Dangerous Inheritance

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Your what?’ enquired the Duke.

  ‘Our money.’

  ‘Of course. It’s so long since I heard you use that expression I had forgotten it. When are you going?’

  ‘Next month. In the meantime I called for all the information available about the place. And the sort of people we merchant bankers employ to get us that sort of thing are pretty good. They have to be.’

  ‘As you are going to Ceylon, you will be seeing Fleur.’

  ‘Um. Very fond of Fleur.’

  ‘I know. I remember those fabulous toys you used to bring down to Cardinal’s Folly for her, every time you went there when she was a child. I don’t wonder she always looked on you as her favourite “Uncle”.’

  Simon wriggled his narrow shoulders. ‘Had a lot of fun seeing her little face light up. Probably gave me more pleasure than the toys did her. It was fun, too, taking her to dinner at the Savoy Grill when she was older and studying in London. Vechelli and most of his waiters knew that I was an old friend of Richard’s and that she was his daughter. But we must have looked a queer couple to people at other tables. She used to laugh about that and say, “Let’s lead them on a bit—pretend you’re a rich old so-and-so and keeping me in a flat in Maida Vale!” Then she’d insist on holding hands across the table.’

  De Richleau laughed. ‘By then she had become a real little Don Quixote, delighting to tilt at all moral conventions and denounce her class as parasites battening on the masses. But I imagine that as you’ve always held such strongly Liberal views you were not greatly shocked at finding that she had become a red-hot Socialist?’

  ‘Ner,’ Simon grinned back. ‘I listened to all the old clichés as seriously as if she’d been Moses with the Tablets. And I’d rather the young became Communists than Nazis any day.’

  ‘That’s very understandable in your case, dear Simon. But if you ever get caught up in a revolution it’s quite certain that you will be shot. The Pinks always pay the penalty for their ideals. Only the Reds or Blues have any chance of surviving and coming out on top.’

  ‘How’s Fleur’s marriage going? Heard anything lately?’

  ‘Not for some months; but well, as far as I know. The man she married, Douglas Rajapakse, struck me as a very decent fellow: warm-hearted, intelligent, civilised. Were it not for the colour of his skin he would be accepted anywhere as one of us. But there was no escaping the fact that Fleur would have to adjust herself to becoming a member of an Asiatic family, and when she found their way of life to be so different from our own she might feel that she had made a terrible mistake. Naturally Marie Lou and Richard were intensely worried about her future; but as the marriage has survived for over two years, it looks as though she is happy with her husband and means to remain with him.’

  ‘Hard luck on old Richard and Marie Lou,’ Simon commented. ‘I mean, her living so far from them. Expensive trip to Ceylon, and Richard can’t get even half the cost for the two of them tax-free, as he could if he were a business man.’

  ‘I know,’ the Duke agreed. ‘About nine months after Fleur was married they went out to see how she was getting on. That was in the spring of ‘59, and Richard told me afterwards that they couldn’t possibly afford to go every year. I’ve gathered since, though, that there is a plan for them all to spend a holiday together in Beirut or somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean this winter. I should think Douglas could afford to bring Fleur to England every other year, and you may be sure she would be happy enough to flaunt him about the place; but I can’t see Marie Lou enjoying presenting a dusky son-in-law to the County; so for them to meet half-way seems a good idea from every point of view.’

  Simon rubbed a finger up and down the arc of his large Semitic nose and his weak eyes squinted a little through his glasses as he said, ‘Would be if it weren’t for Mrs. Bandaranaike and her boys. They’re formulating legislation to prevent Ceylonese subjects taking money out of their country. Jolly tough ones, too. I’m told they’ll be permitted to take out only one hundred and fifty pounds once in every seven years.’

  ‘But that is iniquitous,’ exploded the Duke. ‘The worst possible form of Socialist tyranny.’

