Dangerous Sea (32 page)

‘I do hope so,’ Verity could not help interjecting.

‘As a Communist, you mean?’

‘Yes, of course. It’s what we are working for.’

Hunt looked dubious. ‘The funny thing is, all that rubbish Marx talks about the capitalist system – I don’t really hold with it. I’m an art dealer – a parasite, I suppose you might say. If there are no Lorenzo de Medicis to buy and Michelangelos to sell . . .’

‘Hey!’ Verity said, trying to talk with her mouth full of toast and honey, ‘I remember you saying the artist ought to be an artisan with a secure place in society – like a postman or a carpenter – and that he should have a salary and not be subject to market demands.’

‘Did I say that?’ Hunt was vague but his small eyes were beady. ‘How very clever of you to remember, my dear.’

Verity did not like be called ‘my dear’ particularly by someone who, if not a card-carrying Communist, was certainly a sympathizer and therefore ought to have known better.

‘Yes, you did.’

‘I must have been in one of my theoretical moods. I’m afraid I’m such a weathercock – not consistent . . . not consistent at all.’

She had a feeling he was mocking her. ‘So you are going to be art adviser to the stars?’ She, too, could mock and Hunt looked a little embarrassed.

‘If you put it like that, yes, that’s the idea.’

Verity suddenly remembered why she was having this conversation. She was trying to find out if Hunt could have killed Senator Day. She must turn on the hot tap again and warm up the conversation.

‘I think it’s a brilliant scheme,’ she said confidingly. ‘If you get to know the powerful people in Hollywood, it will help get them on our side.’

‘Which side is that?’ Hunt was still not mollified.

‘I mean if Day’s friend, Senator Dies, gets his un-American whatever-it-is . . . un-American activities committee . . . off the ground, the government will use it to clamp down on Communists.’

‘Oh, do you think so?’ Hunt sounded vague again. ‘I don’t know anything about politics.’

Verity felt she wasn’t getting anywhere. She ought to have him eating out of her hand by now but, instead, she could sense she was losing him. She’d better get to the point.

‘Talking of Senator Day, I wonder who did kill him? Have you any ideas?’

‘None at all. Does it matter? Someone did us all a good turn. Let’s leave it at that.’

‘But I can’t help being interested,’ she persisted. ‘I was watching the race when it happened. You were too, weren’t you?’

‘The race? You mean that silly rush round the deck when Corinth got hurt? Why should I watch that?’

‘So where were you then?’

‘Do you really want to know?’ A gleam of malice ripped the vagueness from his face.

‘I do,’ Verity said stoutly.

‘You’ll be shocked.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘No? Well then, I’ll tell you but you musn’t breathe a word – especially not to your friend Corinth. I’m sure
he
would be shocked. You know that boy who’s always running about in a brass-buttoned uniform?’

‘One of the pageboys?’

There were a dozen or so pageboys available to fetch and carry, take messages and otherwise make themselves useful to First Class passengers.

‘There is only one,’ he said reproachfully, ‘worth looking at, that is. Rudi. You must have seen him. Red-haired, such a cheeky boy. Anyway, Rudi and I were in my cabin when the good Senator was getting himself killed.’

‘What were you doing with Rudi in your cabin?’ she asked faintly.

‘What do you think we were doing? He was cleaning my shoes for me.’

When Edward was regaled by Verity with this story, he laughed outright.

‘What are you laughing about?’ she said crossly. ‘That horrible man was perverting some boy in his cabin and you laugh.’

‘I’ll get the Purser to have a quiet word with Rudi but I think you’ll find he
was
just polishing Hunt’s shoes – even if Hunt hoped he might be available for something else. Haven’t you noticed how he worships Jane Barclay? Rudi is a red-blooded heterosexual boy, whatever Bernard Hunt might wish to the contrary. Still, he may well be able to give Hunt an alibi. I think he knew just what you were up to, V, and wanted to tease you.’

‘Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny. All I can say is you’d better be right about Bernard Hunt. I would be quite pleased to be able to say he was a murderer.’

‘But he’s a Comrade!’ Edward said in mock horror. ‘What can it matter if a Comrade is a killer provided he kills on the Party’s instructions?’

‘He’s not a member of the Party,’ she replied coldly.

