'That's right.'
'And deed you ween a medal?'
'No, just missed out: I came fourth.'
'What was your event?'
'Three thousand meters steeplechase.'
'Steeplechase? Ah, yes, that is the one where they jump over the hurdles, yes?'
'That's it. But I shan't be doing much more serious competitive running.'
'I'm sure a boy so feet and active will not be content to seet around and do nothing, though?'
'No, as a matter of fact, I'm very fond of climbing.'
'Indeed? But that is a very dangerous hobby, no?'
'It needn't be if you take reasonable precautions.'
'So you have never fallen?'
'Touch wood.' He tapped on the table with his knuckles.
'It would be a terrible death, I theenk.'
'I can think of worse. Very quick.'
'But eemagine those few seconds while you were actually in the air.'
'I'd rather not imagine them, thanks!'
'You have never known anyone fall to their death?'
'No, never.'
She stubbed out her cigarette half-smoked and stood up. 'I have to go. I do not have long here and I must make the most of the time. There are people I must speak to. Scusatemi.'
'Of course.' He stood up, too.
She smiled, crossed the room and opened the door. She was just going through when from outside a voice spoke, 'Oh, signorina, I've been looking for you. Can we talk privately? It's important.'
Paul remained standing after Laura had gone. For some reason he felt strangely uneasy. There seemed something in a way sinister about that woman. He gave a sudden shake of his shoulders. Oh, he was being ridiculous!
Now. His pen. Where could it be? He hadn't used it since he'd arrived. So, it must have fallen out of his pocket. And that could only happen when he was bending over. Had he had occasion to stoop at all since he'd been here?
Of course, the secret passage! The roof in there was very low in several places.
Paul went upstairs and a minute later was again making his way along the passage, carefully scrutinising the floor as he went. However, he met with no success, and by the time he'd reached ground level and knew he could be only yard from the end, he'd more or less given up hope.
Then by his feet he saw the slightest gleam. He knelt down. Yes, there it was. What a stroke of luck! The trouble was it had slipped down a deep crack between two bricks and looked as though it might be tricky to extract; if he knocked it, it could easily slip even further down. He felt in his pocket for something to hook the pen up with and brought out a comb. He was gingerly trying to slip the end of it under the pen clip when he gave a start that nearly made him lose them both.
From close beside him he heard a voice.
It took Paul a few seconds to realise what had happened. Having nearly reached the end of the passage he was now behind the breakfast room panelling. The person talking must be standing very near the wall.
It occurred to Paul he was eavesdropping. But for the moment there was no avoiding this. So precarious was his hold on the pen that he couldn't relax his concentration for a second, or he might lose it altogether. So he remained quiet, gradually drawing the pen out and listening with half an ear to the slightly muffled voice.
At last he got his fingers on the pen and lifted it clear of the crack. He was about to stand up and make his presence known by banging on the wall, when he heard some words that caused him to jerk his head up in utter amazement.
Paul remained frozen as the voice went on, saying incredible things. He knew listening like this was a caddish thing to do. But he couldn't help himself.
Occasionally the voice paused, the 'silences' occurring obviously as the other person in the room spoke. But Paul could hear nothing of this; plainly only the one speaker was near enough to the panelling to be audible.
For two or three minutes Paul remained where he knelt. Then the voice simply stopped in mid-sentence, though Paul couldn't tell whether the speaker had left the room or simply moved to the far side of it. He made his way to the end of the passage, slid back the panel, and peered cautiously into the breakfast room. It was empty.
Chapter Nine
After leaving Gerry, Arlington Gilbert hurried up to his room. He was breathing heavily. He threw open the door, burst in, and stopped. Standing by the mantelpiece was a grim-faced Rex Ransom.
Rex said, At last. I've been waiting to have a little chat with you. You know what about.'
'I assure you I don't.'
'Don't play the innocent with me. Just tell me what your little game is.'
'Game? Are you mad?'