  ‘Hard on people who’ve been used to coming to Europe now and then. Bad for Ceylon’s external relations too. Anyway, however well-off Douglas may be this is going to scotch his bringing Fleur to meet her people in the Med. The currency restrictions in Ceylon have been getting worse for quite a time. No firm is now able to import anything into the country without a permit. If machinery breaks down and an incompetent Civil Service delays granting a permit to bring in the parts needed to get it going again, the firm is in a muddle. Sort of muddle that can cause a serious loss of profits. That’s one of the things that is worrying Rex and me.’

  ‘Rex? What has he to do with this?’

  ‘Well now, I’ll tell you. Since the nineteen-thirties, as we are both bankers, Rex and I have been into quite a lot of things together. Our London-New York tie-up has proved very useful. Anyhow, among other things in which we’ve shared risks was financing the estate purchases of these tea planters I was telling you about. Now they want more mun; if we decide to give it them, it will come fifty-fifty from us again. So Rex is going to meet me in Ceylon and we’ll take a look at things together.’

  ‘That will be pleasant for you, Simon; although I should have thought that either of you could have relied on the other’s judgment. For both of you to go looks to me suspiciously like a holiday on your expense accounts.’

  Simon’s head came forward and he tittered into his hand. ‘Well, you’re right in a way. But old Rex hasn’t been very well lately. Nothing serious, thank God—just felt a trip through the sunny parts of Asia for a few weeks this winter would do him good. He’ll look in on his contacts in India, then come down to meet me in Ceylon. Afterwards I’ll fly on with him to do a little business in Singapore, Bangkok, Manila and Hong Kong. From there I’ll turn back, while he heads for home across the Pacific.’

  ‘I take it Rex will be travelling in the aircraft that his bank bought for him to make his trips to Europe. I wonder if he will feel up to flying it himself?’

  ‘Flying’s always meant a lot to Rex. Expect he’ll fly her part of the time anyway. But he usually has his Captain do any night shifts. She’s a lovely thing. Beds for six passengers, and every comfort laid on.’

  ‘Yes. The idea of this trip makes me envious. I wish I were coming with you.’

  ‘Why don’t you, then? I’m planning to leave about October 24th. I could go via Rome and you could meet me there. For that matter, I could leave a little earlier and pick you up here. That would be best. I’d be on hand then to look after you all the time.’

  De Richleau shook his white head. ‘Thank you, Simon; but I don’t think I ought to. Although I must confess I’m greatly tempted. In these days I need sunshine to warm my old bones, and here it can become quite chilly in the winter. It is dull, too, as no-one ever comes here during November and December.’

  ‘Um,’ Simon nodded his narrow head up and down like a toy china Mandarin. ‘Same as the South of France in the old days. Square in front of the Casino at Monte looked like an empty film set all through October, November and December. People just couldn’t be persuaded to go south till the New Year. Then almost overnight the Café de Paris became like the Tower of Babel.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. Well, in a more limited way it is like that here. During the spring and early summer I could fill the villa with friends three times over, and from after Christmas or during high summer there are plenty of people I like to have who are happy to come out to stay. But not during those last months of the year. It’s not that I want to have people staying all the time. I enjoy a quiet week now and then, just browsing in my library. But I do get bored if for several weeks at a stretch I have no-one here to talk to.’

  ‘Then why not come out to Ceylon with me?’ Simon urged. ‘Even if you are eighty-five, you’re as fit as a fiddle. And I’d be on hand if you did
fall ill.’

  ‘No, Simon; no. If it were just to Ceylon and back I might. But you will be going on with Rex to Singapore and those other places. A series of long flights would prove too much for me; and I wouldn’t like to risk flying back from Ceylon with only Max. He is a dear faithful fellow and one could not have a better valet, but he would be no use whatever to me in an emergency.’

  At that moment Petti announced lunch, and as they moved along to the far end of the terrace—where they were still enjoying their midday meal out of doors—no more was said of the matter. But that night after dinner, as they lit two of the Duke’s long Hoyo de Monterrey cigars, he raised the subject again.

