Treasure Preserved, page 9
‘No one can afford acts of blatant stupidity.’
‘But it would have looked exactly as intended. A teenage tearaway run riot with our machine.’
‘One who knew how to operate a JCB.’
‘Plenty of kids do, especially the way I was making it look. And those things are never immobilized. They sit about on building sites all over the country — evenings, weekends. No one would have been any the wiser, except we’d have lost one unlisted building surplus to requirements. It wouldn’t have been there next week for some interfering bureaucrat to preserve for the bloody nation. And Seawell does own the freehold.’ Quaint slurped back a whole cup of coffee. ‘And I didn’t know the Brasset woman was dead. I went …’ He stopped speaking, painfully straightened his back, then remained silent but glowering.
‘And you really believe you’d never have been twigged?’
‘Please, what is twigged?’ Ali had his pen poised.
‘Found out,’ Treasure explained automatically.
‘Rumbled,’ said Quaint at the same moment. Then he went on. ‘Of course we’d never have been rumbled. There was no one about. Early morning. Sheltered site. No close neighbours except that writer chap the girl mentioned. She says he sleeps through anything.’
‘You weren’t to know that.’
‘Risk worth taking. Anyway, he’d be used to demolition noises by now. I tell you there’d have been no one to prove a damn thing if you and the girl hadn’t come out of nowhere. How was I supposed to know you were down here already? Later this morning, you told Ali.’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘Anyway, you’re supposed to be on our side. And that goes for the girl too, if she’s got any sense.’
‘She’s very nice, the girl. She’s your girl, Mark?’ Ali nodded approvingly.
‘No, she is not my girl. And I came down primarily to see a promise was kept. A promise made to the late Lady Brasset by my company, and later by Seawell. That was yesterday afternoon. I’d hoped I could count on your word, Ali.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ mumbled the Sheikh, staring into his empty cup. ‘Very sorry, also, for Lady Brasset.’
‘Miss Mane is the daughter of one of the freeholders, who should have nothing to lose or gain now, whatever happens to the Round House, Ali. That’s assuming Seawell keeps its other promise.’
‘We’re ready to pay all. Everybody. The conveyances are processed. They get cheques in the post Monday, if you think that’s right, Mark. Banker’s drafts better, perhaps?’ Ali’s statement was delivered eagerly.
Treasure nodded. ‘And in a few days it’s ninety-nine per cent certain the DoE will agree the Round House doesn’t rate listing.’
‘You can’t be certain,’ grumbled Quaint.
‘Pretty certain they won’t stop it coming down. I’ve been over the place. I was doing it while you were getting ready to masquerade as a vandal. Lucky you didn’t demolish me with the house.’
‘If you’d put a light on upstairs …’
‘Well, I didn’t. And if you’re suggesting that would have stopped you coming, why didn’t you go back when you did see me?’
‘You asked me that in the car.’
‘And you never gave me an answer.’
‘I was in terrible pain in the car …’
‘Well, you’re not now.’
‘I am, actually. Anyway, I carried on because I thought you’d have the sense to know it was me. Know what I was doing. Push off and let me do it.’
‘With another witness there?’
‘The girl? Your little friend?’
Treasure paused, then decided to ignore the innuendo. ‘If you’d had that place in ruins, as you say, Seawell would certainly have been blamed. It would all have been too convenient. In the end you might easily have been sued by the leaseholder.’
‘For pennies?’
‘Who might very well have pressed the DoE or the local authority to make Ali rebuild the place. What Lady Brasset took to be the Soane plan really does exist, you know.’
‘There’s a lot of supposition in the Brasset theory.’
‘All right. But what if your corporate vandalism had meant no planning permission for the marina? I assume you still hope to build that next?’
‘They would do that? The Department of the Environment?’
‘They could, Ali, and very possibly would. Government ministries don’t like being made fools of.’ He turned again to Quaint. ‘And I couldn’t have left you to wreck the building in any circumstances since I couldn’t know it was you in that cab.’
‘Would it have made any difference?’
‘Not much. I’d have been marginally less worried about being run down if I’d known it was you and not some thug you’d hired.’
‘I could have been killed going down that hole.’
‘Which makes two of us. OK, the worst has been avoided. I’m sure no one saw or heard us, and that includes Elderberry. The story is, we spotted a vandal and chased him away before he did too much damage.’
