EG02 - The Lost Gardens

by Anthony Eglin

  ‘It took longer than we anticipated because we initially assumed that she was English or British. When we drew a blank with our inquiries, we turned it over to a private investigator. ’

  Kingston nodded. ‘I’m not one to be nosy, David, but I’m curious. How is it that Jamie was able to make what appears to be such an easy and rapid transition from her life back in California? I’ve tried to picture myself suddenly thrust in her position and how I would react, what a huge impact it would have on one’s life in general. There’s her job—presuming she had one—her family and friends, her house or apartment, all those things. As I understand it, she made a fairly quick decision to chuck it all up and come over here, thousands of miles away, where she doesn’t know a soul. I must say, for a single woman, it’s damned adventuresome.’

  Latimer put down his cup and saucer. ‘As you’ve probably found out already, Jamie is not your typical American. She tends to keep herself to herself. In a way, I suppose, she’s more like us.You know, the stereotypical reserved Englishman or woman in this case. In due course I’m sure she’ll come around.’ He chuckled. ‘With someone as charismatic as you, Lawrence, rather quickly, I would imagine.’

  ‘Seriously, is she going to be able to afford all this? You and I both know what kind of money it’s going to take.’

  Latimer paused for a moment, as if debating just how much of Jamie’s personal information he could pass on. ‘Let me put it this way,’he said. ‘The two of us have spent a lot of time going over the estate’s assets. Early on she gave me a rough idea of what she wanted to do and later she presented me with what I would call a very pragmatic and sophisticated business plan. It not only detailed all the various projects and changes that she was recommending but included their projected costs. The breakdown of the expense estimates was quite extensive and specific. Working with her builder, she produced a timetable and work order list several pages long. I wouldn’t mind betting she’s done this kind of thing before. She’s exceptionally bright, you know.’

  ‘I’ve already come to that conclusion, David.’ Kingston took time crossing his legs. ‘By the way, what did she do in the States?’

  ‘You know, she’s been rather vague about that. She just said that she worked in the wine business. She did tell me her father worked for a wine import company, though. Perhaps she did, too. Her parents are both dead, by the way.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Latimer, with a slight shrug, ‘just what motivated her to drop everything back there to come over here and take on this challenge, I really can’t say. I’m more than satisfied that she can afford it though, don’t you worry on that score. I don’t know where this Ryder chap got his money from—family money for the best part, I suppose, but somehow he managed to invest it very wisely over the years.’ He chuckled. ‘All I know is that it didn’t come from his army pension.’

  Kingston nodded in agreement. ‘Well, the important thing is that the money’s there, right?’

  Latimer smiled. ‘Oh, you’ll get paid all right, if that’s what you’re worried about, old chap.’

  Kingston returned the smile. ‘Never gave it a moment’s thought, David.’

  ‘Kidding aside, you’ve a right to ask. You know as well as I do that more often than not the gentry who own these big estates are virtual paupers. Every day there’s another one selling off bits and pieces at auction, flogging cream teas and opening the ancestral pile to the public. Damned shame if you ask me.’

  At a pause in the conversation, Kingston got up and prodded the smouldering logs, bringing them to flame, spitting sparks up the chimney. ‘This chap Mainwaring,’ he said, sitting down, leaning back in the overstuffed chair. ‘How long was he with Ryder?’

  Latimer took a sip of coffee. It must have been his fourth or fifth cup of the evening but he seemed remarkably relaxed. ‘Can’t be certain—about fifteen years, I believe.’

  ‘Jamie said that he wasn’t very well liked. “Creepy bugger” I think were the words she said one of the villagers used.’

  ‘A reasonably accurate description, I would say. Not exactly Prince Charming, that’s for sure.’

