Almost Love

by Christina James

  “You don’t think that Claudia herself wrote the later articles, then?”

  “I’m certain that she didn’t. Katrin doesn’t think so, either. I should have said that, by the time the second article was published, Claudia had left Scotland for Norway. She was invited to collaborate with an academic at the University of Oslo. The academic’s name was Dr Elida Berg.”

  “How did she manage to leave the country in wartime?”

  “I don’t know. She may have travelled on a warship. Through her father, she had plenty of friends in high places. She achieved instant acclaim when she discovered the McRae Stone, which probably made them more disposed to help her. In peacetime, she would have had a perfectly legitimate reason for taking up the Norwegian offer, because the language that she had identified was a variant of old Norse.”

  “Do you think that Elida Berg wrote the articles?”

  “I’m certain that they collaborated; in fact, I’ve found an article that they wrote jointly. Later I think that Dr Berg was mostly writing on her own, but publishing under Claudia’s name. The writings not only become progressively more erudite, but more strident in the political conclusions that they draw. I haven’t found absolute proof that Dr Berg belonged to The Ymir, but the stuff that she wrote under her own name strongly points to it, as does her behaviour. I think that she may have belonged to more than one extremist group.”

  “But why would Claudia McRae go along with all this extremist stuff? Was this woman her lover?”

  “It’s true that, by the 1950s, Claudia’s associates believed that she was a lesbian. According to Oliver Sparham, who first met her in the late ‘60s, her sexuality was a kind of ‘open secret’ among her student followers, something that they joked about in private. But I’ve found absolutely no evidence that she had lovers of either sex and I’m far from convinced that she was a lesbian. Everything that I’ve read and heard about her suggests to me that she was more or less ‘asexual’, for want of a better term. If Claudia was in love with anyone, it was herself. I think that she developed a kind of starry-eyed adulation of Dr Berg’s intellect, though. It was almost love, but not sexually inspired.”

  “Do you think that she was coerced into lending her name to underpinning the theories of The Ymir?”

  “Not coerced. I think that she recognised the huge cachet that the association with Dr Berg gave to her work; she would have agreed to support The Ymir, and maybe other political groups, without thinking too much about what she was doing. She probably didn’t worry about the deeper implications. This was her chance of obtaining academic endorsement and she wasn’t going to let it escape her.”

  “What happened to Elida Berg?”

  “That’s a good question. In 1947 a children’s home that had been founded near Oslo during the war to shelter child refugees was burnt down. Some of the children had been reunited with their parents in 1945 and 1946, but the vast majority were still at the home in 1947. They had either been orphaned or their families could not be traced. They mostly came from Eastern European countries: Poland, Yugoslavia, the Baltic states. Some were Jewish. Only a few escaped the fire. The Norwegian police established without doubt that the fire had been started deliberately. Although it had the hallmarks of an organised crime rather than one that had been committed by a crazed individual, no group came forward to claim responsibility. Eventually the police became certain that it was the work of The Ymir; I’m not sure exactly how. The upshot was that several academics were forced to leave the University of Oslo; they disappeared completely. Other members of The Ymir were rounded up and some were tried and shot for treason. The organisation had been working with the Nazis during the war.

  “It was alleged that the motive for burning the children’s home had been ethnic cleansing. The Ymir had tolerated the presence of the children during the war, but, when it became clear that they would be remaining in the country, where one day they would be likely to intermarry and have children of their own, it decided to murder them.”

  Giash Chakrabati, who had been dozing off while Juliet was talking about archaeology, sat up straight in his chair and whistled.

  “You’re going to tell us that there is a link between this and the attempt to fire Herrick Old House!”

  Juliet nodded. She was about to continue when Andy Carstairs interrupted.

  “This is all fascinating and I’m sure you’re right about a lot of it. You’ve done a great job on the research and the story so far hangs together, as far as I’m concerned. But all of this happened before any of us was born. Claudia McRae must have come back to the UK long ago and carried on being a famous archaeologist. So why has it taken more than half a century for a copycat crime to be committed? And what happened to Elida Berg?”

  “Elida Berg’s disappearance continued to be of significance in Claudia’s life. We don’t know where Berg went to ground; given her extreme nationalism, I’d put my money on her having been concealed in a remote part of Norway; I don’t think that she would have consented to exile herself elsewhere. The Ymir would have helped. They may have supported her financially, or she may have been given a new identity and worked in some unobtrusive and appropriate profession – as a schoolteacher or a librarian, for example. Whatever the circumstances, she still had access to a good academic library. I know this, because I’m pretty certain that all of the so-called ‘semantic archaeology’ papers that Claudia McRae published in the fifties and sixties were actually entirely or partly authored by Elida Berg. They were never completely accepted by the archaeological establishment, but this was no longer because Claudia didn’t use the right style and provide appropriate references; each one was a superbly-argued piece of academic virtuoso. But other academics were wary of the writings, because even those well to the right of the political mainstream felt uncomfortable about the extremist views upon which they were founded.”

  “I read some of those papers myself when I was a student,” said Tim. “I didn’t notice the ‘extremist views’.”

  The whole team howled with laughter.

