Territorial Rights (13 page)

‘Whisky on the rocks,’ said Curran, getting out his money which Leo waved aside. Grace put in for a nice sherry.

‘Many a nice sherry,’ said Grace, when Leo had gone to the bar, ‘I had at Leo’s expense one time at Ambrose College where I was Matron, when he brought back from half-term a large medicine bottle labelled “To be taken twice a day before meals”. But it didn’t fool me. One sniff and I could tell it was the very best sherry, medium-dry. So I confiscated that item and enjoyed every drop of it; and while we’re talking about confiscations I brought off another coup this morning. You’d never guess what I found upstairs in Robert’s room. I just thought—’

‘Here, in Robert’s room?’ Curran said.

‘Yes, well, as he’s gone AWOL I thought I’d just pop in and enquire, but there was nobody at the desk, it was half-past eight this morning so I helped myself to the key. As a former Matron I feel it’s my right to know. Well, there wasn’t much. Only a few clothes and his notebooks. No drink, drugs or money. But I found some notes for a novel he’s writing and believe me, it’s a revelation into his mind. I’ve only had time to read the first two pages because I like to take it easy, you know, but—’

‘You had no right to touch anything,’ Curran said. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to hand over the notes, Mrs Gregory. I have a letter from Robert authorising me to pack his belongings because he’s gone away on a trip to a destination that he does not wish to be disclosed. It’s really quite a serious thing to go into someone’s room without their permission and take their property. It’s breaking and entering. It’s—’

‘No, it isn’t breaking and entering,’ Mary said. ‘I know that for a fact, Curran. It’s only entering without due consent. The law—’

‘Mary, perhaps you know the laws of England better than I do,’ Curran said. ‘No doubt you have reason.’

‘Oh, plenty of reason,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve been burgled twice. Why don’t you show Grace your letter of authority from Robert? I’m dying to see that letter. Here come our drinks.’

Leo came, followed by the lanky boy who tended the bar, carrying the drinks. Curran rose and went over to the desk where Katerina was for a moment free from any of her guests. ‘I’ll have to wait till these people are gone,’ he said, ‘but it seems that Robert Leaver is going to give us trouble; we must talk.’

‘Eufemia had a phone call an hour ago,’ Katerina said. ‘I must tell you—’

‘Wait till later,’ said Curran. ‘I want to pack Robert’s things. But now I’ve just heard that Mrs Gregory—that’s the old one in the fur coat and blue jeans with spectacles—went up to his room this morning and took some of Robert’s papers. They might be important. Would you mind stepping over to our table and asking her politely to return them?’

‘Oh, no, I won’t do that,’ Katerina said. ‘I tell you it’s best not to show fear. There is a book that Robert is writing. Eufemia got the message, all of it on the phone. Robert is writing all about us because he knows all about the past, all of it. I don’t want to be involved.’

‘But you are involved,’ Curran said.

‘It’s a threat,’ Katerina said.

‘Of course it is,’ said Curran. ‘Why did you give the key of his room to the maid?’

‘I have the key to his room,’ Katerina said. ‘I have it in my pocket. No one else can enter.’

‘Well, his room was rifled at eight-thirty this morning. You were too late,’ Curran said.

‘But how could I know so early? We didn’t get the call till after lunch.’

Curran returned to the table where Mary was describing in elaborate detail a Renaissance Italian recipe for a sweet sauce comprising cane sugar, vinegar, pepper and spices. ‘Around the year fifteen hundred,’ she was saying, ‘they used a lot of spices which have practically been forgotten and herbs which, you know, were probably the same as our forbidden drugs, not to mention the poisoning that went on. My dear, if you read your—’

‘Mrs Gregory,’ said Curran. The proprietor of this establishment wants those notes back, and any other thing that you took from Robert’s room. She is entitled to inform the police of an illegal entrance to her clients’ rooms.’

‘I should think Robert’s father is the one who should have the say,’ Mary said. ‘But I don’t see any harm if it’s only notes for a novel he was writing.’

‘It’s a very unnatural piece of work, Grace said. ‘I must say, so far as I’ve read, he names names. But that’s just like him, to make up stories about the people who’ve been good to him. I tell you, Mr Curran, what I’ll do. I’ll hand it over to you when I’ve read it. I don’t think it would be fair to hand it over to Mr Leaver Senior, really I don’t. How low can one sink? I have to ring Anthea tonight cost what it may. I couldn’t get through last night at the cheap rate. She doesn’t know Robert’s gone away. But good riddance to him, that’s what I think. Well, Mrs Tiller, I’ve been glad to meet you again for a talk face to face. Come along, Leo.’

