by John Gardner
He went on at some length about how every stage in the development of theatre would be represented, from the ancient Kabuki theatre of Japan, and the staging of the early miracle plays in Europe, to the theatre of the present day in all its diverse forms.
Dragonpol claimed to have many unique and priceless exhibits upon which he had lavished millions.
‘He’s always dashing off after some new find,’ Maeve chipped in, and Dragonpol gave her an evil little s all his neighbours,Umile, then said he would take them through the completed rooms tomorrow.
‘That will be most interesting.’ Bond sounded offhand. ‘What I really want to see is the view from your main tower. Now that must be incredible.’
There was a small but anxious silence, and he thought he detected a brief signal pass between Dragonpol and his sister.
‘Unfortunately . . .’ Dragonpol began, and his sister cut in with, ‘You can’t . . .’ then closed her mouth like a trap.
‘Unfortunately that is not possible,’ the actor continued as though nothing had happened. ‘The great tower is, alas, unsafe. We are waiting for a master builder to arrive from Cologne. It’s going to need much work, and we are a little concerned. It requires at least scaffolding to be in place before the winter, and I am told the entire business will take some two years. Nobody – not even myself – is allowed into the tower. I’m sorry.’
‘But you must have been to the top at one time or another?’
‘Oh, yes. It was only two years ago that we discovered the cracks, and the architects examined it last year – well, really only eight months ago. It was put out of bounds immediately.’
‘And the view?’
‘Is, as you say, quite spectacular. You have a standing invitation to return when all the work is done. Then you, James, will be able to see for yourself.’
‘I’m disappointed, of course, but I look forward to it.’
When the port was placed on the table, Maeve Horton suggested that she and Flicka should retire to the drawing-room, and for a few moments there was an embarrassed pause with Flicka on the verge of protest, not willing to give up her liberated status. Several exchanges of eye signals eventually saved the day and, at last, Dragonpol and Bond were left alone. Lester also retired and there was a long charged silence between the two men until Dragonpol spoke.
‘Obviously you want to talk to me about poor Laura.’
‘That is the reason we’re here, David. Do you mind?’
‘I’d be only too glad to help if I can.’ He hesitated, and there was a catch in his voice as he continued. ‘You see, I feel responsible somehow . . .’
‘In what way?’
‘If our engagement had not been broken off . . . Well, she would have been here. That was what we planned. It was to be our wedding. If I hadn’t . . .’ He stopped and looked up. His eyes were distinctly moist.
‘If you hadn’t what?’
‘If I hadn’t broken off the engagement . . . If I hadn’t done that, she might still be alive today. Of course I feel responsible.’
‘But you did break off the engagement, David?’
‘In the end we accepted it mutually.’
‘But you said . . .’
‘I know. I said if I hadn’t broken off . . . I said I. Sure. It was I who first brought up the problem. We spent a weekend sorting it out, and I suggested that it might be the only answer. In the end, Laura agreed. It was a very painful parting, James. Very painful. We still loved each other. Even today, although she’s gone, I still love Laura, and I’m sure that on the day she died she still loved me.’
‘Then why . . . ?’
‘Why was the engagement trailed offouthing called off?’ He gave a little shrug and an odd gesture, his head cocking from side to side. ‘It is difficult to explain. I don’t know how much you know about Laura’s background. I don’t wish to break family confidences.’
‘She had no family left, so there are few confidences to break. But I presume we’re talking about her parents and her brother. Is that right? Her brother who had the same name as yourself – David?’
‘Ah.’ He raised his hands a few inches from the table, then quietly lowered them again. ‘Ah, you know about the skeletons in her family closet.’
‘In some detail.’
Dragonpol took a deep breath which turned into a long sigh. ‘We were deeply in love and we both wanted children. The Dragonpol line, on the male side, runs out with me. There are no other male Dragonpols. I know this will seem old-fashioned, and not a little pretentious, James, but ours is an old family . . .’
‘You go back to the Domesday Book, yes, I know.’
‘The Domesday Book and a lot of other history as well. Dragonpols have served Crown and Country through the ages. We’re a proud people . . .’
‘Yet you prefer to live here, in the Rhineland, far away from your roots?’
‘That must seem strange to you, I know. We have a place in Ireland . . .’
‘Drimoleague?’
‘The Dragonpols of Drimoleague as we’re known, yes.’
‘And there’s also a manor house in Cornwall.’
‘Dragonpol Manor. Yes, you’re well informed, James, but none of that’s a secret. So, we have property. We also use it. Hort spends at least half of the year in Ireland. I use Dragonpol Manor, usually in the autumn, sometimes in the spring. Part of the difficulty is the eternal British problem – death and taxes, or I should say death duties and taxes. Also, this is the largest of our properties, and the Museum of Theatre is not a new concept to us. It began with my father. He was a great benefactor of the Arts – particularly the theatre. He had the first dream of making this place into a museum. It’s the right size. We had to do something with it.’
