The Property of a Gentleman: One House. Many secrets.

by Catherine Gaskin

  Askew shook his head. ‘She didn’t run across it. I gave it to her. There is a set ...’ He didn’t finish.

  I nodded. ‘I never wanted to believe that she had stolen it. Then when Mr Tolson told me how often she had come to Thirlbeck I knew that it hadn’t been picked up somewhere, just by chance.’ I reached into the little leather pouch that had covered it. ‘See ... the little bit of broken frame is here. It must have broken in the crash.’ I had almost forgotten what I meant to say as I watched Askew’s fingers place the broken piece against the whole, as so often I had done. Gerald’s voice recalled me.

  ‘Jo, what is it you’re saying?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘It wouldn’t have been like Vanessa to trust her own memory on figures. I searched every single thing in that handbag for some number – something that would relate. There wasn’t any sort of notebook. I went through her whole passport looking to see if there was some number that didn’t belong with a stamp. But there wasn’t anything. I looked at the plane ticket stub. I even looked inside the packet of cigarettes to see if she’d written anything there. Before I came up here I went back to her flat and checked the post that had arrived during these past weeks, in case she had posted the number to herself in London. I checked at the shop with Mary Westerson. There was nothing – nothing at all but the numbers on the price tag that didn’t make sense in Swiss francs – not for something like this.’ I gestured towards the tiny picture on the blotter.

  Gerald rapped his pen on the desk again. ‘It’s possible, Jo. It’s possible.’ His calm voice was shot with excitement. ‘The Swisse-Française Bank. Almost the largest there is. Hardy’s often use it. The bank – and the number, 13705.’ Then his excitement died. ‘It’s possible – but not good enough. What branch? It has hundreds. Swiss banks don’t disgorge information just because someone has an idea.’

  I turned to Tolson. ‘Do you know where she stayed that time? Did she always stay at the same hotel?’

  He shook his head. ‘She changed around. That time it was the St Gottard.’

  ‘On the Banhoffstrasse,’ Gerald said. ‘And so is the largest branch of the Banque Swisse-Française. It’s a starting point. We could produce a death certificate, and the passport.’

  Tolson cleared his throat. ‘If you really think that is the number, Mr Stanton, then I might be of help. Without a number I couldn’t begin anywhere. No Swiss bank would have given that information just on the production of a death certificate. But with the number ... well, it’s more hopeful.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gerald said.

  ‘Well, Mrs Roswell had made it a practice always to designate me as the person who had access to the account – on production of the number. She left instructions that while she might make further deposits, only I could make withdrawals or transfers. She wanted nothing to do with the transfer of money from accounts she set up, to Lord Askew’s bank. While my brother was alive, his name was also included in the account and in fact it was he who carried out all the business of transfers to Lord Askew. It’s been more difficult since he died. I was glad this was going to be the last time. Mrs Roswell made a practice of telephoning my brother as soon as the account was opened, and telling him the bank, the branch, and the number. This was the first time we had ever handled this business with a new account – this one solely to receive the proceeds of this sale – since he died. It didn’t work as smoothly as it had in the past. This time – well, we missed each other.’

  ‘Missed each other?’ Gerald questioned. I kept watching Askew as the talk passed between the other two men, and he hardly seemed aware of it. He sipped very often from the brandy glass, and with the other hand he kept turning and turning the miniature.

