Dance While You Can

by Susan Lewis

  I walked out of the room, telling her to call me by seven. I refused to give her the satisfaction of asking her how she knew about our flat.

  Long before she rang the next day I had made up my mind what I was going to do. She was mad to think I would allow myself to be blackmailed by the forgers. I would go to Edward’s solicitor and tell him the whole story. Then at least the mask would be taken away, even if there were dire consequences to be faced.

  Christine was furious when I told her what I’d decided. ‘Don’t you care about your bloody children, for Christ’s sake!’ she screamed down the phone. ‘These people have no scruples, Elizabeth, they’ll stop at nothing.’

  I told myself she was only trying to frighten me. The truth of the matter was that she had far more reason to be frightened than I did – there was evidence of her involvement in the crime scattered all over the world. So I remained firm, and ended up by putting the phone down on her.

  Stupidly, I thought that would be the end of the matter – that I had only to piece together the facts before I went to Edward’s lawyer and got everything straightened out. I had no idea what would happen to Christine then, but I would warn her before I made my move so that she could decide what she wanted to do.

  David called me later that evening to say that he and Jenifer were returning to Gstaad. He hated to admit it, he said, but neither of them liked being in the same house as the mask. I wished I had the courage to ask him to sort the whole thing out, after all he was Edward’s brother, but I knew the problem was mine – David had washed his hands of it before it had even entered our lives.

  The resolve that had carried me through so far was shaken when I called Edward’s lawyer, Oscar Renfrew, and found he would be out of town until the following week. I had assumed he would take control of everything; now I wasn’t sure what to do next. I left a message for him to ring me the moment he got back.

  That weekend I took the children down to Westmoor. I would have avoided it if I could, but it was the weekend that Charlotte was opening in Romeo and Juliet.

  Christine had already gone out by the time we got there on Saturday morning, but she had left me a note attached to the previous day’s newspaper. The headline on the page she had directed me to read: ‘Tutankhamun Death Mask Under Scrutiny’. My heart skipped a beat, and I turned to her note before I read on. ‘Dear Elizabeth, perhaps now you will believe me when I tell you that these people mean business. It won’t be long before the experts discover the mask’s a fake, but that is the least of our problems. Britain has no extradition treaty with Egypt, but we will still have to face charges of illegal import and God only knows what else this end. This leak of information to the Egyptian authorities is just a warning from the people Edward and I have been dealing with. As I told you, they couldn’t care less about the mask, what they want is money. I suggest you start saying your prayers, and keep an eye out for those children of yours. Be a good girl and destroy this note when you’ve read it.’

  At long last it got through to me that I was in danger. Christine was right, these people would stop at nothing to get the money that was owed to them.

  My first concern was the children. Charlotte was at the village hall with the rest of the theatre group, where she would be staying until after their first performance tonight. Jeffrey was with Jonathan in the garden. For the moment they were safe.

  Next I called Oscar Renfrew’s home. His wife answered, but said Oscar wouldn’t be there until Tuesday.

  ‘Can I contact him wherever he is?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. He’s, walking somewhere in the Pennines.’

  Almost sick with fear, I paced the room, not knowing what to do next. Every now and again I glanced at the newspaper article. It was an innocuous enough piece, but in my agitation I read all manner of threats into it.

  At two o’clock the phone rang. It was Christine. ‘Oh, thank God,’ I gasped, ‘where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the warehouse. Now, listen to me carefully. Things have moved faster than I expected. Someone is on their way to see you.’

  ‘Who?’ I almost screamed.

