Closed Circle

by Robert Goddard

  ‘Well?’ I said, leaning forward to light her cigarette. ‘No second thoughts? No misgivings about what we’re going to do?’

  ‘None. Once I take a decision, it’s taken for good.’

  ‘Or ill?’

  She did not answer, but drew on her cigarette and returned my sarcastic smile with icy faintness.

  ‘Your father must have been grateful for your decisiveness when you agreed to help him fake his death.’ Still she said nothing. ‘When was that, by the way? When did he first put the idea to you?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘It matters to me. I’d like to understand every step that led to Max’s death. We’ve a long journey ahead of us. So, there’s plenty of time for you to make me understand. Isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes. There is.’ She looked out of the window, half-closing her eyes, though whether in resignation or concentration I could not tell. ‘If you’re sure you want to know.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Very well.’ She took one more draw on her cigarette. ‘By the beginning of this year, it was obvious to Papa that Charnwood Investments wasn’t going to survive. It came as a shock when he told us. I’d always taken our prosperity for granted. Suddenly, my whole pampered existence – as you described it – was under threat. To make matters worse, Papa was afraid some of his clients would take drastic steps if they lost their money. He said they were dangerous people who’d stop at nothing. I didn’t entirely believe him. I thought what he really feared was the shame and disgrace of bankruptcy. Now, I realize he was quite right. Maybe Aunt Vita realized that from the start. But I can’t claim to have done so. There are no extenuating circumstances in my case. I wanted what I’d always had – fast cars, fine wine, fashionable clothes, luxury hotels and handsome men; the best of everything. Well, according to Papa, I would soon have to accustom myself to a very different life, one of penny-pinching and making-do. It made me angry just to think of it, as I suppose he knew it would. It made me grab the chance of avoiding such a future when he offered it to me. It made me willing to stop at nothing.

  ‘Papa’s scheme was to divert as much capital as remained in Charnwood Investments into secret accounts held under an assumed name; vanish in the most effective manner possible by appearing to be murdered; lie low until the fuss caused by his insolvency had died down; then establish a new life in South America or the Far East, where in due course Aunt Vita and I could join him. When I asked how such a scheme could actually be put into effect, he had the answer ready. He’d been planning it for some time. He’d seen the crisis coming and had prepared for it.’ She shrugged. ‘The art of good business, I suppose you could say.’

  ‘Had he already found Lightfoot then?’

  ‘Oh yes. I had, in a sense. Aunt Vita took me to a variety show in Eastbourne as a treat for my sixteenth birthday, just after Easter, 1919. Hildebrand Lightfoot was on the bill. His resemblance to my father was astonishing, as I told Papa when we got home. He showed little interest and, twelve years later, I’d forgotten all about it. But he hadn’t. He’d traced Lightfoot and seen the resemblance for himself. They weren’t identical, of course, but the similarity was close enough for what Papa had in mind. Lightfoot led an itinerant existence, moving from one seaside lodging-house to another. He had no family. And he was pressed for cash. He was ideal in every way. Papa put it to him that, in his line of business, he occasionally needed an alibi. Would Lightfoot be willing to supply such an alibi by exploiting their physical likeness – for a substantial fee, of course? Naturally, Lightfoot agreed.

  ‘When Papa explained how we could make the world believe he was dead by killing Lightfoot in his place, I felt sure it would work. Why not, after all? What was there to go wrong? Nothing, so far as I could see. As for Lightfoot, I tried to think of him less as a person than an anonymous stranger whose extinction was a regrettable necessity.’ She paused. ‘Disgusted, are you, Guy?’

  Determined neither to condemn nor excuse till I had heard it all, I said nothing, merely raised my eyebrows in a silent invitation for her to continue.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I still believe nothing would have gone wrong but for Papa’s insistence that we had to supply a murderer as well as a victim, that his creditors wouldn’t be deceived by a motiveless killing. But he knew them better than I did. And it was bound to be easier for Aunt Vita and me if the police had an obvious culprit to pursue. So, I agreed. I even suggested how to find one.’

