Sandor pulled on a sweater and eased himself out of his filthy underwear. It smoked when it hit the hot embers. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It isn’t pleasant to see a grown man in his own filth. So, tell me, what exactly is it that you’re doing for them here? I heard hammering. Are you making something?’
The Pole watched the priest pull on the rough trousers he’d given him. He thought over everything the man had said and took a deep breath. He held Marianne’s fragile heart in his hands and pictured the eyes of his children as he made his decision. The British Secret Service could do whatever they wanted these days in Europe. The British Secret Service had won the Allies the war. Lisabetta had made him wait far too long and she couldn’t be trusted.
‘I’m making Nazi gold into British coins,’ he said. ‘I’m a goldsmith.’ He walked over to the corner of the room and dramatically pulled off the tarpaulin to reveal a small stack of gold bars sitting against the wall. ‘We can take this with us, if you like. To prove it.’
22
Where there is a mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.
Vesta ran silently into the middle of the road at Second Avenue and flung her arms around Mirabelle as she made her escape.
‘Quick!’ Mirabelle instructed, glancing back at the curtained windows on the first floor. ‘We have to get away!’
‘What happened?’ Vesta insisted as Mirabelle pulled her onto the pavement. ‘What did she do?’
‘She has a pistol. We have to get off the street. Come on, let’s go through the back gardens on the other side of the road. That way the houses will hide us. We can get down to the front and walk along the beach. There’s almost no moon and dressed in black no one will be able to see us.’
The gardens were bounded by high walls. A dog barked inside one house. In another the lights were still on in the kitchen. The women moved smoothly along the bottom wall. Halfway along, a terrier loose in the garden yapped and jumped up to see them off but couldn’t reach.
‘Shit!’ Vesta swore. ‘Down, boy, down!’
Mirabelle had her mind on what she’d seen. ‘Lisabetta is going to get away!’ she said. ‘I think she’s leaving the country. Bert is packing up the flat at Cadogan Gardens and sending her things down from London. Lisabetta went into the cupboard and took some chloroform. I have no idea how she intends to use it. We have to find Sandor now.’
‘And Romana ...’ Vesta said.
‘Perhaps she never existed. I think it was Lisabetta who wore that thing. That and a wig perhaps and some different clothes.’
‘For a thousand pounds? They’re making a lot more than that. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘A thousand pounds is still a lot of money.’ Mirabelle was thinking on her feet. And, oh, it’s being used to pay off Bert, or at least part of it. I saw to that for them. That’s quite tidy really. No one has to trust each other. They set it up and then Bert gets his money no matter what happens. I wouldn’t trust Lisabetta if I knew she was leaving, would you? This bypasses that. He can trust the Prudential, don’t you see? They’ll pay out. There never was any debt – it was just a secure way to pay off Bert Jennings for whatever he’d done, whatever he’s still doing.’
Mirabelle flipped one of the coins from hand to hand while she thought, leaning elegantly against the high wall. ‘If she’s leaving she’ll go to Sandor. She’ll need to tidy everything up ... Vesta, we have to follow her.’
‘We don’t have a car!’ said Vesta.
Mirabelle raised her shoulders very slightly. ‘We have to try. I could hide behind that hedge over the road and just see if she does anything, goes anywhere. If it gets light, I can follow in a taxi but it’s too quiet now to follow anyone anywhere without being seen.’
Vesta nodded. ‘OK, we can try. But nothing dangerous. You scared the life out of me when you didn’t make it to the window.’
Mirabelle stopped her with a steady hand on the shoulder. ‘I should go back on my own. We need an insurance policy, Vesta. It’s our turn. You go back to the flat,’ she said, handing over the key. ‘Take these,’ she scooped the coins out of her pocket. ‘Get a big envelope and put everything – inside the coins, Big Ben’s notebook, the betting stubs and our map. The lot. Then write everything down. Every detail you can think of. Address the envelope to Detective Superintendent McGregor. It’ll take you a while. Leave it propped up on the mantelpiece. Then come back and find me – I’ll be over the road, watching the doctor’s house. I’ll meet you behind the hedge.’