  ‘You see, I’d been trying all day to reach Mrs Roswell. I’d just received the cable from Lord Askew that he was returning, and I guessed the question of the Rembrandt would come up. It was the most easily saleable thing in the house – possibly the only thing he really remembered. Mrs Roswell had warned me that the copies wouldn’t stand up to expert scrutiny – most particularly the Rembrandt. If Lord Askew intended bringing in experts, the Rembrandt was the one picture above all the others that should be here. I was desperate to stop the sale. When I telephoned the hotel that morning they said she wasn’t in. But she hadn’t checked out, so I left a message for her to telephone here – urgently. By that time, though, I was beginning to think I was already too late to stop the sale. It was a busy time here, starting to get the house in order for Lord Askew. I was up in the attics going through the things there, wondering if Lord Askew would notice the absence of so many of the Chinese items. I heard the telephone ring, and I hurried down. I was going to take the call in Lord Askew’s room. But by then Jessica had answered the phone down in the service passage, and said I wasn’t here. The child didn’t know where I was. Mrs Roswell wouldn’t leave the message about the number and the bank with anyone but myself. So she left no message at all – and she didn’t know why I wanted to get in touch with her. I rang back to the hotel immediately, but they said she had just left for the airport. I didn’t think she had planned to fly back that night, so it only could have meant that the sale had been completed. It must all have been done – the picture sold, the money deposited – more quickly than we judged. It’s possible that she got on that plane ...’ He turned and looked directly at me; it was an acknowledgement of the pain the words must bring. ‘She must have wanted to get to London quickly to have taken a plane that had a stop-over in Paris. My own belief is that she was a stand-by passenger for that flight. When they reported the crash, there had been no vacant seats.’

  Askew’s face crinkled into a mask of lines. We all were silent as he reached again for the brandy bottle. This time, as he motioned to me, I nodded, and I thought as I watched him top up his own glass, that he shouldn’t have been drinking. I wondered if he’d had enough breakfast to be able to drink that much. But then, what was I doing with brandy at eleven o’clock in the morning on too few hours of sleep? In those moments of silence I looked away from Askew, not wanting to see too closely what his face revealed, looked down at my own hands which also trembled slightly. I thought of the tumult of these last two days. How long since that radiant dawn when I had been with Nat Birkett in the shelter at the edge of the woods? – how far in my life had I travelled in these few hours? I raised my eyes and looked cautiously at Askew again, and he was staring at me. I had thought I would never return to Thirlbeck. Now I wondered how I was to find the strength to leave this world that Vanessa had given so much to; how was I to leave this and Nat Birkett as well? The agony in my own mind seemed to meet a like agony in his gaze.

  I said something that had nothing to do with the chance flight that Vanessa had caught, in a hurry, from Zürich. I was thinking of that last telephone call. ‘Did ... does Jessica know? – about all this?’

  Tolson sought his words with caution. ‘She knew ... yes, I have to say she knew. None of the details. I never discussed them with any of the family. But Jessica’s very sharp. She has stayed here so often with my wife and myself that it was impossible to keep it all from her. She is so familiar with the house ... she knew almost at once when some of the items were taken. I didn’t let her see any of the pictures. I was the only one who ever went into that room. But she knew about Mrs Roswell’s visits. And then, by accident, she saw the copy of the Rembrandt when Mrs Roswell brought it here. She saw it out of the frame. It was our custom to bring the copies here as soon as this man – this Lastman – had completed them, even if the arrangements for the sale were not complete. Mrs Roswell often left one of the originals in a bank vault in Switzerland for some weeks until the right people had come together to look at it. We had a similar arrangement as with the numbered account. I and my brother always knew where the picture was, and we could have access to it on proof of identity. It was ... unfortunate that Jessica saw the canvas that one time. She is, well, let us say she is very fond of all the things at Thirlbeck. She did
n’t like to see any of them go. She must have guessed a great deal about what we were doing with the pictures after just that one glimpse.’

  ‘And so, when my mother telephoned from Zürich, wanting to give you the bank and the account number, answering your call to telephone urgently, Jessica said you weren’t here. And the message wasn’t passed. And yet you had waited all day for the call ...’ I stopped. It was wrong to add further to his misery. Jessica, with some kind of unhappy genius, had seemed to spin a glittering and terrible web between these two last tragedies of Thirlbeck. I thought of Patsy Birkett, dying alone, and I thought of Vanessa’s last telephone call – the call that would have given Tolson the vital information he needed to prove his good faith. And Jessica had lied about her grandfather’s presence in the house, had hung up before he could reach the extension – probably because she had disliked Vanessa and feared her influence here at Thirlbeck. Tolson had paid a cruel price for his love of his granddaughter.

  I looked at the faces of all three men about me, and only Gerald’s was free of anguish, only he now seemed competent of managing what new developments my suggestion had thrust on them.

