Every Hidden Thing

by Elaine Young

Chapter 20

  Bragadin

  She climbed to the second level via a stairwell that was vaguely lit by light shades that were full of dead insects, casting a gloomy sallow light. The line of rising damp disappeared as she climbed upwards, but the musty smell was inescapable. Finally she came to a huge oak door which was the only one on the landing. She checked her watch; five to three. Good.

  An old man opened the door a crack and then let it groan back further to let her enter, before slamming it shut behind her again. Shaken by the bang as well as by the possibility that this could be a white slave racket which she had meekly allowed herself to be caught up in, she stood there, taking in the generous dimensions of the chilly hallway.

  There was an all-pervading odour of cats that made her catch her breath. Libby presumed that the old man was the butler, because of his very formal, though food-spotted attire and his slight bow, as he stood back to let her in. She found him rather alarming and she tried to keep as far from him as politely possible. She followed him down a carpeted passage to another door which he opened with a flourish.

  There, in a winged armchair by the fire, sat another elderly man whose age was impossible to determine. She saw a thin clever face with a large Einsteinian moustache, his sparse hair, just a rim at the back of his head had been allowed to grow to his shoulders; heavy-lidded eyes appeared larger behind thick rimless glasses that perched on a long Venetian nose. A pair of crutches leaned on the wall close at hand. An enormous black cat glowered at Libby for a moment as it lay draped over the back of the old man’s chair before it stretched out a leg to continue its ablutions. Three other cats were arranged in attitudes of filleted ease on one of the shabby chintz sofas.

  The servant bowed again, gabbling something in Veneziana. The only recognisable words were ‘Dottore Bragadin.’ So this must be he.

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m Libby Wentworth,’ she said as she entered the room.

  ‘Forgive me for not rising, Miss Wentworth. I have these foolish legs that are not prepared to do what I tell them anymore.’ He indicated his shrunken legs and built-up shoes.

  She moved forward and took his outstretched hands, almost feeling that she should curtsey as, despite the damaged body, the old man had a very dignified bearing. Bragadin then became aware of the scruffy old retainer hesitating in the doorway. Bragadin let go of her hands and waved dismissively at the manservant. Again the formal bow as he left the room and closed the door. She removed her jacket and Bragadin indicated that she should sit on the sofa opposite him which she did, rather gingerly.

  The room was quite intimidating; clearly a man’s space, it had smoke-darkened embossed wall-paper, no cushions on the sofas, a strong pungent odour of cigars and cats and one large original watercolour landscape of Venice above the mantelpiece. The desk was a volcano of papers and there were overflowing book cases, with books balancing in precarious piles against the desk. On the mantel, a clutter of solemn photographs in old-fashioned frames waited in vain for a duster. Within moments she was startled by a chubby cat as it pounced onto her lap. It peered at her briefly through charmingly squint eyes before it curled up comfortably and began purring. Tentatively, she began to stroke its silvery beige fur.

  ‘I was very surprised to get your call,’ Bragadin said, ‘I was expecting Ari to bring his things yesterday. Is he not well?’

  ‘He was fine when I saw him a couple of days ago. I was leaving for Venice that night and he asked me if I would deliver it to you, as he’d changed his plans. Didn’t he phone? He said he was going to as soon as he got back to his apartment. I would have come yesterday myself, except I was exhausted from the trip and fell asleep almost as soon as I could get into my hotel room.’ She pulled the parcel from her shoulder bag and placed it on the coffee table in front of Bragadin.

  ‘So be it. In fact when I heard your voice on the telephone this morning, I realised that Ari must have changed his plans. We tried calling his apartment but there was no reply. I am expecting the lawyer who is going to help Ari present his evidence. He should arrive soon. I have been semi-retired for some time, so I told Ari that I would only advise him. This man has virtually taken over my practice.’ Just then, as if on cue, the door chimes proclaimed the arrival of another visitor. Libby was stroking the cat and did not look up when she heard someone enter the room. The cat on her lap merely stretched and yawned before settling down again.

  ‘Hello Penny. What a pleasant surprise!’

  Her head snapped up. Michel the Rat, in person! ‘I’m not Penny!’ she said through clenched teeth, ‘I’m Libby! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Do you know each other?’ asked Bragadin smiling, a little puzzled at the scene before him.