  Kingston crossed his legs, turning sideways to the fire, which was now throwing off enough heat at trouser cuff distance to toast bread. ‘David, I should mention that Jamie has been quite open with me about her newfound wealth. I’m continually amazed how she seems able to take it all in her stride. Most young women today would have a difficult time adjusting to it all, I would think.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. When I first learned that she was to inherit the estate, I’ve got to admit, I expected the worst. I pictured having to deal with one of those frightful tabloid bimbos with a hundred-word vocabulary.’

  Kingston nodded. ‘About the exact opposite, eh?’

  ‘Yes, thankfully. I think the world of Jamie and I really admire what she’s doing here.’ He smiled. ‘Roping you in, included—and I know that’s no easy task.’

  ‘She’s quite a saleslady, too. But getting back to this Mainwaring chap, she mentioned that he also received a sum of money from the estate.’

  ‘He did, yes, a decent amount. Anyway, sufficient to make most people happy.’

  Kingston cleared his throat. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t be asking you this but if he was in Ryder’s employ for fifteen years, wouldn’t it be expected that he would anticipate getting a sizeable chunk of the estate when Ryder passed away? Particularly since he would most certainly be aware of Ryder’s having no heirs within the family.’

  Latimer was smiling again. ‘Well, since confidentiality as far as Ryder is concerned is no longer a consideration I can tell you that Mainwaring was surprised. Not only surprised but very upset.’ He stared into the fire for a moment as if he were choosing his words, then looked back at Kingston. His smile was gone. ‘There’s no reason for you to mention this to Jamie, or anyone else for that matter, but when I read Mainwaring the part of the will that concerned him, it clearly came as a terrible shock to him to learn that Jamie was going to inherit Wickersham. He wasn’t mad or furious—anything like that—it was as if he simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As if there’d been some awful mistake. I remember the long silence that followed when I’d finished. To tell the truth, I was a bit worried at the time because he looked as if he might explode any moment and things could turn nasty. But he didn’t.’ Latimer thought for a moment then sighed. ‘In retrospect, I think it was a huge letdown for him.’

  ‘Did he finally calm down?’

  ‘Somewhat, but not after accusing me of influencing Ryder. I told him that I’d never met Ryder and that a former partner, who was now deceased, handled Ryder’s affairs. Despite my explaining that there was no doubt or ambiguity to Ryder’s will, he didn’t want to listen to reason. He insisted that he’d been swindled.’

  ‘He never got violent, though?’

  ‘No, thankfully. He finally took all the documents and the unopened envelope addressed to him and left.’

  ‘Envelope? What was that all about?’

  ‘It’s not uncommon for the testator to request sealed letters of a personal nature be given to one or more beneficiaries in a bequest. It could well have been a letter from Ryder explaining the reasons for his decision. Maybe he felt Mainwaring was owed that courtesy.’

  ‘Mainwaring didn’t open it in front of you, then?’

  ‘No, not that I necessarily expected him to. It was irrelevant, none of my business.’

  ‘He just left after that?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Lawrence, why on earth does all this matter, now?’

  Kingston shrugged. ‘You’re right. It’s water under the bridge. Too many questions can become annoying.’

  Latimer smiled. ‘So can clichés.’

  The grandfather clock in the hall struck ten. Latimer continued, ‘Anyway, to answer your question, Mainwaring did leave but not before informing me that he was going to contest the will and that he would b
e back.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘No. I never expected him to, really. Never heard from him again.’

  ‘Did he leave the area, do you know?’

  ‘Come on, Lawrence, how the hell would I know that?’ Jamie and Bella came back into the room. Bella gushing about how ‘darling’ the house was. There was no more talk about Mainwaring.

  The party broke up shortly after eleven. After accompanying Jamie to see David Latimer and a rather loud and legless Arabella off at the front door, Kingston walked the short distance to his cottage. Listening to Bella babbling on for the last hour, plus the wine and a stiff after-dinner cognac, had given him a mild headache. Sleep would be a welcome and merciful end to the day.

  He locked the front door, turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed. He was asleep in a matter of minutes.

