Be Not Afraid
Page 12
“Would it be true to say, Colonel Townsend, that when Karlovy attacked you, it was because he had found out that although you held high rank in the Serbian army, you were actually a British agent, acting in the interests of HM Government.”
“I believe he may have discovered that, yes.”
“So that, in fact, he was in the process of attempting to execute a spy.”
“That is one way of putting it.”
“Only, as you say, you drew first and shot first. Now, Colonel Townsend, it is not the purpose of this court to enquire into what clandestine operations you may have been carrying out for the British government during this extremely critical time in the Balkans, but I am bound to ask you this: would you say that the quarrel between Mr Karlovy and yourself was a political rather than a personal matter?”
“I think that would be a fairly accurate assessment.”
“Therefore it is possible to suggest that this attempt on your life was an extension of a political difference. An execution, rather than an assassination.”
“Indeed.”
“An execution in which the accused, Miss Karlovy, had what one might describe as a supporting role.”
“I would agree with that.”
“And she did not actually kill anybody, did she?”
“No, she did not.”
“Now, I understand that, during your stay in Serbia or at some later date, you actually met Miss Karlovy.”
“Yes, I did.”
“This was after the death of her father, at your hands. Did she make any attempt to kill you then or attack you?”
“No, she did not.”
“So it is reasonable to suppose that her determination to do so arose at some later date under instructions from some other party and had, perhaps, less to do with this so-called blood feud than with politics.”
“That is certainly possible.”
“In her statement to the police, Miss Karlovy denies having any part in the actual murders of your wife and servant. She further states that had she known what was going to happen she would have taken no further part in the execution plan. You were her target and nobody else. In the light of your knowledge of her, do you believe her when she says this?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Now, Colonel Townsend, again I have no desire to probe into your duties and necessary actions while representing HM Government in the Balkans during those critical times but I need to ask you this: was Georgiu Karlovy the only person you found it necessary to kill during that period of your life?”
“No, he was not.”
“You were no doubt aware that there would be reprisals for your actions?”
“I knew there was the risk of that.”
“In other words, you realised that you were engaged in a war, clandestine and possibly undeclared but nevertheless a war, which is, if I remember my Clausewitz, a continuation of politics by other means.”
Berkeley smiled. “Roughly.”
“And therefore it is possible to regard Miss Karlovy as a soldier in an opposing army, carrying out the orders of her superiors?”
“I would agree with that.”
“Thank you, Colonel Townsend.”
Bullard sat down. Berkeley glanced at Jameson and, as he had expected, the prosecuting counsel was already on his feet
“Your magnanimity does you credit, Colonel Townsend. But the fact of the matter is that this ‘undeclared war’ to which my learned friend alludes was really a feud or series of feuds, was it not?”
“It is possible to say that a declared war is the culmination of a feud, sir,” Berkeley said. “An international feud.”
“As you would say, that is one way of putting it,” Jameson said, clearly extremely nettled; Berkeley was supposed to be his witness. “I should be obliged, Colonel, if you would confine yourself to answering my questions. When your daughter so gallantly apprehended the accused, was Miss Karlovy armed with a knife? Miss Townsend has testified that she was.”
Berkeley sighed. “Yes, she was.”
“Thank you. And do you agree that Miss Karlovy accompanied her brother to your house for the purpose of committing murder.”
“Execution.”
“An unauthorised execution is murder, Colonel Townsend. Miss Karlovy accompanied her brother with the intention of assisting him in carrying out his assassination. She has admitted this and you, for all your misplaced generosity towards her, cannot deny this. Now, in the course of attempting to carry out this murder, two other people, your wife and your maidservant, were killed, and your mother died of shock. Am I right or not?”
“You are right, sir.”
“Is there the slightest evidence, apart from the accused’s statement, that she attempted to stop her brother from committing these murders?”
“No,” Berkeley said in a low voice. He did not dare look at Helen.
“Thank you, Colonel Townsend. I have no further questions.”
The Visitor
“You did everything you could,” Martina said as they drove home.
Berkeley said nothing, hunched over the wheel. He had glanced at Helen as he left the witness stand and he had never seen such misery.
“Do you think she’ll get off?” Anna asked from the back seat.
“There’s no chance of that. It’s a question of whether or not she is sentenced to death.”
Neither woman made any comment on that; they both felt she deserved nothing less. And perhaps, Berkeley thought, they were right.
The phone was ringing when they entered the house. Berkeley picked it up.
“Townsend? Is that you?”
“As this is my house, that is a reasonable presumption. Who is this?”
“John Leighton.”
“Ah.”
“I’ve just had my man on the phone from the Karlovy trial.”
“Yes?”
“Well, the evidence you gave . . . my God, man! I presume it’s the tip of the iceberg?”
“You could say that.”
