Dangerous Inheritance

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘He’s dead now, though, isn’t he?’ Richard asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Fleur replied. ‘Ceylon received her independence in 1948 and he remained Prime Minister until 1952. Then there was a tragic accident. He was injured by a fall from his horse and died the next day. After that his son, Dudley Senanayake, took over and at the next election the United National Party were again returned with a big majority. In 1953 Sir John Kotelawala became Prime Minister and kept the job until early 1956, but his Government ran into a lot of trouble.’

  ‘You seem to be very well informed,’ remarked the Duke.

  She smiled. ‘I had to learn the basic facts about the political development of Ceylon, and lots of other countries, when I was studying sociology. As I was saying, they ran into trouble because they reduced the rice subsidy, so there were a lot of strikes. And they didn’t truly represent the people. Really it was the old British Raj continuing under the cloak of Independence, and they were much too far to the Right to be popular. They kept English as the official language and did all they could to support free enterprise.’

  ‘And a darn’ good thing, too,’ commented the die-hard Richard.

  ‘That’s all very well, Daddy; but it’s not right that the rich should be allowed to take all the jam of a country at the expense of the masses. Naturally the people expected to see real progress and an economy that would improve their lot; so the Socialists and all the other parties ganged up against the U.N.P. and the 1956 election was a landslide. The Opposition got in with an overwhelming majority. It was then that the present Prime Minister, Mr. Bandaranaike, came to power. He has made Sinhalese the official language, nationalised the ‘bus service and the handling of cargo in the ports and started a whole range of social services, which is just as it should be in these days.’

  ‘And where is the money coming from to pay for all this?’ Richard demanded. ‘From the docks and railways we built for them; and the British tea planters. If the planters decided to pack up, Ceylon would be bankrupt within twelve months.’

  ‘Oh, you’re incorrigible, Daddy,’ Fleur flared. ‘And you’re wrong, too. The Ceylonese would take over the plantations and run them just as well.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite such a rosy picture as you paint, my child,’ said de Richleau mildly. ‘Your father is right that they have been living on our fat so far. But time will show; time will show.’

  During the week they made other expeditions: much further down the west coast to the bay of St. Gordis, and along the east coast as far as the pretty fishing village of Benityes. At every turn of the road new enchanting vistas opened for them: groups of nispros trees, their golden fruit looking like clusters of small oranges, pink and white magnolias, patches of black-thorn, laburnum and wild pear, and almost always with a background of rocky mountain against a pale blue sky, or cypress against the deeper blue of the sea.

  Another pleasant afternoon was spent in visiting an historic property named Koukouritsa. The old house was situated in the centre of the island, surrounded by a lovely garden and on the summit of a hill, with splendid views in all directions, and of both the Adriatic and Ionian Seas.

  De Richleau took them there to call upon two noble Corfiote widow sisters who were descended from Corfu’s most famous son, Giovanni Capo d’Istria. As a diplomat in the service of Russia he had exercised great influence at the Congress of Vienna and later the Greek National Assembly had elected him as President of the infant Greek Republic when it was still fighting to gain independence from the Turks.

  Over glasses of iced fresh orange juice, which tasted like nectar, the two ladies talked with admiration and affection of Queen Frederika. They maintained that her enemies took despicable advantage of the impulsive way in which she spoke her mind frankly. They recalled the courage with which, just after the war, their Queen had personally led a force of tanks to rescue two thousand of the many thousand Greek children forcibly deported by the Bulgarians to be brought up as Communists, and of her untiring labours to better the lot of her poorer subjects.

  On the intervening days Fleur and Truss went off alone to bathe, laze in the sun with the sweet smell of the pines in their nostrils, talk interminably about setting the world to rights and, in secluded spots, make love.

  Their delight in one another was so obvious that one evening towards the end of the week, when they had gone off to dance, Richard said to his wife and the Duke, ‘Those two youngsters are bats about one another. I really believe now that it’s going to come off and that they’ll be engaged before we leave here.’

