Blood From a Stone (11 page)

‘Can't Marchant find anywhere?' asked Arthur.

‘It's not so much can't as won't. Money, you know. Ted thinks he'd need at least two thousand pounds or so to get anywhere suitable and that's beyond him, unfortunately. I think we could manage with somewhere a lot smaller, but Ted doesn't agree. He says in Singapore I can have the sort of life I deserve, but that's nonsense. Ted will insist I want all sorts of things that I simply don't need. As a matter of fact, there's very little I do need. It would be inspiring, don't you think, to live close to the earth in a really
simple
way. It would be so much easier to be in touch with the essential verities, to concentrate on what's truly important, without all the needless trappings of modern life.'

‘Electric light and running water are always handy,' murmured Jack.

‘You sound just like Ted,' said Celia, shocked. ‘I don't propose to live in a slum. It'll be perfectly simple to install a generator for electricity and I have no intention of living without modern plumbing. Absolutely not. Ted's just being stubborn. I
loathe
the idea of living in Singapore.'

Jack, Isabelle and Arthur swapped glances. ‘What about the sapphires?' asked Jack. Despite having just been reminded why he and Celia could never have been counted as twin souls, he had a lot of sympathy for her. Ted Marchant was a sound enough bloke but a bit of a he-man. He could well imagine him thinking he knew better than the little woman. What's more, he could well imagine him saying it. ‘Couldn't the sapphires be – er – cashed in?'

‘I wish,' said Celia ruefully. ‘I know they've been in the family for generations, but I could put the money to much better use. There's so much that needs doing on the estate that I think Dad could be persuaded, but there's no chance of
that happening.'

‘Why ever not?' asked Arthur, refilling her cocktail.

‘The sapphires don't belong to us, that's why not,' she said, sitting down once more. ‘They belong to Evie, and don't we all know it! She absolutely adores them. She even had a photograph taken of them for the press.'

‘I've seen it,' said Jack. He didn't think Celia would appreciate knowing where he'd seen it.

‘Have you? Well, you can imagine that we simply couldn't credit Isabelle finding them on the train. Evie didn't know they'd gone until the telegram from the police arrived and then all hell broke loose. She nearly had a fit when she thought how close she'd been to losing them.' She smiled cynically. ‘It was the most emotion I've ever seen her show. Anyway, when I heard it was Isabelle who'd found them, I simply had to come and get the story from the horse's mouth.'

Isabelle laughed. ‘You could find a more flattering way of putting it. As a matter of fact, it wasn't me who found them, it was a Mr Duggleby. You'll have to tell Arthur who Evie is, though, Celia. I can see he hasn't a clue.'

‘Sorry, Arthur,' said Celia, sipping her cocktail. ‘Evie's my stepmother, although that sounds too like Cinderella for words. She and Dad got married last year.'

‘She came to our wedding, Arthur,' said Isabelle. ‘She had the most mouth-watering green linen dress with a long cream-and-gold stole. I think,' she continued knowledgeably, ‘it was by Drécoll.'

‘Crikey,' put in Arthur. ‘I could hardly tell you who was there, let alone what they were wearing. I only,' he added with a grin, ‘had eyes for you.'

Isabelle smiled. ‘That's very sweet of you, but I don't believe a word of it. Men never look at clothes properly. Was it a Drécoll?' she demanded of Celia.

‘It probably was,' said Celia. ‘Evie always
looks
wonderful,' she said significantly. ‘A real lily of the field, if you know what I mean.'

‘Not in touch with the essential verities?' suggested Jack, wickedly. ‘Addicted to electric light and running water and needless trappings, perhaps?'

‘You may laugh, Jack,' said Celia, ‘but Evie is a perfect example of, to my mind, all that is truly wrong with our modern life. All she really seems to care about is what she wears and being seen with the right people in the right places, you know? Dad says it's only natural because she used to be very hard-up, apparently, and it's only to be expected she should want to enjoy life now she can.'

‘That's very generous of him,' commented Isabelle.

‘Oh, Dad's completely unreasonable about Evie. Nothing but the best, whether it's clothes, holidays, parties – or sapphires. Even the sapphires weren't good enough as they were. Evie said they looked old fashioned, so Dad's having them re-set.'