  “OK,” he said, raising his hands palms up. “I let myself in for that. I was more naïve in those days.”

  “Probably not all that naïve,” said Juliet. “You’d have had to know what you were looking for, and to have read a considerable number of the articles before you would have understood what was going on. You’d probably need to have dug deeper than the average undergraduate would have been likely to. For example, Katrin found recurring instances of some of the arcane symbols and totemic words used by The Ymir and, although the extremist stuff is present in all of them, it’s skilfully argued. What I’m saying is that, over time, it would have made an expert uneasy; and that’s probably why, although Claudia achieved tremendous popularity with the British public as well as with her own coterie of students, she never received the academic accolades that she felt that she deserved.”

  “What happened to The Ymir?”

  “I’m coming to that. After the executions, the group went to ground. It didn’t disband; from 1950 to about 1990 there were isolated instances of attacks on immigrant communities in Norway and other acts of extreme nationalism that police attributed to The Ymir. In one or two very high-profile cases – the murder in 1982 of a government minister whose parents had been immigrants, for example – it actually claimed responsibility.

  “At some point in the early 1990s, it ceased to be an entirely underground movement. It tried to make itself respectable by developing a political wing that acted within the law.”

  “A bit like the IRA?” said Andy, who was now hanging on Juliet’s every word, fascinated by the turn her account had taken.

  “Exactly. Though with the difference that, as far as we can ascertain, The Ymir’s cause did not have – it still does not have – a large popular following in Norway. It has always been an extremist group, supported by and for extreme nationalists. That’s not to
say that all the members of its political wing have been nutcases living on the fringes of society. They have included at least one government minister and others with high profiles: a banker, a journalist and, most worrying of all, a high-ranking soldier.”

  “Did the terrorist element fade away, also become ‘respectable’, or just carry on as it had always done?” asked Tim.

  “I can’t answer that for sure. Probably it either carried on as it had before, or the extremist element broke away into splinter groups in order to perpetuate the violence because they despised the political agenda as being too insipid. One way or another, the violent acts continued, although they became more sporadic – possibly because at intervals the extremist groups recruited new members who embarked upon bursts of evangelism before becoming receding again into anonymity. Most of the violent acts had to be planned and paid for, as well. The best of The Ymir’s brains had joined the political wing. It was able to canvass for funds like any other political group, but what it did with them was monitored quite closely by the authorities. However, in addition to legalising the movement in Norway, the political arm was able to offer The Ymir the advantage of legitimately raising its profile in other countries. So-called overseas ‘chapters’ were set up. Some of these provided money, but until now it seems there has never been enough money to carry out a large-scale act of terrorism.”

  “From what I’ve read, groups like this often take years to raise the money they need to carry out their plans,” said Tim.

  “I don’t think that The Ymir was an exception. Andreas Jensen was appointed political leader in 1994 and worked hard to obtain funds. Although we know that some wealthy individuals were attracted to The Ymir, in Norway, as in other European states, political donations over a certain amount have to be made public. This may have dissuaded donors. Whatever the reason, The Ymir was still struggling for funds in 1998 when he hit on the idea of offering his services as an occasional lecturer on right-wing politics at universities in the UK and elsewhere in Europe. I think that his aim was not just to raise the profile of The Ymir, but to interest potential funders who were perhaps less sensitive about being identified in Norway than his fellow countrymen were.

  “Lincoln was one of the universities at which he gave his series of lectures. He was invited by a young female academic who became an immediate convert.”

  “Jane Halliwell?”

  “Yes. My guess is that Jane was a very bright young woman searching for a cause. She was also an assiduous researcher. It wasn’t easy to research the history of The Ymir – it still isn’t, because so much of it hasn’t been openly published – but somehow she managed to establish that Claudia McRae’s writings about the McRae Stone had brought her into contact with right-wing groups, including The Ymir. She was already interested in Claudia because of what she had read of her theories about the super-race. She’d also – and as far as I know this really was a coincidence, though many of the encounters and friendships between individuals in this story were, I’m sure, engineered – recently enrolled a mature student on one of her courses whom she discovered to be related to Claudia.”

  “Guy Maichment?”

  “Yes. Guy was in his thirties at the time. He’d studied several subjects at college and university – he’d never completed a course – and spent brief periods of time in various dead-end jobs. Claudia had been his main source of income since he’d left school. He’d managed to persuade her to let him enrol on the Politics course, with the intention of eventually himself becoming a lecturer. I don’t know how she viewed this – whether he presented it as being what he really wanted to do this time or whether she said that it would be his final chance. He could have had some kind of hold over her.”

  “It seems odd that she was so indulgent. You’d think that long before she’d have told him to knuckle down and support himself. From what you say, she wasn’t famous for her philanthropy.”

  “I’m coming to that. This time, Guy did knuckle down. He proved himself to be not just an adequate, but a brilliant, student of Politics. You’re right, however. People who know them – and I’ve talked to several people, local farmers, and others, who’ve been with Guy and Claudia together – say that he was often quite disparaging about her; that on occasions he treated her almost with disdain. They say that she either seemed to be afraid of him or to feel that she owed him some debt. If this is true, it would explain why she spent so many years supporting him financially. Something I also wonder about, though even if we carry out blood tests we probably won’t get conclusive proof, is whether Claudia is his aunt at all.”

