by Amy Myers
‘Perhaps you remember it because something struck you as odd about it, and maybe that was only because Lance was indicating bad weather ahead.’
‘No. More likely retreating into the place I couldn’t reach. Far-distant lands.’ She hesitated. ‘In fact, we’d met in Canterbury by chance on the 12th, had a flaming row and he broke it off. I twitted him about being Jago’s caretaker, or some such mild joke. He went ballistic. Accused me of spying on him, trying to possess him. As if I’d want him lock, stock and barrel. No way. He told me whatever feelings he had for me were over. It was getting too hot. He hardly bothered to be polite, which was unlike him. The Lance I thought I knew had vanished for good.’
‘You said he was changeable. Why did you think this was different?’ Georgia asked. This was beginning to add up. When she had told Zac that she knew about his antics, he too had just changed. No attempt to hide and, for the moment, a brief one, he had been stripped of all pretences.
‘I did say that,’ Venetia agreed. ‘This time I knew there would be no coming back. You learn that at sea too. Rules are OK, but it’s the fine-tuning that gets you to know the sea and quick reactions that keep you alive. It was the same in my private life. I knew I needed to react quickly, so I broke it off.’
‘You said that he did,’ Peter reminded her.
‘Did I? Perhaps it was mutual. Let’s just say that by 13 September 1961, the day before Lance disappeared, we were not in a state of harmony, and the phone call finished it. That meeting we had arranged in Hythe was simply for me to pick up some of my possessions that I’d left on the boat.’ She paused. ‘Believe it or not, I still find it painful to recall the shock of Lance’s turnaround.’
‘But you were not only going to meet him’ – Georgia was puzzled – ‘but stay overnight and go sailing.’
Venetia grimaced. ‘Yes. We’d already made the arrangement and given the appropriate excuses to our spouses. After the break-up, there were still things to discuss, some of my possessions were in his boat and vice versa. So we thought we might as well meet and get it over with, though I doubt if I could have stayed over as planned. Too much emotion. Then came the phone call cancelling it.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I acted like any irrational woman. I went to see Mary, of course.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I can see that shocks you.’
‘Let’s say surprises,’ Georgia amended.
‘Do you always behave with dignity in such situations?’ Venetia looked from Peter to Georgia.
Youch. Georgia thought of Peter when her mother Elena had walked out, of herself and Zac, and couldn’t answer yes. Even so she wondered whether she would openly admit it as Venetia had. Perhaps when she was eighty she would be able to look back objectively and do so, although she doubted it. ‘No. I have lapses,’ she confessed. Peter said nothing.
Venetia nodded. ‘I had a lapse that afternoon, and I’ve never regretted it. Tell me, what do you know about Mary? Quiet, stay-at-home, the devoted wife Lance could always come back to?’
‘Yes,’ Georgia agreed.
‘A stereotype, and people are rarely that, save superficially. Mary was all those things. She was also devious, spiteful and ruthless. Her life centred on one person: Lance. Not even – though this is not for the record – on her daughter. That changed after his death, save that his memory became sacrosanct. While he was alive, nothing got in the way of her determination to retain Lance for herself. Not even Lance could break that steely grip. She used a long chain but a very strongly forged one. Mary knew about me, I’m sure, just as she knew about his other affairs. I was different because I was on her home patch. I’m sure it was she who decided that it was time my husband knew – not that he cared.’
‘Was it she who persuaded Lance to end the affair?’
‘I wish I could say yes, but I can’t. She didn’t like me, and was wary of my influence, but it suited her. It gave Lance a thrill of excitement in his home village that she couldn’t provide, and I suspect that she feared that this time if it came to a battle she’d lose him, if not by divorce, then emotionally.’
‘For the same reason she tolerated his friendship with Jago Priest?’
‘Yes. What happened to that dry old stick? I met him once when he owned Badon House. We moved away not long after Lance died so I lost track – not that I wanted one.’
‘He’s alive and well, and no longer particularly dry.’
‘Mellowed with age, then. Still living in Paris?’
‘No. In England.’