‘And if you’re not there?’
‘Then just wait. Stake out the house. If it’s getting light and I’ve not come back, get dressed and go to the office. If they don’t let Sandor ring at the usual time and I still haven’t showed up, then pass on the envelope to McGregor. Tell him everything. Only McGregor. You can’t trust anyone else.’
‘And if I get caught or we both do ...’
‘Then we’re betting McGregor will have the wit to find the envelope.’
‘OK.’ Vesta hugged Mirabelle. ‘Be careful,’ she urged.
‘Go! We’ll be fine. We might even find him! Walk along the beach, Vesta. That way no one can see you from the road.’
Vesta carefully scaled the wall. From the top she saw Mirabelle’s shadowy head at the other side of the garden moving back towards the top of the road. The dogs started barking again. With a smile Vesta dropped onto the pavement. The front was deserted and inky black. She checked the gold coins in her pocket and took out one. It gleamed in the lamplight and she flipped it in the air, copying Mirabelle. To the sound of waves on the pebble beach opposite, she crossed the road towards the darkness. She didn’t even look at the indistinct outline of the black box on the other side. When the man’s voice rang out, her heart lurched and she took a second to be sure where it had come from.
‘Well, well, I wonder what someone like you is doing climbing over the back wall of a house on Grand Avenue.’
The shadowy figure of a middle-aged constable came into view. He scrutinised Vesta as well as he could in the orange streetlight. Then he stepped out where she could see him properly. In his hand he held a tin cup of steaming tea. He squinted. Through the open door of the police box Vesta could see a broken-down but comfortable-looking chair. The constable had been on a break when she had fallen out of the sky, or rather, over the wall in the distance. He’d dimmed his gaslight and let her walk towards him.
‘My rather exotic, aren’t we?’
Vesta looked at the ground.
‘Do you live in that house, Miss? Number 2 it would be, I think.’
Vesta shook her head.
‘I see. Are you in service there?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I think that perhaps it would be best if I took some details and called the station. A bit irregular, this. Name?’ The constable put down his tea, reached under his cape and pulled out a notebook.
‘It’s not illegal to be out at night, is it?’ Vesta spluttered.
‘Well, Miss, it isn’t, but I have my suspicions. There is the unorthodox manner of your appearance on the street. Any explanation for that?’
Vesta glared.
‘Right. And I’m guessing you don’t live in the area.’
‘No, but I’m staying with a friend. Further along.’ Vesta gestured in the direction of the Lawns. ‘I don’t know the address. It’s along there.’
‘Yes, that’s the thing. The system works on names and addresses. And so far you’ve avoided giving me either. I’ll just ring in and see what crimes have been reported. If not we can nip round the local houses – check everyone is all right. Door to door. Identify the thief on the spot as it were. It’s easiest if there has been any disturbance to take you to the premises straight off and see if anyone might recognise you. That’s how we like to do these things – on the spot.’
‘No!’ Vesta burst out. Mirabelle would be furious! If the police went door to door and Lisabetta saw Vesta – the woman from the Prudentia
l – Sandor was as good as dead. ‘Please.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re treating me like a criminal.’
‘Well, yes,’ the constable said. He took a slurp of his tea. ‘At a little after three fifteen you climbed over the back wall of a property where it would seem you do not reside, and if I’m not mistaken you have a gold item of some kind in your hand. Let me see, Miss.’ Vesta slowly opened her hand to reveal the gold coin. ‘We treat that kind of thing as suspicious. It’s part of being a policeman, Miss, I imagine, that makes me suspicious about it, but well, we’re highly trained to spot these kinds of incidents. I just wonder if the residents of any house reporting missing property this evening might recognise that coin in your possession. Not legal tender, I imagine. Is it yours?’