“How did the defence get hold of it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, no matter. As it’s out in the open, how’d you like to do chapter and verse?”
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“That you give us the whole story of your time in the Balkans as a British agent. You’ll have to name names and give dates and that sort of thing, but if you’re prepared to do that, we’d pay well.”
“I’d be breaking my oath of secrecy.”
“You did that in court. Well, to a certain extent.”
“That is because I was asked questions under oath. I could not refuse to answer without being done for contempt of court.”
“We’d pay very well.”
“Sorry.”
“You know, if you won’t play ball – we have a tame MP who will ask a question. That way it’ll all come out anyway and you won’t earn a brass farthing for all your trouble.”
“I imagine there will be a queue of MPs wishing to ask that question, once they read the transcript of the trial.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard. Sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Yes,” Berkeley said, and hung up.
*
Two days later, early in the morning, Anna stood at her bedroom window and watched the car bumping down the drive. “Oh, lord,” she muttered, and ran across the landing to her father’s bedroom. “Papa!”
“What is it?” Berkeley made no bones about sleeping with Martina now; she was also sitting up, hair tousled with sleep.
“It’s that man Druce, coming here.”
“Druce?” Berkeley scrambled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown. “He’ll have the verdict. You’re dressed, Anna. Go down and entertain him until I’ve got some clothes on.”
“Me?”
“Be nice to him,” Martina recommended, also getting out of bed.
Anna went down the stairs and reached the front door at the same time as Druce.
She unlocked it, drawing a deep breath.
“Miss Townsend!” He raised his hat.
“Mr Druce. You’re very early. Have you come to see Papa?”
“Ah, yes. But I’d rather be seeing you.”
“You must explain that to Papa.” She stepped back. “Please come in.”
He followed her into the drawing room.
“Have you come about the trial?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Yes. The verdict came in last night.”
She faced him. “And?”
“Yes,” Berkeley said from the doorway, only half-dressed.
“Conspiracy to murder, sir.”
“Hallelujah. Sentence?”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Hell.”
“There is a very faint possibility of parole after about ten years or so. Failing that, she’ll be pushing fifty when she gets out. Then she’s to be deported.”
“Do you reckon I really did her any good?”
“Well, sir, one would suppose it is always better to be alive than dead.”
“I’ll remember that.” Berkeley glanced from the young man to Anna; both had pink cheeks. “You’ll stay for coffee?”
“That would be very kind of you, sir.”
“I’ll get it,” Anna said.
“No, no,” Berkeley said. “Martina will get it. I know she’s up. You entertain Mr Druce.”
He left the room.
“Do sit down,” Anna invited.
Druce obeyed and Anna sat opposite.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” he said. “But being on opposite sides of the case, as it were . . .”
“There is absolutely no reason for you to have been in touch, Mr Druce.”
“But there is. I have spent the last months thinking of you. Seeing you in court, so beautiful, so composed . . . It made me realise how much I adore you.”
“Please, Mr Druce. My father—”
“Gives every indication of looking kindly upon me. Or he would not have left us alone.”
“Papa is desperate—” She bit her lip.
“To see you married? And I am desperate to marry you. Will you not at least say that I have a chance?”
“You are very kind,” Anna said. “Even if I cannot believe that you have fallen in love with me at such short notice, and with, shall I say, so little encouragement.”
“Love is not something that can be quantified in terms of time or encouragement or lack of it. It is there.”
“You are an ardent advocate,” she said, smiling, and then was serious again. “And supposing you discovered that I was not at all as you suppose me to be?”
“I already—”
Now her face was cold. “I see. May I ask how?”
He sighed. “Mr Walton told me. I don’t know how he knew.”
“I am sure all of Northampton knows of it.”
“Anna, he told me before I first asked you out.”
“Thus you thought I would be an easy conquest.”
“Anna—”
“Or a very difficult one, and you relished the challenge.”
“Neither of those. I fell in love with you at first sight. And I have remained in love with you. And will do so, no matter what.”
“No matter what people say, you mean? Don’t you realise that if we were to marry, you would be dismissed from polite society?”
“I don’t give a damn for polite society.”
“But your career depends upon it, does it not?”
“I can make a new career somewhere else. With you.”
“And your family? Do they know about me?”
“I haven’t consulted my family.”
“You mean you haven’t mentioned me to them?”
“Not yet.”
“I think that is very wise of you. But you will have to, won’t you, if . . .”
“They are my problem, Anna.”
“Do you think I wish to be the cause of an estrangement between you and your family?”
“I am sure you will not be. Once they get to know you, they will love you as much as I do.”
“You are very forceful. Very determined.” She looked through the doorway into the hall. “It is all right, Papa. You can come in.”
Berkeley entered the room, followed by Martina bearing the tray; both were now fully dressed.
Druce hastily stood up.