‘Good grief. These potty fanatics must keep going because they won’t let go of their pet theories. Still banging on about King Arthur, is he?’
Georgia braced herself.
‘He is,’ Peter said, avoiding her eye. ‘King Arthur too is alive and well and living in a cave in Kent, together with his goblet and a few scrolls as an ID card in case he’s woken up by the motorway noise. Did Lance talk about him?’
‘About King Arthur? I don’t remember. He might have. He talked mostly about places, paintings, people, Paris – that was his first love.’
‘Did he mention Antonio Benizi?’
‘He didn’t talk about him that I recall, but I met him and his wife, the famous Madeleine. That was Antonio, wasn’t it? Small, Italian, dark-haired, quicksilver brain—’
Georgia thought of Antonio now. Silvered certainly, but how quick? Quick to outwit her? She had come away with nothing tangible save a sight of the painting – and that was by his design.
‘Yes, and they knew Jago in Paris too, being Lance’s best friend.’
‘Best friend?’ Venetia looked at them oddly.
‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’ Georgia was taken by surprise.
Venetia began to laugh. ‘Typical of Lance to give that impression – and for Jago to perpetuate it. Lance loathed Jago. No doubt about it.’
Peter shot a startled look at Georgia, and she could see her own shock reflected in his face. So much for knowing Lance the man.
‘By loathe, do you mean really hated, or disliked? They were in Paris for some years together and you said that Lance looked after Badon House for Jago.’
‘I use words precisely. He loathed him,’ Venetia said in answer. ‘At least,’ she amended, ‘during the time he knew me. That would have been from about 1958 to the time of his death. I suppose when they first met there might have been a time that he tolerated him.’
‘But why did he hate him?’ Jago seemed affable enough, Georgia thought, and he implied that he and Lance were on the best of terms. ‘Did Jago do something to offend Lance?’
‘One could say that.’
‘What on earth was it?’
‘He married Jennifer.’
Of course, Georgia thought. She’d been asleep at the switch. Madeleine had said something about that, but surely she had implied such feelings had passed when Lance married Mary.
‘Is she still alive?’ Venetia continued.
‘No. She died two years ago. Is Jennifer important in Lance’s story?’
‘Was Guinevere to Lancelot?’
‘Are you telling us that Lance stayed in love with Jennifer?’ Peter asked evenly, as Georgia grappled with the implications.
Venetia nodded. ‘And believe me, I should know. That’s why he stayed in touch with Jago, his so-called best friend. A great joke, as Lance saw it. Jennifer was the place in his mind that I could never reach.’
‘You said Lancelot,’ Georgia asked carefully. ‘Does that imply they were having an affair after she married Jago?’
‘I expect so. Not openly. Like Guinevere, Jennifer knew which side her bread was buttered on. All I know is that the lady had taken up permanent residence in his heart, his mind and his love life. To misquote a now well-known phrase, there were three of us in Lance’s and my pillow talk.’
‘Could you have made a mistake because of your own feelings for him? Imagined—’
‘No, I could not,’ Venetia interrupted briskly. ‘Fir
stly, he told me so, secondly, that bitch Madeleine Beaufort told me so and thirdly, the lady herself smugly informed me.’
‘You met her?’
‘Of course. She made sure of that, and so Lance was eager too. She and Jago had been married for a year or two by then, and had a child. Jago and she, Lance and I and Madeleine and her husband all spent a merry evening at the Café Procop – you know it?’
‘I do,’ Peter said. The tone of his voice told Georgia he’d been there with Elena.