  Marie Lou smiled. ‘I do hope you prove right, darling. Anybody can see that he’s got it terribly badly; but I’m not so certain about her. And, of course, she never tells me anything. Still, it does look now as if there’s a chance.’

  The Duke refrained from comment. Like most old people he required little sleep and, although his sight was still good, reading for more than an hour at a time tired his eyes; so for a good part of each night he lay dozing and toying with old memories. His hearing was still good, too, and three times during the past week he thought he had caught the sound of careful footsteps passing his door well before the servants would be up. He had also noted that on the days when Fleur and Truss were not out on a long excursion they both slept through the afternoons, which was unusual in healthy young people.

  When young there had been many happy occasions when he had gone on tiptoe in the dark to be welcomed by a lovely lady in her bedroom; so he would have been the last man to condemn in others such a delightful way of passing most of the night, but in his day that sort of thing had never led to marriage.

  Then, in the Parisian circle in which he had moved, it had been customary for marriages uniting good families or birth and money to be arranged, and only afterwards, while still maintaining most friendly relations with her husband, did the wife consider herself free to indulge her amorous propensities with lovers. Of course, among the peasantry in many parts of Europe the old institution of the Probennacht had been maintained for centuries, and after it, should the couple not enjoy themselves, either was free to repudiate the other. There was something to be said for it, and now that moral standards had declined it might be that in many cases young people resorted to the practice with every intention of marrying afterwards. But, somehow, he did not think that the sort of hectic affaire that he believed Fleur and Truss to be having led to wedding bells.

  In the afternoon of Saturday the 26th, Mr. Douglas Rajapakse arrived. The Sinhalese are a small people, but he was above their average height and about five foot nine. His skin was dark but his features were Aryan. He had smooth black hair, a slightly curved nose, a sensitive mouth with beautiful white teeth, and fine eyes. His body was straight and slim and he was impeccably dressed in a brown suit that looked as if it had been cut by an English tailor. The Duke put his age down as a little under thirty.

  After tea, he and de Richleau went into conference for an hour, then he was introduced to the others just before dinner. He showed neither the subservience that many coloured people display towards Europeans, nor its opposite: a brash self-assertiveness. His manners were charming and over dinner he talked well and fluently.

  Soon Fleur got him on to the subject of his country and praised the progress it had made since receiving independence.

  ‘You are kind,’ he said, ‘and in many ways we have been fortunate. Particularly in that the British left us such sound foundations to build on. We already had free education, of course, and a very good Public Health service; but there have been many other excellent developments in the past ten years. The great contribution of our first Prime Minister, Mr. D. S. Senanayake, was the reduction of malaria, which had been the scourge of a great part of my country for centuries. He also initiated the restoration of the ancient irrigation systems in the north of the island. These permanent gains will prove of far more benefit to us than many of the palliatives to popular opinion that have been brought in by our present Government. He was
a fine man, and his loss was a great blow to us.’

  ‘But Mr. Bandaranaike has done much more for the people,’ Fleur said quickly.

  ‘For some of the people, Miss Eaton.’ Rajapakse’s white teeth flashed in a swift smile. ‘He came to power as the result of a vote-catching manifesto issued by the Mahajana Eksath Peramuna, which was a coalition of his own Freedom Party, Mr. Philip Gunawardana’s Marxists and the Trotskyites. To retain the support of his extreme left-wing colleagues he has had to fulfil his promises to them, and you can hardly expect these policies to find favour with people like myself.’

  ‘We’re all in the same boat these days,’ Truss put in. ‘The taxes my father has to pay are astronomical. That the distribution of wealth for the common benefit is a world trend there’s no escaping, and we’ve just got to face it.’

  ‘I agree, Mr. Van Ryn. And the wealthier families in Ceylon are enlightened people. We are not at all averse to handing over a good part of our incomes for the public benefit, but that does not deprive us of the right to disapprove of the way in which our Government is spending it. Certain measures they are taking, too, are entirely contrary to the true principles of Socialism in which when younger I was a convinced believer.’