  Kingston had just put three pound coins in the pay and display machine at the Coal Orchard car park in Taunton when his mobile rang. He took the ticket and fumbled for the phone buried in the pocket of his Barbour jacket along with loose change, miscellaneous receipts and half a roll of Polo mints. Odds were it would be Jamie because hardly anybody else knew the number. Were it not for her insistence, he wouldn’t have had the phone in the first place. He hated the damned things, particularly in the hands of drivers. He would have been just as happy with a walkie-talkie for the estate.

  It was Jamie. She was calling to ask Kingston to pick up a book that had just come in at the library. She had also heard from Inspector Chadwick.

  ‘He said the bones are those of a male; approximately sixty years of age; height, five eleven.’ Jamie paused. ‘We don’t seem to have a very good connection, Lawrence.’

  ‘I can hear you fine,’ said Kingston, walking back towards his car. ‘Did Chadwick have any idea how long the bones had been down there?’

  ‘A long time, was all he said.’

  ‘I guessed as much. Anything else?’

  ‘Not really. He described the condition of individual bones but it was way over my head. You know—medical jargon. Words like sutures and ossification. He said you could call him if you like.’

  ‘That’s it, then?’

  ‘I guess so. We’ll probably never know who the poor man was.’

  ‘Or did ’e fall or was ’e pushed.’

  ‘Chadwick said that if anything else turned up—and that was unlikely—he’d let us know.’

  ‘Case closed then.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Okay, I should be back about fiveish.’ He said goodbye and switched off the phone. Putting it back in his pocket, he opened the driver’s side door and placed the ticket on the inside of the windscreen. He checked his watch. Five hours should be more than enough time for what he had to do, including his lunch with Malcolm Bailey, a reporter for the Somerset Herald.

  He hadn’t told Jamie, but in addition to the lunch and a couple of small errands he was making one other stop that afternoon: the Somerset Light Infantry Office on Mount Street. He was hoping to find out more about the reclusive Major Ryder.

  In due course he knew he would have to tell Jamie what he was up to, particularly if anything of interest turned up; anything that might shed light on a connection between Ryder and Jamie. But for now, surely a little innocent inquiry couldn’t hurt.

  Kingston’s pub lunch with Malcolm Bailey went on longer than anticipated. He was a jovial man with a lusty appetite and, as it turned out, a hollow leg when it came to Golden Eagle bitter.

  The newspaper was planning a special series on the restoration at Wickersham, to be published starting the week of the opening. Bailey, along with the paper’s gardening columnist and staff photographer, had been gathering material and taking photos since the start. A number of the gardening magazines, Gardens Illustrated and The English Garden among them, had also lined up interviews and photo sessions. Jamie had already been the subject of at least a dozen interviews.

  By odd coincidence, Malcolm had been working at the Wiltshire Gazette and Herald when the story about the blue rose broke. He was the lead reporter on the case and had interviewed Alex and Kate Sheppard. The two men had much to talk about and it was not surprising that their lunch lasted over three hours.

  After parting company outside the Masons Arms, Kingston walked to Mount Street to see what more, if anything, he could find out about Major Ryder.

  His meeting with an affable Lieutenant Colonel Jarvis was brief and disappointing. Kingston learned very little. Their records confirmed that Ryder, at the time a lieutenant, was with the 4th Battalion Somerset Light Infantry. His regiment had landed in Normandy two weeks after D-day. Three months later, in Holland, his company had been separated from the battalion and had eventually been captured by the Germans but not without putting up a courageous fight. Ryder was subsequently awarded a Military Cross. That was it.

  From there, Kingston walked to a bookshop in East Street where, after browsing for fifteen minutes, he bought a new thriller and an Amy Tan book, as a surprise for Jamie. A quick trip to the library and he was on his way back to Wickersham.