  ‘We met a few months ago at a cocktail party when I was in Paris, Ettore,’ he said as he shook hands with the older man.

  ‘And what are you doing here I may ask, pretty . . . Libby?’ he grinned at her.

  ‘Pull up a chair Michel,’ Bragadin interrupted, smiling, ‘but first pour us a prosecco and then we can hear the whole story Miss Wentworth was about to tell me.’ The old man was obviously amused.

  Logs crackled and shifted in the fireplace and cinders spilled out onto the hearth. A flurry of rain sprayed against the window, while in the quiet of the room she began her story. The two men listened closely as her account of the train journey unfolded. She was very aware of Michel’s gaze, so she focussed on Bragadin as she spoke. Michel sat forward attentively when she came to the part where the young man had entered her compartment and attempted to take the parcel.

  ‘Was he someone you recognised?’

  ‘Yes. He’s a student of Ari’s, Dougie Brewer. As he was looking thorough my baggage on the rack, someone else came in and pointed a gun with a silencer at him. As the man fired Dougie vaulted out of the open window and disappeared into the night. I rushed to the window but he was already running away from the train. Fortunately the train had almost come to a halt when he did this otherwise he’d have been killed.’

  The men in the room made no comment so she went on, ‘Ari didn’t tell me anything about the importance of this parcel but when that happened I was terrified. But why was this student of Ari’s interested in the thing at all? And why should someone be after him with a gun?’

  ‘Ari mentioned that he was worried about Dougie’s interest in his affairs. And the man with the gun. Did he ask you about the parcel too?’

  ‘No, he disappeared as soon as Dougie jumped out of the window. I don’t think the man realised that Dougie had come into the compartment because he knew me, or wanted something from me. As far as I know, Dougie himself had no reason to think I had anything of Ari’s at all. I don’t know why he did what he did. But come to think of it, the only thing he asked was if I had the Prof’s parcel? Why he should think that, I have no idea.’

  ‘Did Ari say anything about whether someone else knew about it? I did warn him to be careful of being followed when he went to collect the stuff at Gare Montparnasse. He told me he was nervous about Dougie’s unusual interest in his affairs, so that made me think that young man could know about the parcel of evidence you’ve brought with you.’ Libby considered this for a few moments and answered thoughtfully,

  ‘Now that you mention that, Ari did seem almost furtive when he dropped the thing off at Gillian’s. I didn’t think about it at the time, but he kept on looking out of the window and he seemed very edgy. When he left, Gilly and I watched from her second-floor window as he almost ran to the corner and disappeared. The only explanation he gave me was that he had decided to stay in Paris at the last moment. Maybe someone had found out about this parcel. I didn’t think to ask why; it seemed none of my business at the time, anyway.’ She looked down at her hands that were tightly holding the stem of her empty wineglass. She put it down carefully on the table. There was a hush in the room as the two men thought about what she had told them.

  ‘Can you tell me what this is all about?’ she broke the silence. ‘
I think I’m owed an explanation of some sort. I don’t believe Ari meant this to happen, but if you tell me what is going on I might understand why I am here at least!’ She bit her lip as she tried to prevent her chin from trembling.

  Bragadin lifted his eyebrows and inclined his head towards Libby as he caught Michel’s eye.

  ‘You’re right, Ettore. I think she should know a bit more about this story.’ He turned towards her, ‘This goes back to 1942, thirty or more years ago. Victor Dubois is a retired politician who was quite high up in the French government.’

  ‘I’ve heard about him.’

  ‘Well, he is rumoured to have been a Nazi collaborator during the war but there has never been enough evidence with which to charge him. Our friend Ari Mayer has collected quite a dossier on Dubois’ activities and we are going to try to add his evidence to the charges of embezzlement and fraud of which Dubois has already been accused. You may have seen this on the television in Paris. It was all over the press as well.’

  ‘I’ve been rather too busy to watch television lately, although Gervaise did mention this case briefly over supper this week, when the court case started. He said that Dubois collapsed in court.’

  Michel nodded. ‘Ari is sure that Dubois, alias Jacques Marteau, was instrumental in having his father arrested and sent to a concentration camp, which is why he has been looking for evidence against the man to prove these charges. When I saw Ari in Paris a couple of weeks ago he had heard nothing definite that could help convict the man. Then three nights ago, he phoned to say he was on the brink of getting some new evidence that could make a good case against Dubois. He was going to take the train to Venice the next night. Ettore, I’m going to phone Paris again, if you don’t mind. I’m a bit worried about him.’ As he spoke, he moved to the phone next to Bragadin’s chair. It took him a while but finally he was able to get through.

