‘Not yet. I’m returning the photograph albums to his two elderly aunts, who live in Sidmouth, tomorrow. It’s possible they might know something.’
‘Hugo doesn’t know anything either?’ queried Duncan a few minutes later.
‘No.’ Isabel’s thoughts turned briefly to the fact that Kieran had not mentioned his uncle and decided that Duncan could contact him regarding his contribution to the biography. When this was first discussed, Leo had spoken about his two aunts – retired teachers and now very elderly – when Ralph had despatched her to Devon.
Isabel recalled how much she had enjoyed that day. It had been early spring and she had driven slowly through the countryside from Exeter to the coast. The two old ladies, both tall and thin, had been garrulous, each offering information about Leo’s early interest in acting, his imitations of well-known actors, and produced albums of cuttings and photographs. They still avidly followed his career and were disappointed that Kieran had not shown any interest in acting or the theatre. Emily, the eldest, had volunteered that until three years ago they had attended Leo’s first nights – he had always sent them tickets. However, they no longer travelled to London or anywhere else, but they always received a programme and short note, and naturally cut out all the reviews.
Duncan’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘Do you feel up to driving that far?’
‘I’ll be fine and this will give me an opportunity to return their hospitality. Emily is going to book a table at one of the hotels on the esplanade.’
It was later that day that Duncan surprised Isabel by asking, ‘Do you intend to stay on in this house?’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it but yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s a big house for the two of you and, without being rude, these old houses can be expensive to maintain.’
‘Yes, I had realised that. However, at the moment we should concentrate on completing this biography.’
‘A day away will probably stimulate you,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ll arrange to see Kieran and find out if he’s prepared to make a contribution, and collate all my notes.’
Duncan was right, thought Isabel late the following afternoon as she waved goodbye to the two aunts and headed back to Exeter. She had enjoyed the drive down to Sidmouth and had been warmly welcomed by the two ladies who had been eager to chat about Leo, his schooldays and even then, his dreams of being a famous actor. The lunch had been delicious and sustaining when she had learnt that they both did voluntary work for different charities, were keen churchgoers and involved in various church activities.
It was as they studied the sweet menu that she mentioned dinner with Kieran and Marina and Emily said, ‘Do you know, we’ve only seen him twice since his mother died.’ Immediately, Isabel realised that Leo had never spoken of a sister and noticed that the two lined faces had become sad, both murmuring, ‘Poor Maeve.’
It was Dorothy who elaborated. ‘She was such a pretty girl, had a lovely voice but her husband was a brute. He wouldn’t allow her to visit us – that was long before we came down here, but she kept in touch when he left her. In spite of his constant bullying, she was still an attractive young woman, determined to make a new life for herself and Kieran. It was a great pity Leo wasn’t more supportive; he didn’t even attend her funeral. We were really disgusted; it wasn’t as though he was on tour.’
At this point, Emily intervened. ‘Maeve died in a multiple car crash,’ and added, ‘if Kieran had any aspirations to follow in his uncle’s footsteps, Leo’s behaviour must have destroyed them.’
Inevitably, the conversation returned to Leo when both aunts agreed that they had thought it strange that there had been nothing between him touring with a repertory company and then appearing in a well-known play in Chichester. Then, to Isabel’s surprise, they simultaneously commented on his preference for male partners. ‘But we’ve never seen a photo of him with any of them,’ volunteered Emily.
‘Has he ever spoken about his personal life, spoken of one particular person?’ asked Isabel.
‘No.’
As she approached Exeter, Isabel decided to avoid the motorway and enjoy more of the countryside, villages and small towns. At the same time, she recalled the tears in Emily’s eyes and Dorothy’s concern when they learnt of Ralph’s death and was glad she had not told them that she had been rushed to hospital, and that the police were making enquiries.
‘I’m pleased to see you enjoying your food again,’ said Elspeth that evening as she observed Isabel’s clean plate.
