The Ways of the World (38 page)

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself. I’m sure my father wouldn’t want you to.’

‘No. He would not. He was a good man.’

‘About Ennis, Baltazar …’

‘
Sim?
’

‘Sam tells me Ennis mentioned “contingencies”.’

‘Ah yes. He did. I do not know what he meant.’

‘Does the phrase “Contingencies Memorandum” mean anything to you?’

Ribeiro shook his head. ‘No. A document maybe. Something to do with the conference.’

‘Something my father saw as a source of money, actually. But what exactly it was … or is …’

‘I did not know he carried so many secrets. They did not weigh him down. I will say that. The last time I saw him, his heart was light.’

‘Did he ever mention a man called Fritz Lemmer to you?’

‘Lemmer?’ Ribeiro frowned. ‘Yes. I think he did. Not recently, though. Years ago, when we first knew each other, in Rio.’

‘What did he say?’

‘
Meu Deus!
It is so long ago. But I do remember the name. Yes, Lemmer. What was it? What was it Henry used to say?’ Ribeiro stroked his moustache as he cast his mind back. ‘Somehow, I think, he was involved with an assassination attempt against the Tsarevich
in Japan. Yes. Japan. That is where Henry knew Lemmer. You know him also?’

‘I’m beginning to. He’s a dangerous man. As Pa discovered.’

‘I am sorry I did not tell you the whole truth when you first came to see me.’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Baltazar. It wasn’t your rubber venture that got my father killed. It’s what he did to fund it.’

‘Rio has the most beautiful racecourse in the world, you know, with the mountains and the bay and the clear, clear light.’ Ribeiro shook his head in mourning for times past. ‘Such days we had there, Henry and I.’ He sighed. ‘He always liked long odds. It was a weakness of his. I believe you may have inherited it.’

‘You could be right.’ Max rose slowly to his feet, gratified by the lack of pain in his side. ‘I certainly wouldn’t suggest you back me to win.’

‘But you will run the course, even so?’

Max nodded. ‘Oh yes. To the end.’

IN THE END,
Max had his steak at the Gare du Nord. He was tired, but oddly exhilarated. Lemmer had got the better of him so far, it was true, but Brigham was vulnerable for reasons Lemmer was almost certainly unaware of and Max was confident he could exploit the fact.

He asked Sam to tell Nadia where he was going and why. He had hoped to see her that evening, but the visit to Ribeiro had eaten into his reserves of time and energy. He also asked Sam to apologize to Mellish on his behalf for giving him no warning of his departure. Sam reiterated his opinion that a man in Max’s condition should be going nowhere except the nearest hospital. But he knew Max was not going to change his mind. ‘You are a stubborn so-and-so, sir, you truly are.’

Appleby arrived to see Max off with barely ten minutes to spare before the train left. Max had begun to suspect he was not going to be supplied with the promised gun, but Appleby had actually been delayed by a wrangle with Carver. ‘It may be just as well you left the Hôtel Dieu when you did. He was hoping to interrogate you. Naturally, I claimed ignorance of where you’d gone.’

The revolver came with a box of ammunition. ‘As far as anyone’s to know,’ Appleby emphasized, ‘you bought this from an ex-serviceman in a bar.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

‘What kind of marksman are you?’

‘I wasn’t bad with a machine-gun mounted on a Sopwith Camel.’

‘Have you ever fired a revolver?’

‘No. But don’t worry. The other chap won’t know that.’

He boarded the train with Sam, who stowed his bag in the first-class sleeping compartment Appleby had generously paid for. They shook hands before Sam got off. No words were spoken. They had said all that needed to be said. Max lit a cigarette, his first since the shooting, and waved from the window as jauntily as he could manage when the train drew out. Appleby had already left. Only Sam remained to wave back.

Max surprised himself by sleeping well as the train wound north through the night. A pink-streaked dawn was breaking as the ferry left Calais. His Channel crossing with Ashley seemed an age ago, though in fact only a week had passed since then. Time, as he knew from the contrast between active service and confinement as a POW, was a deceptively elastic commodity.

