My Brother Michael

by Mary Stewart

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. All the same, he looked pretty secretive when I saw him sloping off yesterday morning.’

  ‘Oh? But I still don’t think he took the mule. It vanished on Monday night, and that night Nigel was up here. Of course he did go out for a walk later with Danielle, but I hardly think—’

  I said tautly: ‘You’re right. It wasn’t Nigel. I’ve just remembered something. When we were in the theatre, and you were reciting, I was up near the top row of seats, and I heard something moving up the hillside above me. You know how you hear something without really taking it in consciously, until, later, something reminds you? Well, it was like that. I thought nothing of it – if I heard it at all, I thought it was just the breeze, or a stray goat or donkey or something. But I remember now that I heard metal – a small chinking of metal, like a shod hoof, or the nails of a boot.’

  Simon smiled slightly. ‘The beasts here aren’t shod. Hadn’t you noticed? And the locals wear rope-soled espadrilles on the hill. If you heard movement and the chink of metal, Camilla, then you heard a beast’s bridle. It sounds to me as if you really might have heard the mule being stolen. Friend Dimitrios, taking the mule off up the hill. Well, well.’

  There was a little silence. Then I said: ‘But Simon, you can’t be right. It really is absurd. Maybe Dimitrios is up to no good, and maybe Danielle is in it, and maybe they did steal the mule and hire the car to transport something, but it can’t, it just can’t, be Michael’s “treasure”!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s too much to swallow that Dimitrios should have spent fourteen years or so looking for the stuff, and just have found it now. Oh, I grant you he could have searched a thousand years and never found it, especially if he didn’t have precise information from Angelos – and he probably didn’t, because you can be sure Angelos meant to come back when things had simmered down enough for him to leave Yugoslavia and come home. He may not have told Dimitrios at all. Dimitrios may merely have guessed that Angelos had hidden something, and not have known where to start looking. But what I can’t swallow is the assumption that he should have found Angelos’ cache now, this week, the very week you’re in Delphi. That’s too much of a coincidence, and I don’t believe it.’

  ‘But is it?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  He said slowly: ‘You’ve got it the wrong way round. Supposing those two things have happened at the same time: I am here in Delphi, and Dimitrios finds Angelos’ cache on Parnassus. You call it coincidence. I call it cause and effect.’

  ‘You mean—?’

  ‘That the two incidents are certainly related, but not by chance. Dimitrios found the hiding-place, not just while I happen to be here – but simply because I’m here.’

  I stared up at him. I passed my tongue over my lips. ‘You mean – that he followed us up to the corrie yesterday?’

  ‘Precisely that. He could have found out when we were going and he could have come to spy.’

  I said hoarsely: ‘He did. When I was sitting there in the corrie and you were in the cave with the other two men, I thought I saw something move at the top of the cliff. It could have been someone watching.’

  His gaze sharpened. ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Not really. But I thought there was movement, and looked up, but couldn’t see anything. The sun was in my eyes.’

  ‘I see. Well, it might have been Dimitrios. And then he followed us down, intending to meet Danielle on top of the Shining Ones. Could be.’

  I said: ‘I did her an injustice. I thought they’d been together, and I’d interrupted them.’

  ‘He’d hardly have had time to get down there before you. Most of the way it’s pretty open, and we might have seen him.’ He thought for a few moments. ‘Well, let’s look at the sequence of events, shall we? Dimitrios, you’ll remember, did try to find out from Stephanos – the only man who knew anything definite about the place where Michael died – anything he could about Michael’s death. He didn’t get anything out of Stephanos. Perhaps he did try to find the place himself. Perhaps he did gather a slender clue or two from his cousin before he left the country. But even with definite instructions from Angelos he still could have been raking the mountain all this time and found nothing. All the marks, like the Cat’s Tooth pinnacle, have gone, and anything could lie buried under that earthquake rubble for fourteen years – or fourteen hundred – undiscovered. Angelos himself, if he were still alive, and if he came back to look, would be in exactly the same case.’

  I said, rather breathlessly: ‘Niko said there were ghosts on the hill … lights … d’you remember?’

