The Maltese Herring

by L. C. Tyler

  ‘I’d just like to know what’s going on,’ I said. ‘My guess is that you can tell me. I’ve saved you an awkward meeting, so, in exchange, why don’t you do just that?’

  ‘Didn’t Sammartini explain?’

  ‘Is that the big guy or the little one?’

  ‘The little one. I don’t think the big guy has a name. He just cracks his knuckles and smiles.’

  ‘Sammartini explained a bit,’ I said. ‘How long have you had the Maltese Madonna?’

  ‘You know that my grandfather found it? That and some assorted church plate?’

  ‘When they were doing the garden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And old Walter Sly knew about it?’

  ‘I suppose so. My grandfather kept him on after he’d dismissed everyone else.’

  ‘And that’s why Walter Sly was killed?’

  ‘No, I think that really was an accident. My grandfather was quite old by then. I doubt he’d have had the strength to attack Walter Sly and kill him. Anyway, he was found not guilty. I’m entitled to believe that he didn’t do it.’

  ‘So, what did they do with the treasure after it was found?’

  ‘They hid it all in the ice house. But my grandfather died and my grandmother died and Walter Sly died and there was nobody left who knew what had become of it. My parents told me that my grandfather had excavated something, but it was only when, years later, I decided to try to clear the ice house of rubbish that I found it all. It was obvious what it was as soon as I saw it.’

  ‘So, about fifteen years ago, you sold the chalice and the reliquary and the pyx and the candle sticks to the museum in Hadleyburg?’

  ‘I had a boyfriend then – Piers – he said he had contacts in America. He could sell the less identifiable objects at least. So that’s what he did. But I don’t think we got a great deal. The museum questioned our title to the goods and consequently drove a hard bargain. The items were encased in plaster, which completely changed their shape, and shipped over as modern copies of Greek artefacts. I had a certain talent for sculpture. Piers and I fell out over it in the end, which was rather sad. I have never had many boyfriends. He was the last. I decided that the Madonna – the only piece left – might as well stay where it was. I thought that it was a bit too identifiable, if you see what I mean. Then, a year or two back, I realised that either I raised some serious dosh for repairs or I was going to have to sell the Priory. I mean, I was only the third generation to own it, and I’ve nobody to pass it on to except my nephew, but still, you don’t want to be the person who sold up the family home … So I looked for help elsewhere.’

  The sun was slightly higher in the sky and the day was already getting warmer. The noise of traffic from the main road, at first intermittent, was becoming a constant hum, as the day trippers headed down to the beach.

  ‘Sammartini mentioned an agent,’ I said. ‘I assume that was Professor Cox?’

  ‘He’d contacted me about the lost treasure of Sidlesham Abbey. I get two or three letters a year from people who’d like to dig here and split the proceeds with me – very generous. His interest was slightly different. More to put one over on Hilary Joyner than anything. I was cautious with him at first, but we got on well. He seemed quite an expert on mediaeval gold and silver. And he is charming when he wants to be – he reminded me a bit of Piers, to be honest. Eventually I told him what had become of everything. He said he had contacts at some US museums, from his work on church plate – including the Stephenson Museum – and would see what he could do. Failing that, he thought we could try one or two Russian billionaires who liked upmarket bling but weren’t too worried about provenance. I think he rather enjoyed it being all undercover. I mean, when you spend most of your time in libraries poring over the archives of dead politicians … And he rather liked the idea of Joyner hunting in Sussex for a statue that was actually in America or Novgorod or somewhere.’

  ‘So he got in touch with Sammartini?’

  ‘Sammartini represents the Stephenson in purchases … like this one. He’s worked mainly in Iraq and Syria lately, where things are a bit easier, but thought we could do a deal. Anthony took the statue to Oxford so that he could get somebody’s opinion on it and then ask Sammartini over and do the deal.’

  ‘Why did you need any sort of opinion?’

