have left the details in your office, your Lordship.” I had succeeded, and I nodded my recognition to his information while studying farm reports on the computer in the estate office, attempting to distract my mind.

  “I think between the two of us, with help from Lady Elizabeth and Lady Rose, we have covered everyone. There will be one notable absentee Miss Stella Anderson, away in New York, giving one of her virtuoso performances. Maurice argued against her inclusion, but Rose and Elizabeth said that it would be callous not to do so, at least now any embarrassment has been removed. Had you not have left a note regarding her, I would never have known,” Joseph said, but I wondered if he had never heard her name mentioned. I had not yet become accustomed to this formal address of Lord, and for a second imagined Elliot to be in the room with us. I hesitated in my reply.

  “No reason for her to come, Joseph. But I thought it might have been father's wish that she attended.”

  On the Tuesday, following my father's murder, Joseph was there when I heard how Elliot wanted his private property and money divided. To avoid the taxes that follow us in death, the estate and the family homes had been amalgamated into a Limited Company, and the bank a separate entity, all unaccountable to mortal parasites. Mortality, however, is inevitable to everybody. The only advantage some have over others is their ability to influence the two certainties. Primarily, if they are lucky enough, by having the best medical practitioners at their side when death is nigh; and secondly, if prudence and foresight are part of their make-up, with the best financial advisors alongside to mitigate matters before the event. Elliot never expected death so soon in his life, but did heed advice and make provisions long before that day. One beneficiary was Joseph.

  In the early seventies, when Phillip my grandfather tired of Maudlin's interference in London and spent most of his time in Yorkshire, Harrogate Hall was extensively refurbished, with particular regard to the housing of the staff. Before this time, their individual rooms contained simple washing facilities and a bed, and bathrooms were a shared utility, three for each gender. All this changed partly because we did not need as many staff, and partly due to Phillip having little else to occupy his mind. It wasn't that we didn't care, but it had more to do with the fact that we were slow to recognise progress. Rooms were combined, incorporating integral bathrooms, and an outside area was designated for staff use only. These were not the only changes he instigated. Four houses were built on the edge of the estate intended for the retirement of retainers of long employment. Elliot and his advisers saw tax benefits if these homes were written into employment contracts as a bonus after thirty years of service, rather than an old-fashion monetary tradition that was given as a 'custom and favour' gift. They were to be leased at a nominal rent for the life of the occupier, tying the buildings to the estate and the Limited Company. Along with this, the Company would pay the occupants a lifelong salary and expenses for a car, not a gratuitous amount of money conferred as a bestowal, as before. These arrangements created tax deductibles and were not counted, as would have been the case, towards personal wealth, attracting death duties.

  When told that he would benefit for these arrangements, I had expected Joseph to show more satisfaction that his future had been safeguarded than he did. Not being an outwardly gregarious man, I thought little of it at the time; but now, when anyone could be that killer, I wondered about his reaction. Since leaving the hotel, I had looked at everyone with suspicion. My paranoia was not helped by Judy's phone call to Haig, which I had vehemently opposed, but as before, I had been ignored. She was not the only one to disregard me. George, too, paid no attention to my counsel of not attending the funeral. He couldn't have been more enthusiastic about being there. The only trouble was that he would not leave my side, insisting on walking in front of me.

  “You or I might be able to spot anything unusual if I'm in front, Harry. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  He had refused to shave away his goatee beard, and offered no token gesture as a way of disguise. “Judith is right. It's the only way to make him show himself, me being there. There's no point in trying to hide. I'll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life if he's not caught, and I don't want that. I'd rather face up to it now and get it over with,” he stubbornly announced.

  With Tanya being here at the Hall, I reckoned on being able to leave George safely in her company; thereby ensuring that he did not appear on Saturday, when the bodies of my father and brother were to be laid out in the chapel with the book of remembrance ope
ned for all those that wished to pay their respects. At least, I thought, that would be two worries off my shoulders until Sunday. Judy had tried to reassure me that all was taken care of, even attempting to persuade me that the actions taken by Paulo were in our best interests, but I saw demonic killers everywhere.

  “Harry, it's someone high up in London, not the butler. How's he able to send and receive messages from Russia? Whoever it is will be here for the funeral. What I want you to do is go through those names, and highlight the ones you don't know. Paulo's done us a favour, Harry. He has drawn him out. All we've got to do is narrow it down and catch the bastard. The protection is just for us…there'll be more here for the real event.”

  “The trouble is, I won't know most of those names. The majority will have come from his London club, or other associations down there. Maurice would have gone through his personal book and found the names. Nobody here would have met them.”

  “George might have done. Get him and Tanya working on it. It will give them both something to think about and keep them together, make them easier for the boys in blue to look after.”

  “I thought you said nothing will happen until Sunday?”

  “It won't, Harry. Believe me, may not even then.” She replied more in hope than belief, I thought.

  That was what was missing: trust. Judith had lost mine when she had called Sir David Haig. I mistrusted him and I had no confidence in the police being able to capture the murderer. As I have already said, the police and I had an indifferent history, and I had little faith in their competence.

  It was some three or four years ago when I first had need of their services. I had read about the atrocities in the national newspapers, and began phoning around. There had been a spate of attacks on horses overnight in the immediate surrounding area and beyond, with some of the devastated owners known to me. Four had been killed outright, and eight others mutilated by knives and axes. Luckily, our stables had been unaffected, but I wanted insurance that they would remain so. It was early summer, with little to do around adjoining farms, and I was fortunate in being able to hire some labourers and pickers for extra night-time work in guarding our stables. Some of my friends were not so prosperous, having to rely on good luck and police patrolling for their protection; both let them down. The carnage continued into a second week, with maiming and crippling being the main objectives for whoever was doing this.