It was mid-morning when the train reached Victoria. Max felt sore and weary, despite all the sleep he had had. He made straight for the flat. Tuesday was not one of Mrs Harrison’s cleaning days, so he was safe from mothering by her. A shivering fit on the ferry had subsided as rapidly as it had come and his wound seemed to be healing well. He was still several paces slower, in thought and movement, than he was used to being. He was not quite as firmly fixed in the world as he knew he should be. It was as if he was slightly drunk when in reality he was stone-cold sober – and deadly serious.

After a soothing bath and a closer shave than he could have managed on the train, he telephoned the Foreign Office. He was put through to Brigham’s secretary. She was all plummy-toned unhelpfulness at first, but, after consulting Brigham at Max’s insistence, she changed her tune. ‘I’ll put you through, Mr Maxted.’

‘James?’ Brigham sounded suspicious, as well he might, but also strangely solicitous. ‘I’m glad to hear from you. How are you? I’ve been worried about you.’

‘You know about the shooting?’

‘Yes. I’d have come to see you if I hadn’t been, well, banished in
effect, as a result of an absurd misunderstanding. Are you phoning from the hospital? It’s an unusually good line.’

‘No. I’m in London.’

‘What? How’s that?’

‘I discharged myself. It wasn’t a serious wound. I feel fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘But what brings you to London?’

‘You do, Brigham. I’ve been thinking about what you said when we met in Paris. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle as I did.’

‘Well, it’s understandable that—’

‘The fact is, I think I may have misjudged you.’

‘You do?’

‘It’s an awkward situation. I’m sure you appreciate that.’

‘Of course.’

‘I wonder if we could meet and talk things through a little more calmly.’

‘I’d be delighted to, my boy. When can you manage? How about lunch at my club? My unexpected return to London means I have an empty diary.’

‘Lunch at your club would suit me very well.’

‘Then I’ll see you at the Athenaeum at one.’

Max donned an artificial persona as well as one of his better suits for lunch with Brigham. He would be reasonable, open-minded and receptive. He would imply that his brush with death had made him appreciate how justified – and genuine – Brigham’s concern for his welfare was. As to their possible blood relationship, he would suggest it was a question they could never hope to answer conclusively; it might best be left open. They were men of the world. Not all marriages were happy. Not all adulteries were contemptible. Oh, yes, Max intended to be everything he needed to be to set Brigham at ease.

The ploy was remarkably successful. Brigham greeted him in the entrance hall of the Athenaeum warmly, if nervously. ‘We got off
on the wrong foot last time, James. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have this chance of setting matters right.’

They went into the dining-room and sat at a window table. Brigham was well-known to the staff and other members. He was in his element, which was exactly where Max wanted him. Max ventured an apology for his behaviour when they had last met. Brigham assured him it was unnecessary. They relaxed over aperitifs. Brigham referred again to the ‘misunderstanding’ that had led to his departure from Paris. Max did not oblige him to elaborate.

Wine began to flow, though Max made sure more of it flowed down Brigham’s throat than his. He recounted his war experiences. Brigham described the life of a diplomat. They both expended a deal of delicacy in discussing Brigham’s friendship with Max’s mother, while refraining from specifying what it might mean they were to each other. Neither of them mentioned Walter Ennis or Igor Bukayev. Neither spoke directly of the circumstances of Sir Henry’s death.

Late in the meal, Max shifted the ground of their conversation, as he had always intended to. ‘I think I may have threatened to kill you when we spoke that night in Paris, Brigham.’

‘I trust you’re not planning to now.’ Brigham’s voice was slightly slurred, his face flushed, but not with anger. He was, in fact, smiling broadly.

‘No. My narrow escape at Notre-Dame has made me realize how foolishly I was behaving then.’

‘I did warn you.’

‘Indeed you did. I should have listened.’

‘Paris may not look like a snake-pit, but that’s what it is while this damned conference brings half the world’s rogues to its boulevards. You were lucky not to be killed.’

‘I know. Blundering around the city accusing every third person I met of involvement in Pa’s murder wasn’t the wisest way to proceed.’

‘Probably not.’

‘I’ve made myself a few enemies in the process.’

‘Just as well you’ve left Paris, then.’

‘Yes. But some of them have a long reach, I fear. One in particular.’ Max lowered his voice and leant across the table. ‘Fritz Lemmer.’

‘Lemmer?’ Brigham’s eyes widened in an impressive show of surprise. ‘You surely haven’t crossed his path.’