  ‘Because, to be perfectly honest, we realised the Madonna isn’t quite what one might expect it to be. The only descriptions of it are in the inventory, and that is very sketchy, and in Barclay-Wood’s account, which is very fanciful. The statue must have been under the ground for the whole of Barclay-Wood’s lifetime. He could never have seen it in real life. Everything he says about lapis lazuli and sapphires and rose quartz was pure guesswork. So, we needed to be sure that what we had was genuinely eighth-century Byzantine or whatever it was supposed to be. I wasn’t planning to be ripped off again.’

  ‘Didn’t Cox know what it was?’

  ‘Frankly, Ethelred, Anthony Cox is a bit of a bullshitter. He’s written a couple of papers on English mediaeval church silverware, in the context of its use in the sixteenth century and its wholesale destruction under Edward VI, but that’s not quite the same as knowing Byzantine gold- and silverware inside out. In fact, it’s not remotely the same. He could tell it was sort of old, but so could I. It looked a bit Byzantine, but it looked a bit English too. If the museum tried to get the price down by casting doubts as to its origins, we needed to be sure what we had.’

  ‘So what was it?’

  ‘We never found out. Before Anthony could show it to one of his mates at the Ashmolean Museum, it was stolen by Hilary Joyner. You see, Anthony had taken over Hilary’s old rooms in College when he became the senior history tutor – very nice, seventeenth century, south-facing and overlooking the main quadrangle. Hilary had been fobbed off, under protest, with a larger Victorian set of rooms in a gloomier and more obscure part of the College. What Anthony did not know was that Hilary had kept a bunch of keys to the front door and, more important, to the safe, which was too big to move – at least, that was what we worked out afterwards. There was no sign of a break-in. Our guess is that when Hilary got wind of what Anthony was doing, it was easy enough for him to sneak in there with his keys and remove the Madonna from the safe. We didn’t realise what he’d done until after he came down here. Then it was much too late.’

  ‘So, you killed Hilary Joyner by drowning him in the well.’

  ‘Why would I do that? I’ve told you: at that point we didn’t even know that Hilary had stolen the statue. He was a nuisance, but he wasn’t going to stop us – or so we thought. And if you’re planning to sell something like that quietly, the last thing you want is the police swarming all over the house, checking every inch of the garden for clues.’

  ‘Joyner could have reported you for not declaring the find.’

  ‘He could have reported my grandfather and Walter Sly for not declaring it. As for the sale of the pyx and the reliquary, he’d have needed to get the museum to admit to purchasing the goods from me, and they and their lawyers and their Swiss bankers weren’t going to do that. I could safely have admitted finding the Madonna in the ice house – that in itself was no crime. Old houses are full of all sorts of stuff that the owners have only the vaguest idea they ever had. Until we’d done the deal with a museum, and shipped the goods, there was nothing he could have accused me of. Anyway, Walter Sly’s death in the well gave me horrors enough. Why would I want a second death in my garden and the old well as a constant reminder? No, I certainly did not drown him.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Nobody. He just fell in. Like Walter Sly. They were both idiots.’

  ‘What I don’t get,’ I said, ‘is why Joyner came here at all, if he had the Madonna already.’

  ‘Search me,’ she said.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘Well, at least you now have it back,’ I said.

  ‘Me? No, you have it …’

  ‘I saw th
e rose bush, Iris. You dug it up and took the statue. You have it.’

  ‘I dug up the rose bush, but there was nothing under it. I heard a noise in the house and ran off, leaving everything as you found it. I assumed you’d realised where the statue was buried, after I so stupidly drew your attention to it, and had already found it and moved it elsewhere. The joke was very much on me.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I just mulched and watered. It’s what the RHS website says to do.’

  ‘So, Joyner could have hidden it there, then somebody else dug it up and replaced the rose before I could …’

  ‘Badly and without watering it in or applying bonemeal …’

  ‘It never stood a chance,’ she said. ‘Absolutely criminal.’

  We listened for a while to the wind in the trees and a blackbird singing, not so far away. It was good to be reminded that this was England. Maybe not Barclay-Wood’s England, secure in its traditions and low church certainties, but England for all that.