  Bragadin listened intently, but Libby did not even attempt to follow his rapid French. She watched Michel’s face as spoke. He had very kind eyes; she still couldn’t believe that he could be such a philanderer. He didn’t look the part, but then a lot of men traded on their air of innocence to trap the unwary. She realised that her anger at his behaviour in Paris had bubbled to the surface at seeing him again and she tried hard to compose her thoughts so that she wouldn’t burst out angrily at him in front of Bragadin. Finally Michel put down the phone, his face grave.

  ‘I first tried to call his apartment, but there was no answer. The telephone exchange finally put me through to his old friend Rose. She was very upset and said he had been shot. He wasn’t badly hurt, fortunately, and is in a clinic nearby. They have notified the police who have placed a guard outside his room.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Bragadin, shocked.

  ‘Apparently he was shot by accident in a tussle with someone he thought was his friend. Damn! I forgot to ask Rose who he was! Apparently this guy pushed his way into Ari’s place and demanded the parcel at gunpoint. In any case, Ari had taken the thing to Libby by that time. It seems it was an accident, because it happened while Ari was trying to take away the gun from the guy and it went off. The bullet grazed Ari’s side and he was knocked unconscious when he bumped his head on the floor. He came to when the concierge arrived. Ari told him to contact Rose and between her and the concierge, they managed to get Ari into a small clinic close by, run by nuns. He is going to be alright. The bullet, she said, was deflected by his pocket watch and the wound was just a scratch. He was slightly concussed and shocked, that’s all.’ Bragadin crossed himself.

  ‘More bad news is that Dubois has since escaped from the hospital where he was taken after he collapsed and is believed to be in Switzerland.’ He flopped down on the sofa next to Libby and reached out for the parcel. She tried to appear unconcerned by his proximity as she couldn’t move away without calling attention to herself. They sat there in silence for a moment. Bragadin lifted and dropped his hands onto his knees, in a defeated gesture as he let out a sigh. This was a huge reversal. At least while Dubois was in view there was a chance of convicting him of something. Now he had disappeared and who knew where he had found a bolt-hole.

  ‘Is this what you brought from Ari?’

  Libby nodded. Michel tore off the heavy string and wax that sealed it. Inside the first brown paper wrapping there was another, with a letter attached to it. He tore it open and read silently, nodding enthusiastically. Finally he sat back.

  ‘This is all we require, Ettore! All we need now is to find the man again. Thank you, Libby. I am sorry that you had that terrifying experience on the train. Are you alright after that? It must have been quite frightening.’ She merely lifted a shoulder without looking in his direction and a puzzled expression flitted across his face.

  ‘At least we have the evidence and it doesn’t look as though it has been disturbed in any way.’ He placed the unopened parcel and the letter in the briefcase he had brought with him. ‘I’ll take this with me now. I’ll put it in my safe with the other papers and I’ll be able to get a look at it tomorrow. I am going to take Miss Wentworth back to her hotel now,’ he said to Bragadin. ‘I’ll phone you in the morning.’ He stood up then and held out his hands to Libby.

  She protested half-heartedly. She really didn’t want to be beholden to him, and anyway he hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to go back to her hotel! He just assumed arrogantly that that is what she wanted, she thought indignantly. Paradoxically, she was glad to have an escort, as it was getting dark and she felt vulnerable, so she swallowed her pride and bit back the sharp retort she had prepared. She gathered up the cat and placed it carefully on the floor, but could not ignore the strong hands that were held out to her. She clasped them and he drew her to her feet. He continued to hold them in his warm grip for a heart-beat too long until she disengaged them and turned to pick up her bag and jacket. She thanked Bragadin for the drink, but he protested.

  ‘No, on the contrary, it is you that needs to be thanked, Signorina. You have done a very courageous thing and you will have helped to put a scoundrel in prison. That is, if the Sureté can find him again.’ He took her hand in both of his and kissed it as he said this and she smiled down at him. They turned to go and she suddenly felt very awkward as Michel helped her with her jacket. They said their goodbyes to their host and they descended the dim stairwell in a silence that she did not know how to break.