Rex stepped forward menacingly. 'Listen, buster, I'm warning you: spill the beans, unless you want me to black your left eye like I blacked your right last night.'
Gilbert gave a start. 'You - you did that?'
'Who the blue blazes did you think it was?'
'Now, listen to me—'
'No, you listen. I've got a good mind to beat you to a pulp.'
'Do so, and I shall sue you for assault. Fine publicity for you. I can't see the Burfords agreeing to the movie being shot here after that sort of behaviour.'
Rex closed his eyes for a few seconds and got a grip on his temper. Then be said slowly, 'I just want to know what you were up to last night.'
Gilbert turned away. 'I refuse to discuss the matter.'
Rex was silent. He dared not push Gilbert too hard. He might just make things worse for himself. So it seemed the only course now was to play for time, in the desperate hope that his worst foreboding was not about to be realised.
He said, 'You may not be able to keep that attitude up for long. I advise you to think over what I've said. I'll give you until tomorrow morning to come clean.'
'I shan't be here tomorrow morning.'
'What do—'
'I'm leaving. Now!
It was Rex's turn to give a start. 'Oh, no, you're not!'
Gilbert stared. 'What's that?'
'I'm not letting you out of my sight until I get to the bottom of this business.'
'You can't stop me leaving.'
'Yes, I can.'
'How?'
'If you leave this house, I shall use my considerable influence with Haggermeir to make sure you do not write the revised screenplay for The Kings Man!
'I've got the copyright.'
'Haggermeir's attorneys aren't at all sure you have. Apparently it's a moot point, legally. And if he cuts you out, could you afford to fight it through the courts?'
'That's a filthy trick.'
'So's whatever you're up to.'
Gilbert said slowly, 'If you want me to stay you'll have to arrange it with Geraldine.'
'Geraldine?'
'It's she who's given me the push.'
Rex's eyes narrowed. 'But why?'
'That is between her and me. However, if I'm to remain you'll have to convince her my presence is vital to the success of the movie — something like that.'
'All right, I'll speak with her. And if she agrees, you stay here. Understood?'
'Very well.'
Without another word, Rex left the room.
* * *
Haggermeir said, 'So that's the whole story. Satisfied?' Laura smiled. They were in his bedroom. She had been somewhat reluctant to go there, but with so many guests, and servants busy everywhere, it was hard to get privacy downstairs.
'And Signore Ransom does not know this?' she asked. 'Not likely!'
'He will be very angry, I theenk.'
'What of it? It's you I want. So, can you forget what I said last night and let me see your agent about a contract?'
She inhaled deeply on her cigarette. 'I theenk it may be arranged. It will have to be very remunerative.'
'I've already said it will be. I'll top any other offer that's made. Just so long as it's firmly agreed that we do have — have . . .'
'An understanding?'
'Yeah.'
'Very well. You've gotten yourself a deal, Meesta Producer.'
* * *
Sebastian Everard stood at the edge of the lake, his hands in his overcoat pockets, and stared at the dull grey water. After a few minutes he gave a shake of his head, turned and began to retrace his steps along the gravel path to the house. Shortly, he reached a point at which the path forked, one branch leading to the front of the house, another round to the side, ending eventually in the stable yard. Sebastian took the latter.
The Burford family these days kept only a few riding horses, and all the old stalls on one side of the yard had long ago been converted to provide covered parking space for half a dozen cars. Now Lord Burford's Rolls, Gerry's Hispano, Sebastian and Cecily's station wagon, Paul's red tourer and Gilbert's Austin Seven were standing side by side in a row in order of descending size, like a family group. Sebastian went to the station wagon, took a key from his pocket and opened the rear door. The luggage space was nearly filled with a number of bulky objects, all covered with a rug. Sebastian was about to pull the rug back when be heard a woman's footsteps behind him. He straightened and turned.
Maude Fry was approaching from the direction of the house. She was carrying a stamped and addressed envelope, and was in the act of putting on her glasses.
Sebastian said, Ah, good - good - good morning.'
She nodded stiffly. Good morning, Mr Everard.'
