by Peter Watson
‘Andover?’
‘Yes.’
‘You see. The arrangements work very well. Now . . . you have an answer for me?’
‘I do. An announcement is being made tomorrow –’
‘What do you mean? What sort of announcement?’
‘A leak . . . to the newspapers, that the government is thinking of returning the Marbles –’
‘I don’t understand . . . What do you mean, that the government is thinking of returning the Marbles? Why can’t they just announce it. That’s our demand!’
‘Don’t panic! Or be naïve –’
‘Watch your tongue, Andover. You’re just the intermediary.’
‘But I’m British. And Britain is a democracy. A genuine one. There are some things a government cannot do. Simply returning the Marbles, because you say so, is one of them.’
‘Andover!’
‘If the Prime Minister were simply to make an announcement that the Marbles were going back, all hell would break loose. There would be protests galore. The Greek Embassy might be . . . who knows? You want the sculptures returned. For that to happen, the way has to be prepared. The first move will be made tomorrow. The Sunday Post will carry a report to the effect that a secret government committee has concluded it would be diplomatically appropriate to return the Marbles to Greece –’
‘Yes, but when?’
‘Soon –’
‘Soon! That’s not soon enough.’
‘Well, immediately then. I’m only the intermediary, remember.’
But the voice at the other end of the line now hardened. ‘Look, Andover. Today is Saturday. You say this . . . report is to be released tomorrow. We shall have to study it. So the next call will be on Monday. At that time we want a much fuller explanation of your intentions, the British government’s intentions. Chapter, verse, punctuation even. Otherwise . . . otherwise, remember that we can go public whenever we want. Is that absolutely clear? Chapter, verse –’
‘Yes, yes. I’ve got it!’ It sounded to Edward as though the voice was about to hang up and he didn’t want that to happen on the current cool note. He struggled to find some form of words that would soothe and settle the voice. ‘I’ll do what I can, but I don’t think –’
‘It’s not your place to think, Andover. Instead, just relay this to Lockwood. The British love their monarch; you Brits think the Crown can do no wrong. Well, then, why doesn’t the Prime Minister issue a statement to the effect that the Queen has requested that the Marbles go back? That would settle it once and for all.’ He chuckled and rang off.
*
Edward stepped out of the lift, and turned left. He knew his way around Windsor Castle better than most of the households. This was where the royal paintings not on show were stored; this was where the main library was; and this was where Sir James Hillier lived in a marvellous flat that went with the job. It was in the keep, above the library.
Edward followed the corridor around the curve of the building. Prints lined the walls: Rembrandt, Edward Lear, Hercules Brabazon Brabazon. And these were just staff quarters. He reached the door to Hillier’s flat. Usually the two met in the director’s office, two floors below, next to the library. Today that was impossible; Hillier had been out of hospital less than forty-eight hours.
Edward knocked and went in. The sitting-room was small but had a superb view of the Thames.
‘Through here!’ a voice shouted.
Edward followed the direction of the voice and turned in through a cream-painted doorway.
‘Ah, there you are at last.’ Hillier was flat on his back, though he could tilt his head so as to see Edward.
‘Good afternoon, James. How are you feeling?’
‘Well, the pain’s not so bad, but I can’t sit up of course and that makes it difficult to read. Sit over there, by the window. It’s easier for me to see you there.’
‘I bought you this,’ Edward said sheepishly. He hadn’t thought flowers or fruit quite suitable, given his relationship with the Director of the Queen’s Collection. ‘It’s champagne, for when you can celebrate your complete recovery.’
‘That’s very thoughtful, Edward. Put it there, will you, next to the books.’
‘How long before you can get up, do you think?’ Edward sat where he had been directed.
‘Another two to three weeks in bed. A month before I can come back to work properly. Think you can manage?’
‘Well, I won’t say you’re not missed. There’s a lot of paperwork, isn’t there? But Wilma really comes into her own at a time like this.’
‘So . . . what news is there? What problems have we got?’