‘Everyone who is anyone from Benjamin Franklin onwards has been there. So of course that’s where we went. I was introduced as Lance’s girlfriend, regardless of the fact that he was married. Jennifer took my measure, all charm and smiles. I doubt if Jago noticed a thing. He was rabbiting on about King Arthur as usual, Lance was playing us off one against the other and Jennifer continued to sum up the competition. She was beautiful, I grant you that, and did a good line in warm companionship. At the end of the evening, when we left the restaurant, I was alone with her for a few minutes and she dripped her poison in my ear. I think she realized I was of stronger metal than Lance’s other flames, so she was reasonably subtle about it. “Do you know Mary?” she trilled, and I said I did but that she need not worry on Mary’s behalf about me. There was a pause, then beautifully timed with a beautiful smile, she replied: “I don’t.” She had the most lovely voice. Deep and husky. She looked like the Pre-Raphaelite paintings with Jane Morris as model. She had the dark eyes and hair, and an oval face so flawless that when she chose it could be entirely expressionless. This displayed her at her most beautiful, but also served to hide her inner feelings. It’s my belief there was a block of ice in there, except where Lance was concerned, of course. “Do take care of yourself,” she urged me. “Lance is a breaker of hearts.” I’d already figured her out, so I replied: “Of yours, you mean.” “I think not,” she said sweetly, and delivered by that lovely voice it sounded all the more chilling. I knew then I hadn’t a hope. Fortunately I didn’t want one. As I told you, one doesn’t set sail without knowing the rules, and although the rules changed somewhat abruptly when I saw how things were with Jennifer, I was wary from then on.’
‘If the attachment was so strong, why did she marry Jago?’
‘Lance told me it was a mistake. Jennifer was as much in love with him as he with her, and both were then single. They had one of those stupid rows that everyone has. Lance was an adventurer, he had a fling with Madeleine, Jennifer took the huff and married Jago who was well-off and secure. Lance was not, and I suspect that had something to do with it.’
If Venetia was right, Madeleine was back in the picture. Georgia realized she was going to have to reassess her visit to Paris.
‘So you can see if I really wanted to kill Lance, I would have done it there and then in Paris,’ Venetia said. ‘But I didn’t.’
‘Others might have had cause. Madeleine or Jago.’
Venetia considered this. ‘Perhaps, but hardly likely. Madeleine seemed perfectly happy with rich cuddly Antonio, and Lance jogged along under this pretence of being Jago’s best friend, as the only way he could stay in touch with Jennifer without risk.’
‘If Jago found out about them, that would have given him reason to kill Lance.’ Georgia could see Peter was thinking that way too by the brief nod he gave her.
‘If we’re talking theoretically, yes,’ Venetia agreed. ‘And if Jago could muster enough passion to do it.’
‘He had reason enough,’ Georgia argued. ‘If he planned it carefully, came over from France, met Lance and went to sea with him on the 14th—’
She stopped abruptly, as Venetia laughed outright. ‘In a boat? I said theoretically. I’m afraid there’s a fatal flaw in your theory.’
‘Which is?’ Georgia asked, taken aback.
‘Jago would never set foot on a boat. Absolutely no way,’ Venetia said. ‘Even if you told him King Arthur and Sir Gawain had anchored just outside Dover Harbour, he’d only stand on the quayside with binoculars.’
‘Are you sure?’ Peter asked, looking as shell-shocked as Georgia felt.
‘Quite, I’m afraid.’ Venetia looked at them in amusement. ‘I offered to take Jennifer and Jago out in my own Hillyard, but Jennifer looked at me in that superior way of hers. “If only,” she sighed, “but Jago hates the water so much that even fishing in a river is barred.” Jago looked annoyed, but agreed he was so hydrophobic that he couldn’t swim or sail, but fortunately had no desire to.
‘No, don’t look to Jago,’ Venetia continued more soberly. ‘Look to Mary. When a worm turns, it can be vicious in real life, particularly if it’s a snake in the grass too. As for me in the role of villain, I have no alibi if you want to pursue me. I was with my husband, but he’d lie in his teeth to put me in the frame.’
‘If Jago is ruled out, what about Benizi?’ Peter asked.
‘Possible, if there were a motive. He can’t have felt friendly towards Lance if he was aware of the tendresse between his wife and Lance.’
‘And Jennifer?’
Venetia smiled. ‘How satisfactory that would be – if you could find any reason. Never forget Jennifer.’
And for the first time Georgia glimpsed the serpent in her.
Chapter Eight
‘Do you believe her?’ Georgia watched Peter at his computer clicking on Charlie’s Suspects Anonymous program. He’d been unusually quiet on the way home, and it was only now that she realized why. He’d already decided on a reshuffle of his Internet players.