  ‘So who has the statue now?’ I asked.

  ‘Not Sammartini, clearly,’ said Iris. ‘And not me. Sammartini no doubt thinks we’ve pulled a fast one on him. I’m going to lie low in Waitrose until the coast is clear.’

  ‘You don’t think Sammartini shops at Waitrose?’

  ‘God, no.’

  I nodded.

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll wait until Apuldram Roses opens,’ I said. ‘I need to buy a new bush.’

  It was not an ideal time to plant roses. The weather had been hot and dry for weeks, and this day promised no respite. The lawn was parched. The rainwater butts had long since run dry; I scarcely noticed they were there any more. But I reckoned, with plenty of irrigation with the hose every evening and a regular mulch, I could get the new bush properly bedded in. I stood back and admired it, now in the rose bed, a little shorter than the ones I’d planted earlier, but strong and healthy and with several large buds about to produce blooms.

  It was only on the second or third ring that I heard the doorbell inside the house. I had nothing to fear from Sammartini, or his friend. This was, after all, Sussex, not New York. We had a police force that didn’t beat people up in alleyways and, more to the point, signs at the entrance to the estate saying ‘Residents Only’. It was, however, with a certain amount of caution that I opened the door.

  ‘Dr Tomlinson …’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry to drop in out of the blue, Ethelred, but I was passing.’

  She smiled as if there might be much more to it than that. Elsie’s voice in my ear told me that it was unlikely she was lusting after my middle-aged body, whatever I might hope.

  ‘On your way to where?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I just thought I’d take a run out into the country. I was heading for … Brighton.’

  I noticed Professor Cox’s Mercedes parked in the drive. Their relationship extended to his insuring her to drive his car.

  ‘You’d have been better on the M25 and then the M23,’ I said.

  ‘Who wants to drive on motorways on a day like this?’

  ‘Somebody who wants to get to Brighton,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway, I thought, wouldn’t it be fun to go and see my friend Ethelred? I’m a great fan of your books.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’

  Elsie’s voice in my ear conceded it was marginally more likely that Fay was lusting after my middle-aged body than that she actually thought I was a good writer.

  I offered her a coffee. I’d offered coffee to almost everyone else, so why not her? She at least claimed to be a genuine fan of traditional crime fiction.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go into the garden? I’m so looking forward to seeing it.’

  ‘The garden,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course. Let’s go there.’

  Fay toyed with her cup for a moment and then put it back on the table. ‘Perhaps I should come clean with you, Ethelred,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve lost track of the number of people who have used those words over the past few days,’ I said. ‘They’re usually followed by a string of lies and half-truths, but do by all means let me hear yours.’

  Fay’s smile flickered into a thin line of disapproval, then picked up again as if the power failure had been only momentary. ‘You are very cynical, Ethelred. But I rather admire that. It’s attractive.’

  She stretched out her legs in case I hadn’t noticed them before. She was right. They were nice legs. They were both equally good.

  ‘So, tell me why you’re really here,’ I said.

  ‘You know that Anthony has been working for Iris – trying to sell this statue thing?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I had a visit from Sammartini.’

  ‘Oh, him,’ she said. ‘He represents the Stephenson Museum. It’s hardly a big player.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Not in the top twenty in the States.’

  ‘Strangely, he didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘Of course not. Anyway, Iris already knew the Stephenson Museum. She’d done business with them before. Anthony was scarcely doing her any favours simply suggesting they went back to the same place that had ripped her off last time. But I had contacts at one of the very top museums. One with an international reputation. You’d be quite impressed if I told you.’

  ‘And will you tell me?’

  ‘Not yet. You’ll find out when the time is right.’

  ‘So who represents this other museum?’

  ‘Nice try, Ethelred, but the contact is mine. The museum was willing to deal with Anthony and me so long as he was the one with the goods. But he isn’t any more. He’s out of it.’

  ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘He doesn’t need to know. We wouldn’t want him causing trouble for us. Not until money has changed hands and we’re both out of the way.’

  ‘Will this museum worry at all about a lack of export certificates?’

  ‘Not if we can provide them with evidence that it has been in the US for some years.’

  ‘And we can do that?’ I asked. ‘Bearing in mind that it hasn’t.’

  ‘For the right price, Ethelred, we can do anything. We’re partners. I, and only I, can do the deal. You, and only you, have the statue. What do you say?’

  ‘What I say is that I don’t have the statue. I’m not just playing hard to get. I really don’t know where it is. You’re right that Joyner left it here. He buried it in the rose bed. From where somebody removed it – I’m not sure when. But it’s gone.’

  ‘Shit … But are you sure he buried it? It couldn’t be elsewhere – maybe in the house?’

  ‘I’d have found it. It’s certainly not in either of his bags. Iris has already tried the rest of his bedroom. I just have an empty envelope.’

  Fay thought about this for a bit.

  ‘So the partnership offer is dead in the water?’ I asked.

  ‘Whoever stole it must have known that Joyner was staying with you and could have hidden the statue here.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So, how many people is that?’

  ‘Apart from you, maybe four or five. Not many more.’

  ‘And they are …?’

  I smiled at her.

  ‘Iris?’

  ‘No, not Iris,’ I said. ‘That was Sammartini’s guess, but he’s wrong. She dug, but the bird had already flown. Her disappointment when I explained things was very genuine. I don’t think she was bluffing.’

  ‘So, somebody else? And you might be able to work out who that is? And get the statue back?’

  ‘Possibly. But why should I wish to do any of that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because then our deal’s back on, Ethelred. We sell it, split the proceeds down the middle and we head off together to the Caribbean.’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Why not?’

  I considered all of the reasons.

  ‘I might not want to,’ I said.

  ‘
You’ll never get a better offer.’

  ‘That may be true. But, looking at it from your point of view, you’d be throwing away your Fellowship at the college.’

  ‘The History Fellowship? I thought that was what I wanted. But then I realised what I could do with the money we’ll make on this. Whatever Sammartini offered you will only be a fraction of its real value. If I’m right, this thing may be worth three or four million. Do you know what academics get paid, Ethelred?’

  ‘More than writers,’ I said. ‘And it’s regular indoor work with long holidays and membership of the Universities Superannuation Scheme. Are you really willing to ditch Anthony Cox, though? Your relationship with him must run to more than borrowing his car. Doesn’t he want to lie on the beach? I’m sure he’d like the West Indies too.’

  ‘He can go back to his wife. He probably would have done anyway. They always do. The deal was that, if I helped him, he’d make sure I got the Fellowship when Joyner retired. That was all. He took a modest fee from the sale. The rest went to Iris. Or that was what he said. He was probably lying.’ She reached out and touched my arm. ‘But you wouldn’t lie to me, Ethelred. You’re the only man I’ve ever met that I would trust entirely. You wouldn’t let me down. You’re the sort of guy who is wholly dependable.’

  If that’s what she thought, it seemed unlikely she’d discussed my general character with Elsie. Or they hadn’t covered book sales, anyway.

  ‘So, your plan is that we do this together?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And we spend the rest of our lives sunning ourselves on a beach in Antigua?’

  ‘Or St Lucia. Your call.’

  ‘There’s one good reason for running away with you,’ I said, ‘and that would be to see my agent’s face. She considers you well out of my league.’

  ‘That’s all she knows. You can play Arthur Miller to my Marilyn Monroe.’

  ‘That didn’t work out well last time round.’

  ‘History doesn’t really repeat itself. Old man Marx was wrong. Trust me. I’m a historian.’

  ‘Fay, you are beautiful, without moral scruples of any kind, and might be the next Regius Professor of History but three. Let’s face it, it’s an irresistible combination for any red-blooded male. You are so far out of my league that you are playing in the premiership and I am playing Subbuteo on the mat in the nursery. Sometimes you have to concede that your agent may be right.’