'You — you — you going out?'
'Yes, to the village. I have to mail a letter. I wonder if you'd mind helping me get my car out.'
'Your car?'
'Yes, the Austin is mine.'
'Oh. Thought - thought it was old Gilbert's.'
'No, his is being repaired. If you could just stand behind and guide me out. There's not a great deal of space and I don't want to scrape Mr Carter's car. Simply call out 'right' or 'left' as the case may be.'
'OK, then. Let me think. This is my right, isn't it?' He held up his left hand.
'On second thought, please don't bother.'
'No bother. Pleasure, and all that. Spot of point duty, eh? Quite exciting, really.'
Maude Fry said, 'What on earth's that?'
For some seconds they'd been conscious of a sound growing in volume, and now it had become very loud. The next moment a motorcycle combination came speeding through the archway at the end of the yard, closely followed by a small van bearing the name Jenkins' Garage. The two vehicles skidded to a halt in the centre of the yard.
The rider of the motorcycle, a lad of about eighteen, jumped off and came across to them. 'Name o' Quartus?'
'No, actually,' Sebastian said. 'Sort of know him, though.'
'Brought his motor-bike back.'
'Ah. Jolly good.'
'Tell him, will you?'
'Oh, right.'
'Ha. Here's the bill.' He handed Sebastian a manila envelope. 'Quite a machine he's got there.'
'Oh, has he?'
'I'll say. Really been souped up. Terrific turn o' speed. And acceleration. Oh, well, so long.'
He strolled jauntily over to the van, which had turned while they'd been talking, and jumped into the passenger seat. It drove off.
* * *
Immediately after leaving Haggermeir's room, Laura walked along the corridor to the east wing and opened the door of the picture gallery. She went in, looking interestedly around her.
'Hullo,' said a man's voice.
She turned to see Hugh. He was sitting on one of the sofas, a few yards to her right.
She smiled. 'Good morning.'
'Do you honestly think it's a good morning?' he asked in Italian. 'Can you really stand our weather at this time of year?'
'One puts up with what one has to.' She closed the door.
'But do you have to? Couldn't you at least have remained in a nice centrally heated London hotel?'
'I received an invitation from a producer. Naturally I came.'
'Tell me: you still believe Haggermeir sent that telegram?'
'Of course. Or had it sent.'
'But why should he lie?'
She shrugged. 'Maybe he did not want me to think he was too eager. Or perhaps he didn't want the Earl and Countess to know he had invited me without their permission.'
'Sly dog. May I ask an impertinent question?'
'If it's not my age.'
'No, it's this: Why should you, one of the world's great dramatic actresses, want to sign up with a man like him? He's got no reputation as a serious filmmaker.'
'I felt it was time to branch out, You see, I am not widely known outside Italy. As a result I've never made much money. I knew where the big money was to be earned - Hollywood. Yet for years I held back. I was nervous. My English wasn't good. But then I asked myself: If Garbo had stayed in Sweden, where would she be today? So I took English lessons. At last I thought I was ready. Then I received Haggermeir's telegram, while on a visit to England. I believe in fate. So I came to see him. He will, at least, make my face known to millions of people. Then again, he would love to please the intellectual critics. Now he will have a chance to do so, because they like me. He will not want to lose the opportunity. So he will be - amenable. I will be more likely to get my own way about all sorts of things than I would with a Zanuck, say.'
'Signorina Lorenzo, why do—'
'Call me Laura.'
'May I?' Hugh's pale face flushed with pleasure. 'My - my name's Hugh.'
'I know. You were saying?'
'Just - why do you tell me all this?'
'Perhaps because you're the only person here who speaks Italian. Also - well, I am always conscious of atmosphere. When I arrived yesterday there was only one person present whom I sensed was sympathetic, glad to see me. You. I was grateful.'
'I can't imagine anyone not being glad to see you,' he said simply.
She smiled. 'You're very sweet. But enough of me. Tell me about yourself. You are a painter, I know. What kind of paintings do you do? Very avant garde?'