  “Do you think that he may be her son?”

  “No. No, I don’t. It was one of the first ideas that I had, but Claudia quite liked flouting convention and she wasn’t afraid of gossip. If she’d had an illegitimate child, I don’t think she’d have taken the trouble to try to disguise the fact. Guy’s name, Maichment, was Claudia’s stepmother’s surname. The stepmother was not much older than Claudia herself and her marriage to Claudia’s father didn’t last long. She reverted to her maiden name after she was divorced from him. Some time after this, she gave birth to a daughter who was baptised Abigail. The mother died – probably of alcoholism – in the early 1950s, when Abigail was a very young child. Claudia, of course, was away a lot on digs. She paid for Abigail to be cared for and go to boarding school when she was old enough. She was obliged to do so because of some complication in her father’s will. Apparently the girl mostly stayed at the school even during the holidays, unless she was invited to friends’ houses. She had little contact with Claudia until she was in her teens, when Claudia allowed her to attend various digs. Oliver Sparham remembered Abigail. He said that she made a complete nuisance of herself. Eventually Claudia got fed up with her and sent her back to England, where she had enrolled her on a secretarial course.”

  “So Abigail Maichment wasn’t a blood relative of Claudia’s at all?”

  “I don’t think so; but Claudia seems to have accepted her as a sister, in public at any rate.”

  “Do you think that Abigail was Guy’s mother?”

  “I’ve thought about this a lot, too, as well as collecting as much evidence as I can, and I don’t think that she can have been Guy’s mother. She never started the secretarial course. She was admitted to University College Hospital on the day after she arrived back in England and died there the same day. She’d contracted West Nile Virus.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily rule her out as Guy’s mother.”

  “No; but the dates don’t fit. Guy was born in 1960. Abigail was thirteen or fourteen then. I realise that she was therefore old enough – just – to have been his mother, but her school attendance record is unbroken between the years 1956 and 1964, the year that she left. She went on the digs in 1964 and 1965 and died in 1965. Schools in those days didn’t allow pregnant pupils to stay on; they were usually expelled, or just required to go away discreetly. But even if Claudia had somehow persuaded the school to keep Abigail, I can think of no reason why she would then have agreed to support the baby. The babies of young unmarried mothers were routinely put up for adoption in those days, and Claudia wasn’t maternal. Besides, there is the coroner’s report to consider.”

  “Which coroner’s report?”

  “Because Abigail died of a virulent infectious disease, there had to be a full post mortem and inquest. I’ve seen the coroner’s report, and there is no evidence of her having given birth. The post mortem would have picked this up and would have mentioned it.”

  “So who do you think Guy’s mother was – or is?”

  “Again I can’t say for certain, but I think that it’s likely that his mother was one of the academics who went into hiding with Elida Berg after the children’s home near Oslo was burnt down. The Norwegian authorities are trying to help me to locate a birth certificate for Berg. I don’t know her date of birth, but judging from the photographs I
’ve seen of her and Claudia together she was about ten years the elder, which would mean that she was born in about 1907. It could have been a few years after this, but, even so, it seems unlikely that she would have borne a child in 1960.”

  “And she was gay.” Andy presented the comment as a statement, not a question.

  “In all probability, though again I can’t be certain. If she was gay and had a partner who had a child, that could explain why Claudia took the child on. Guy has a British passport but I can find no record of his birth certificate or early years. He first surfaces as a boarding pupil at Stamford School in 1971.”

  “You’ve said that Guy was often offhand with Claudia. How does that fit in?” It was Andy again.

  “Again I don’t have an answer. It’s possible that he spent his early years with hard-core members of The Ymir who felt that Claudia had taken the soft option by dissociating herself from them.”

  “Yet both Claudia and Guy seem to have got on with Jane Halliwell, and Jane Halliwell and Guy also seem to have worked closely together?”

  “I think that Jane cast herself as the peace-maker. She had to tread a fine line in order to insinuate herself into the activities of The Ymir. They don’t trust easily and Claudia McRae probably didn’t trust them, although her respect for Elida Berg may have remained undiminished. Jane demonstrated the extent of her commitment by giving up her academic career, but she still had to earn her spurs. In order to do this, I think that she almost pulled off a brilliantly-conceived coup that she’d thought up herself. The Ymir wanted a full-length work on Claudia McRae’s semantic theory, with the emphasis to be placed on the super-race angle and conclusions drawn about the importance of maintaining linguistic, and therefore racial, purity. Jane undertook to act as Claudia’s secretary and amanuensis, and at the same time persuaded Claudia that she was herself a sort of latter day Elida Berg who could help her to create a magnum opus that would both bring acclaim at the end of her life and an assured place in academic history. Claudia was tremendously flattered and completely taken in. Arguably, Jane could have pulled off this feat and given both Claudia and The Ymir what they wanted – I’ve been told by her former dean that her academic prowess is formidable – if it hadn’t been for Guy’s fundamentalism.