  ‘By exploiting your legendary ability to attract and fascinate men?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied with complete seriousness. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Like you did with the fiancé who killed himself?’

  ‘Peter was a fool. But men are, you know.’ She paused. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’

  ‘Did the trip to America have any other purpose?’

  ‘No. An Atlantic crossing struck me as the quickest and surest method of finding the right sort of man. But the voyage out was a disappointment. It wasn’t until we came back that I chanced on just the type I was looking for. And since you did ask, I’d have chosen Max ahead of you every time. Beneath the cynical exterior, I could detect a romantic heart yearning to be lost and possibly broken. Beneath yours, there was a heart rather too much like my own. Besides, Max looked as if he could commit murder if driven to it, whereas you …’

  ‘Yes, Diana? Whereas I what?’

  She looked away. ‘It doesn’t matter. Max fell for me. More completely than I’d dared to hope. He said he’d been waiting for me all his life without realizing it. He said I was his salvation. Instead of which, he was mine.’

  ‘And no more to you than that? No more than a pawn for your father to sacrifice?’

  ‘His devotion flattered me. Sometimes, it even moved me. But it didn’t stop me doing what needed to be done.’ She paused, as if waiting for me to react. But my anger was well under control now. Even my expression gave nothing away. ‘You were my only reservation,’ she continued. ‘I was afraid your friendship with Max might complicate matters. But Papa soon put my mind at rest. He regarded you as a positive asset, especially when he made enquiries and found out just how dubious a past you and Max had shared.’

  ‘Why should our past have been an asset?’

  ‘Because it suggested you could easily be recruited as Papa’s informant. And because we knew that, if Max refused to be bought off, it could only be because he really was infatuated with me and wouldn’t hesitate when you suggested we elope. I was to tell the police after the event that Papa had admitted being alerted to our plans by you – in exchange for a large amount of money. It would have satisfied them on every point and had the additional advantage of making Max distrust any help or advice you offered after his arrest.’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Your presence in Dorking that night. It hardly seemed consistent with what I’d intended to say.’

  ‘Human nature isn’t always consistent.’

  ‘No. I suppose that’s why so many things went wrong. Because of human nature. Papa had told Lightfoot he would be needed in the early hours of the morning to deliver a bribe to a tax inspector, while Papa would actually be hundreds of miles away at a week-end house party in Yorkshire, thus supplying a perfect alibi should the tax inspector turn out to be trying to trap him. Lightfoot had accepted the explanation readily enough. Given how much he was being paid, he wasn’t likely to quibble. I met him at the front gate shortly after one o’clock, made sure he left his car well down the road, handed him the envelope containing the bribe and escorted him up through the woods towards the point where he was supposed to meet the man. Dressed as he was and clean-shaven, he really did look like my father, at least by torch-light. And I could hear him practising Papa’s tone of voice under his breath as we went along. That upset me, believe it or not. Knowing he would never need to speak the lines he’d carefully learned.

  ‘Papa was waiting in the woods just short of the stile. He hit him from behind, k
nocking him unconscious. We emptied his pockets, re-filling them with Papa’s wallet, watch, handkerchief and so on. Then …’ For the first time, something that might have been remorse caught in her throat. But she soon conquered it. ‘Then I retreated down the path while Papa delivered the fatal blows. It didn’t take long, but … there was a great deal of blood. He was shaking like a leaf afterwards. I don’t think either of us expected it to be so horrible.’

  ‘The first time your father had killed with his own hands, I suppose.’

  A fleeting glare was her only response. She continued as if I had not interrupted. ‘We parted there. Papa went round to the front gate and left in Lightfoot’s car – which, as a matter of fact, he’d paid for. I went back to the house, collected Aunt Vita and set off again at a quarter past two. I thought Max would already have fled by then, having discovered the body, taken it for my father and realized he’d be accused of murdering him. But human nature intervened again. The love I’d so successfully inspired must have made him press on towards the house, then hide when he heard us approaching, not knowing who we might be.

