Bone Idle (22 page)

‘He’s right,’ chimed in Primrose. ‘Daddy was always complaining. Don’t you remember when you threw Amy Ponsonby’s teddy bear in the duck pond and there was such a shamozzle? Pa kept asking why you couldn’t have chosen a bear belonging to some lesser child, i.e. not the High Sheriff’s brat. He said the whole thing would have been wrapped up in a day instead of dragged out for weeks!’

I glared at her. ‘Amy Ponsonby had it coming! She had stolen my favourite lead soldier, and what’s more –’

‘Yes, yes,’ broke in Nicholas, ‘charming though these family reminiscences are, I think we should stick to the matter in hand: the deeds and how best we can utilize them.’

I laid down my knife and fork, and fixing him with a frosty stare, said in my best clerical tones: ‘
We
are not going to use them at all, Nicholas. Nor for that matter am I. In fact, I have every intention of disposing of them forthwith!’ I began to get up from the table.

‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Francis!’ cried Primrose. ‘Sit down and wait for pudding. It’s your favourite, Spotted Dick and custard – and I’ve put extra currants in this time so it should be really good.’

‘Rather, Francis!’ agreed Nicholas. ‘Definitely worth waiting for – plenty of time to throw away your key to a fortune afterwards.’ He smiled encouragingly; and irritated though I was, I stayed in my seat lured by the Spotted Dick.

The rest of lunch moved in calmer fashion. And although I felt uneasy at their sprightly talk about the success of the art forgeries, my concern over the deeds grew less acute. Naturally, just to satisfy curiosity I would examine them more closely once my guests had departed; and then after due consideration would in all probability – and as had been my first intention – destroy them. Obviously fire would be the best method and I would light one that evening after Primrose had returned to Lewes. Yes, I had been panicking unnecessarily: the whole embarrassment could easily be resolved and I should soon be free both of the deeds themselves and of Ingaza’s officious interest in the property and its absurdly alleged Nazi gold!

Thus I applied myself with relish to the pudding and cheese, and after lunch helped Primrose with the coffee while our guest read the newspaper and parleyed with the dog in the sitting room. Fortunately the question of the deeds was not resurrected, and, sooner rather than later, Nicholas announced that he really must be going as it was Eric’s birthday and they would thus be spending the evening at the dog-track.

‘Well, that all went very well, I think,’ said Primrose after he had left. ‘A nice little fee for the Canadian things – and I am sure he charged considerably less commission than he had originally said.’

‘Huh!’ I replied. ‘That’s just a sweetener to get you hooked – you’ll see. It’ll get steeper as it goes on.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a cynic, Francis! I do realize of course that there’s an element of dodginess there, but clearly not nearly to the extent you seem to suggest. It doesn’t do to be so negative about people.’ She spoke with good-humoured authority, and I said nothing but thought the more.

We lit cigarettes and settled down to the crossword. But our efforts were not very successful, and after twenty minutes of frustrated pondering, she cast her pencil aside and said, ‘I say, Francis, I do think you ought to look at those deeds. They’re really quite interesting, you know. There’s a plan of the property and it looks pretty big, with several outhouses and barns. Must have been intended as a farm or even a winery originally. The only snag is it seems to be miles from anywhere – I mean really in the depths … well, the heights actually, it’s halfway up some mountain! So who knows, there may just be some truth in that gold rumour, it’s conveniently remote all right. Don’t you think we could go and have a peek at it?’

‘No,’ I said shortly. ‘I am far too busy with the church, couldn’t possibly get away. Clinker’s due for the Confirmations soon, and after that, as I told you, I’ve got the Canonical Address to prepare.’

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘You could at least look at the damn things anyway … Where are they – in the kitchen?’

‘No, here. They should be on the piano. You put them there when Nicholas arrived.’

‘I don’t think so – or at least they’re not there now. They must be in the kitchen. I’ll go and have a look.’ She got up with a determined air, while I vaguely scanned the sitting room.

A minute or so later she was back looking perplexed. ‘There’s no sign of them out there.’

‘What about the hall table?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, they must be somewhere. This is ridiculous!’ I sighed. ‘You take another look in here and I’ll do the kitchen again.’ I searched everywhere – even in Bouncer’s basket where Nicholas had once dropped his car keys. There was nothing.

‘Well, where the hell are they?’ she cried.

I was silent. And then I said quietly, ‘I can tell you exactly where they are.’

‘Where?’

‘In that bastard’s wallet …’

I was enraged. How could he do that! Silly question: quite easily – typical in fact. However, I certainly wasn’t going to let it go. And once I had got rid of Primrose and spent an hour in much-needed rest, I went downstairs and seized the telephone.

‘I think you’ve got something of mine, Nicholas,’ I began coolly, ‘and I should be glad if you returned it.’