  In a fashion he now took over, as I had thought he would.

  ‘Well, we have somewhere to begin. At least a number. If we present ourselves at enough banks we will find what we are looking for. I know one or two well-placed legal men in Switzerland who may be prepared to advise us. It will have to be done with discretion. I will have to stay as much as possible in the background. It wouldn’t do to involve Hardy’s in any way with this. But you, Jo, should go – and Tolson, of course. You must have every piece of proof the bank may need. I could make a quick trip to Switzerland. As Vanessa’s executor, my reasons for being concerned in her death would seem obvious ...

  He straightened in his seat, and I thought, looking at him, that this crisis had seemed to restore years of living to him. He was managing, and the rest of us sat and let him do it, and that pleased him. The executive abilities that had made his position at Hardy’s were now back in full flood. In a little while, if he thought there was a good chance that in the end we could recover the money from the numbered account, he would almost be enjoying himself.

  ‘As for the rest ... well, I shall see we don’t have any of Hardy’s geniuses near the place until it has been gone through thoroughly. I have already had a look at the pictures that remain. There’s a man I know ... someone I can trust to be discreet, who will come and verify my own opinion. And after that, if Robert wishes, we can go ahead as we planned, and Hardy’s can come in to do a complete assessment. No need to worry about the bad copies of the ceramics – every family collects things like that. What is missing is just missing. No one knew about it. No one will be the wiser. Many things are gone, but, as Tolson so sensibly says, the land remains. It might seem a fair exchange. What we have to be sure about before letting anyone but my friend, who will keep his mouth closed, near this house, is that not a single copy by Van ... by Lastman remains. They will have to be destroyed, not just hidden. Can you imagine the ... well, to some people it would be the most delicious scandal of the decade if nineteen or so modern copies – all by the same hand – should turn up among the legitimate treasures in a remote English country house. I can just see my associates in the art world purring over my discomfiture, or getting apoplectic over it. Imagine the anxious calls of the collectors to their dealers wanting them to verify once again that what they have is the genuine thing. Imagine the real horror of those who bought the originals on learning that very clever copies of their particular work existed. Lastman did a splendid job. If it were not for the list, I would have let some of them slip through myself. Really, Vanessa might not have done her job so thoroughly. It’s rather unlike her to see things through to this extent. Yes ... the copies will have to be destroyed. What remains is very easily sorted. We can – ’

  I broke in. ‘Gerald, you know what you’re saying? I mean you’re involving yourself ...’

  ‘My dear Jo, there’s no need at all to tell me what I’m involving myself in. I’m involving myself, quite deliberately, in the aftermath of what is considered a criminal act. If it is ever discovered, my position is a very bad one. An act of smuggling on a grand scale has taken place. I am assisting in covering it up. Robert here says no act of theft has taken place, so all of us are now concerned in a lesser, but still a serious situation.’ He sighed. ‘Well – what else can I do? Robert is a capable man, but in the art world, an absolute innocent. He didn’t know what was in his own house. If I walk away and leave it to him, he’ll betray himself, and the whole situation, out of hand. Can’t help it. He just isn’t that cunning. And if I walk away from here, leaving all these marvellous things behind, and someone other than Hardy’s handles the sale, then people will know something is wrong. I have a duty to Hardy’s. I have a duty to Vanessa, I have a duty to Robert and yourself, Jo. Now, to discharge those duties I have to step on the other side of the law. I’ve never been on that side in my life. I will have to sail along in the belief that what is gone is gone, and no effort on our part can bring it back. Undoubtedly, even sitting here with you has made me a part of a conspiracy. And you, Jo – you were an innocent bystander until you thought of the price tag on the miniature. Then you involved yourself. Why?’

  ‘Well ... I ... Because of Vanessa ...’

  ‘Yes,’ Gerald said crisply. ‘A great deal of this story is because of Vanessa. A strange and fascinating woman. I hope I don’t find myself in serious trouble because of her. But according to her lights, she did her best. Somehow, wherever it leads me, I don’t feel like betraying her.’