Edward spent as long as he could discussing the leaky roof at Sandringham, then he switched to the request by Ottawa to borrow the Poussin. He explained that he had one of the palace’s full-time restorers up at Balmoral making a condition report.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Randall.’
‘Hmm. Let him make the report. I’d like to see it when it comes in. I ought to be sitting up by then. But I don’t think he’s good enough to do the work. We must think of a specialist. Better prepare the studio – is the Canaletto ready to go back yet?’
Internally, Edward blushed. He wondered if it showed on his skin. The studio was not being used in quite the way that Hillier imagined. ‘No. We had a problem when we were cleaning one of the figures. Some of it came away. I’ve ordered some of that pigment from Amsterdam – you know, the stuff which is produced in the eighteenth-century manner. But it will hold us up, of course.’
Hillier nodded. ‘What else? Anything else been happening? Any new discoveries? Have I missed any new books? Any gossip?’
Edward thought. ‘Mason Inchcliffe is in town. Oh yes – I hear that Foster Hale is tipped for the V & A job.’
‘Is he now? Hmm. And your lecture at the Louvre, how did that go?’
Again, Edward felt as if he was blushing. ‘I . . . I didn’t go in the end.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Geneviève changed the day of my talk. And at the last minute. I just had too much on.’
‘That’s a pity, Edward. I like the Royal Collection to make a show now and then. It shows we aren’t dead.’
Edward could see that Hillier was annoyed. But what else could he say? He couldn’t tell him the truth and he didn’t want to lie any more than was necessary. He changed the subject. ‘Corning says he can start cleaning the de Vries in about three weeks. But he thinks it may take as long as six months to do properly.’
‘Six months! How can it take that long? Leave that one to me. Margaret is coming in on Monday. I’ll dictate a letter then.’ Margaret was Hillier’s secretary.
But at least the subject was safely changed.
‘How is that friend of yours, by the way? The American woman. Nancy?’
Nancy and Hillier had met twice. Once at dinner here in Hillier’s flat and once by chance at a private view at the National Gallery.
‘She’s well, thank you. Though I haven’t seen her for a little while.’
‘Marriage not discussed yet?’
Edward found this faintly embarrassing. ‘No.’
‘Ahh. She’s a determined woman and I got the impression she was very keen on you.’
‘But you only met her twice.’
‘Three times, actually. I bumped into her in the London Library.’
‘I didn’t even know she was a member. And what has that got to do with marriage, anyway? It’s a wonderful library but hardly romantic.’
‘Not romantic, no. Not as such. But I very much got the impression she was interested in you, your job, etcetera. We met at the issue desk.’ Hillier raised his head as much as he could. ‘She had borrowed a couple of books on my predecessor. That old rogue, Anthony Blunt.’
*
‘Dad – it’s Edward. How are you both? The journey back was okay? . . . Good . . . Look, Dad, for once it’s not you I want to talk to, but Barbra . . . Is she th
ere? . . . Good . . . I’ll hang on.’ As he waited, Edward stared up at the box of paperclips on his desk. They were upside-down. It was unlike him to –
‘Barbra! . . . I’m fine, thank you – and you? . . . Good . . . Now, I have a favour to ask but it’s an odd one. I want you to make some enquiries on my behalf but I don’t want to explain why . . . not just yet. It’s very sensitive – okay?’
Inwardly, Edward gave thanks for Barbra’s incuriosity – and the fact that she appeared not to bear him a grudge for advising his father to buy the Ferrari rather than the Schnabel. ‘I need some information on this girl I have been seeing: Nancy Tucker . . . Yes, it’s an English-sounding name but in fact, as I understand it, the family were originally Italian and the name was Trucco before they anglicized it. I’ve never checked but my understanding is that the Tuckers or Truccos make ice-cream in the San Francisco region. I’d just like to know anything you can find out in a few days – who the family are, does she have any brothers and sisters, what sort of firm it is – big, small, profitable, and so on. Since you do have this head-hunting firm, I thought you might be used to finding things out about people.’