  ‘Customs and Excise, the Foreign Office, I don’t know. What I do know is that someone here has had a tip-off from the Egyptians that Edward is in some way involved in the investigation going on in Cairo. The security guard’s body has been found and the Egyptians want an investigation this end.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I just do. Now listen. The mask is still in the house and somehow or another we’re going to have to get rid of it. But that’s not our only problem. It’ll only be a matter of time now before it’s discovered that Edward’s entire Egyptian collection was acquired as illegally as the mask – and that’s enough to create an incident on its own. There’s more. It’s about time you knew everything, then perhaps you’ll realise just how serious this is. You remember all those visits we made to the villages along the Nile? The purpose of those little trips was to grease the palms of the villagers – who, my dear sister-in-law, are sitting on wealth such as you’ve never dreamed of. All those houses are built on ancient tombs you see, full of priceless antiquities – and while the Egyptian authorities try to buy the householders off, people like Edward give them money to keep them there. In return the householders do a little excavation . . . . The bulk of the money goes to Cairo. It’s used to buy arms for the PLO, or the Libyans – the Israelis even, it doesn’t matter; all that matters is who’s paying the right price that day. It was there, Elizabeth, going on right under your nose, and you were too stupid to see it.’ She paused, and I thought I could hear her laughing softly. ‘Now, just get yourself out of the house and meet me here. Make it look as though you’ve gone shopping, and don’t for God’s sake tell anyone where you’re going.’

  When I didn’t answer she spoke again. ‘Elizabeth,’ she breathed, and the coldness of her voice curled my insides into a knot of terror. ‘You were his wife, you have inherited everything. And I mean everything.’

  I tried not to rush as I gathered my things together, to make it look as though I was going into Tunbridge Wells. As I drove into the village I saw Miss Barsby giving directions to someone, and then I suddenly remembered I’d left Christine’s note lying on Edward’s desk. Quickly I reversed the car back round the bend, praying I would get to it before anyone else did.

  When I finally arrived at the warehouse Dan, the warehouse-keeper was waiting at the door. I rushed past him and up to the second floor. I looked round for Christine. There was no sign of her. Because it was Saturday the place was eerily silent. I flinched at the sound of my own footsteps as I walked to the storeroom at the other end of the building.

  When I pushed open the door, I cried out in horror. The entire contents of the storeroom had been smashed to fragments; all Edward’s lovingly cherished artefacts were now no more than piles of dust and rubble. His desk had been overturned and the contents strewn over the floor. On top of everything lay torn canvases, all that remained of Edward’s collection of old masters, and broken pieces of antique furniture.

  I spun round as I heard a noise behind me, then recoiled in terror as I found myself looking into a pair of manic, staring eyes.

  – Alexander –

  – 27 –

  It was the first time I’d been to Westmoor. On any other occasion I might have been impressed by its grandeur; as it was I was driving too fast to notice the beauty of the gardens or the breathtaking views over the countryside. I skidded to a stop outside and rapped hard on the front door.

  Canary answered, but I pushed past her and was on the point of calling out when suddenly Elizabeth appeared at the top of the stairs. I looked at her, my heart somewhere near my throat. She was dressed in black. Her face was stark, and her hair, her beautiful raven hair, had gone.

  She stared back at me, and then I saw the terrible fear in her eyes. Slowly I lifted my arms and held them out towards her.

  She clung to me. I could feel her bones jutting thr
ough her skin. ‘I didn’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t kill them.’

  ‘I know, it’s why I’m here.’

  Behind Elizabeth I could see Charlotte standing at the top of the stairs, as beautiful and tragic as her mother. Canary went to her and led her back along the landing.

  It was all too bizarre to be real. In an attempt to cover up what looked as if it might turn out to be one of the biggest and most complex art crimes in history, someone had set fire to a warehouse on the outskirts of London. Daniel Davison, the warehouse-keeper, had died in the fire. Two days later Elizabeth had been arrested for murder, then released on bail. Police were still searching the warehouse debris for Christine’s remains.

  I spent the next three days with Elizabeth, going over all that had happened. She was still in a state of shock, and so distressed that I felt callous in the way I coaxed and cross-examined her. But I had to find out the truth. Of course she was innocent, I never doubted that, but how was I to defend her if I didn’t know exactly what had happened?

