‘Rush off? Certainly not, dear boy. We’re not all impetuous idiots! No, he’ll have to stew for a bit; told him I had a number of pressing engagements and couldn’t possibly get away until the end of the month. These things need careful handling, Francis. Doesn’t do to look too keen.’ He giggled, and added, ‘If you weren’t such a liability I would take you with me; as it is you’re far safer polishing candlesticks in St Botolph’s or whatever you do. Can’t afford the risk!’
I was stung by that, but also slightly regretful. I had never been to America (or anywhere very much) and my knowledge of the country was based largely on what I had seen in the cinema via the exploits of Humphrey Bogart, George Raft, Sydney Greenstreet, and other denizens of Manhattan with its ritzy bars and swish hotel suites. I experienced a pang of envy as I imagined Nicholas ensconced in the Algonquin, sipping stone dry martinis while cutting a lucrative deal with Hiram K. Flutzveldt to the elegant strains of Cole Porter …
My reverie was interrupted by his next words, ‘In the meantime, Francis, I shall be coming up to Surrey next week to see my Cranleigh pal. Perhaps I could drop in on my way back – I’ve got a little something for your Primrose which you can pass on when you next see her, a small cheque actually. There’s a postal strike down here and God knows when deliveries will be reliable again, otherwise I’d send it direct. Wouldn’t mind a spot of grub if there was any going.’
Rather reluctantly I said there probably would be some going; and we set a date for his visit. Clearly in high spirits, and with fulsome praise for my cooking (!) he then rang off, leaving me to light a cigarette and brood.
I didn’t brood long, for five minutes after his call there was another one, this time from my sister inviting herself to lunch on the same day. Apparently she would be passing near Molehill on the way back home from Derbyshire after addressing that county’s Guild of Artists’ Pastoral Circle. This group was an offshoot from the main body, dedicated to the depiction of rural pursuits and ancient churches. ‘Just my pigeon,’ she had said, ‘I can prose on for hours about wool-spun flocks and lichened buttresses, and when it’s all over rake in a nice fat fee plus supper, board and vast expenses. Very handy!’
I enquired what expenses other than petrol. ‘Lunch of course,’ she replied.
‘But you will be lunching with me,’ I pointed out. Apparently that was neither here nor there.
‘Funny you’ve picked that date, ‘ I said, ‘because as it happens, Nicholas Ingaza has threatened to drop by at the same time. He will have been seeing his contact in Cranleigh – some scam brewing presumably – and he did happen to mention that he had a small cheque to deliver which I could pass on to you. The Canadian business, I suppose.’
‘Well, that’s a stroke of luck,’ she replied. ‘Entrusting a cheque to your hands would be asking for trouble.’
‘What do you mean?’ I gasped indignantly. ‘I am a model of probity!’
‘That’s as may be. But you are careless, Francis, careless!’
I let it go and confirmed details of her arrival. We decided this should be earlier rather than later as it would give us time to have a coffee and a natter before Nicholas arrived, and she would not be rushed getting back to Sussex to prepare the chinchillas’ supper. ‘Karloff is so particular,’ she declared. ‘If he doesn’t get his carrot compôte on time he has the vapours and then throws all his bedding about cheered on by Boris. It’s a nightmare!’
Not wishing to incommode Karloff I indicated that she would be welcome any time after ten o’clock.
She arrived bearing some pots of Sussex honey, a Spotted Dick pudding, and a large vegetable marrow in a paper bag. For some reason Bouncer took an excited interest in this and seemed eager to remove its wrapping. I pushed him away and put the marrow on the hall table but he kept circling and jumping up. ‘I never knew a dog so greedy,’ she exclaimed. ‘I suppose he thinks it’s a bone. I brought him one once and he’s never forgotten.’ She removed the bag, and the dog took one sniff, gave a reproachful snort and mooched off.
I made some coffee and we settled in the sitting room and chatted about her talk to the Pastoral Circle and my inaugural Canonical Address.
‘I’m rather dreading it,’ I admitted. ‘There’s only a couple of months to go and I really haven’t given it a thought, and as one of my colleagues so helpfully pointed out, it isn’t like any ordinary sermon, it’s supposed to have style, dignity and distinction – or be so obscure that people are impressed without understanding a word.’