He paused again, his hand and arm moving in a sweeping gesture. ‘Schloss Drache, as it is – or was – is a great white elephant, my friend. We always knew that we would either have to sell it or make it into some kind of going concern. The world’s greatest Museum of Theatre was my father’s concept. I’m simply going to see that it becomes a reality.’
‘And is that why you suddenly retired from a huge and successful career in the theatre?’
He frowned. ‘Partly. That was only one of many things. People have made wild guesses as to why I so suddenly gave up acting, when it wasn’t as sudden as they seem to think. I’d been contemplating it for a while. I’m not going into all the details, but yes, the concept of this International Museum of Theatre was one reason; another concerned things within my family. For the Dragonpols, family comes first and there were certain matters I had to see to.’
Bond nodded. ‘So, what has this to do with your engagement to Laura?’
‘There has to be someone to carry on the family and its tradition. I wanted sons. Laura also wanted children. We talked of it many times, and we were both agreed. But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘About a month before her death, she dropped a bombshe everywhereouthing ll on me.’
‘She told you about her maniac brother.’
‘Quite. Yes, she told me about David March. It took a very strong character. She had held back the truth, but finally she told me everything – out there in the garden. It’s something I won’t forget.’
‘And that was enough? You broke off the engagement because she happened to have a homicidal maniac as a brother?’
‘Oh, come, James. If you’ve studied the business, you know it was more than that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her father and mother. They were also strange, unbalanced people, far from normal. Laura lived in terror of suddenly finding out that she was also a little crazy.’
‘And was she?’
‘She could become obsessive. She was obsessive about her job.’
‘And you weren’t? Being obsessive about one’s work doesn’t mean . . .’
‘It was slightly more than that. She spoke with doctors – very eminent psychiatrists. Some had evaluated
her family when her brother . . . well, after he was arrested. The conclusion was that they were the cause of passing on the seed of madness to her brother, and, if that was the case, she could well carry similar genes. She was told that her children would have a seventy-thirty chance of being born with some kind of mental aberration.’
‘Isn’t that the case with most people? Life’s a lottery, David.’
He did not look Bond in the eyes. ‘She was already beginning to see signs of deterioration in herself.’
‘Such as?’
‘When she told me about her past, her family, she admitted that, as well as her obsession with work, she had recently had experience of fugues.’
‘Memory loss?’
‘Yes, a fugue is a period of time lost in the memory. Often a blanking-off of the mind. She had lost the odd hour, but more recently days were missing. During her penultimate visit to this place, she admitted to losing almost an entire day, and she later regained a portion of that lost time. She said it was like a half-remembered dream, in which I had become her brother, and Hort was her mother. Laura was terrified – convinced that she had begun a descent into abnormality.’
‘And you could not risk having children with her?’
‘James, there is a little madness in all old families. The Dragonpols have experienced their share of it. To have gone on and produced children with Laura would have tempted fate. We decided to end it. That’s all there is to it. We were not about to play Russian roulette with the future.’
‘Okay.’ He gave the impression of having accepted Dragonpol’s explanation. ‘Forgive me, David, but I have to ask other questions.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Where were you on the day Laura was murdered?’
‘Then you really believe she was murdered?’
‘Take my word for it.’
He gave a long shudder. ‘Where was I? You’re not going to like the answer, James. I was in the air. I was flying from Washington to Zurich.’
Bond looked up sharply, as if he had been stung. ‘You were in Washington?’
‘For one night, yes. The Thursday night. I saw an eminent Professor of English. We met at the Folger Library and dined in the field.’vething at the Willard Hotel. I took a flight direct from Dulles. It was slightly delayed, and I got into Zurich at around ten on the Friday night. You can check it if you want.’
‘You flew from here to Washington? I mean from Germany?’
‘No. No, I went in from Paris. There were some papers – letters of the great Sarah Bernhardt – that I had purchased from a dealer. I did not want to risk having them sent by any normal means. So, as I was travelling . . .’
‘How long had you been travelling?’
Dragonpol made some calculations, counting on his fingers. ‘I was away from here for almost a week. It was a quick and short trip. I arrived in Rome on the Sunday night, saw a collector of theatrical memorabilia, and bought some beautiful commedia dell’arte prints from him. On the Monday I flew to London . . .’
‘What time of day?’
‘The afternoon. I got into Heathrow, let me see, around six in the evening. Had dinner with a dealer and arranged for him to bid for me – certain items of interest were coming up for sale at Sotheby’s.’
‘You’re sure it was on the Monday night?’
‘I’m positive. I have all the necessary information. I keep a very good filing system. Every penny of my expenses is noted for tax purposes, because I can offset them against the museum as business. I have tickets, itineraries, everything. Yes, I arrived in London on the Monday night – early evening.’
‘And from London?’
‘Paris.’
‘When?’ Already, Bond was doing agitated sums. David Dragonpol, it seemed, had followed the route of the killer, the assassin responsible for the deaths in Rome, London, Paris and Washington – then, Switzerland.