‘How long have I got?’
‘Two days . . . three. Is that too much to ask?’
‘No. Not if you agree to do me a favour in return.’
‘How could I refuse?’
‘Great. I’ll have an answer in three days.’
Chapter Twelve – Sunday
‘Good afternoon. You are listening to the BBC. It is one o’clock and this is The World This Weekend. Here is the news, read by Douglas Davenport.’ The gongs of Big Ben faded and the newsreader’s voice filled the room. ‘A spokesman at Downing Street has refused to confirm or deny a report in today’s Sunday Post, which claims that Britain is considering returning the so-called Elgin Marbles to Greece. The report claimed that a special government committee, meeting in secret, has been examining the issue without reference to the Trustees of the British Museum, where the Marbles are on display, and has concluded that the Marbles should be returned “some time soon”. More on this later in the programme.
‘In South Africa, the controversial black leader, Mr –’
Lockwood leaned forward and turned off the radio. It amazed Edward that, so late in the twentieth century, when television invaded everything, including grief and shame, a mere radio programme should be so powerful. But The World This Weekend was still the pre-eminent slot.
Edward had never been to Chequers before. He had not realized it was so close to London and he had been surprised when the official car that brought him arrived at the house so unexpectedly; it really was tucked away. The architecture – red brick and stone mullion – did not impress him. The windows were large and he liked that, but the house had a suburban feel rather than that of the country. Inside it was comfortable, and human: it did not feel like an official residence, at least not in most of the rooms he saw. The furniture was the best feature, containing the most loved objects, those chosen with most care. The sofas were wide and comfortable. The chairs were walnut and eighteenth century, so far as he could see. The ceilings were elaborate but much restored, new even. The pictures were nineteenth-century portraits. There were huge jugs of fresh flowers everywhere.
There were twelve for lunch. Besides Lockwood and Edward, Mordaunt had graced the gathering with his elegant presence. Slocombe, Hatfield and Lessor, for the government, were all there. So were Midwinter, Evelyn Allen, O’Day and Leith. The Prime Minister’s wife, Sally, and Victoria, were the only women.
Having switched off the radio, Lockwood set off on a second tour of his lunch guests. He had already made one circuit with the sherry decanter. He made sure everyone was looked after, then silenced the murmur of conversation by tapping his own glass against the decanter.
‘I’m not one for talking with my mouth full – so the food isn’t being served until a quarter to two. That gives us time to talk . . . so find seats and we can start.’
Everyone had been standing around talking, and they now searched out places to sit. Edward picked up an oak chair and placed it next to the sofa where Victoria sat.
‘I’ll begin with the usual moan about secrecy,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Look at the number of people in this room – it’s pretty large already. I really do not want this number to grow more than is absolutely necessary. This situation is going to get worse before it gets better – I want you all to appreciate that.’ He placed his glass on a table and looped a thumb in the pocket of his waistcoat. ‘However, we are over the first hurdle – at least, I hope we are. As all of you should know by now, the story in this morning’s Sunday Post was a deliberate leak – from this end.’ He looked at Midwinter, then at Edward. ‘It ought to satisfy the blackmailers while at the same time not tying the government’s hand. In that way, I’m hoping it will buy us time.
‘You will not be surprised to learn that I’ve had a call this morning from Sir Martin Ogilvy, Director of the British Museum. I wasn’t surprised and I told him I shall see him tomorrow morning. I’ll have to tell him the truth. The next call from the blackmailers is also tomorrow. They have demanded from Dr Andover that they be put in the picture as to our detailed intentions. Tomorrow, therefore, Dr Andover will be able to tell them that we intend to close the Duveen Galleries later this week. It will take a few days to crate up the stones and then we shall send them by a slow Royal Naval ship – all ploys designed to buy us time. Each of these episodes will make the newspapers. There will of course be the most terrible uproar. The government will be deluged with protests. But a week or so from now, in good time for their damned Olympic Festival, Dr Andover will tell the blackmailers that we shall announce to the world that the British government is returning the Marbles – lock, stock and barrel – to Athens.’