He knew he had gone too far. ‘I’m sorry, V. Forgive me? Please!’

She stalked off in high dudgeon. Golly, Edward thought. A few minutes ago they had been proclaiming eternal love to one another and now they were back to their normal squabbling. He shuddered. What would marriage be like? He shuddered again.

He was just turning to hobble down to the lounge – he couldn’t go back to his cabin because Fenton had begun packing – wondering if it were too early to get a drink when he bumped into Frank.

‘I say, Uncle Ned, can we have a word? There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you.’ His manner was formal as though he had asked to see the headmaster, and Edward repressed a smile. He thought he knew what was coming.

‘I was just going down to the lounge. We can find a quiet corner there. It’s too early for people to be having drinks,’ he added with regret.

The leather armchairs were so deep and wide that it made confidential conversation difficult but there was no one else in the place except a waiter whom they dismissed as they seated themselves.

There was a pause. Edward looked at his nephew expectantly but the boy seemed unwilling to begin so he said, ‘How’s the arm?’

‘Oh, it’s all right. The doctor insisted on making me wear this sling but I think it’s just to make me feel important.’

There was another pause and Edward tried again. ‘I don’t know why but I can’t seem to hate that man Blane even though he killed an innocent man. He just seems so pathetic.’

‘You might feel differently if he’d killed me or Benyon,’ Frank said tartly.

‘You’re right, of course. I was being stupid. The inadequates make us suffer for their inadequacies. Hitler is using us to make up for his. Have you read Freud?’

‘No. Look, Uncle Ned, I didn’t want to talk to you about Freud.’

‘Of course not. What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘The Roosevelts – Perry and Philly.’

‘Are you still engaged to Philly? She’s a charming girl.’

‘No, I’m not. I don’t know what happened. I wanted to ask her if she really loved me or if she loved my being a lord and all that tosh and being . . . you know . . . rich. We were dancing and she felt like . . . like gossamer in my arms and I swear, if she had said she did love me, I would have married her whatever Father said . . . or you . . .’

‘But . . .?’

‘But, before I could say anything, she put her hand over my mouth and led me off into a corner and told me she was sorry but she couldn’t marry me.’

‘Did she give any reason?’ Edward inquired mildly.

‘She said she was ill and that it wouldn’t be fair on me. I said that didn’t matter. I would help her get better.’

Edward winced inwardly. If the girl had wanted to take that as a renewal of Frank’s offer, she would have had every right to do so.

‘And what did she say?’ He spoke gently but there was an undercurrent of anxiety in his voice which his nephew must have sensed.

‘I . . . meant it . . . I would have stood by her,’ he said with dignity, ‘but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said she wanted to get well first and then if we met . . . well, it would be different.’

‘That was very fair of her.’

‘Yes, it was, and I let her persuade me. I don’t why I still feel a bit of a cad. She is the most lovely thing . . .’

‘I know she is, Frank. She’s enchanting but you are still very young.’

Frank looked at his uncle with dislike. ‘That’s not a very original thing to say. If I’m old enough to be shot at, I’m surely old enough to know when I’m in love.’

‘Sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to be patronizing. Was that what you wanted to tell me?’

‘Yes – I mean no. There is something else.’ He was clearly wrestling with himself. Edward lit a cigarette and waited. ‘You remember our race?’

‘I do,’ Edward said, tapping his leg.

‘Yes, of course you do. I mean, that was when Day was murdered, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Edward was curious, wondering what was coming next.

‘Well, I don’t want to . . . I’m probably mistaken but . . .’

‘But what, Frank? You may as well spit it out.’

‘The thing is, Perry wasn’t there.’

‘Not there? But I saw him race.’

‘Not there all the time. You raced first and you fell and we all clustered around you. Then – I don’t know – five minutes later, I ran and then . . .’

‘And then Perry ran.’

‘Yes, but there was a period of perhaps ten or fifteen minutes when Perry just wasn’t around.’

‘I thought I saw him but, it’s true, I was in pain and concerned that I had made a fool of myself.’

‘You may have seen Philly and thought she was Perry. I noticed they were wearing very similar colours.’

‘She wasn’t wearing white tie and tails.’