‘How did she come to own them?' asked Jack. He looked at Celia and chose his words carefully. ‘Look. I don't want to trample on your finer feelings, but the sapphires are the ones Mrs Paxton owned, aren't they? I'm sorry if it's a delicate subject. Isabelle told me she was a relative of yours.'

‘Mrs Paxton was my great-aunt but she quarrelled with Dad ages ago. I never actually met her. Yes, the sapphires belonged to her, poor woman.'

‘Gosh,' muttered Arthur. ‘When the papers rumble the connection with Terence Napier they'll love it.'

Celia shuddered. ‘That's all we need. Dad's been up in arms about Uncle Terry and this'll just about put the tin lid on it. Dad believes he's totally innocent, but he can't be, can he? He whizzed Aunt Constance off to Paris and obviously did everything he could to get into her good books. The only reason he'd do that is because she was rich. Anyone else can see the truth of the matter a mile off, but not Dad. Dad isn't awfully good with people.'

‘Your father?' said Isabelle, shocked. ‘I like your father. He's always been very sweet to me.'

‘Oh, he's a dear,' agreed Celia, ‘but he's not very good at seeing what someone's actually like, you know? He always thinks the best of everyone. If he doesn't like something about them, he'll ignore it and carry on pretending everything in the garden's lovely. I'll say this for Evie, as soon as Dad let her know what happened to Aunt Constance, she cut short her holiday and came home and she's actually been very good about sparing his feelings. I mean, I know she thinks that Terence Napier simply has to be guilty, because there's nothing else she
can
think, but she hasn't said as much to Dad.'

‘What's Terence Napier like?' asked Jack. ‘As a person, I mean.'

‘I don't know,' said Celia, shaking her head. ‘I can hardly remember him. His parents died when he was very young and he lived with us, but I couldn't tell you what he's like now. He studied art, and was up in London at the Slade most of the year. He lived in Paris for a time and then there was the war, so I honestly can't remember him. It's different for Dad. Uncle Terry was like a younger brother to him.'

‘Haven't you seen him since the war?' asked Arthur.

Celia shook her head. ‘No, I haven't. As soon as the war was over, he headed for the South Seas. I've always pictured him like someone out of Somerset Maugham, living under a palm tree and cracking open coconuts and so on. Dad never really kept in touch – you know what men are like – but even now he believes Uncle Terry is the same boy he grew up with. I think the truth of the matter is that Uncle Terry had a nervous breakdown after the war and that changes people, doesn't it? I mean, going off to the South Seas is all very romantic, but it's a bit out of the ordinary, isn't it?'

‘So what actually happened?' asked Arthur, putting more ice in the cocktail shaker. ‘I read about it in the newspapers but I can't remember the details.'

Celia frowned. ‘I'd better explain how Aunt Constance came to have the sapphires. They were part of the Breagan Stump Bounty. It was discovered in seventeen something or other. You've heard of it, haven't you?'

Jack nodded. ‘Yes, of course. It's in the British Museum, isn't it?'

‘Parts of it are, yes. I can't say I've ever taken much interest, but the coins and some Roman jewellery went to the Museum years ago. However, the sapphires were always kept in the family. They were uncut when they were found but they were made into a necklace. They've always gone to the eldest girl in the family when she got married. When Aunt Constance married they went to her and,' she said, taking a cigarette from the box and putting it in a holder, ‘they should have come to me. Or should have done when I got married, at any rate.'

‘Bad luck,' said Jack, leaning forward to light her cigarette. ‘Was it a formal arrangement?'

‘No, not at all. It was just the way things always happened. That's the problem, of course. Still,' she added with an ironic smile, ‘at least they're still in the family. It's just as well my grandfather never got near them. If he'd got hold of the sapphires, they would have vanished long since.'

Her smile faded. ‘Aunt Constance was in possession and, legally speaking, she could dispose of them however she liked. She was left very badly off when her husband died and thought about selling the sapphires. Dad was keen they shouldn't be sold, so got together enough money to buy Aunt Constance an annuity. In return, she made a will leaving the sapphires to him, to ensure they'd stay in the family. What Dad was really afraid of was that she'd give them to her son, Sandy. Aunt Constance absolutely doted on Sandy. She thought he was the complete cat's whiskers, but he was even worse than my grandfather. My grandfather was an inveterate gambler but Sandy Paxton was a crook, pure and simple.'