Lockwood scratched the back of one hand. ‘That, at any rate, is what we tell the blackmailers. It may be that, at the end of the day, we shall actually have to follow that course of action, but as of now we’ve got about two weeks to play with. Within two weeks we have got to convert what we have into a winning score. Now, what do we have? Well . . . thanks to Commander O’Day, Dr Andover and the rest of the team operating from St James’s Palace, we now have two names for the members of this “brigade” – Dimitri Kolettis and A. Leondaris, who may be either a man or a woman. These two travelled to Switzerland several times. That is only to be expected if the paintings and documents surfaced in a Swiss bank but it does suggest also that they decided it was safer to leave the stuff in the bank while their little blackmail project got off the ground. Now, commander, I think you should add what you know.’
‘Yes, sir.’ O’Day glanced slyly at Edward. He had obviously kept something to himself. He was still smarting from Edward and Victoria’s breakthrough on Friday night. ‘My feeling is that Kolettis and Leondaris travelled to Switzerland initially to see the paintings and any documentation, check their authenticity and their likely impact. But the fact that they went back several times, over a period of months, also suggests that they decided to keep the pictures in Switzerland. In makes sense when you think about it. A numbered account in a Swiss bank is just about the safest place to hide anything. Also, it would avoid the danger of transporting bulky paintings and documents across borders and risk being found out. My second point is this. It also makes sense for the stuff to have been moved from the bank where they were found to a new one, which only the blackmailers know.
‘My third point is that the Apollo Brigade, as it calls itself, probably keeps one of its members – one at least – in Switzerland. They need to have rapid access to the paintings in case they have to carry out their threat. Also, our experience has shown that, however ruthless people are, they feel nervous too. These blackmailers must be very nervous right now. They are trying to blackmail not just an individual, not just a queen, but a government, an entire country with enormous resources at its disposal. I’ll bet that someone, one of them at least, consults these painting
s nearly every day – just to see that they are still there, still safe. That person, therefore, is very important to us, the most important of all. If we are to sort out this mess to everyone’s satisfaction we must get back the pictures and any documents. The brigade member in Switzerland is the person who can lead us to them.’
Lockwood went to say something but O’Day beat him to it. ‘Sir, I spent a lot of yesterday on the phone to Tony Riley, at the embassy in Berne. Kolettis and Leondaris always flew to Zurich. They always stayed one or two nights, no more, so Riley checked the hotels. Nothing. That stumped us, so next we tried a trick that I’ve often found useful in the past. If you are trying to find someone, there are always masses of hotels to check, scores of airlines, hundreds of taxis in any city. There are, however, only ever a handful of car rental firms. After a little bribery, Riley found that Kolettis had hired a car three times from the same firm, Alpine. We discovered two things: Kolettis’s home address, or at least the one he uses on his driving licence. That saves us a little time, though our own people in Greece could probably have found it easily enough. More important, however, we found that on each occasion Kolettis had driven about a hundred and seventy kilometres – just over a hundred miles. That tells us he didn’t stay in Zurich, and he probably went to the same place each time. So we can work out where he went.’
Lockwood looked up sharply. So did everyone else.
O’Day smiled. He was pleased with the effect his performance was having. ‘If Kolettis did a hundred and seventy kilometres, that must mean that wherever he went was within a radius of eighty-five kilometres of Zurich. If you draw a circle around Zurich with that radius, you do of course find a whole raft of small towns and villages. However, you find only three places of any size – Liechtenstein, Lucerne and Basle. If you further assume that they were in Switzerland on business and not on pleasure, so they didn’t spend any time touring around, then the mileage they did would tend to rule out Lucerne as a destination, since it’s only about fifty kilometres – thirty miles – from Zurich. Which leaves Liechtenstein and Basle. Riley is checking Basle first, since after all Liechtenstein, strictly speaking, isn’t in Switzerland. I spoke to him just before coming here but there’s nothing more to report at the moment.’