‘Don’t know what you are talking about, dear boy. Getting confused with someone else.’

‘Nonsense, you know perfectly well I am referring to those Fotherington deeds which you appropriated when lunching at my house today. Kindly return them!’

There was a pause. And then he said, ‘Ah
those
! Yes, I was going to mention them to you … Do you know, when you and Primrose were in the kitchen after lunch I started a quick perusal of the things – fascinating! In fact so fascinating that quite without thinking I must have slipped them in my pocket. Silly me! It’s amazing how absent-minded one gets!’

‘Nothing absent about your mind,’ I replied angrily. ‘Just hand them over!’

His voice became conspiratorial. ‘Well, actually, Francis, if it’s all the same with you, think I might hang on to them for a while, you see –’

‘It is not all the same with me, I want them back immediately!’

‘As I was saying – you see, I was rather thinking of popping over there at some point to take a look around, a sort of reconnaissance. After all, one might as well see what’s what. And that tale of Nazi gold is
very
intriguing … could make all our fortunes. Think of that, Francis! Mind you, it’ll have to wait till the pig transaction is all wound up, mustn’t lose sight of Mr Shickelgrüber!’ He gave a nasal titter.

Making a fortune from my victim’s gift was the last thing I needed. Benefiting from her will had been bad enough. Fortunately I had been able to wriggle out of that by disposing of the funds before anyone could accuse me of having had sinister motives. But at least then
I
had been in control and could organize matters as seemed appropriate. Now, however, I was in thrall to Ingaza and his wiles, and God knew where that might lead! Having her property thrust upon me was an awful embarrassment, and my own instinct was to destroy the deeds and get on with my life as if the thing did not exist. I need never know anything about it, and for all I cared it could rot in the ground – or better still, go to blazes! Simple really. But Ingaza’s intrusion naturally put paid to that. I closed my eyes. What
had
I done to deserve him! There was, of course, an answer to that …

Anyway, I told him I thought the whole idea totally preposterous, and that even if he were to go over and start snooping around, there was sure to be some sort of concierge or local official who would doubtless want to know who he was and what he was doing there. It could all be rather awkward.

‘Not awkward at all, old cock,’ was the reply, ‘I shall just say I am the Reverend Francis Oughterard from Molehill come to inspect my property.’

I replaced the receiver, took three aspirin and retired to bed.

There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth, mentally close my eyes and hope it would all somehow go away. After all, I did have a parish to run … And in any case, with luck Nicholas just might break a leg or contract typhus.

Such hopes buoyed me up briefly, but the rosy picture was dispelled by the arrival of a postcard from Brighton thanking me in glowing terms for the lunch and saying he was due to fly off to New York for a few days’ vacation prior to entering upon negotiations with Flutzveldt. He would be back shortly having concluded, he was sure, ‘a most gratifying little piece of business’.

My feelings were ambivalent: if he was successful it would perhaps put me in a stronger position to deter him from pursuing the Folly escapade, gratitude for my suggestion making him more amenable to dropping the idea. I also gave thought to those roofing costs … On the other hand, were he to return flushed with cash and triumph I should be even further compromised. Not only would I be accessory before, during and after the fact of the Idol’s theft, I would also be implicated in its lucrative disposal! Such considerations were all too much for me, and calling Bouncer and briskly shooting my cuffs, I settled at the piano for a display of stupendous virtuosity.

*   *   *

A few days later I was due to attend the Sunday school prize-giving, but with half an hour to spare was busily putting my feet up with the
Telegraph
. I had just flipped over the third page, when my eye was caught by a vaguely familiar name – Greenholt. It was part of a headline attached to a small item at the foot of the page: ‘Greenholt Institute Seeks New Curator’. The article that followed was thus:

I stared open-mouthed. With names like that there could be no mistake: obviously Claude’s contact and Ingaza’s buyer! Whether this might jeopardize Claude’s chances of appearing in the magazine I could not have cared less. What
was
crucial was how it would affect Ingaza and the sale of the wretched Idol!

Time was pushing on, and grabbing my cassock and prayer book, I left the house and strode swiftly to the church, my mind in a whirl of confusion and questions. Did Ingaza already know about it? Would the whole deal be scuppered? Would he see his visit to America as an expensive fool’s errand and blame me? (Without doubt.) Had Flutzveldt already bought the pig, and if so had he quietly disposed of it or would it form part of those ‘other questionable activities’ which the CIA was so keen to investigate? Might Nicholas himself be questioned? It could be any or all of these! He was due back the following evening, and until then I would know nothing. Perhaps I should phone Eric and tactfully enquire the lie of the land …

Immersed in these thoughts I did not see Mavis Briggs until it was too late and I had already cannon-balled into her. She lay strewn beneath the lychgate looking martyred and reproachful, surrounded by sheets of paper evidently fallen from her bag.