Vesta stared at the seashore. She calculated her chances and without hesitation took off along the shingle. I only have to make it as far as Mirabelle’s, she thought. The constable, however, was quick off the mark. He dropped his cup with a clatter on the pavement and pursued. It was difficult to run on the pebbles but back up on the promenade the lights were brighter and of the two options, Vesta chose darkness. She dodged, trying to disappear, but it didn’t take long before he caught her, tackling from behind and wrestling her to the ground. For an old bloke he could move and if it came to a fight he had the advantage of weight.
Vesta hit out but he only caught her fist and forced her down further. He pushed the side of her face onto the rough stones until her skin stung. He was out of breath as he hauled her to her feet. Twisting her arm he led Vesta back to the police box where he handcuffed her to a small rail just inside the door.
‘Now, about this coin of yours.’
Vesta let out an audible sigh of defeat. She drew the other coins from her pocket. ‘All right,’ she said as she handed them over. ‘I can’t explain to you why I have these but you’d better call Detective Superintendent McGregor of the Brighton force, rather than your local station in Hove. They come from a house on Second Avenue. But I don’t think he’ll want you disturbing the residents. My name is Vesta Churchill, by the way.’
The constable looked bemused. ‘Detective Superintendent McGregor?’ he repeated. ‘For petty theft? I can’t imagine he’ll be too pleased at this time in the morning.’
Vesta checked her watch. It was almost twenty past three. ‘He wasn’t supposed to find out until tomorrow. The coins are headed for him in any case.’
‘Thing is, you have been apprehended in Hove, Miss. The arresting officer, being myself, is of the Hove force.’
Vesta rolled her eyes in exasperation.
‘Tell you what, I’ll ring for a car,’ he volunteered. ‘They’ll deal with you at the station and you can call him from there.’
‘Thank you,’ Vesta said. At least she wasn’t being frogmarched back to number 22. Cursing her luck, she waited in silence for the constable to make the call. She thought of Mirabelle waiting for her. She had so nearly been useful. Still, McGregor would have got the information the following day anyway – this way she’d just tell him the story in person.
The car arrived promptly.
‘They’ll deal with you at the nick,’ the man muttered as he bundled the girl into the back. ‘The sarge can sort it out and send you onto Brighton if he wants. I don’t expect anyone will be disturbing Detective Superintendent McGregor in the middle of the night, to tell you the truth.’
There was no time for Vesta to object. The constable passed the coins to the driver who drawled, ‘Gawd, Fred, you don’t reckon there are more of these darkies about, do you?’
‘Appears to be just this one,’ the constable said. ‘I’ll keep an eye out.’ He duly returned to his beat, or at least, a fresh cup of tea, thankful that he’d controlled the situation. He didn’t like having something so untoward on his watch. It felt untidy.
23
Conscience is a still, small voice, not a loudspeaker.
Mirabelle crouched behind the hedge and peered across at the house on Second Avenue. Upstairs a light had come on, first in one of the upstairs bedrooms and then in a second. Lisabetta and the doctor were up and about. The street was absolutely silent now. Mirabelle waited patiently, wondering if perhaps she should sneak over and look through the windows. If only she had a pair of binoculars ... After about fifteen minutes she resolved to make a circuit of the gardens. She slipped across the road and down the side of the house. The lights were still out at the rear so it looked as if none of the staff had been roused by whatever Lisabetta and the doctor were up to. As she came round the other side of the building the front door opened and light from the hallway flooded down the path.
Mirabelle flattened herself behind a camellia bush and peeked between the leaves. She saw Lisabetta stride briskly down the front steps and turn up the road. She had changed out of her nightwear into forest-green woollen slacks and saddle shoes with a pale peach cashmere sweater. Her hair had been combed and pinned with an ivory clip to keep it in place. Mirabelle considered what course of action to adopt from her vantage point and decided to let Lisabetta almost reach the top of the road before she followed, but Lisabetta did not get that far. She turned into a lane at the end of the block. Mirabelle knew it was a dead end: just a row of garages and old stable buildings. Sure enough, less than a minute later, she heard a car engine start. Lisabetta drove the doctor’s Jaguar back down the road and parked it in front of the house. It was difficult to see in the street – one or two of the lamplights were out – but darker was probably better in the circumstances.