‘Well, why don’t you impress them by departing from the norm?’ she said encouragingly. ‘I mean, you could start cracking jokes and have them rolling in the aisles. Why, you could even do an imitation of Arthur Askey pretending to be a clergyman. He did that at the Palladium, it was marvellous. They would probably love it!’
‘What an absurd idea! … Besides, Arthur Askey is half my height.’
‘All right, how about Max Miller?’ This was followed by further suggestions in similar vein, none of which was remotely enlightening. We turned to other matters and gossiped at length, until glancing at the clock I realized it was high time I put on the stew. Primrose collected the coffee cups and followed me into the kitchen.
‘Oh really, Francis,’ she expostulated, ‘this place is appalling. Look at the mess everywhere! Can’t you get some of your female followers to lend a hand? I’m sure they would be only too delighted.’
‘No fear!’ I cried. ‘Anyway, haven’t got any followers, as you so sweetly put it.’
‘What about that Mavis person? Surely she’d be happy to wield a bucket and mop.’
‘The only thing Mavis can wield is a limp wrist and a volume of nauseating poems.’
‘Oh well,’ she grumbled, ‘I suppose your poor sister will have to get down to things. Nicholas is arriving soon and I do have my reputation as an international artist to think of. Seeing the squalor of your kitchen might turn him off giving me any more Canadian assignments!’
‘Not if money is involved,’ I retorted acidly. She ignored this, and donning a pair of rubber gloves began sweeping vigorously round the boiler. I sighed, and having put the casserole on to simmer, started to make my escape to the study; but as I crossed the hall I heard her exclaim, ‘Oh, for goodness sake, you don’t keep the cat litter tray here, do you! It’ll have to go!’
I returned wearily and explained that the discreet corner by the back door was the only place for it and that since Maurice was impeccable in his ablutions there really wasn’t a problem.
‘Well, I am sure it can be pushed further out of sight anyway, it’s bad enough being faced with the dog’s basket!’ And so saying, she gave the thing a sharp shove deeper into the corner. As she did so something fell out of the space between the tray and its base: a crumpled and dirty packet of papers tied in frayed blue ribbon.
‘Whatever’s that?’ said Primrose, stooping to pick it up.
I had had enough of these domestic manoeuvres, and indicated that I really didn’t care and was going into the study to make some phone calls before Ingaza arrived. Thus I made my escape, and collapsing into the armchair lit a cigarette and closed my eyes.
I was just wondering whether I had the courage to telephone Colonel Dawlish to explain that I had blundered with dates and could not after all attend his charity whist drive, when Primrose appeared at the door in a state of voluble excitement.
‘Francis,’ she babbled, waving the mangled packet at me, ‘you’ll never guess – these are the deeds to the Fotherington Folly! That place in France the old girl wanted you to have. They’ve even got your name on them and some sort of seal. Isn’t it incredible!’
I gazed horror-struck. The last things I wanted were those deeds and further connection with my victim Elizabeth Fotherington! Besides, how in living hell had they found their way into the cat’s tray? It was impossible – grotesque! Then just as I had started to think that few nightmares could be more ghastly, there was the sound of the doorbell and I kn
ew that Nicholas had arrived …
I arose zombie-like and let him in.
‘Hello, hello, hello!’ he breezed. ‘Long time, no see! How’s clerical life these days? I must say, you don’t look too well on it, old boy – white as the proverbial sheet. Still, I expect we can fix that!’ And he thrust a bottle of gin into my hands.
I mustered a smile of thanks and took him into the sitting room where Primrose was still drooling over her find.
After lavish overtures, he stuck a hand into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a slim envelope which he presented to her with a little bow. ‘First remuneration,’ he murmured. ‘Courtesy of Canada: not too big – but not too small either, I think you’ll find.’ He smiled slyly.
Primrose tore open the envelope with an avidness of the kind displayed by Bouncer when thrown a new bone. The cheque inside evidently met with her approval, for grasping the bottle of gin she exclaimed gaily, ‘We must drink a toast – to sheep and churches!’
‘Long may they both flourish,’ added Nicholas gravely.