  ‘Aunt Vita was flagging and I stopped to let her recover her breath. That’s when I said a stupid thing. “Stay here if you like, Aunty. I’ll take a look at the body, then come back.” “No, no,” she replied. “We should behave as if we don’t know what we’re going to find.” We hardly spoke above whispers. Neither of us thought for a moment there would be anybody close enough to hear. And we were nervous. I suppose that’s why Aunt Vita couldn’t help asking, “Where do you suppose Max is?” “Long gone,” I answered. And then she said, “I almost feel sorry for him, you know. Betrayed by his friend as well as his fiancée.” Those were her very words. They must have struck Max like a dagger to the heart. He burst out of the undergrowth just ahead of us and fled back along the path. We called after him, but he didn’t stop. He’d heard enough to know we were all against him. Even you.’

  ‘So, that’s why he took the car without waiting for me. Why he wrote to his father, accusing you and me of betraying him. Why finding us together in Venice must have seemed the final confirmation of his very worst suspicions.’

  ‘Yes, Guy. I’m afraid so.’

  If I had taken the right path that night … If I had followed Max, instead of the sound of Vita’s voice … If I had never left the car at all … There were so many ways the sequence of events could have been altered. But not the result. That remained the same, however I approached it; the same for ever.

  ‘Then you appeared. Another surprise, adding to our confusion. But we coped rather well, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, the bitterness of what Max must have thought of me infecting my words. ‘It was a virtuoso performance.’

  ‘Aunt Vita redeemed herself by persuading you to escort me back to the house. Once we’d lured you away from the body, we were safe. Papa had sacked his valet, Barker, months before and none of the other servants were likely to stir. Even if they had, they’d have been taken in as easily as you were. It was convincing. Especially to the creditors of Charnwood Investments. As far as they were concerned, my father was dead.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have had him cremated.’

  ‘We considered it. But Papa thought it might arouse suspicion. I didn’t realize until later, of course, just how suspicious some of his investors were, even before the murder. They must have got wind of his financial difficulties. Papa had warned Aunt Vita that Faraday was working for them – and hence for the Concentric Alliance. Naturally, she couldn’t tell me why we had to tread so carefully, why we had to avoid offending him at all costs. I thought our troubles were over after the funeral and the inquest. But they weren’t, were they? They were really only just beginning. And Venice wasn’t far enough away to put them behind us. Even there, we were watched. By you, among others.’ She smiled at me. ‘Are you going to deny it, Guy? Are you going to pretend you weren’t paid to come after us, that you didn’t start an affair with me in order to find out how much I knew?’

  ‘Two can play at that game. Can you pretend you didn’t encourage me for the same reason?’

  ‘Perhaps I did.’

  ‘Or because you were afraid Max had also come after you?’

  ‘No. That isn’t true.’ She stared at me and I at her. She sounded sincere, but so she had all too often before. There was no way to be certain. I wanted to believe her, if only because it made it easier to sustain our truce. If she had set out to trap Max by seducing me, why go on with our affair after his death? Why, unless, buried within the coils of our similar natures, there was some stubborn affinity we could never disown? ‘You must believe me, Guy. I never meant to kill him.’

  ‘You meant to see him tried for murder – and possibly hanged.’

  ‘I’d have spoken up for him in court. I’d have said what a terrible provocation finding my father waiting for him rather than me must have been. I wouldn’t have let them hang him.’

  ‘Just rot in gaol for the rest of his life?’

  ‘I hoped he’d never be caught. I hoped he’d have the good sense to run and keep on running. Hurting Max was never my intention.’

  ‘Merely a regrettable necessity, like standing by while your father murdered Lightfoot?’

  ‘Well? Haven’t you done some things that don’t bear much scrutiny? Fraud. Theft. Blackmail. Papa told me all about you, Guy. You’re in no position to preach.’

