The girl at his reception desk said, “Yes, sir. There’s a Mr Farley here wanting to know if Mr Kerslake could see him for a few minutes.”
“Kerslake?”-
“Yes, sir. You said——”
“Oh, yes. I know. Ah . . . Yes, well, bring Mr Farley up to me.
In the short time while he waited for Farley to be brought up he sat rubbing his chin, a little annoyed with himself that he had even momentarily stumbled. Years ago he would never have been caught off his guard. Dear, dear . . . And only a few days ago he had met Branton and heard that Sarah and Farley were staying with him. Going to be married. Well, that was a nice romantic conclusion. Hero marries the beautiful princess he has saved from drowning. He would have to go carefully about Kerslake. Should write him off from the firm now. Yes, that would be the best thing. Better ring Quint about it.
Farley was shown in and they went through the affabilities of first meeting and when Farley was seated and said that he had no wish for a cup of tea, Geddy explained, “I’m sorry our Mr Kerslake isn’t here at the moment. He’s in London dealing with some business for one of our clients. Perhaps I can help you. But first let me say how very happy I was to hear the news about Miss Branton and yourself. A most felicitous and romantic development.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Mr Kerslake will be sorry to miss you. But I am sure that you understand I am fully cognisant of all Miss Branton’s affairs.”
“I’m sure you are, sir. But it’s not really about her that I’ve come. I’m very much in need of advice and I felt that Mr Kerslake would be able to help me.”
“Would you rather talk to him than to me?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. In fact as it’s turned out I’d rather talk to you because you must have known the Branton family a very long time.”
Geddy smiled. Nice man. Seemed solid and sensible. Kerslake had liked him, and he saw why. He said, “I’ve known the family ever since I was a boy. And my father before that handled their affairs. I’m at your disposal, Mr Farley.”
“You know Lord Bellmaster, too, I presume, sir?”
“Yes, I do. In fact we’ve acted for him in one or two small affairs.”
“Do you like him?”
Caught unawares Geddy covered himself with a dry laugh and shaking his head said, “Oh come, Mr Farley. That’s not the kind of question you ask a solicitor.”
“Maybe not. But for my part I hate his guts.”
“I see . . Instinct told him that every step from now on must be taken warily. Something was eating into Farley and it would be the easiest thing in the world for himself—elderly, solid, respectable Cheltenham solicitor—to say or do the wrong thing until he was on much firmer ground. Unless he were very mistaken, noting the grimness of Farley’s face, this could very well be a case of—Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves. And why not? Lord Bellmaster’s and Birdcage’s worlds were all pure Alice in Wonderland except that the executions and the blood were real. Gently, he suggested, “You may not be alone in that feeling for him, Mr Farley. Men in high positions naturally attract animosity. Sometimes deserved—and sometimes not. But one thing you must understand—if it’s in your mind, of course—is that I cannot discuss one of my client’s affairs with you.”
“I know that, Mr Geddy. I’m not here to discuss anything. I’m here to give you certain facts—and then I would like your advice on what course I should take. And I think it’s only fair to you to make my position clear first.”
“I’ve no quarrel with that, Mr Farley.”
“Good.” Farley smiled unexpectedly. “I’m sorry if I sound a bit grim and worked up so I think it’s better if I get some obvious things out of the way. I mean things that you would obviously think upset or anger me. I know from Colonel Branton that Sarah is Lord Bellmaster’s daughter by Lady Jean. I know that Colonel Branton’s marriage was one of convenience, arranged by Lord Bellmaster in return for a generous payment to the Colonel. And I know that Lady Jean never ceased being Lord Bellmaster’s mistress until the time she died.”
Geddy nodded. “That’s all quite true. And I think— since you’re going to marry Sarah—that you should know. May I ask if Sarah knows about her father . . . her true father?”
“No. Do you think she should?”
“Did it make any difference to your feelings for her when you learned this fact?”