  ‘While resting this afternoon, Simon, I was thinking over what you told me before lunch about Ceylon. I had particularly in mind your secret intelligence to the effect that Mrs. Bandaranaike’s Government intend to introduce legislation which will prevent capital assets, or money earned in the country, from being sent out of it. If you are correct that means that I shall never receive any money from the proceeds of my mine, even if it were being worked competently and they were considerable.’

  ‘Um,’ Simon agreed, waving the lighted end of his cigar under his big nose to sniff its fine aroma. ‘You won’t see a penny after these new laws go through, which they may any time after the New Year. That is, unless you take to smuggling; and that might land you in a muddle.’

  ‘Then it seems my wisest course would be to sell the mine.’

  ‘You mean in the next month or two, so that you can get your money out while the going is still good?’

  ‘Yes. Do you see anything against that?’

  ‘Only that other people must know what’s in the wind. That means no well-advised European or U.S. jewel-mining company would make you an offer. Limits your market to the locals. You’d probably get a much better price if you hung on until the muddle in Ceylon sorts itself out and pressure of one kind or another forced them to alter their policy.’

  ‘Sound advice, Simon; but that may not happen for another ten years, and I’d wager against my having that long to live. In any case the mine has proved more or less a white elephant. When d’Azavedo had it the Olenevka property was estimated to be worth half a million rupees—that’s getting on for forty thousand pounds. I imagine it is worth considerably less now; and, of course, these new laws will further reduce its value. Fortunately, I’m in the happy position where it would not cause me the loss of a wink of sleep even if Ceylon had a Marxist Government and they stole the mine from me; but as I did receive this inheritance I may as well get what I can out of it.’

  ‘You’d like me to dispose of it for you then, while I’m in Ceylon?’

  ‘No, I don’t wish to saddle you with that; and no doubt there will be numerous papers to sign, so I’ll handle it myself.’

  Simon’s full mouth broke into a happy grin. ‘You mean you’ve decided to go out there with me after all?’

  ‘Yes. It provides a good excuse to enjoy a few weeks’ sunshine. But I shan’t go on with you and Rex to Hong Kong. I shall remain in Colombo. Fleur will take care of me there. One thing, though, I do mean to ask you: that is, instead of flying direct from Hong Kong to London, you should return via Ceylon; so as to pick me up and see me safely back here.’

  ‘Of course I will. Only too delighted. And how pleased old Rex will be when he hears that you’ll be with me in Colombo.’

  De Richleau smiled. ‘I’m so glad that this affair has come up. I had only Prince Voralburg and his daughter coming to stay for a week early in October, then no-one until the Osbornes and the de Brissacs come here for Christmas. Now this trip will fill in my autumn splendidly. I could leave any day in the last week of October, so just arrange matters as suits you best.’

  It was on the 21st October that Simon returned to Corfu to collect de Richleau and his man Max. After a night at the villa they flew via Athens to Rome, and next day caught the Comet that was to take them to Ceylon. The old Duke appeared hale and hearty, and was in excellent spirits. It is probable that he would have been just as cheerful even had he known that it was to be the last long flight he would make in his life.

  11

  The Trap

  When the Duke and Simon arrived at Katunayake airport early on the morning of October 24th they found Fleur there to meet them. Douglas, she said, sent his apologies for not being there too; but the previous day he had had to go up to Kandy and would not be back in Colombo till that afternoon. Her bronzed skin showed up her violet eyes to perfection and made her more attractive than ever. Embracing them in turn, her laughter and kisses showed how delighted she was to see them.

  But their reception by the officials at the airport was far from being so welcoming; and it was clear that many of them now regarded white people, particularly the British, with scarcely veiled hostility. Health, Immigration and Customs men all asked innumerable unnecessary questions and, to the Duke’s fury, the latter insisted on opening every one of the air-tight tins in which he had brought a supply of his Hoyo de Monterreys thus, by premature exposure to the humid atmosphere of Ceylon, spoiling the cigars.

  Even Fleur’s expostulations in Sinhalese had proved of no avail and when at last they got away in her car she said:

  ‘I’m terribly sorry about this, but most of these people are new to their jobs, and having been given a little power it has gone to their heads.’