  ‘Niko talked a lot of rubbish, but he may well have told the truth here. Dimitrios may have been searching. But, to go on with the story – supposing he had searched all that time, and had had no luck in locating the cache, then, after years, he heard that I, Michael Lester’s brother, was coming to Delphi. This might prove to be his chance. What is more likely than that Stephanos would show me, Michael’s brother, the place? When I arrived Stephanos was away in Levadia, but Dimitrios could easily find out when he was coming back. It’s quite some time since I planned this visit; Dimitrios could have known, and taken time over his preparations. Supposing we were right, and he had noticed Danielle driving down almost daily to Itea with the jeep to bathe? Here was transport of the kind he would need. He wouldn’t dare buy or hire transport locally; he’s well known, and people would ask questions. But it would be easy enough to scrape acquaintance with Danielle, and buy her silence – and her help – with a promise to cut her in on the final haul. It would only remain to collect a mule or a donkey, and there again Danielle was the answer. I’ll bet you she took the mule: she’d worked with the archaeologists for weeks, and she knew just where everything was kept and how to get at it … What is it?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered. It wasn’t only a mule. I remember. The guide said “some tools and a mule”.’

  ‘Did he?’ His voice was still quiet, but the light-grey eyes blazed in his brown face. ‘Well, well, well … Does it make sense, or not? Or am I jumping ahead too fast?’

  ‘Pretty fast. They’re rather scrappy bricks, and made with awfully little straw, but they could be solid. Go on.’

  ‘Where was I? Yes: Dimitrios has everything lined up for the day when Simon Lester should arrive and lead him straight to the spot where Michael died. But then he – Dimitrios – has a stroke of bad luck.’

  ‘Danielle’s boss leaves Delphi, and she has to go too – with the jeep?’

  ‘Exactly. She went on Sunday, perforce. She must have gone straight to the garage in Athens and arranged to pick up a car next day, as soon as she could get free of Monsieur Clément.’ He grinned. ‘We know what happened next. Her error. But luck came in again, as she persuaded Hervé to let her have the jeep. And she came back. She took the jeep down to Itea. Whether she brought Dimitrios up that night with her we can’t know, but she probably did. She – or he – took the mule and a crowbar or so from the workmen’s sheds above the shrine, et voilà.’

  I said: ‘And then all Dimitrios had to do was to wait and follow us. Too easy.’

  ‘Much too easy. I should have thought of it after what Stephanos told me, but I admit it never seriously occurred to me (till I saw the earthquake damage up there) that anything that Mick found might still be hidden. However, there it is. You can bet your boots he was up there yesterday, and now all he has to do is to hunt that fairly small stretch of cliff, and then he and Danielle are made for life.’ He smiled down at me. ‘I admit it is a lot of bricks to make with very little straw, but where else is the straw to go? We have certain facts, and we must fit them in somewhere with the knowledge that friend Dimitrios is up to no sort of good.’

  ‘And he is the cousin of Angelos … Yes, I see what you mean. But why did he come here tonight? Just to see Danielle again?’

  He said soberly: ‘Ah, that … That’s what I meant when I said I didn’t like the feel of this
affair. What we’ve discovered – or guessed, if you like – so far, is straightforward enough, but Nigel …’ He paused, then turned to pitch the stub of his cigarette out of the open window. ‘Nigel. He’s in this somewhere and I want to know where.’

  ‘You mean Dimitrios came to see him?’

  ‘No. Dimitrios came here looking for something. And I could bear to know what.’ He glanced round the room. ‘And I could also bear to know where Nigel is.’

  I said: ‘The drawings have gone.’

  ‘What? Oh, the ones on the wall. So they have. Well, the sooner we find out what else is gone the better …’ He began to move round the bare untidy little room as he spoke. ‘We’ll soon see if he intended – no, don’t you bother, Camilla. Sit still. There’s not much searching to be done in a place this size, even if a couple of gorillas have turned everything upside down first …’

  ‘Dimitrios didn’t take anything with him, anyway,’ I said.

  ‘No, he didn’t, did he? One might say he hardly had time. That’s one satisfactory thing about tonight’s affair.’