‘The Tuesday evening. Just for one night. In Paris I saw one of the directors of the Comédie Française.’
‘Then you left for Washington?’
‘I arrived very late on the Wednesday. On Thursday night I met with my friend at the Folger, and from there we went out to dinner.’
‘And you were back in Zurich on the Friday night?’
‘About ten, yes. You wish to see my records?’
‘I think, David, the police might just want to see them.’
‘He was in all four cities, Flick. He made no bones about it. Rome, London, Paris, Washington. All the sites of those four assassinations. He was there.’
‘But a day late, yes? And why do you keep calling me Flick?’
‘Because Flicka was a horse.’
‘A horse?’
‘My Friend Flicka – a movie horse.’
‘Oh my God, then call me Freddie.’
‘I prefer Flick, Flick.’
She gave a resigned sigh. ‘But I am right, yes? He was in all four cities, but a day late?’
‘Mainly only hours late. Hours after the assassinations. If he’s telling the truth, he followed those murders as if he was chasing them.’
It was past midnight, and he had just been through Dragonpol’s schedule with Flicka, sitting close to her on the couch in the East Turret.
‘You looked like a ghost when you came out of the dining-room,’ she had said as soon as they were alone, and had – as a precaution – checked t f ble that the elevator was now working. He had even joked about it with Dragonpol when the actor had shown the couple back to the elevator to wish them goodnight. Hort had disappeared a little earlier, making the excuse that she had some household duties to which she had to attend.
Once in their suite she had immediately asked what was wrong, and Bond sketched in the entire conversation with Dragonpol.
‘It can’t be coincidence. The roses are hers. His European jaunt. His presence in every city. He says that he has all the paperwork, but that kind of thing could be fiddled.’
‘You think it’s safe for us to stay here?’
‘And risk being the next recipients of the Bleeding Heart award?’
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘He was very open about everything. I didn’t really have to jog his memory. He just told me. Even said I wouldn’t like it when I heard where he was at the time of Laura’s death. Though I fail to see his point, because, if he’s telling the truth, he got to Zurich after she died – and Interlaken’s quite a trek from Zurich. No, if his schedule turns out to be exactly as he’s told me, he arrived everywhere just after the deaths. But he did visit each city, which is quite extraordinary.’
‘As though he followed a trail of blood?’
‘Exactly. Did you get anything more from Hort?’
‘She talked roses and the family. Boring to say the least, though there was one thing . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘The little tough, what’s his name, Charles?’
‘What about him?’
‘He served the coffee and made a great show of having to speak privately with her. She excused herself and went out of the room with him. They had quite a long conversation.’
‘Which you listened to.’
‘Not all. It wasn’t safe, though she left the door open a little. They spoke in almost whispers until she seemed to lose her temper. Anyway, she raised her voice. Just for a moment.’
‘And said?’
‘Something to the effect that Charles was a buffoon. That he should know better. I heard bits of that. Then she said, quite clearly, “They’ll be gone by tomorrow night, but for God’s sake, don’t make that kind of mistake again. The telephone’s only there to keep him from fussing. You don’t let him use it, and you make sure it’s cut off when nobody’s with him. You know all this. Pray heaven he hasn’t used it.” That’s pretty much word for word.’
‘Perhaps they were talking about me – us.’ He indicated the white, reproduction antique telephone which sat on one of the marble tables. ‘We haven’t tried to use it, but
maybe we should.’ He rose and crossed to the telephone. Picking up the instrument he put it to his ear, then pulled a face. ‘Dead. Disconnected. I guess that’s what the conversation was about.’
Flicka bit her lip.
‘Scared?’
‘Just a lot, James dear. Just bloody petrified.’
‘Then maybe you’re right. Maybe we should get out while the going’s good – or at least in the small hours.’
12
THE TIME MACHINE
‘Do you think we should take our luggage with us?’ Bond spoke as though oblivious to the big automatic with which Lester was still gesturing.
‘I hardly think that would be appropriate, sir.’ Even with the pistol, Lester retained the snobbish servility of the complete English butler.
As he asked about the luggage, Bond turned slightly, reaching down as if to pick up his garment bag. Now, frozen, with his hand on the bag, he gave a small shrug, as though acquiescing to Lester’s suggestion. Then, in a blur, his fingers curved around the handle, lifting the bag and flinging it, with all his strength, straight at Lester’s groin.
He heard in the field.’on b even the man grunt loudly in pain, beginning to double over, but his right hand came up and Bond saw that the big automatic was still very steady, with Lester’s finger moving on the trigger.
Then, Flicka moved. It was the first time he had seen her do anything violent. She closed on Lester, coming face to face, body to body, with him, slamming her left arm over his right with great force, crushing it against her raised left knee. Lester’s arm snapped audibly and there was a double cry of pain as her knee swivelled, crashing into the unhappy man’s groin. The pistol clattered to the ground, followed by its owner who did not know which part of his body to clutch with his one good arm.