“How nice to see you again,” Martina said, and put down the tray to squeeze his hand. “Do you take sugar?”
“Thank you.”
“And you have brought news of that woman,” Martina said. “She is the only thing that Berkeley and I differ about. I think she is very fortunate.”
“I suspect Mr Druce agrees with you,” Berkeley said. “So, what have you two been chatting about?”
“Mr Druce would like to take me out again,” she said.
“With your permission, sir.”
Martina clapped her hands. “I think that is a marvellous idea.”
“I think you should know,” Anna said, “that Mr Druce knows all about me.”
Berkeley looked at Druce.
The young solicitor flushed. “Well, sir, Mr Walton knows, and when I told him I intended to ask Anna out, I suppose he felt it his duty to tell me.”
“But you went ahead and asked her anyway,” Berkeley said. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Druce drew a deep breath. “I would like to ask Anna to marry me.”
Again Martina clapped her hands, while Anna stared at him with her mouth open.
“Well,” Berkeley said. “You are certainly very straightforward. Anna?”
Now she was flushing as well. “I have never thought of it.”
“Of Mr Druce? Or of marriage?”
“Of neither.”
“Well, I think you should start thinking about them both, now. As Walton appears to know so much about me, Druce, I am sure he will have told you that I am not a conventional man.”
“He has indicated that to me, sir.”
“Very well. Then I will tell you that I would like to see Anna married, to the right man, and up to this moment you have given every indication of perhaps being that man. I therefore give you the right to court her to your heart’s content, for the next year. The marriage will not take place before then, and it will not take place at all should Anna at any time and for any reason, decide that she no longer wishes your attentions.”
“I understand, sir.”
“And when I say court to your heart’s content, I mean you have carte blanche. You will be allowed every intimacy you desire. You may even take her to bed, if you wish . . . and if she also wishes. You can do her no harm, providing you always wear a contraceptive. Time enough to consider the possibility of a child after you are actually married.”
Druce gulped and looked at Anna. The colour had faded from her cheeks.
“I am permitting this,” Berkeley went on, “because the only hope of you achieving happiness together, and you will understand that it is Anna’s happiness that concerns me, is for you to be able to have a perfectly normal sexual relationship, free of any encroachments from the past. During the course of a year together, this should be proved conclusively one way or the other.”
Druce licked his lips. “I understand, sir. And thanks for giving me this opportunity to prove myself worthy of Anna’s love.”
Berkeley turned to Anna. “Are you content with this arrangement?”
“If it is what you think best, Papa.”
He regarded her for several seconds. Then he said, “Well, will you stay the morning, Druce?”
“Believe me, sir, I would very much like to. But I am due in the office. Mr Walton only sent me out to give you the verdict.”
“But you would like to stay.”
“Well, of course, sir.”
“Then you shall. I’ll telephone Walton and tell him that I’m keeping you here to discuss the trial and the possibility of an appeal.”
“That is no reason why we should not discuss it. When I have made that call, Mrs Savos and I will go out for the morning. We shall be back for lunch.”
“Oh . . . ah . . . yes, sir.”
Berkeley nodded. “Come along, Martina.”
Martina squeezed Anna’s hand. “I am so happy for you. And we will take Howard, so that he will not be a nuisance.”
She followed Berkeley from the room, carefully closing the door.
*
“Your father really is a remarkable man,” Druce remarked.
“He has spent his life making things happen; he believes he can always do that,” Anna replied.
Until very recently, perhaps even yesterday, she had felt that if a man ever touched her again she would scream and scratch his eyes out. But if Papa wanted this then she did too, and as quickly as possible, so that she would know, one way or the other.
“Does that mean that you do not, after all, really want this to happen?” Druce asked.
“I want you to make me want it to happen, Mr Druce.”
“Then I am encouraged. Will you call me Harry?”
“Certainly. Have you had breakfast, Harry?”
“Yes. I breakfast very early. But you . . .”
“A glass of orange juice will suffice. When Papa and Martina have left.”
“Is she now living here permanently?”
“Yes. She is Papa’s mistress. They have been fond of each other for a long time but they have only been lovers since Alexandros died. Alexandros was Papa’s friend.”
“I understand. Will you sit beside me?”
Anna sat beside him on the settee.
He held her hands. “You understand I have never been in this position before.”
“I am glad of that. Neither have I.”
He looked as if he would have said something then changed his mind.
But Anna understood. “Yes,” she said. “I have often sat and waited for a man to come. But the circumstances were different. It was always in a crowded salon, I was surrounded by other girls and I knew that the man would not come to me with love in his heart, only lust.”
“You can talk about it so calmly?”
“It happened, Mr . . . Harry. If we are going to make any progress there can be no secrets between us.”
“Absolutely. Then – may I be as frank with you?”