I fetched the glasses and we tackled the gin: they in happy celebration, me in some need. I felt gloomy, knowing that it could only be a matter of minutes before Primrose apprised Ingaza of her remarkable find in the cat litter.
My fears were well grounded, for after a couple of gulps she turned to him and said, ‘You know, something quite extraordinary has happened but we’ll tell you about it at lunch. It’s very exciting – isn’t it, Francis?’
‘Yes,’ I said glumly.
* * *
Inevitably lunch was no picnic. It was taken up with endless speculation as to how the deeds got where they were … Perhaps, for example, Mrs Fotherington had dropped them in the road, and Maurice, seeing the beribboned packet and thinking it a new kind of toy, had promptly hijacked it. Nicholas declared that he knew several cats given to just such magpie activities and it would be far from unusual.
We thought about that possibility. And then Primrose suggested that Elizabeth, engaged on one of her intrusive visits to the vicarage, had deliberately secreted the deeds in the receptacle hoping to persuade me to play a kind of hunt-the-parcel at a later date – ‘You know, as a sort of playful prelude to her generosity!’
I shuddered at the thought, while Nicholas shrieked with laughter, spluttering, ‘Oh yes, I can just see old Francis on hands and knees sniffing round the cat litter trying to pick up clues to a fortune!’
Primrose joined in the mirth, and the two hooted and gurgled merrily at my expense.
‘Look,’ I said stiffly, ‘it is all very well, but I am the one who will be implicated if it is thought that I have gained from her death or even her romantic partiality. The more tenuous the link between myself and Elizabeth, or indeed the wretched daughter, the better. As far as I am concerned those deeds are a hot potato leading to God knows what. I do not want them!’
‘Mixing your metaphors again, old boy,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Besides –’ he coughed delicately – ‘you might have given consideration to that when you were busy in the wood. I’ve told you before, you have no sense of foresight.’
‘He’s right,’ chimed in Primrose. ‘Daddy was always complaining. Don’t you remember when you threw Amy Ponsonby’s teddy bear in the duck pond and there was such a shamozzle? Pa kept asking why you couldn’t have chosen a bear belonging to some lesser child, i.e. not the High Sheriff’s brat. He said the whole thing would have been wrapped up in a day instead of dragged out for weeks!’
I glared at her. ‘Amy Ponsonby had it coming! She had stolen my favourite lead soldier, and what’s more –’
‘Yes, yes,’ broke in Nicholas, ‘charming though these family reminiscences are, I think we should stick to the matter in hand: the deeds and how best we can utilize them.’
I laid down my knife and fork, and fixing him with a frosty stare, said in my best clerical tones: ‘We are not going to use them at all, Nicholas. Nor for that matter am I. In fact, I have every intention of disposing of them forthwith!’ I began to get up from the table.
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Francis!’ cried Primrose. ‘Sit down and wait for pudding. It’s your favourite, Spotted Dick and custard – and I’ve put extra currants in this time so it should be really good.’
‘Rather, Francis!’ agreed Nicholas. ‘Definitely worth waiting for – plenty of time to throw away your key to a fortune afterwards.’ He smiled encouragingly; and irritated though I was, I stayed in my seat lured by the Spotted Dick.
The rest of lunch moved in calmer fashion. And although I felt uneasy at their sprightly talk about the success of the art forgeries, my concern over the deeds grew less acute. Naturally, just to satisfy curiosity I would examine them more closely once my guests had departed; and then after due consideration would in all probability – and as had been my first intention – destroy them. Obviously fire would be the best method and I would light one that evening after Primrose had returned to Lewes. Yes, I had been panicking unnecessarily: the whole embarrassment could easily be resolved and I should soon be free both of the deeds themselves and of Ingaza’s officious interest in the property and its absurdly alleged Nazi gold!
Thus I applied myself with relish to the pudding and cheese, and after lunch helped Primrose with the coffee while our guest read the newspaper and parleyed with the dog in the sitting room. Fortunately the question of the deeds was not resurrected, and, sooner rather than later, Nicholas announced that he really must be going as it was Eric’s birthday and they would thus be spending the evening at the dog-track.
‘Well, that all went very well, I think,’ said Primrose after he had left. ‘A nice little fee for the Canadian things – and I am sure he charged considerably less commission than he had originally said.’