‘A real crook?' asked Jack.

‘Oh yes,' said Celia, nodding vigorously. ‘We've never spoken about him at home much, because Dad gets all hot under the collar if his name's mentioned, but I've managed to piece
the story together. Aunt Mary – she's not an aunt really, but a neighbour I've known for years – has told me quite a lot about him. From what I can make out, there were a series of robberies – furs, jewels, money and so on – from country houses he'd been invited to and people began to talk.'

‘He sounds an absolute charmer,' said Isabelle.

‘He was,' said Celia. ‘Seriously, I mean. He lived off his charm. He was an actor for a time, after he got kicked out of Oxford. His speciality was making up to rich women. From what I can make out, he'd get silly women to fall in love with him, write compromising letters – I can never get over how many letters women used to write! – and then buy him off.'

Isabelle's eyebrows shot up. ‘Blackmail?'

Celia shrugged. ‘What else can you call it? Dad lost patience with Aunt Constance over him in the end. When the war came, Dad reckoned it was Sandy's chance to put the past behind him and make good. Reading between the lines, I think Dad more or less bribed Aunt Constance to get him to join up and, when Sandy was officially posted as missing, Aunt Constance blamed Dad and cut off relations completely. She never spoke to him again. And that,' she added, leaning forward, ‘is where Evie comes in.'

‘Go on,' said Jack, lighting a cigarette.

‘Evie was a war widow. During the war she met Aunt Constance through some charity or other for the bereaved and they became very close.'

She contemplated the end of her cigarette for a few moments. ‘That's that, really. As I said, the sapphires legally belonged to Aunt Constance and, although I think it was very mean spirited of her to go back on the arrangement she had with Dad, there's nothing he can do.'

‘Possession being, as they say, nine points of the law,' put in Arthur.

‘Exactly.' She blew out a long mouthful of smoke. ‘The ironic thing is, they did come back into the family, despite Aunt Constance. Well, they came to Evie, at least.'

‘From what you've said, that's not quite the same thing though, is it?' commented Isabelle.

Celia shrugged, then brightened. ‘You never know. At least we've got them. Dad suggested that Evie has the sapphires re-set and he told me to hope for the best. He hopes she'll agree to sell a couple of the stones. If I had some money, I might be able to make Ted see sense and drop this silly idea about managing a tin mine in Singapore.'

She stubbed out her cigarette and looked up as a ring on the doorbell sounded, followed by footsteps in the hall as Lizzie, the maid, went to answer it.

‘That'll be Bill Rackham, I expect,' said Jack.

‘Rackham?' asked Celia. ‘Inspector Rackham? He's the man who spoke to Dad.'

‘Yes, he's a friend of mine,' said Jack.

‘A policeman?' queried Celia, with raised eyebrows. ‘Oh, I was forgetting. You do detective things, don't you? I'd forgotten. You're always so flippant, I'd forgotten just how capable you are.' She shot him an admiring look. ‘That's a very admirable trait.'

Jack instinctively drew back. There was something in that look which no engaged or semi-engaged girl should direct at an unattached man, particularly one for whom she'd once had tender feelings.

‘I must tell Dad about you,' continued Celia. ‘He's hired a private detective to look into this idiotic idea he's got about Terence Napier, but if he's going to hire anyone, he might as well hire you.'

‘I'm not a taxi,' said Jack with a grin.

Celia looked at him blankly. ‘Of course you're not. I said you were a detective, not a cab driver. It's not the same thing at all. I suppose,' she said, as if she were talking about an alien species, ‘you have to know heaps of policemen.'

‘Bill Rackham's a friend of ours, too,' said Isabelle, catching the hint of snobbery in Celia's voice and determined to squash it. ‘I like him very much.'

The door opened and Lizzie showed Bill into the room.

‘Miss Leigh?' he asked, as they were introduced. ‘I'm meeting your father tomorrow. He's coming to the Yard to reclaim his sapphires.'

‘He was very complimentary about you, Mr Rackham,' said Celia. ‘He thought it was marvellously quick work.'