‘You know who he is?’

‘The Secret Service do brief us from time to time, albeit reluctantly. Yes, I know who Lemmer is – and what he used to be – though I’ve always suspected his importance was overestimated.’

‘Pa posed a threat to Lemmer. I believe that’s why he was killed. And I believe it’s why my life is in danger.’

‘You think it is? I assumed you were just … in the firing line … when Ennis was shot.’

‘I need help, Brigham.
Your
help.’

‘Well, if there’s anything I can do …’

‘How do I get Lemmer off my back?’

‘Perhaps, if you leave him alone, he’ll leave you alone.’

‘I’m afraid I may have got too close to him already for him to take that line. I think I have to send him some kind of message if I’m to persuade him to call off the dogs.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘You know a lot of people, Brigham. I remember you told me I lacked connections. And you were right. But you have connections, don’t you, built up over the years?’

‘A good many, yes.’

‘So, could you use them to communicate with Lemmer on my behalf?’

‘With
Lemmer
?’

‘Yes.’

Brigham sat back in his chair and frowned. ‘You know what they say he did for the Kaiser. You know how he’s supposed to operate. And now, as I understand it, he’s on the run. You can’t seriously suppose I have any way of approaching him.’

‘Not even if my life depends on it?’

The frown deepened. ‘I’d have to find someone who was – or knows someone who was – one of Lemmer’s spies.’

‘Or still is.’

‘Exactly. Which is something no one in their right mind would admit, or even encourage another to infer. Good God, it’s what Appleby more or less accused me of being on the basis of that Russian girl’s crazy allegations.’

‘I wouldn’t ask how you managed it, Brigham. I’d simply be grateful. I just want Lemmer to understand I’m not a threat to him, as I’d be prepared to demonstrate in any way he asked.’

Brigham cocked his head in a show of perplexity. ‘What do you mean by that, my boy?’

‘I’m not sure. You probably know how these things work better than I do. It’s just that I’ve begun to see the wisdom of the old saying: if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’

‘You surely wouldn’t want to
join
Lemmer’s operation.’

‘Not as such, no. But it’s effectively defunct, isn’t it, with the Kaiser in exile? Lemmer’s in no position to damage British interests, so doing him some small service would harm no one. You catch my drift?’

‘I couldn’t possibly advise you to strike terms with a man like Lemmer, James. The war may be over, but he’s still an enemy of this country.’

‘Friends and enemies can be a little hard to tell apart in the situation I find myself in.’

‘I appreciate that, but—’

‘Is there really nothing you can do for me? I don’t know where else to turn.’

Surely Brigham would give ground now. Surely he could not ignore such an appeal. Max gazed pleadingly into the eyes of the man who so badly wanted to believe he was his father. And something shifted in Brigham’s gaze. ‘I suppose there are … avenues I could explore.’

‘You’d be willing to do that for me?’

‘Yes. But this is a delicate business.’ Brigham craned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘If we’re to discuss it further, I’d prefer we did so in a more private setting.’

There was no one within earshot. Most of the other tables had emptied long since. But Max was not about to challenge Brigham’s
logic. A more private setting would suit him very well. ‘We could go to my place in town. It’s in Mount Street.’

‘I believe I may have been there.’

When and why Brigham had been there he was unlikely to say and Max had no wish to ask. The flat had originally been bought by Sir Henry as a pied-à-terre within easy reach of the Foreign Office. During his many long absences abroad, Lady Maxted had used it for visits to London to shop or see a play or … otherwise amuse herself. Max could have guessed that Brigham would have found his way there at some point, but he could not afford to indulge the distaste he felt at the thought.

‘Listen, James, I ought to put in an appearance at the office this afternoon.’ Brigham glanced at his watch. ‘What’s left of the afternoon, anyway. I’ll call on you at the flat at, say, six o’clock. By then I’ll have been able to give some thought to your problem. I want to help you, I really do. And I will if I possibly can.’

‘I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear you say that.’ What a consummate liar Max was becoming. He quite appalled himself.

‘Don’t worry, my boy. There’s a way out of everything if you look hard enough.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ And so another lie tripped from Max’s lips. For there would be no way out of the trap he was setting for Brigham. He would see to that.