As she switched off the engine Lisabetta inspected herself in the mirror. She tossed her head and gave an open grin. It was the kind of display she seemed able to switch on and off at will – a show of a carefree girl having light-hearted fun. Then, as the expression dropped away, a cold determination returned. Leaving the keys in the ignition she disappeared back into the house. A minute later she returned and stowed two bags in the boot before mounting the steps again and closing the front door behind her.
I wonder why the doctor didn’t bring out the cases. It’s hardly very gentlemanly, Mirabelle thought. Her heart raced. Lisabetta was getting away! If she let her go, they might never find her again. Bert would send down her things on the first train and after that it was anyone’s guess where she’d end up. A sense of tingling outrage spread through Mirabelle’s body. What about Sandor? If she lost track of Lisabetta how would she ever find him? Carefully she got up and ran across the pavement, before ducking behind the body of the car to shield herself from sight of the house. If Lisabetta had to wait for the first train why was she leaving so early? There were still at least a couple of hours before dawn broke. Surely those two bags – both quite small – couldn’t contain everything she wanted to take with her. No, Mirabelle realised, Lisabetta was on her way somewhere else. To see Manni perhaps? Or even Sandor.
Mirabelle peered into the interior of the car. It was upholstered with dark leather – two seats at the front and three behind with a deep carpeted indent. Without thinking too clearly, on impulse, she opened the door and slipped into the back, curling up behind the driver’s seat. It was, she thought, just as well she’d worn black. A minute passed. Mirabelle shifted – it was hardly a comfortable position. Then she worried. What could be seen from outside? Was her initial reckoning right? Her heart stopped. She squirmed around so that only her dark clothes could be seen from the outside, hiding her pale face and hands. Then she heard the front door of the house creak and slow, heavy steps approach the car.
The passenger seat swung open sharply and Mirabelle caught a glimpse of Lisabetta manoeuvring something bulky into the front seat. She was carrying it over her shoulder. As she positioned it into place Mirabelle realised it was the doctor’s body. His hand, in a smart driving glove, dropped onto the handbrake. Lisabetta had clearly administered the chloroform.
‘There, there,’ Lisabetta whispered as she pushed the doctor’s limbs into a sitting position. He w
as dressed in the same buff trousers and tweed jacket he’d worn when Mirabelle had had her consultation. Lisabetta was crooning, as if he were a child. ‘There you go. Into your car. Such a lovely car.’
There was an ominous pause.
‘Eric, have you left this car to someone?’ Lisabetta slapped the doctor and a sharp crack rang out. She bent over him now like some dark angel bent on her purpose. ‘Eric! Do you have a will?’
The doctor stirred and sat up blearily looking around in complete incomprehension.
‘Do you have a will, Eric?’ she repeated.
‘No,’ he slurred. ‘Never got married, you see. No family.’
‘Pity.’
He squirmed, trying to get up, but it was no use. Chloroform left you woozy for a while and Lisabetta was already administering another dose. He tried to push her off as she held the handkerchief over his mouth but he didn’t have the strength. As he fell back heavily into the seat Lisabetta clicked his door closed.
Mirabelle twisted, trying to get as comfortable as possible. Once Lisabetta was in the driving seat she mustn’t move an inch. Her face contorted with fear as the door on the driver’s side opened and Lisabetta took her place.
‘So,’ she said, switching on the engine, ‘where shall we go, Eric?’
The doctor was out cold but Lisabetta chatted as if they were off for a holiday in the country. ‘If I can’t have your car, I might as well wreck it. Drive it into the sea. Or at least you can!’
Mirabelle’s heart somersaulted.
‘A little bit psychopathic? Perhaps sociopathic? Ah, such diagnoses! Have you been laughing at me, Eric? I do hope not.’
The car pulled away from the kerb. Stripes of light and shade flickered over Mirabelle as the Jag moved in and out of the amber pools cast by the streetlights. Then Lisabetta turned left onto the front.
Brighton Belle Page 16