‘Tell Anthea,’ said Mary, ‘that her husband is in good hands.’

Curran swallowed down his whisky.

Mary was gazing upward. Then she said to Katerina, ‘Allow me to pass a compliment on your beautiful chandelier.’

M
ONDAY NIGHT.
V
IOLET HANDED
back Robert’s letter to Curran after she had read it. They were together in her study at the Ca’ Winter.

‘It’s the word “exhumation” …’ she said.

‘That affair of Pancev had nothing really to do with me,’ Curran said. ‘I was only trying to help.’

‘Me too,’ said Violet. ‘I wish I didn’t even know about it. I hardly remembered much about it, as a matter of fact, until Lina Pancev turned up. It hadn’t crossed my mind for years, and years. … I’ve had other things to think about.’

‘Did you notice that phrase “the implications that touch on your complicity”? Ghastly pompous phrase, and he means it. I would have thought it was a hoax, but really. …’

‘Well, you must know your Robert,’ Violet said.

‘Whoever has told him about Pancev is deliberately misinforming him in order to blackmail me,’ Curran said.

‘Oh, undoubtedly it’s the Butcher who’s got hold of him,’ Violet said. I suppose the Butcher needs more money, now that the cost of living. …’ Katerina and Eufemia have been paying the Butcher all these years, but of course they don’t have a fortune like you.’

‘I had nothing to do with Pancev’s death. I dined with Pancev at the Villa Sofia the night before he died. I had the shock of my life when I heard. I liked Victor Pancev.’

‘Oh, I know that he was killed by those Bulgarians. But I’m terrified of what Robert can say.’ She was sitting very straight in her chair. She looked rather wooden. ‘I got a letter, too,’ she said. ‘It’s clear that Robert has got a true bit of the story, or perhaps two bits, and is prepared to elaborate the rest.’ She opened her little purse, took out a square-folded piece of paper, and handed it to Curran. She got up and arranged the curtains of her small study, pink and mauve English chintz, quite a different background from that of her drawing-room. She looked out on the lamplight and darkness without noticing whether it was raining or not, whether the wind was blowing, cold or warm, she was indifferent to what was outside as if she were young again, unbothered by the weather and concerned only with the atmospherics of her own senses. She straightened the cosy hangings. I can’t believe this is happening,’ Violet said.

Curran’s hand gestured for silence while he stared at the letter.

… know you, although you do not know me, except for one time we met in Curran’s flat in Paris. It has been brought to my notice that both you and Curran were co-responsible in the year 1945 AD for (A) the vivisection of Victor Pancev, and his subsequent burial in two parts of the garden of the then Villa Sofia now Pensione idem. (B) You were the lover of Victor Pancev. (C) Curran was an agent for the Germans. He turned on Pancev, who had been involved in a German plot to poison King Boris, and arranged for Pancev to be killed, to silence him. (D) Curran is involved with yourself in a drug racket. Exhumations and revelations might ensue if you, Countess de Winter, do not persuade Curran quickly, repeat quickly, to prepare a substantial sum of money. I am in the hands of armed kidnappers who will stop at nothing. Phone call to follow.

Robert Leaver

P. S. You and your late husband, Count Riccardo de Winter, were also spies for the Germans 1942–1945.

‘Vivisection’ said Violet, ‘is not true. He was already dead.’

‘Drug racket is not true,’ said Curran.

‘You were Victor’s friend,’ said Violet.

‘And you were his lover,’ he said.

‘There’s the question of the body,’ said Violet. The rest is immaterial.’

Curran said, ‘The owners of the Pensione are answerable. We should go straight to the police with these letters. Let Katerina and Eufemia take care of themselves. We should go straight to the police. Vivisection, indeed. Drug racket, indeed.’

‘They would dig up the garden of the Pensione Sofia. If Robert starts this smear, how are we to escape from it? God, I’m frightened. The stories would be all over the place. After all, we were both
there.’

‘Robert isn’t working alone, you know,’ Curran said.

‘Oh, obviously, it’s the Butcher. I got the letter in a plastic bag that Lina brought back with the shopping. She didn’t know it was there.’

‘Might she be involved in this?’ said Curran.