‘No, but she was dressed in that rather wonderful black trouser-suit with the white collar. I thought she looked absolutely . . .’ His voice had taken on a note of excitement which was soon replaced by anxiety as he remembered what he was saying.

‘You think we might have mistaken Philly for Perry while he was rushing downstairs to knock Day on the head? Is that it?’ He spoke brutally, wanting Frank to face the implications of what he was saying.

‘I’m sure he didn’t but . . . but I thought it was possible. He had a motive . . . what Day had done to their father . . .’

‘And he had opportunity and a sort of alibi.’

Frank looked miserable. ‘Tell me I’m wrong, Uncle Ned.’

‘I had thought the same thing,’ he confessed. ‘It occurred to me when I was watching the magician – Jasper Maskelyne. He was working by “misdirection” – making the audience look in the wrong direction so they did not see the wires that made the “levitation” possible. He made us think we were seeing something when actually we were seeing something else. But even if Perry did mislead us about being on deck when actually he wasn’t, how could he possibly know that Jane Barclay had positioned Day in exactly the right place, on the edge of the pool?’

‘They might be in cahoots. I got the feeling from something Perry said to me that they had met her and Warren in England.’

Edward considered this. ‘But even then . . . even if they – Jane and Perry – had planned this between them, how could she have timed it so perfectly?’

‘What if Philly had been with Jane – watched her lure Day to the pool and then rushed up on deck and more or less taken Perry’s place as he went down and did the deed?’

Edward sucked on his cigarette. ‘It’s possible,’ he agreed. ‘Look, you’ve done well, Frank. You’ve overcome a perfectly justifiable feeling that you might be betraying a friendship to tell me your suspicions. That was right of you but I don’t think you are correct. I think Perry
was
on deck while I was making a fool of myself and you were racing. I’m sure I can find witnesses and I’m sure I didn’t mistake him for his twin. So forget all about it. You concentrate on Benyon and leave the rest to me.’

‘Gladly, Uncle. Phoo! What a relief to have got that off my chest. I’m glad you think it’s nonsense though.’

‘I didn’t say that but . . . Anyway, you cut along and leave me to meditate.’

With a wave of his hand, Frank got up quickly and made off. Edward sat for a further five minutes, chewing over what Frank had told him and then, with a sigh, reached for his crutch and limped off to find the Roosevelts.

There was an almost tangible air of excitement among the passengers. As though heaving off a blanket preparatory to getting out of bed, they were beginning to throw off the intimacies they had encouraged in the days at sea. Maids and valets were opening suitcases while stewards fussed around them trying to justify the tips they were anticipating. Edward knew he could safely leave Fenton to do his packing as well as Benyon’s.

A little reluctantly, he strolled along to the Roosevelts’ cabin. He knocked on the door and Mrs Roosevelt called, ‘Come in.’ The twins, he saw to his relief, were not present. Mrs Roosevelt was half seated, half lying on a sort of ottoman. She had a handkerchief in her hand and the scent of cologne was almost overpowering. Around her, suitcases lay open but no attempt had yet been made to fill them.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Roosevelt?’ Edward asked with concern.

‘Oh, Lord Edward, is that you? Take no notice. I have one of my headaches, that’s all. I always get one when we arrive in a new place. I suppose it’s knowing I have to make the effort to pack and get off the boat.’

She gestured vaguely to the suitcases.

‘Would you like me to summon the steward to help you pack?’

‘That’s so kind of you but please don’t worry. Philly will be back shortly and she’ll take charge. You know, Lord Edward, behind that air of being beyond the ordinary – not quite of this world, I think was how you once put it – she is, actually, very well organized and quite determined.’

There was a very slight edge to her remark and Edward wondered if the twins did not occasionally bully their mother, but perhaps she was a woman who needed a little bullying.

‘I’ve noticed that, Mrs Roosevelt. Philly knows what she wants and how to get it but she does it so charmingly we are all persuaded it was our idea in the first place.’

They looked at each other and smiled like two conspirators who had dared to criticize their gaolers and felt the better for it.

‘I understand from my nephew that he is no longer engaged to your daughter? I hope I haven’t been guilty of . . .’

‘That was all such nonsense. Frank is a dear boy but it was a shipboard romance – that’s all.’

‘I do hope we can see something of you all in New York. Where will you be staying?’