  I knew the Bar Council would never condone my taking the case, so when Henry told my father that this was precisely what I intended to do, I wasn’t surprised that he summoned me to his office.

  I leapt up from my chair. ‘For God’s sake, father, she’s been charged with murder.’

  ‘And arson.’

  I glared at Henry.

  ‘Whatever she’s been charged with, Alexander, you cannot defend her. It’s simply not ethical.’

  I rounded on him. ‘Ethical! Who the hell gives a fuck about ethics! This is Elizabeth we’re talking about. She wants me to defend her, and I’m damned well going to.’

  ‘Freddie Rees has offered to take her on,’ Henry said. ‘He’s about the best.’

  ‘She doesn’t want Freddie Rees. What the hell are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘I asked him to come,’ my father answered. I hoped he might be able to talk some sense into you. Does Elizabeth know what it could do to your career if you take her case?’

  ‘Of course she doesn’t know. And no one’s going to tell her. She’s frightened half out of her mind as it is.’

  ‘Do you realise what it could do, Alexander?’

  ‘Do you think I care a damn about that? I’ve told you, I’m going to defend her.’ I couldn’t tell them how, when I had suggested someone else should defend her, Elizabeth had begged me not to hand the case over. She didn’t understand, didn’t even know, how the bar would view it, and it would have been selfish and insensitive of me to have told her. I couldn’t explain that I loved her too much to let her down, and that, as far as I was concerned, what she wanted and how she felt came before my career – before anything else.

  ‘You don’t have the experience to take on something like this,’ Henry said.

  ‘Especially,’ my father interrupted, ‘if they find the remains of her sister-in-law.’

  ‘They won’t. She’s out there somewhere, alive and well, all we have to do is find her.’

  ‘But you don’t know that for sure. Look, son, can’t you see you could be jeopardising her chances by taking this case. I know how you feel, we both do, but . . .’

  ‘Where in the rule book does it say I can’t take this case? Eh? Show me!’

  ‘It doesn’t, you know that. But there is a code of practice we all follow, Alexander. It would be wiser all round if you stuck to it.’

  ‘How d’you think you’re going to keep yourself under control when the going gets rough?’ my father said. ‘Just look at the way you’re behaving now.’

  ‘Of course I’m emotional now, what else would you expect? By the time it comes to the trial I’ll be as detached as you like.’

  ‘And if you lose,’ my father said, ‘how are you going to live with that?’

  ‘I won’t lose.’

  Finally my father stood up. ‘I am not giving this my blessing. You have said nothing to convince me that you’re pursuing the right course. You will take the case as a junior. Freddie Rees, if he agrees, will lead. It is up to him whether or not he lets you conduct the defence. If you do, then on your head be it.’

  It was four months before the case came to trial. During that time I all but moved into Priory Walk with Elizabeth and the children, and we tried to carry on our lives as normally as possible. Jessica came to see me from time to time, but our meetings always ended in bitterness. Though she professed to be leading a perfectly happy and fulfilling life on her own, she still behaved like the jealous wife as far as Elizabeth was concerned. It was no surprise when she said she thought Elizabeth was guilty.

  ‘The trouble with you, Alexander, is that your precious Elizabeth can do no wrong. She’s guilty, all right, you wait and see. I hope she gets what she deserves – and the irony of it is, it’ll be you that gets it for her. You can’t win this case, never in a million years.’

  Rosalind wasn’t with her on that occasion and I was sorry for it. At least when Rosalind was around our meetings were a little more civilised.

  But as time went on and Freddie Rees agreed to take the case – Freddie who, unlike my father, thought there might be something to be gained from my presenting it – Jessica mellowed, and even took to telephoning me from time to time to see how we were getting on. Freddie monitored my research every step of the way and gave endless advice and encouragement. But our real problem was Christine’s disappearance. I even flew to Gstaad to speak to David about her but he had no idea where she might be. He and Elizabeth were both convinced she wouldn’t have gone to Cairo as she didn’t have the money to pay whoever was blackmailing her. When David refused to come to court and testify on Elizabeth’s behalf, I was shaken. Elizabeth had been so certain he would. Nevertheless I took a signed statement from him, detailing everything he knew about the theft of the death mask.