‘Unfortunately, yes. This requires major rethinking.’
‘Taking Jago out of the Burglar Bill suspects?’
‘Temporary demotion.’
‘Putting Venetia in? She seemed willing enough to volunteer.’
‘Double bluff?’
‘Perhaps. It would be good cover. Let’s put her in with reluctance. I liked her.’
‘We like Jago too. Did you believe what she told us about his and Lance’s relationship?’
‘Yes,’ Georgia said after reflection, ‘although both Jago and she could have been telling the truth. Jago could perfectly well have believed Lance had been his best mate, while all the time Lance was seething away with frustrated passion for his wife and intense dislike for him.’ She remembered the elderly lady she’d seen in the photograph in Jago’s home and tried hard to equate her with a luscious sexy Guinevere. Trying to strip away the years from images taken years later was always difficult. The past remained a book whose text was difficult to bring alive, needing determination and sympathy to fight one’s way into it.
‘True, O sage,’ Peter agreed. ‘Do you mind if I put Zac in as a suspect?’
Georgia was jolted back into an area she preferred to ignore. ‘As a joker?’ she asked wryly. She had been so deep into her personal reaction to Zac’s reappearance that she hadn’t considered the possibility that his arrival was no coincidence. And that would mean Madeleine and Antonio had planned the day very carefully indeed, which she couldn’t believe.
‘Why not? Let’s say Zac is a wild card, role as yet unfathomable. Did you tell Luke that we’ve decided to go to Dover, Mike willing, and who with?’
This last sentence came out without a pause, intended no doubt to catch her off guard. ‘Not yet.’ The words to tell him hadn’t yet come, nor had the right moment and Luke would be able to deduce her ambivalence simply by the way she spoke. Or was it merely guilt on her part to think that way? Nevertheless it would surely be better to tell him about Paris after she returned from Dover – if they went? There was no point in upsetting him needlessly.
‘What about putting Madeleine and Antonio in as suspects?’ She had to get away from the subject of Zac.
‘You liked Antonio, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’
‘Italian charm?’
‘If so, that doesn’t mean it’s false.’
‘Let’s agree he’s a sweetie-pie. Can’t a sweetie-pie also be a criminal?’
‘Yes,�
�� she agreed. ‘But we don’t know he is. He claims that he was a trusted bridge between the criminal art fraternity and the honest joes, accepted as such by both.’
‘That would seem to be the case. I asked Mike to run some checks after you returned from Paris.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ she said accusingly.
‘You were preoccupied with Zac.’
She opened her mouth to deny this, but realized that it was all too true.
‘Interpol hoped for years to pin the Benizi brothers down to a more criminal role than the one you’ve described. It failed, but that doesn’t mean that the brothers have been forgotten. Far from it. They’re still very active in the art and antiques world, and still watched. It’s not the same generation as Lance dealt with, and probably not the next, but the one after that. With Russian millionaires thirsty for art treasures the world is currently the Benizi brothers’ oyster.’
‘Are they informers?’
‘They wouldn’t have lasted two days if so. No, they’re either just what they claim, or fiendishly clever villains.’
‘Assuming them the former, they wouldn’t be suspects, would they? They’re unlikely to have had a personal motive for murdering Lance.’
‘Why not? Madeleine can’t have been pleased if he was forever mooning over Jennifer during their affair – correction, friendship until proved otherwise, despite what Venetia says.’
‘Good point,’ she conceded.
‘Moreover the Benizis are as strong a link as Jago between today and Paris of the 1950s which means Lance Venyon, so far as we’re concerned.’
‘They don’t like each other, so they would hardly be allies in some conspiracy,’ she objected.
‘Benizi says they don’t like each other. So far as the fake angle is concerned,’ Peter continued, ‘there were plenty around on the Continent last century. Apart from van Meegeren and his Vermeers, there were Otto Wacker and his Van Goghs, Dossena’s classical sculptures, Malskat’s medieval paintings, to name but a few. There would have been plenty of candidates for any Rossetti fakes, and Benizi would have known that.’