‘No, the Butcher is just a butcher to her. She doesn’t know where Robert is. She knows nothing about her father, how those two women fought over his body. She knows nothing about life, nothing about art, nothing about anything. …’

‘Keep calm, Violet,’ said Curran, not being very calm himself.

‘A pair of savages,’ Violet said. ‘And after all they’ve paid the Butcher all these years—’

‘The police,’ said Curran.

‘And maybe,’ said Violet, ‘there are people who remember that Riccardo worked for the Germans when they were here. Who didn’t? But the police would never believe we weren’t involved in the murder, and drugs and any other crimes we’re accused of. They would dig up the two halves of Pancev’s body and we’d be interrogated, the house would be searched, you would be hounded in every country. This isn’t England, you know, and even there—’

‘It’s the Byzantine Empire here,’ said Curran. ‘I wish I could see Robert and have a talk with him.’

‘You must have a lot of faith in him, to say that,’ Violet said. ‘Or else, faith in yourself. Personally, I think he’s evil.’

‘So do I,’ Curran said, ‘and infantile. Which amounts to the same thing when you add a little power. Only a little power.’

The police searching the house, making enquiries. … I couldn’t live through it, Curran.’

‘You shouldn’t be mixed up with that unsavoury outfit, GESS,’ Curran said. ‘That’s something you don’t want known.’

‘There’s plenty you don’t want known, Curran,’ said Violet.

‘That’s exactly what Robert is counting on,’ said Curran.

‘Robert and the Butcher,’ Violet said. ‘Do you think it possible he’s written these missives under duress?’

‘I don’t think for a moment he’s been kidnapped. I think they’ve got hold of Robert because they know he’s my protégé. They want money, that’s all.’

‘Then give them money.’

‘He talks about millions, plural. A million isn’t what it used to be but from Robert’s point of view it’s a career. Even one million, never mind the plural. If I paid a cent where would he stop? You must be mad. Let Katerina and Eufemia pay if they want to hush up their ridiculous secret.’

‘They haven’t got millions. I could never see what Victor Pancev saw in them. A couple of housemaids. But they were fiercely in love with him. I wish I’d never been mixed up with Pancev. What’s a body?’

‘But you helped them,’ said Curran. ‘You found the Butcher for them.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘If your memory is honest,’ said Curran, ‘I think that you did. I always assumed,’ said Curran, ‘that you were furious, after he was dead, to find he had been sleeping with them as well as with you. He had energy, did Victor Pancev.’

‘Do you want to quarrel with me?’ Violet said. ‘Because, if so—’ The telephone rang just then. Violet looked at the clock. ‘Nine-thirty,’ she said as she went to answer the phone. ‘I should have been at the committee meeting for the Liberation of the Environment.’

The call was not from the committee meeting; it was from Grace Gregory.

‘Excuse me, Countess Winter,’ said Grace, ‘but I’ve mislaid Leo. Is he there? This is Grace Gregory speaking, one-time Matron of Ambrose, friend of—’

‘Leo is with Lina in her studio. There is no telephone there,’ Violet said.

‘I can well understand how upset you feel,’ said Grace. ‘That young woman is insatiable. I’ve hardly been able to have a word with Leo since he met your Lina, and—’

‘She is not my Lina,’ said Violet. ‘She is Curran’s protégée. He wished her on to me. He’s here in—’

‘Insatiable, that’s what she is.’

‘It’s in the family,’ Violet said.

‘Well that’s interesting. I’ve been reading some notes about the father that Robert Leaver, vile young man, left behind in his room. I confiscated them. I have to talk to Curran about them.’

‘I’ll pass you Curran.’

‘Well, I was debating whether I could come to your place—’

‘Curran,’ said Violet. ‘Mrs Gregory on the line. Please take over.’

‘Lovely place you’ve got,’ said Grace.

‘Of course, there isn’t a word of truth in it,’ said Violet. She was referring to the close-typed, rumpled, pages of notes in her hand. She stared at them, with Curran looking over her shoulder, while Grace stared round the drawing-room.

Curran, a young wealthy American expatriate.

Violet, English wife of Riccardo de Winter, a luxury-living Italian fascist.

Victor Pancev, a Balkan diplomat close to the then King Boris of Bulgaria.

The above are part of a luxury fascist-bourgeois set who meet in Paris, London and other luxury capitals, leading a life of luxury and irresponsibility.