  Fleur raised her eyebrows. ‘So you were a Socialist?’

  ‘Yes; and even in this company I am not ashamed to admit it.’

  ‘Why should you be?’ Her young voice was eager. ‘I am one too. But in what way have they gone off the rails?’

  ‘Since you are so well informed, Miss Eaton, you will probably know that in Ceylon there is a large minority of Tamils; some two million as against five and a half million Sinhalese out of a total population of eight million. One of the first principles of Socialism is equality, and the present Government has brought in laws which virtually make the Tamils a subject race. So you see it is not only the rich who have reason to feel that Mr. Bandaranaike is not giving them a fair deal.’

  De Richleau nodded his white head. ‘I read something in The Times last week about Bandaranaike having abrogated a pact that he had made with the Tamil leader, and that it was likely to lead to serious trouble.’

  ‘You are right, sir.’ Rajapakse gave a sudden grin. ‘And it may prove, as you might say, “the last straw on the Tamil’s back”.’

  Everyone laughed at his sally, then the conversation turned to other subjects. When Marie Lou stood up to leave the table, before Fleur made to follow her mother she looked across at Rajapakse and said:

  ‘Mr. Van Ryn and I are going down to dance at a hotel in the town. Would you care to come with us?’

  He smiled and bowed. ‘Your suggestion is a most kind one, Miss Eaton. I should greatly enjoy that.’

  A quarter of an hour later, when Truss had brought round the car, he put Rajapakse into the back seat, then hurried back into the front porch to waylay Fleur. When she came out he glowered at her and said in a low, angry voice:

  ‘What, in God’s name, possessed you to ask this fellow to come with us?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Why shouldn’t I have? He’s much more our generation than theirs. It would have been a shabby trick to condemn him to spend a dull evening with our elders. And, after all, we get plenty of time together on our own.’

  ‘It’s not that. He may ask you to dance with him.’

  ‘Well; what if he does?’

  ‘But damn it, Fleur,’ Truss protested hotly, ‘you can’t dance with a coloured man!’

  4

  The in the Woodpile

  ‘So I can’t dance with a coloured man,’ Fleur repeated sarcastically. ‘And why not, I’d like to know?’

  ‘You ought to,’ Truss snapped back. ‘For a white woman to allow a coloured man to lay his hands on her is to demean herself.’

  ‘Demean herself, my foot! Where have you come from; out of a cave in the woods?’

  ‘No. I was brought up in the Southern States where we still know how to behave like gentlefolk.’

  ‘ “The land of the bollweevil, where the laws are mediaeval, and corn grows out of one’s ears”,’ Fleur quoted Tom Lehrer’s satirical song with an angry laugh. ‘Be your age, Truss! This sort of nonsense went out before we were born.’

  ‘Not with us, it didn’t. And I’ll not stand for seeing you make an exhibition of yourself in front of all those people down in the Corfu Palace.’

  Fleur’s firm chin stuck out. ‘All right! Do the other thing. Stay here. I’ll drive him down myself. He’s waiting out there. We can’t stay here arguing.’ Pushing past Truss, she made for the car.

  For a moment Truss hesitated, then he followed her and they got into the car together.

  The evening was anything but a success, and it was due only to Douglas Rajapakse that it did not become catastrophic. He sensed that the other two were lovers and had had a quarrel; although, as he was used to mixing in Ceylon on equal terms with Europeans, it never entered his dark, handsome head that it was on account of his own presence. Truss’s ill-concealed rudeness he took to be a not unusual manifestation of American self-assertiveness, and he made allowances for him. Fleur danced with them alternately, and in the intervals while Truss behaved like a surly bear, Rajapakse kept up a flow of amiable talk on trivialities which eased the tension. Just before they were about to go he left them for a few minutes and when Truss asked for the bill he was told that the Sinhalese had already paid it. To his frowning protest, Rajapakse replied with a smile.