  At three fifteen that afternoon a silver BMW pulled up to the front door at Wickersham. The man who got out of the car was average height with a compact build. Balding on top, the remainder of his grey-speckled hair was shaven, military style. He wore dark aviator glasses, a leather bomber jacket and tan trousers with a mobile phone hooked on to his belt. In several athletic strides, he reached the door and rang the bell. A wait of less than a minute and Jamie opened the door.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ the man said, smiling. ‘Are you Jamie Gibson?’ There was a gravelly sound to his voice, as if he were getting over a cold. Despite the fashionable five o’-clock shadow, the man looked pleasant enough.

  ‘Yes,’ Jamie replied, a little uncertain of what to expect.

  ‘Forgive me for arriving unannounced. I should have called you to let you know I was coming. I’m Julian Fox. We talked on the phone about two weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Jamie. ‘I apologize. Now I remember. ’

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a card that he had extracted from the wallet in his hip pocket.

  She did remember the phone call but not too well. The man had said something about wanting to ask her about some paintings that Major Ryder had owned jointly with an art dealer in France. She recalled agreeing to see him. She had meant to tell Latimer about the call when he was over for dinner but what with work on the gardens and all the excitement about the skeleton, it had completely slipped her mind.

  ‘Come on in,’ she said, letting him pass, then closing the door behind her. She showed him across the entrance hall into the living room, gesturing to the sofa. ‘Please, sit down. May I offer you some coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘That would be nice,’he nodded.

  Jamie left the room to find Dot and within less than a minute, returned. She sat down opposite him, hands in her lap. ‘What’s this all about, then?’

  Fox leaned forward slightly, ‘I’m here on behalf of a client of mine, a Monsieur Girard.’

  ‘Are you a lawyer?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘No—no, I’m not.’ Without further explanation as to the relationship with his client, he went on. ‘Through a mutual acquaintance we recently learned that Major Ryder had passed away. Soon after, we discovered that you had inherited his estate.’ He paused briefly, rubbing his hands together. ‘You see, many years back, Girard was in business with Major Ryder.’

  As he spoke, she was conscious of looking at his eyes more than one would in an ordinary conversation. They were unnaturally blue, with rather a disconcerting frankness to them.

  ‘They were partners in an art gallery,’ he said.

  ‘An art gallery?’

  ‘Yes, in Paris.’ He paused. ‘You were not aware, then?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’ She had to take her eyes off his for a moment. Picking up his card, she studied it as she spoke. ‘In fact, I know very litt
le about Major Ryder. Tell me more.’

  The card was very plain. Just his name, a London address and phone number. No title or company name.

  Fox leaned back in the sofa and crossed his legs. ‘After World War II, Ryder and Girard went into business together. I’m sure you’re aware that Ryder was an army officer.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, Girard had a small gallery at the time and scratched out a living but couldn’t afford to buy paintings of any importance, nothing of quality. Then Ryder came on the scene. It was evident from the start that he knew a lot about art—he said he was a collector himself. Within a short time, Ryder invested a substantial amount of money in the business, allowing them to move to a larger and better location and start purchasing and selling paintings of much better provenance, higher value.’

  ‘That must have taken a large amount of money, surely?’

  ‘Yes and no. You have to realize that this was nearly sixty years ago and there were lots of paintings and other works of art coming back on the market after the German occupation. But, yes, you’re right. I understand that Ryder’s investment was sizeable. But then again, according to Girard, he always seemed to have money when it was needed.’

  Jamie was wondering what had happened to the coffee when Dot entered carrying a tray. Lowering it slowly to the coffee table, she was about to pour the coffee when Jamie told her not to worry, that she would take care of it. Dot left the room.

  Jamie filled the cups and waited while Fox stirred three teaspoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she asked.

  He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

  ‘There are three paintings that belong to Monsieur Girard that Major Ryder was storing for the gallery. According to Girard, they were being held here on the estate for safekeeping. Now, with Major Ryder’s passing, we would like to have those paintings returned.’

  ‘What kind of paintings are you talking about?’

  ‘They’re oil paintings and the artists are French.’