  And that was something else that had delivered its own staggering surprise. The mask was a fake.

  ‘You can tell,’ one of the experts from the British Museum told me, when I went down to Westmoor to see how they were getting on. ‘You can tell by the holes in the ears.’

  ‘What holes?’ I asked.

  ‘Precisely. There are no holes. The real mask has pierced ears. And what’s more, the holes are quite large. Whoever made this copy deliberately set out to have his work recognised as a fake.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  The specialist shrugged. ‘Search me. It’s such an obvious mistake, and one Walters couldn’t have failed to notice. Apart from that, the workmanship is incomparable.’

  So that was what Edward had been saying in his dying moments – ‘ears’.

  I was speechless. Knowing that both Elizabeth and Charlotte blamed themselves for Edward’s death, when all the time it had been this fake that had caused it, sent me into a blinding rage. The only good thing to come out of it was that Customs and Excise were suitably baffled by the expert’s findings and decided that, providing the relevant import taxes were paid on the precious metals, the charge of illegal import would be dropped.

  Elizabeth could hardly believe it when I told her. ‘You know, Christine told me that Edward developed this obsession when he realised I would never love him the way he wanted me to. Now it seems he was cheated even over the mask. Poor Edward. All those years, Alexander. All those years I lived with him and hardly knew him. What is it that makes someone do the things he did? It can’t just be love.’

  ‘The important thing is that you don’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. As you said, he was cheated. And by the time he found out he had already lost his mind.’ I paused. ‘The person we have to worry about now, Elizabeth, is Christine, not Edward. Christine tried to kill you, and she’s likely to try again.’

  Her face turned white. ‘You’ve got to face it, Elizabeth. Under the terms of Edward’s will, if anything happens to you Christine gets everything. At least, until Charlotte and Jonathan are old enough to take over their inheritance.’

  ‘By which time she wil
l have made sure there is no inheritance to take over,’ Caroline said.

  I had called into Henry’s on my way home. Elizabeth was staying there now, until the trial was over; with Christine’s whereabouts still not known I didn’t like her staying at Priory Walk alone. Henry’s house was bursting at the seams with children, for he and Caroline now had four, and Charlotte and Jonathan were staying there too.

  Henry walked to the door with me. ‘Why haven’t you told her yet?’ he said.

  ‘I will. I’ll come back later and take her to the flat. I think she’ll need to be alone with me when she finds out.’

  The trial was set for the following Monday at the Old Bailey. What I hadn’t told Elizabeth was that Michael Samuelson was prosecuting. I had seen Samuelson cross swørds with barristers far more experienced than I was, but I’d never seen anyone beat him yet. Not even Freddie Rees.

  – 28 –

  The clerk of the court stood. Only his bespectacled eyes and the dome of his balding head were visible above the sheet of paper that bore the indictment. Behind him was Justice McKee, dwarfed by his wig and red robes, though still managing to look his usual irritated self. He cast a glance at the full public gallery. It had come as a blow to us to find ourselves in Number One Court; the oppressive dark wood and claustrophobic air were menacing. I looked up at Elizabeth. Her face was drawn, evidence of the sleepless night she had passed. The royal blue of her dress seemed to cast a bluish tinge over her skin too, and with the weight she had lost during the past months she looked almost skeletal. Behind her in the dock was a prison officer. I looked away quickly, before emotion got the better of me. For a fleeting moment I saw the court as Elizabeth must see it: strange and familiar faces, black gowns and white curled wigs. A macabre theatre.

  ‘Prisoner at the bar, you are charged upon an indictment containing five counts. Count one. Murder. In that, you, on the fifth day of September, 1981, did murder Daniel Raymond Davison. How say you? Guilty or not guilty?’