  ‘My privilege. Is it not customary at American universities when invited to join a group of any kind to, as they say, pay one’s footing?’

  Truss was furious, but Fleur thought it most amusing that he had been outwitted into accepting their coloured companion’s hospitality and put in a position where Douglas, as she now called him, could reasonably expect to be asked to accompany them when next they went dancing.

  Their good nights when they got back to the villa were formal; but half an hour later, still angry and determined to have the matter out with Fleur, in dressing gown and slippers Truss tiptoed along to her room. To his surprise and annoyance he found her door locked. Gently he tapped on it, but there was no reply. Several times he tapped again, but he dared not knock louder and there was still no response; so having hung about for ten frustrated minutes he made his way disconsolately back to his own room.

  Next morning he tried, but without success, to get Fleur on her own. Then, after lunch, as it was Sunday, they all went to the little township of Gastouri, which was only a mile away, to see the dancing.

  Partly from ancient custom, and partly now as a tourist attraction, the peasants still performed their national dances in the main street. The women wore bodices with full white sleeves under jackets of richly coloured velvet encrusted with gold embroidery. Their hair was most elaborately dressed over a double pair of semi-circular pads, decked with many gold ornaments and framed behind by an oblong of stiff, beautifully worked muslin. They danced sedately in a slow-moving, outward-facing circle, while the men, more soberly clad, leapt and gyrated with extraordinary vigour inside it.

  As the Corfiote peasantry were still deeply religious, with few exceptions they attended the services held by their bearded, black-robed priests in the little white churches, each with its separate square belfry tower, on Sunday mornings; but after their midday meal they started to dance and continued, apparently indefatigable, till well into the evening.

  Leaving them still hard at it, the party returned to the villa; then Truss and Fleur, accompanied by Douglas Rajapakse, went down to bathe. The hour they spent disporting themselves on the rocks and in the sea added fuel to Truss’s anger, for Douglas proved to be an excellent swimmer; and while his lithe brown body streaked far out to lie floating near Fleur’s pink one for what seemed to Truss an endless time, he was compelled to remain splashing about in the shallows on the submerged rock shelf.

  It was not until after dinner, when the Duke took Rajapakse to his library to talk to him again about the inheritance, that Tr
uss at last succeeded in getting Fleur to himself. As soon as they were alone, he asked:

  ‘Why did you lock me out last night?’

  ‘To teach you manners,’ she replied promptly.

  ‘Thanks; but I was taught those by my family.’

  ‘Then they must be jolly disappointed with you as a pupil. Douglas couldn’t have behaved better if he had gone to Eton, whereas you acted as though you’d been brought up in a slum. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘Now listen, honey,’ Truss said earnestly. ‘I know you’re full of advanced ideas, and I sympathise with most of them. After all, the Rights of Man has been our Bible in the States for generations. Who’s rooted for equality and all it stands for, all these years, if not Uncle Sam? And look at the billions we hand out to help underprivileged peoples get themselves a better life. But this colour question is a thing apart. In the deep South, where I come from, it’s become a real menace.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because whites and niggers just don’t mix. That’s why. They’re a different species, and no happiness comes out of mixed marriages. That’s not a theory. It’s hard experience.’

  ‘Who’s talking about marriage, anyway?’

  ‘That’s what the abolition of segregation leads to, inevitably. If you have nigger kids schooling with whites, by the time they’re teenagers some of them are certain to start necking.’

  ‘Douglas is not a nigger. And even if he were he would still be a human being with the same instincts, feelings and aspirations as you and me.’

  ‘About that I don’t agree. The psychology of blacks and whites is entirely different, and although he’s not a negro he is an Asiatic; so his mind is utterly unlike ours.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense, Truss. If one could change the colour of his skin he would pass anywhere as an English gentleman.’