  The hour’s run to Colombo, through semi-jungle, paddy fields and villages, had lost nothing of its beauty; the vivid greens of the vegetation, the gay costumes of the women, the yellow robes of the Buddhist monks and the many flowers made it as colourful as it had been for the past two thousand years. But on entering the city de Richleau saw that a considerable deterioration had taken place. On his last visit he had thought that it had an uncared-for appearance; but now the paint was peeling from shops and buildings even in the Fort quarter, and there seemed to be many more beggars in the streets.

  When the Duke had written to Fleur to let her know that he and Simon were coming out, she had at once replied inviting them to stay; but he had declined on the grounds that he now spent a good part of his time in bed and it would be much easier for Max to look after him at the Galle Face.

  After they had registered at the hotel it was agreed that they should spend the day resting, then she and Douglas should come to dine there with them that evening. Up in their rooms they found that she had arranged big vases of beautiful flowers for them and dishes of tropical fruit. She had also left a selection of drinks and tins of biscuits. Simon, who had a special liking for digestive biscuits, was touched to find she had remembered that for, although the biscuits in his bedside tin were a not very attractive sort of softish sponge, she had slipped in a note which read, ‘Sorry, no digestives, not allowed to import them any more.’

  When Douglas arrived with her that evening, de Richleau thought him as good-looking as ever, but somewhat distrait and lacking his old gaiety. Over their drinks Fleur remarked that the food in the restaurant had gone off shockingly compared with what it used to be, but that it was still good in the Mascarilla, as the hotel’s night-club was called; so they had dinner there. After sinking three cocktails and drinking his share of two bottles of indifferent but expensive red wine, Douglas became more cheerful but he deliberately changed the conversation every time Simon asked him about recent developments in the island.

  Next day the visitors lunched with Fleur and Douglas at their home. It was a pleasant two-storey house in one of the broad, tree-lined roads out near the Racecourse, and had been built in the early 1900s. A semi-circular drive bordered by flower beds led up to a broad flight of steps at its entrance, beyond which a row of spacious lofty rooms, with fans set in the ceilings, opened into one another. Several smiling white-coated servants attended on them and the observant Simon formed the impression that they liked their mistress; but it was not until luncheon was over that Douglas said to him:

  ‘Mr. Aron, I’m afraid you must have thoug
ht me very cagey last night in fobbing off a number of your questions about how things are going in Ceylon; but the fact is that people like myself find it wiser not to give our honest opinion about our government in public any more.’

  De Richleau raised his white ‘devil’s’ eyebrows. ‘Surely you don’t mean that Ceylon has actually become a Police State?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t say that,’ Douglas replied. ‘But there are plenty of signs that, like Ghana, it might easily become one. Since the assassination of Mr. S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike there have been a considerable number of arrests made on one pretext or another, mainly of people known to be strongly opposed to the Government, and there have been unorthodox delays in bringing some of them to trial. That sort of thing naturally makes one cautious about being openly critical of our lady Prime Minister’s régime.’

  Simon nodded his head up and down. ‘Very understandable. But between four walls …’

  ‘That is another matter. Among friends I readily admit that people like myself are greatly perturbed by the way things are going. You will have seen for yourselves how dilapidated the city is becoming, and the same thing is happening throughout the whole island. If you go up-country you will find that your car has to go very slowly and cautiously over the smaller wooden bridges that span culverts, because the roads are no longer being repaired adequately. Air conditioning plants and other machinery that breaks down can no longer be repaired, because the Government cannot afford to import spare parts, let alone replacements. The docks have fallen into a hopeless state of inefficiency, because they are now run largely by people who have never been trained to administer such concerns. Cargo ships often have to lie off our harbours for several days before they can be brought in and unloaded. In the past the traders in Colombo made a lot of money out of tourists coming ashore for the day from luxury liners; now the ships of many lines no longer call, because it is uneconomic to give the time needed to formalities before they can land their passengers. There are scores of other ways in which through ignorance and prejudice the new Sinhalese officials are ruining their own country; but I won’t bother you with them.’