  ‘I never aided and abetted murder.’

  ‘No. But the Concentric Alliance did. It aided and abetted millions of murders. They’re why we’re going to Dublin. Remember that.’

  ‘I’m not about to forget.’ The bargain we had struck remained a good one. The truce we had concluded remained valid. ‘Watch her, old man. Watch her like a hawk.’ Yes, Max. I intended to. But I also intended to do what we had set out to do. She and I were together in this – for the moment.

  Suddenly, the door slid open and the ticket-collector entered, swathed in the humility he no doubt reserved for first-class carriages. ‘Good morning, sir. Good morning, madam. Tickets, please.’ I handed them over and, as he clipped them, he smiled and said, ‘Going through to Dublin, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have a pleasant trip.’

  As the door slid shut behind him, Diana’s eyes met mine. ‘It won’t be a pleasant trip,’ she murmured. ‘But let’s hope it’s a successful one.’

  I had the vague impression that the Irish Free State was still racked by civil war, as it had been in the early twenties, but Diana assured me peace and civic order had long since prevailed. Charnwood had chosen a placid looking-glass version of England in which to hide, a backwater where none would think to find him – save those who knew he was there.

  It was already dark when the ferry docked at Kingstown – or Dun Laoghaire, as it had apparently been re-named since independence. I saw little of the port, or of Dublin, come to that, through the gas-lit drizzle. We went straight from Westland Row station to the Shelbourne Hotel, where we booked in as Miss Wood and Mr Morton, travellers from London. When we met again, over dinner in the sparsely populated restaurant, Diana showed me her letter to her father. It was as short and sweet a lie as she could ever have put her name to. But it seemed just what was required to draw Charnwood out. There was no need for me to suggest the slightest amendment. In the arts of deception, she knew no peer.

  Shelbourne Hotel,

  St Stephen’s Green,

  DUBLIN.

  6th November 1931

  Dear Papa,

  I must see you as soon as possible. I am in the most dreadful difficulties and need your advice as never before. Do not worry. Nobody knows I have come to Dublin. Please telephone or write to me at this address – where I am registered under the name of Wood – without delay, saying where and when we can meet. I will come anywhere you choose at any time you choose. But I must see you.

  Your ever loving daughter,

  Diana.

  The city was grey a
nd quiet when we left the hotel early the following morning and walked up to the General Post Office in O’Connell Street. I recognized its pillared frontage from newspaper photographs at the time of the Easter Rising, when it had served as the rebels’ headquarters. It seemed surpassingly odd to enter and find, instead of a sand-bagged nest of Fenians, patient Dubliners queuing at polished counters beneath a roof echoing not to gun-fire but the staccato impact of date-stamps on ink-pads and pass-books.

  ‘We’d like this to reach the box-holder today if possible,’ said Diana, handing the letter to a clerk at one of the windows.

  He glanced at the envelope, which bore the magical number but no name, then said: ‘It’ll go to the sorting office today right enough, madam, but I can’t say when the holder will collect it, now can I?’

  ‘Where is the sorting office?’ I put in.

  ‘The main one’s in Sheriff Street, sir. But there are boxes at all the sub-offices as well.’

  ‘Surely you can tell from the number which office it’ll go to.’

  ‘Indeed I can, sir. But I can’t tell you. Strictly confidential, do you see? That’s the object of the exercise.’

  ‘Why on earth did you ask him such a question?’ hissed Diana as we left. ‘Were you trying to make him suspicious?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I told you. Papa checks the box daily. We’ll have a reply soon enough.’

  ‘What if we don’t?’ A possible answer was already forming in my mind. There had been a twinkle in the clerk’s eye suggesting even strictly confidential information could be obtained – at a price.

  ‘We will,’ declared Diana. ‘I know my father. He won’t let me down.’ As we emerged onto the pavement, she turned right and began walking fast in the direction of the hotel.