‘After a substantial lunch, quiche and salad was ideal.’ Isabel had just summarised what she had learnt from the two aunts, their comments about Leo, Kieran and Maeve, and was not surprised when Elspeth said, ‘Leo doesn’t come out of this as a very caring person. Even though he didn’t like or approve of Maeve’s husband, he could have shown some affection and consideration when she was left to bring up Kieran on her own.’
‘That’s what I thought. In fact, right from the beginning, Leo has appeared as arrogant. He told us very little about his parents and refused Ralph’s suggestion that we needed more information about them. I tried to reason with Ralph about it, told him that the aunts had spoken about Leo’s parents when he said, quite vehemently, that I should mind my own business and ignore all that. I also pointed out the lack of information about Leo’s childhood, schooldays and adolescence, but he was adamant that what had been written was sufficient for Leo’s fans. I’m sure Ralph knew nothing about Maeve; there was nothing in any of his notes about Leo having a sister. It’s as though Leo was ashamed of her; yet, according to the aunts, Maeve was a pretty child with a lovely voice.’
‘Perhaps he was jealous,’ offered Elspeth.
‘Although I’d met Kieran, I didn’t really think of his mother as being Leo’s sister until today, and then I was disgusted at what I learnt.’
‘I feel the same.’ Elspeth stood up and looked around the dining room. ‘I realise this is a sudden change of subject; however, what are you going to do about the house?’
‘Have you been talking to Duncan?’ and when Elspeth shook her head, ‘He asked me the same question and my answer is I don’t know. But why do you ask?’
‘I realise I’ve lived here most of my life, but it is rather big for the two of us.’
‘That was Duncan’s comment, and you’re both right. He also mentioned the maintenance of a house this age and size. I know it’s something I’ll have to think about, with your help and advice, but not until we’ve finished Leo’s biography. I certainly couldn’t face a move until then and before starting work on something new.’ Isabel had been surprised that in spite of Ralph’s illness and his death she had received several enquiries to write more biographies.
On her return from Sidmouth, Isabel had found a message from Duncan. There had been requests from a well-known local sportsman and an elderly local politician, and she now looked around the large dining room. They had all discussed redecorating this. Ralph had reluctantly agreed that the room did look shabby, but before they could decide on a colour scheme or choose wallpaper, Ralph’s symptoms had worsened and the idea had been forgotten. At the same time, she had hoped to dispense with the heavy old-fashioned table, chairs and matching sideboard which, like the house, Ralph had inherited from his parents. Isabel quickly decided that a four bedroom house was really unnecessary. Joanna’s brief stay after Ralph’s death had been the first time the spare room had been used for many years and, without thinking, voiced her thoughts. ‘Heaven only knows what’s up in the attic.’
‘Fortunately, not much – suitcases and two large trunks.’ Elspeth looked at Isabel with concern. ‘Don’t even think about moving. There’s plenty of time.’
‘I won’t, but there is something we must do. Look out the books that Ralph left to the university library.’ A codicil to this effect had been made as Ralph’s illness progressed
and Peter Hoskins, the solicitor, had advised the master of the university of this bequest.
Meanwhile, Leo Adare was stretched out on an elegant chaise longue, his grey eyes glinting as he appraised the slim, athletic body of Dominic, his young Jamaican lover, and in his well-known stage voice he said, ‘Shall we go to Venice next week?’
Dominic grinned with delight. ‘What a marvellous idea! I really enjoyed our previous visit but didn’t think we would be returning so soon.’ Dominic had cornered something of a niche market as a society painter and he resumed, ‘I’m sure Lady Cumings will agree to postpone her sitting until the following week.’
‘Of course she will. She’s such a charming and understanding person.’ Leo knew many of the people whose portraits Dominic had painted. They had been together for nearly three years. Their relationship was still as passionate as when they first met, which was at an art exhibition, and Leo now said, ‘Everything is booked, our flights and the same suite at the Cipriani.’