“Not a damned bit of difference.”
“Then you must know that she will feel the same way. Though I would advise you in telling her to choose your time and place carefully. When and where are your responsibility. I give no advice about that.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, Mr Geddy. It’s not just a question of learning who her real father is, but of what he is.”
“I don’t follow you. He’s Lord Bellmaster, a public figure and a wealthy man.”
“He’s more than that. He’s a murderer—twice over if not more. And he trapped Lady Jean into being an accomplice.”
Geddy looked for some moments directly at Farley and then slowly rose and went to the window. He knew his own agitation of mind, but more than that he had a dark sense of a gathering of events somewhere on the near horizon which when they broke into positive movement might—unless he was capable of the utmost caution and skill—sweep him away in their vortex. Since the night in a Positano hotel room there had been no true turning back to the placidity of provincial life. The outward show and movements were there—but true peace of mind had never been his. All he cherished now was his own known image in this city and in his profession. There could be no question of putting that in jeopardy.
He turned and said evenly, “That’s a very, very serious accusation to make against any man, Mr Farley, as you know. I presume that you can substantiate it?”
“I most certainly can.”
Geddy hesitated for a moment. That he was here and not at a police station was, maybe, an act of the gods. If it were then he must use such grace as had now been given him to protect himself for a while until he could take advice from Birdcage. The simple exposure of the fact that Kerslake had never been on his staff could lead . . . well, God knew where it might lead. Nevertheless the first step was clear. He was a respectable solicitor and must act as such, and pick his way delicately through the hazards that undoubtedly lay ahead.
He went to his desk and sat down. “Before we go into this allegation, Mr Farley, and before you say any more to me about it, I must ask you a few questions.”
“Ask what you like, Mr Geddy.”
“These facts which you have about Lord Bellmaster—are they, so far as you are aware, known to anybody else?”
“As far as I know, not to another living soul in the world.”
“Why did you come to me and not go straight to the police?”
“Because I wanted a solicitor’s advice first. It’s hardly the kind of thing I could spell out to some duty sergeant at a police station. Besides, in a way, it’s a family affair, and the family solicitor seemed the right man.”
“Quite so. All right——” Geddy let his tone become brisk, “——I’ve had some strange things happen in this office. But I think you’ve topped them all. What I would like you to do is to start at the beginning and go very clearly and with the utmost factuality through the whole thing. I shan’t say a word until you have finished. I just want the whole matter quite clearly laid out before me. So . . .” Feeling more comfortable he smiled briefly. “The floor is yours.”
Farley told him the facts, and he listened as he had promised without interruption and was glad that he had to make none because his own private thoughts had freedom to run without bar as the story emerged. Some things he knew at once he would have to do and he refused to look into their consequences and their hazards to himself and . . . the knowledge gained ground with him all the time he listened . . , undoubtedly to Farley. One hazard to himself which he saw clearly was that he would have to tell Q
uint at Birdcage everything before he could even pretend to give Farley any advice on the action he should take. And listening too, he was resolute in not contemplating the action which Birdcage would take. They would be delighted, he knew, to get Lord Bellmaster at last and would accept this gift from the blue without a thought of the irony of its receipt from such a naive and unexpected quarter. He might not be able to do much for Farley—but as far as possible he must protect as many others as he could, including himself. Misery and self-disgust would come later and he knew that he would learn to live with them.
When Farley had finished, he said, “Now let me ask you some questions, Mr Farley. Are you sure that Sarah has never read this diary?”
“Absolutely sure. She doesn’t even know I’ve got it with me.”
“And Colonel Branton?”
“No. He knows nothing about it. But it is in his safe at this moment. Wrapped up. I said it was a birthday present I was keeping for Sarah.”
“I see. And you say that Lady Jean writes specific accounts of how Polidor and Matherson were killed?”
“In detail. The one in French and the other in plain English.” Farley stirred impatiently. “But what am I to do about it, Mr Geddy? That’s the point.”