  ‘Perhaps Danielle was telling the truth. Perhaps he did only come in here to hide from you when he heard you move.’

  ‘Not on your life.’ He had opened the shower-cup-board and was rummaging inside. ‘He didn’t have time, after he’d heard me move, to take that light-bulb out. He did that as soon as he got into the room, and to me that means he had some business in here that was going to take a minute or two, and he didn’t want to risk being surprised and recognised. I must have heard him almost straight away – I’d been lying awake wondering where the blazes Nigel was, and as soon as I heard the movements I got up. It didn’t take me long to roll off the bed and grab my flannels and get into them, and then to get to the door. He hadn’t quite shut the door – for quietness’ sake, I suppose – and when I saw a torchlight moving beyond it I knew it wasn’t Nigel, and I went carefully. As I shoved the door open, I saw the light swinging round the room as if it was looking for something. That was all, because of course he turned on me.’

  I laughed. ‘Yes, and you told Danielle he attacked you – which, sir, was a lie. I was watching, and you went bald-headed for the poor chap before he even had time to say “good evening”!’

  He grinned. ‘And for a very good reason. He whipped round when he heard me at the door, and he pulled a knife. I thought it best not to give him time to think about using it.’

  I drew a long breath. ‘I – see. You were right about the feel of this thing, weren’t you? All I can say is, that for a member of our staid and slightly stuffy profession, your reactions are – well, fairly rapid – not to say decisive.’

  He was still smiling. ‘Two strenuous years’ conscription in the tough end of the Artists’ Rifles … besides what Michael taught me all unofficial-like. It bears fruit – besides, I’m rather afraid I enjoyed it. I like a good and dirty fight … I say, Camilla.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘His things are all gone.’

  ‘Everything? Not just his painting things?’

  ‘Everything, I think. The rucksack – see, he used to hang it on this peg. I suppose he didn’t carry a razor, but the towel’s gone, too, and the soap, and what clothes he had. And unlike me he was conventional even in this climate and wore pyjamas. Are they tucked down there under the sheet?’

  ‘I don’t think so. No, they’re not.’

  He said, sounding at once puzzled and relieved: ‘Then he meant to go anyway. Damn the boy, he might have told me, and saved me a couple of sleepless hours. Well, at least he isn’t sitting up on Parnassus somewhere with a sprained ankle, whatever else he’s got himself into. I’ll just make sure there’s nothing down here … ah, there’s the Greek’s knife. I thought I heard it fly under the bed. And that hellish clanging noise we made was Nigel’s apology for a waste-paper basket … Lord, what a mess! Orange peel and pencil shavings and all the dud drawings he’s thrown away. I really think we’ll have to bribe our way out of this, Camilla, my girl.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake let me help.’ I slipped from the bed to the floor and gathered up a handful of papers. I dropped them into the biscuit tin that served Nigel for a waste-basket. ‘I’ll clear this stuff up. You see if that chair’ll mend, and straighten the table. There’s no damage except the broken glass, and we’d better leave that till morning and see if we can find a brush and – Simon!’

  He was busy straightening the furniture. He swung round. ‘What is it?’

  ‘These papers … They’re not “dud drawings” at all. They’re – they’re the finished things, his Hellenic types!’ I shuffled them through my hands. ‘Yes, look, here they are! There’s that head that’s a bit like Stephanos, and the smiling one that looked like a statue, and that must be the Minoan girl he told us about – and here’s a shepherd boy. And more … look.’ I began to leaf through them rapidly. My hand wasn’t quite steady. I said: ‘I know he was doing them under protest, and he was feeling at odds with life, but surely, Simon, he can’t afford to throw them away? What in the world –?’ I stopped short.

  Simon said sharply from above me: ‘What is it?’

  I said shakily: ‘This one. This is the head, that lovely, lovely head. The young man with the strange face. And look, he’s torn it up. Not the others, but this. It’s torn right across.’ I looked down at the fragments on my lap and said sadly: ‘He needn’t have torn it up. It was beautiful.’