The last time I had hauled Mavis to her feet was when she had been knocked flying by the setter O’Shaughnessy on the dreadful night I had been aiding Maud Tubbly Pole and her bulldog in their flight up to London. She had been in the way then just as she was now; and late already I was none too pleased by the delay. However, I set her on her feet, made apologetic noises, and rather cursorily asked if she was all right.

She nodded vaguely, and then just as I was about to hasten on up the path, exclaimed, ‘Oh dear! Do you think you could help me collect my gems?’

‘Your what?’ I said impatiently.

‘My poems, my
Little Gems of Uplift
– the new manuscripts, they’ve gone everywhere!’

I surveyed the scattered pages and, cursing inwardly, stooped to gather them up.

‘Er, if you don’t mind my asking, Mavis, what are you doing with them here? Off to the printers?’

She beamed brightly. ‘Oh no, Canon. I am on my way to the church, the prize-giving, you know! I thought that since it was such an
important
occasion it would be most suitable if at the end I gave a little recitation of my latest offerings. I am sure the children would enjoy them, especially the older ones. I think it would be a fitting conclusion to it all!’ And she beamed again.

‘But, Mavis,’ I protested, ‘the conclusion is to be the mammoth cream tea in the parish hall. It’s the
grande finale
. Edith has gone to great trouble to get it organized, and she won’t want things delayed.’

Mavis’s eyes, normally pale and vacant, took on a dark and steely hue. She tossed her head. ‘Edith Hopgarden will just have to wait!’ she snapped.

We walked in silence up the path and entered the church.

That evening, safely back at the vicarage, I telephoned Eric.

‘I say, Eric,’ I began tentatively, ‘I gather there’s been a little hiccup with Nicholas’s contact in New York. Apparently he has been –’

There was a snort of mirth. ‘Yeah, silly git. Ballsed things up there all right!’

‘But, er, what about the deal – has it gone through?’

‘Why, getting worried about your cut, are you?’

‘No, of course not,’ I protested (some degree of truth there), ‘I just wondered how things were and whether Nicholas was all right.’

‘Oh yes,’ he replied airily. ‘He’s all right. Coming back tomorrow night with a ’tachy case of dosh. No flies on old Nick!’

‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed. ‘An attaché case of dosh – is that so?’

‘That is so, my ol’ son. That is so.’

‘But, uhm, well – what about Customs? I gather they’re rather hot on that sort of thing.’

‘Nah,’ he replied, ‘got it down to a fine art, has Nick, been doin’ it for years. Don’t you worry, Frankie.’

‘
What!
’ I cried, unused to being thus addressed.

‘Like I said, he’s done it too often to get caught. Mind you, it takes its toll, always does. Sort of delayed whatsit, I suppose. He won’t speak to no one for at least a week, never does. He’s what you might call delicate.’

I cannot say that I had ever witnessed that aspect of Ingaza and was far from convinced. However, if, as Eric seemed to think, the whole affair had been successfully completed, then with a bit of luck Ingaza might be so glad of my tip-off and its financial yield that he would be content to drop the Folly nonsense. After all, there were now two things I had achieved for him – purloining the pig and finding a productive buyer. Surely that merited some peace!

I was just reflecting on this when I heard Eric say, ‘And after that he’s taking his auntie to Bournemouth, a little celebration you might say.’

‘Taking Aunt Lil to Bournemouth!’ I exclaimed. ‘What ever for? What’s wrong with Eastbourne? I thought she liked the bandstand there.’

‘Yes, but she likes the casino better.’

‘The
casino
?’ I cried. ‘But surely Bournemouth doesn’t have a casino, it’s a most respectable resort!’

There was a chuckle. ‘For them what’s in the know there’s a very good casino, but not what you’d call open to the general public. A bit ’ush ’ush if you get my meaning, Frankie.’ This was followed by a further dark chortle.

I stared at the opposite wall where danced unsettling images of Aunt Lil ensconced in some dimly lit gambling den shouting the odds and haranguing the hapless croupier. I flinched. Rather Nicholas than me!

‘Well, Eric,’ I said politely, ‘most kind of you to fill me in on things. Er, glad to hear that all is well despite Dr Flutzveldt’s misadventure …’

‘Silly sod,’ was the scathing response. ‘You wonder about some of these Yanks, not as bright as they think they are!’

‘No, perhaps not … Anyway, nice to talk to you.’

I was about to replace the receiver when he said, ‘I’ll tell His Nibs you was asking after him, but like I said, what with him goin’ into purdah and then gadding off with Lil, you may not hear from him for a bit. But he’ll make contact sometime, don’t you worry, ol’ son.’

‘That’s quite all right,’ I replied eagerly. ‘Absolutely no hurry, no hurry at all!’

We concluded our conversation, and I lit a cigarette and sat for some time on the hall chair, brooding. Frankie indeed!