'On the contrary. My specialty is portrait painting.'
'And you enjoy that?'
'I would if I could get some decent subjects. You should see some of the people I've had to paint.'
'Would you like to paint my portrait?'
Hugh gave a start. 'You?'
'Yes, me. Don't look so frightened. Am I so hideous?'
'Are you serious?'
'Perfectly. Oh, I would pay you a proper fee, of course.'
Dazedly Hugh said, 'I can't believe it. It would be absolutely wonderful!'
'Good. Then that's settled.'
He said eagerly, 'When do you want me to start? Now? Today?'
She looked surprised. 'You have your equipment with you?'
'No, but I can start on the preliminary pencil sketches.'
She said thoughtfully, 'I would like some time to sit and think. There are decisions I have to make. Or again, perhaps . . . Can you talk while you work?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Good. I may want to ask your advice, Hugh. I have a problem.'
'Well, if you think I can help . . .'
She gave a decisive nod. 'We'll start after lunch.'
He leant forward and took her hand. 'Laura—'
The door opened and Gerry came in. 'Hugh? I—' She stopped short. 'Oh.'
Hugh got hurriedly to his feet. 'Gerry. I, er, just came up to browse among the paintings.'
'Yes, I thought I'd find you here.' She looked at Laura. 'And you are an art lover, too, signorina?'
'But naturally, Lady Geraldine.'
'Did you want me for anything particular, Gerry?' Hugh asked.
'I wondered if you'd like to come riding this afternoon. If so, I must tell the groom to get the horses saddled up.'
'No, I'm sorry, I can't. Laura — Signorina Lorenzo — has asked me to paint her portrait. We're making a start after lunch.'
'I see.' Gerry looked a little taken aback.
Laura said, 'Oh, please, Hugh, do not let me keep you from going riding.'
'Oh, I can go riding any time. It's not often I get a chance to draw a beautiful woman.'
There was a pause. Then Gerry looked at her wrist watch and said brightly, 'Twelve o'clock. There'll be drinks in the morning room now, if anyone's interested.'
'I am. Very,' Hugh said.
Laura said, 'And I must go to my room and fix my hair, to be ready for my seetting. It looks awful today.'
'It looks much the same as it did yesterday to me,' Gerry said pleasantly.
They left the gallery together. In the corridor they saw Sebastian approaching his room. He came strolling towards them.
'Ah, er, Quartus. Been - been - been looking for you, old man. Chappie just brought your jolly old motor-bike and thingummy back. Said to tell you. Said I would. Have.'
'Oh, fine.'
'And there was this.' Sebastian produced a crumpled manila envelope and handed it to Hugh. 'Jolly old bill - what?'
'Thanks.'
'Seemed quite impressed — garage chap. With the bike, I mean. Said it had a real turn of speed.'
'I believe so. I bought it from a chap who used it for competitions and made a number of modifications. Quite a genius with engines, I believe.'
'What's its top speed?' Gerry asked.
'I wouldn't know. What about those drinks you mentioned?' He started to walk away. Gerry followed him.
Sebastian gazed after them, a vacant expression on his face. Laura said, 'You are eenterested in motor-bikes, Signore Everard?'
'What? Oh, no fear. Frightfully dan-ger-oos, eh?'
'You do not like a leetle danger now and then?'
'Me? Not likely. Safety - safety first, that's my motto.'
'Signore Everard, we have met before, have we not?'
'What? Us? No, don't think so. Sure I'd have remembered. Don't meet many film stars, unfortunately.'
'But I have an excellent memory for faces, signore. You have been in Italy, I theenk?'
'Never at all. Sorry and all that. No offence.'
'But at one time you were in the limelight - the publeek eye?'
Did his eyes flicker slightly at that, she wondered, or was it just my imagination?
He answered after a couple of seconds. 'Me? Famous? Golly, no. Never done anything interesting. Just kept myself to myself.'
2 The Affair of the Mutilated Mink Page 9