  He stooped to take the pieces from me, and studied them for a few moments in silence.

  At length he said: ‘What else is there? Not the flower-studies, surely?’

  ‘No. No. They’re all the “types”, except that lovely head.’

  I heard him take a breath, as if of relief, and when he spoke I knew he had had the same fleeting stab of fear as I myself. ‘Then – whatever made him go – I don’t think we need worry overmuch. That fit of the blues hasn’t made him plan anything foolish after all; he’s taken the good stuff with him. Except this …’ He opened his fingers, and let the fragments drift down on to my lap. The action was like a shrug; a sigh. ‘Ah, well, we can’t guess what’s biting the boy. But I’ll be thankful when I know—’

  I said abruptly: ‘The cyclamen.’

  He said, suddenly sounding very weary: ‘Is that there as well, after all?’

  ‘No. It’s not here. That’s not what I meant. But I’ve remembered something, Simon, and I think it’s important. Yesterday, when we were up in the corrie – Michael’s corrie – I saw a plant of cyclamen growing in the rock. I didn’t realise it at the time – at least I think I must have done subconsciously, because I know I was thinking about Nigel as I looked at it – but it was the same plant that was in the drawing. I tell you, I didn’t connect it then; but now, when we were talking about his drawings, I somehow saw it again. And it was the same. I’m sure of it. And that means that Nigel’s been up in that corrie, too!’ I drew a deep breath. ‘And perhaps, if Nigel had found Angelos’ cave, that would explain some of the things he said on Monday night! Simon, Nigel was in that corrie, and if you ask me, Nigel found the cave! And Angelos’ hoard was still there!’

  Simon said, hard and sharp: ‘Then if Nigel found anything in that corrie, he found it on Monday. He did that drawing on Monday.’

  ‘Yes, and he told you he’d done no work, till we found that he’d slipped up over the Phormis head and the cyclamen!’

  He said slowly: ‘It could be. I went up some of the way over the track with him on Sunday. He might have gone back on his own and stumbled on the place. One of those weird freaks of chance, but they do happen. Oh, my God, suppose he did?’

  We stared at each other. I said: ‘And yesterday morning I saw him setting off again … and looking secretive about it. Simon, perhaps it was Nigel who took the mule. Perhaps we’re wrong about Danielle. Perhaps Nigel’s trying to move the stuff, whatever it is, himself.’

  Simon said, in a harsh voice that was anything but casual: ‘And if he is? If he’s got
across that damned Greek in the process? Don’t forget he’s somewhere in this too.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s working with that damned Greek,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  I said: ‘Simon, don’t worry so. One thing’s obvious; he did mean to go. He’s cleared up here, and he’s scrapped the stuff he didn’t want. Whatever he’s up to, and even if his affairs have tangled with Dimitrios’, he’s gone deliberately. He may have got himself into something illegal, or at most immoral, but he meant to, and – well, you can’t really be his keeper to that extent, can you?’

  He hesitated, then suddenly smiled. ‘I suppose not. At least, not till it’s daylight.’

  I said, making a statement of it: ‘You’re going up there, of course.’

  ‘Of course. I intended to anyway, and now it seems I shall have to.’

  ‘When do we start?’

  He looked down at me for a moment. That unreadable mask had shut down again over his face. I don’t know what I expected him to say. I know what nine men out of ten would have said – and Philip would have said it twice.

  Simon didn’t say it at all. He said merely: ‘I’ll come and call you. And now you’d better go and sleep. We’ll have to make an early start.’

  I got to my feet. ‘Will you take Stephanos and Niko?’

  ‘No. For one thing it would take too long, and for another, if there’s anything to be found that Nigel and/or Dimitrios haven’t already found and moved, I don’t want witnesses till I know where Nigel comes in, and whose property it is. If it is arms and gold, the ownership might be a rather delicate political question under present circumstances.’

  ‘Heavens, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘And now let me see you back to your room … By the way I haven’t thanked you yet for bashing friend Dimitrios over the head for me.’

  ‘I’d never have got near him,’ I said truthfully, ‘if he hadn’t thought I was Danielle. And I missed him anyway.’