  He began to discuss quickly the plans for what we would do in Switzerland. ‘I’ll have to make a few telephone calls first. But we should get it over as soon as possible. It might be as well to travel separately ...’ He began making notes, setting down the order of things as he thought we should do them. It was the Gerald I had known all my life, and still my senses didn’t take in that we were now all involved in a criminal act – a conspiracy, he called it. Nothing had been stolen, since Askew would bring no charges. But works of art had left the country without an export licence, illegally. As Gerald had said, if the truth about the forgeries were known, it would make the art scandal of the decade. And here was Gerald calmly making notes as to how we should act to go deeper into the conspiracy, taking him with us. ‘Well, if you don’t do something to recover it, some Swiss bank is just going to be sitting on more than a million pounds for ever. I don’t entirely disbelieve those stories of fortunes deposited before the Second War whose owners didn’t survive, and which will never – can’t – be claimed. It’s Robert’s money, after all.’ He said as an aside to Tolson. ‘I hope all is in order with the tax people as far as Lord Askew is concerned. That would be a complication we wouldn’t like.’

  ‘I believe so, Mr Stanton. My brother was very careful that all expenditures of the estate were recorded – and the usual taxes paid. Lord Askew’s personal taxes were another matter. We recorded a certain income paid to him from the estate. The extras that were paid from the Swiss accounts – that’s in a doubtful area. My brother arranged all these things.’

  Gerald frowned. ‘Pity we don’t have him to work on this. But still we must manage ... Robert, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes ... yes.’ Askew sipped the brandy before he spoke again. ‘It’s so damn complicated, isn’t it? I’ve always hated these sort of things. From time to time I get little notes from the Inland Revenue asking what periods I’ve spent in the U.K. ... And where I’ve been last Tuesday week. I’ve paid taxes in Switzerland, I know – but only when Edward Tolson told me to. Since Edward died, I don’t think I’ve answered an official letter – from anyone. It didn’t seem to matter very much. Funny ... when I was in the Army things were much easier. Easiest of all was just to stay a private. No responsibility. No forms to fill out. No reports to make. Just stick to the rules, go by the book, and they took care of you. Easy,
really. Never had it so good, I expect. No decisions ...’ His eyes seemed to have taken on a glazed, far-away expression; I caught a glimpse of the man who had fled from Thirlbeck and its responsibilities twice in his life, the man who, until this morning, had seemed to me to have retained much of the spirit and outlook of the boy who had grown up here. In his terms, even the decorations for outstanding bravery became understandable. He had believed he was just going by the book – but it had been very much his own book.

  Gerald looked at him with faintly disguised impatience. ‘Well, I’ll go ahead with all this, Robert?’ It was hardly a question at all. ‘After we’ve been through the Swiss tangle, we’ll give our attention up here. I take it you don’t intend to stay on indefinitely? I mean, there’s no point. Now that I understand the situation, Tolson is perfectly capable of coping with all the things that arise when the Hardy people come. It’s quite a long business ...’ He was urging Askew to leave, afraid, perhaps, as he had said, that he was not capable of sustaining the façade of innocence which would be needed. It would be so easy for a slight slip of the tongue to indicate to the busy, careful young men of Hardy’s that much more than they saw had once been in this house. When Askew seemed unwilling to reply, Gerald went on. ‘The furniture would make a “highly important” sale just by itself. But we must catalogue it very carefully, and see that the right people know about it. One loses a great deal by being in too much of a hurry. And the pictures – well, they should be held until the important Old Master’s sale next season.’

  ‘Yes ...’ Askew said, but I don’t think he heard.

  I looked at Gerald. ‘Important? But I thought Vanessa had taken all the good ones ...?’

  Now a smile of real pleasure broke on Gerald’s face. ‘She only took what was portable, Jo. It’s rather difficult to take a Cuyp measuring about three-and-a-half feet by five feet out in a suitcase. You’ll love it, Jo. It’s a beautiful thing. There’s a Hobemma that’s of very fine quality. Two Jan Steens. A magnificent Jocob van Ruisdael. A Nicolaes Maes. Some are signed. There are a couple of beautiful canvases that are not, so I’m just making guesses as to the artists. But there are some exceptionally fine pictures there.’