‘Fantastic!’ Dominic’s eyes lit up with anticipation. ‘I’ve seen Venice in the autumn and now I’ll see it in the spring.’
Leo nodded. ‘Yes, it should be lovely.’
‘Vienna is another city I’d like to visit. Perhaps we could go there sometime,’ and when Leo hesitated, Dominic resumed, ‘I’ve heard you speak German, so the language won’t be a problem.’
‘I don’t think you’d like it so much,’ then, seeing Dominic’s disappointed expression, Leo relented, ‘we could think about it for later in the year. However, although I’ve spoken to Isabel McGuire and conveyed my condolences, I must phone her again, possibly tomorrow.’
‘I know Ralph had Alzheimer’s but do you know what happened?’
‘I think he died from an overdose but I don’t know the details. Sinclair said the police are still making enquiries.’
‘Euthanasia?’ hazarded Dominic. ‘Obviously, Ralph’s condition was deteriorating. Perhaps he couldn’t face the final indignities?’
‘And who could blame him?’ said Leo.
Later that evening, Leo was drinking a Campari soda, deep in thought. Dominic’s reference to his fluency in languages had brought back many memories, particularly the occasion when, while walking in St James’s Park, he was addressed in German and had replied in the same language. The speaker had called him Manfred, enquired when he was returning to Vienna and looked puzzled when Leo insisted it was a case of mistaken identity.
The incident was forgotten until he received a phone call from Mervyn, an old school friend who worked at the Foreign Office, inviting him to lunch and enquiring if he was free that same afternoon. The conversation had switched from one language to another, covering various subjects. Leo recalled that he had been even more surprised when he was shown into a large office where two smartly-dressed, middle-aged men, who were introduced as Mr Smithers and Mr Price, simultaneously exclaimed, ‘It’s incredible!’
He had then learnt about the Waldner family, that Helmut, a wealthy businessman, was now involved in politics and that Manfred, who it was hoped would succeed his father, had succumbed to an extremely rare disease. Eminent physicians, diagnostics and specialists of different nationalities had examined Manfred and, while none were able to suggest or prescribe a definite cure, one had spoken of a drastic and prolonged treatment. This could take as long as three years and while his parents were anxious that Manfred should have this, they did not want his illness to become general knowledge.
Leo replenished his glass, recalling Smithers asking, ‘Will you help us, please?’ and Price elaborating, ‘We would like you to go to Vienna, live with the Waldners and eventually impersonate Manfred.’
Price had then said that Leo would be expected to live in Vienna for three years, that a new and suitable wardrobe would be provided, travelling expenses covered, that he would be adequately recompensed and that he would be assured of good roles and a successful career on his return.
Between them the two men had pointed out that he was the same height and build as Manfred, his hair and eyes the same colour and that he spoke perfect German and French. Smithers emphasised that an early reply would be appreciated while Price suggested that Leo should tell family and friends that he would be spending the time in Europe.
It was as they reached the pavement that Mervyn said, ‘You didn’t mention the possibility of meeting and falling in love with an Austrian girl.’
Leo recalled that his reply had been brusque. ‘That’s highly unlikely, I’m not interested in girls,’ and Mervyn has replied, ‘Neither is Manfred.’
12
‘I’m up to date with my reading. Would you like me to start packing up Ralph’s clothes?’ asked Elspeth, watching Isabel help herself to marmalade. They had discussed this the previous evening and agreed that everything should go to the Salvation Army.
‘Yes, please. I did think of tackling it today, but not until this afternoon. There’s a section of the current chapter I’d like to amend while it’s still fresh in my mind.’
It was later that morning. Isabel had completed and was editing the current chapter while Duncan was drafting the next chapter, and both were startled when Elspeth suddenly appeared in the open doorway, exclaiming ‘Guess what I’ve found!’
‘Another will?’ suggested Isabel while Duncan, noting the bulging envelope, hazarded, ‘School reports?’