‘Huh!’ I replied. ‘That’s just a sweetener to get you hooked – you’ll see. It’ll get steeper as it goes on.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a cynic, Francis! I do realize of course that there’s an element of dodginess there, but clearly not nearly to the extent you seem to suggest. It doesn’t do to be so negative about people.’ She spoke with good-humoured authority, and I said nothing but thought the more.
We lit cigarettes and settled down to the crossword. But our efforts were not very successful, and after twenty minutes of frustrated pondering, she cast her pencil aside and said, ‘I say, Francis, I do think you ought to look at those deeds. They’re really quite interesting, you know. There’s a plan of the property and it looks pretty big, with several outhouses and barns. Must have been intended as a farm or even a winery originally. The only snag is it seems to be miles from anywhere – I mean really in the depths … well, the heights actually, it’s halfway up some mountain! So who knows, there may just be some truth in that gold rumour, it’s conveniently remote all right. Don’t you think we could go and have a peek at it?’
‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘I am far too busy with the church, couldn’t possibly get away. Clinker’s due for the Confirmations soon, and after that, as I told you, I’ve got the Canonical Address to prepare.’
She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You could at least look at the damn things anyway … Where are they – in the kitchen?’
‘No, here. They should be on the piano. You put them there when Nicholas arrived.’
‘I don’t think so – or at least they’re not there now. They must be in the kitchen. I’ll go and have a look.’ She got up with a determined air, while I vaguely scanned the sitting room.
A minute or so later she was back looking perplexed. ‘There’s no sign of them out there.’
‘What about the hall table?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, they must be somewhere. This is ridiculous!’ I sighed. ‘You take another look in here and I’ll do the kitchen again.’ I searched everywhere – even in Bouncer’s basket where Nicholas had once dropped his car keys. There was nothing.
‘Well, where the hell are they?’ she cried.
I was s
ilent. And then I said quietly, ‘I can tell you exactly where they are.’
‘Where?’
‘In that bastard’s wallet …’
I was enraged. How could he do that! Silly question: quite easily – typical in fact. However, I certainly wasn’t going to let it go. And once I had got rid of Primrose and spent an hour in much-needed rest, I went downstairs and seized the telephone.
‘I think you’ve got something of mine, Nicholas,’ I began coolly, ‘and I should be glad if you returned it.’
‘Don’t know what you are talking about, dear boy. Getting confused with someone else.’
‘Nonsense, you know perfectly well I am referring to those Fotherington deeds which you appropriated when lunching at my house today. Kindly return them!’
There was a pause. And then he said, ‘Ah those! Yes, I was going to mention them to you … Do you know, when you and Primrose were in the kitchen after lunch I started a quick perusal of the things – fascinating! In fact so fascinating that quite without thinking I must have slipped them in my pocket. Silly me! It’s amazing how absent-minded one gets!’
‘Nothing absent about your mind,’ I replied angrily. ‘Just hand them over!’
His voice became conspiratorial. ‘Well, actually, Francis, if it’s all the same with you, think I might hang on to them for a while, you see –’
‘It is not all the same with me, I want them back immediately!’
‘As I was saying – you see, I was rather thinking of popping over there at some point to take a look around, a sort of reconnaissance. After all, one might as well see what’s what. And that tale of Nazi gold is very intriguing … could make all our fortunes. Think of that, Francis! Mind you, it’ll have to wait till the pig transaction is all wound up, mustn’t lose sight of Mr Shickelgrüber!’ He gave a nasal titter.
Making a fortune from my victim’s gift was the last thing I needed. Benefiting from her will had been bad enough. Fortunately I had been able to wriggle out of that by disposing of the funds before anyone could accuse me of having had sinister motives. But at least then I had been in control and could organize matters as seemed appropriate. Now, however, I was in thrall to Ingaza and his wiles, and God knew where that might lead! Having her property thrust upon me was an awful embarrassment, and my own instinct was to destroy the deeds and get on with my life as if the thing did not exist. I need never know anything about it, and for all I cared it could rot in the ground – or better still, go to blazes! Simple really. But Ingaza’s intrusion naturally put paid to that. I closed my eyes. What had I done to deserve him! There was, of course, an answer to that …
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