“It certainly is the point. And my answer is simple. For the moment you do nothing about it. You keep the whole thing to yourself—and you don’t let the diary leave that safe. When is Sarah’s birthday, by the way?”
“June the third.”
“Ah, yes, I knew it was June some time. Well now—you go back to Branton’s and wait until you hear from me. It won’t be long. Please don’t say you’ve been to see me. Sometimes a slip of the tongue brings awkward questions. I shall have to talk this over with someone in authority, you realise that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“But it will be in the strictest confidence. Then I’ll let you know what is to be done.” Geddy stood up and, fiddling with a ruler on his desk, he said, “You realise what this will mean to Lord Bellmaster, I’m sure?”
“Yes, I do, sir. And if you’re going to ask me if it had been anyone else but him would I have acted the same way—the answer is that I don’t know. But in his case I haven’t any doubts. The men he killed mean nothing to me—they may even have deserved it. But the lives he ruined . . . Lady Jean’s, Colonel Branton’s and almost Sarah’s—well, all that means something to me. I hate his guts—but I can tell you that I would be a damned sight happier if Lady Jean had burnt the diary before she died. But she didn’t and that’s why I’m here.”
When Farley had gone Geddy went to his cupboard and poured himself a neat whisky and sat at his desk sipping it, and trying to sort out his thoughts. He had to let Birdcage know. There was no avoiding that. And once they knew he would be in their hands. There was no avoiding that either. And not only he, but Farley, too, would be in their hands. And then God alone knew what would be decided. Warboys and Quint would never look a gift horse in the mouth. One thing was as clear as sunlight. They would never bring any public charge against Lord Bellmaster. They would have him exactly where they had always wanted him—singing and dancing for them until the end of his days, the rest of his life a penance for his past treachery to them. And very useful he would prove to them in his new role. But to have that power over him would only be possible if Richard Farley were not living and wanting to know what he should do about Lord Bellmaster. Like so many of the people whose corruption Bellmaster had engineered—he among them —Farley would become victim in his turn. There was no hope for him.
He finished his whisky and left the office. A few streets away, knowing he was prepared to live with his own shame for the rest of his life, he stepped into a public call box and dialled Quint’s ex-directory office number.
* * * *
Stretched out on the shabby armchair, his feet up on the broad window seat, Quint was relaxed and contented. Close by Big Ben began to strike five, and the street below was alive with a growing confusion of movement from home-going workers; ants moving with little thought but for their own affairs. Euphoria moved through him like the first touch of long-needed alcohol after a day of stress. Not alcohol, no—elixir, the balm of Gilead, the joy that came from the warm and only too rare smile of slow-working Fate.
Watching him Kerslake sensed the rare mood which held him. He had walked in and sat down without a word and he knew that his part was to wait equally silently for his first words. When they came his understanding, faltering only for a few seconds, moved into tandem with Quint’s.
Quint took a deep, leisurely breath, and the sound came clear and untouched by any hint of wheeze or asthma, the satisfaction in him working like ephedrine.
He said, “We’ve got Bellmaster. The gods of chance have delivered him. Nothing to do with us. It happens that way—but so rarely. You go looking for something that’s hidden and it’s lying out in the open, waiting to be picked up. Kicking around the place, disregarded. Do you think you merit blame for missing it? Then don’t. She probably just shoved it on a bookshelf meaning to have a look at it sometime. But all her thoughts were on the Venus girdle. Why not? A woman in love wanting to reward her saviour and lover. A limp-bound blue suede-covered book entitled Dialogues of the Soul and Body by Catharine of Genoa. Stir the memory at all?”
“No, sir.”
“She never even got round to reading it. Which pleases me for her sake. But Farley did—and was so shocked that he kept it from her—and still will—and brought it to England because he wanted to consult you about it. But when he went today to Geddy’s office it was Geddy he saw. He telephoned an hour ago. He made a strong plea for Farley. You know what for, of course?”