‘No. These are all newspaper cuttings, years old. I only glanced at the top one – they’re all in chronological order.’
‘Where did you find them? What are they about?’ asked Isabel.
‘Why are you so excited about them?’ enquired Duncan.
‘It was the photograph in the top cutting.’ Elspeth extracted and passed part of a yellowing page to Isabel as Duncan stood up and peered over her shoulder.
‘Good heavens; it’s Leo as a young man!’ exclaimed Isabel, gazing at the faded photograph.
‘That’s what I thought until I looked at this.’
Isabel took the remainder of the page and peered at the small print. Duncan did the same and it was he who said, ‘That’s Manfred Waldner, son of Helmut and Olga Waldner. Manfred died years ago, when he was only a young man, about twenty-five, I think. His father had a heart condition and it was hoped that Manfred, with his education and political potential, would carry on the family tradition.’
Taking the next page that Elspeth proffered, Duncan studied this, agreed that the top of the pages had been cut off and commented, ‘There’s no name to indicate which paper these came from, or any date.’
‘You still haven’t told us where you found this,’ said Isabel.
‘In the drawer where Ralph kept his underwear. It was under the lining paper and, before you ask, there’s nothing in any of the other drawers.’ Then, as Isabel reached for an album which she had brought back from Sidmouth, ‘What are you looking for?’
‘This.’ Isabel deftly flicked through the pages and placed the faded photo next to a studio portrait of Leo when Elspeth and Duncan simultaneously exclaimed, ‘It’s incredible! What a remarkable resemblance.’
‘You’re the history expert. Can you enlighten us, please?’ asked Isabel.
‘It happened in the early seventies. The Waldner family were well known for several reasons: their wealth, town and country residences, Helmut’s intellect and political powers, Olga’s beauty and Manfred’s inherited genius. Although Manfred’s death was a terrible shock, his working and social life had remained unchanged, there had been no indication of any illness: it appeared that his parents and close relatives accepted this, almost as though it was expected.’
‘What was the cause of his death?’ asked Elspeth while Isabel, still gazing at Leo’s photograph, said quietly, ‘This coincides with the years we have nothing on Leo.’
Elspeth and Duncan exchanged amused glances and it was the former who said, ‘You’re not still thinki
ng that Leo spent that time impersonating—’
‘You must agree that they look alike,’ interrupted Isabel and in the same breath, ‘I must phone the inspector. He asked to be advised of anything unusual.’
Isabel began to dial, ignoring Elspeth’s protest that this had happened years ago. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Ralph’s death.
‘Where did you find them?’ asked Detective Inspector Kershaw as he studied the faded photo and noted the attached cuttings. He then listened as Elspeth explained, and Duncan again related the tragic story of the Waldner family. During the short time that this took, his gaze travelled from the faded photo to that of Leo in the open album, and he now muttered, ‘The resemblance is uncanny.’
‘That’s why I had this idea.’ Isabel looked across at the inspector and continued. ‘I agree with the others that it sounds ridiculous but suppose, as either could be mistaken for the other, and in view of Manfred’s debilitating illness, that Leo was asked to impersonate him.’
‘Is this relevant?’ Kershaw’s gaze travelled to Elspeth and Duncan but Isabel ignored this and persisted. ‘The acceleration of Manfred’s illness was at the same time as the three-year period for which we have absolutely nothing on Leo Adare.’
Kershaw shook his head, perplexed and turned to Elspeth again. ‘Why did your brother hide these cuttings?’
‘I’ve no idea. It all happened a long time ago, when he was a young man. Ralph wouldn’t have noticed the resemblance; he didn’t know Leo at the time. He hadn’t been to Austria and didn’t go in later years, so it’s possible he was struck by this tragedy and thought of doing research on this family and writing about them. Even then he was interested in biographies. They were the only books he ever read, but why he kept these cuttings in that particular drawer, I don’t know.’
Mercy or Mercenary? Page 8