“Yes, sir.” Kerslake felt the words come thickly from him. He knew what must follow but for the moment shut it from his mind.
“I had to say no to him. Inevitable. The Fates are on our side—not Farley’s. We can’t have Bellmaster going off as our man in Washington, and Farley wondering why nothing has been done about him. I gather he can be a very forceful type—and moreover has a strong personal feeling against Bellmaster. He could spoil everything. He has to be the one and only scapegoat. Ironical, because he wanted to finish Bellmaster— there’s a full report coming down to you in a short while. This is only a friendly chat. Polidor and Matherson—clear proof. But Bellmaster will go unharmed in body or reputation to dance for as long as he lives at the end of our string. Or to use an exact metaphor the canary will be singing in the birdcage once more.” Quint dropped his feet from the window ledge and swung round to face Kerslake squarely. “You knew your moment had to come. It’s a bit early. If anyone else could do it I would give you the charity of a little more time. But only you, in the circumstances, can handle this. Respectable solicitor giving advice to a client. When you’ve read the full report let me have your formula. He’s on his own. Nobody about him knows anything of what is going on. The world is full of unsolved mysteries. Try to be too clever and you open margins for error. Keep it simple. You’ll have all our cover. Make sure that he tells no one he is going to see you. He’ll co-operate because he’s after Bellmaster’s blood. We’ll cover your break from Geddy’s employment afterwards without any fuss. I don’t have to tell you that. Birdcage looks after its own. The sooner it’s done the better—and with discretion use Geddy as much as you want.”
Quint heaved himself slowly out of the chair and walked to the door.
Kerslake said, “Will you be here for a while, sir?”
Quint nodded. “Yes. I shan’t leave until you’ve read the report and come to me with your programme.”
Left alone Kerslake walked to the window and stared out. The evening was clear and warm. The newly returned swallows and swifts were hawking over the lake. They would be doing that over Barnstaple too. That morning he had had a letter from Margaret saying that she was engaged to be married. Tom Bickerstaff—a car salesman. He had played rugby and drunk many an after-match pint with him. What would have been their react
ion if they could know that he now stood watching office lovers meet by the lake and briefly walk with arms around one another before they parted to catch their trains, waiting to turn his mind to the planning of his first killing? What did he feel? Nothing. That was the best way to deal with it. Nothing. Instinct told him that this was not the dangerous moment. That was to come. And once that moment had passed he would be Birdcage completely . . . like Warboys, like Quint, like all the others. That damned diary. It had probably been on the bookshelf, staring him in the face all the time. Dialogues of the Soul and Body. Lady Jean had had a sense of humour . . . or irony? Well, the one thing he could not allow himself was that kind of dialogue.
There was a knock on the door and his secretary, Joan, came in. She put a sealed quarto envelope on his desk and said, “Mr Quint said you were waiting for this.”
“Thank you, Joan.”
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
“Perfect.”
She smiled. “Makes you feel you want to do something . . . well, extra special for fun.”
He smiled back. He knew she fancied him. The love life of Birdcage people tended to stay parochial and was encouraged. He said pleasantly, “I’ve got a bundle of work—otherwise I might suggest we do it together.”
“Pity. That would have been nice. Some other time, perhaps?”
“Why not?”
When she was gone he sat down and opened the envelope. Geddy’s report over the telephone was long and minutely detailed. At some time he must, he guessed, have broken off and reversed the charges—unless he had had a pocket full of small change. He read slowly and carefully, without emotion. Emotion over his work had been an early casualty when he had come to Birdcage.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY HAD GONE to bed late after having motored that day to the Welsh border, taking Dolly with them for the outing, to visit Farley’s aged aunt. When Farley had gone in to say good-night to Sarah he had stayed with her and they had made love. Now they lay together quietly talking to one another.
Birdcage Page 21