Ali smiled knowingly. ‘You pay the girl, no?’
‘No, I don’t pay the girl. Miss Mane is not that sort of girl. There are other sorts,’ said Treasure testily.
The Arab was about to question what he took to be a refutation of a fundamental fact of Western European life, as he knew it: then he thought better not.
‘Tracy Mane will go along with us, don’t worry,’ the banker continued. ‘Whatever happens, Ali, you weren’t there.’
‘He wasn’t,’ Quaint put in.
‘I meant, he had nothing to do with this morning. Obviously he was involved in the plan, or he wouldn’t have been here last night. Thank heaven you had the sense to leave him here.’
‘He overslept.’
Ali nodded sheepishly.
‘I was going to suggest you had another go at Mrs Tring over the lease.’ Treasure addressed Quaint again. ‘As things are, I’ll try doing it myself. I met her last evening. She seems an eminently sensible woman.’
‘And sexy with it. Putty in your hands, no doubt. Ouch!’ Quaint had embellished the comment with an energetic gesture which turned into a painful one.
‘Please, you do this for us, Mark? This is the lady who also does not accept payment?’
‘So it seems, Ali.’
The young Sheikh shook his head ruefully: what was the world coming to?’
‘It doesn’t go absolutely flat. This seat,’ complained Tracy.
‘Because this is a conveyance, not a boudoir. You’re meant to be looking out of the window, not staring at the roof. More interesting.’ Treasure turned the car out of the Quaints’ long driveway and headed towards Tophaven.
‘Not much going for it as a passion wagon.’ She operated the lever that brought her seat-back into the upright position. ‘Now I feel like the Queen on a triumphal tour of the South Downs.’
‘Well, you don’t look like her. Pay attention. I want you to forget you saw Mr Quaint driving the JCB. The whole thing was an unfortunate mistake. No real harm done …’
‘Except to Mr Quaint.’ She giggled.
‘Exactly. But if it gets out there’ll be no end of fuss. To no purpose.’
‘OK. And Daddy gets the house money on Tuesday at the latest?’
‘As will all the other freeholders.’
‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’
‘I don’t require my back scratching, thank you very much.’
‘You can do mine any time.’ She turned away from him, dropping the duffel coat off her shoulders. She leant back so that her hair dangled in his lap.
‘You’re looking at the roof again, and distracting the driver. Probably an offence in law. Sit straight and do up your seat-belt.’
‘Mmm. So masterful.’ But she did as she was told.
‘Getting the money for your house isn’t dependent on your keeping quiet about Quaint.’
‘You mean you want me to do something else for that? Goody!’
‘I mean I’m appealing to your better nature over the whole episode.’
‘Pro bono publico, and all that jazz.’
‘Yes.’
She hesitated. ‘Does it matter I told Mrs Quaint?’
‘She doesn’t count.’
‘You can say that again. Talk about the downtrodden wife. Why do women like that stick it?’
‘Bad as that?’
‘Worse. We had little heart to hearts in the kitchen. He hardly tells her a thing, or only half of what’s going on. Leaves her to draw the wrong conclusions. He went to see Lady Brasset after he got home yesterday. Tarted himself up first.’
‘When?’
‘Around six. She thought he was off to see a new girlfriend. Then he asked her to look up Louella’s address in the phone book. She knew it, though. And she told him all about Louella. They used to be in a car pool together. One for transporting old people.’
‘You got the idea Quaint has girl-friends his wife knows about?’
‘Loads. Makes no secret of it, or what they cost him. But he keeps his wife on the breadline. Insists they’re nearly bankrupt. You know she was the boss’s spinster daughter? Only child and reached the desperate age — for someone who cares about that kind of thing. She couldn’t exactly have been a looker either. Must have married her for her loot. She inherited the lot. He’s spent it and run the company up the creek. Looks bad, I’d say.’
Dun & Bradstreet had something to learn from Tracy Mane.
‘He couldn’t have seen Lady Brasset …’ Treasure let the words dwindle into thoughts.
‘No. He was back by seven when the Desert Prince arrived. He wasn’t expected. The prince, that is. Not by Mrs Quaint. He and Mr Quaint went out to dinner and came back late. The prince …’
‘Actually, he’s a sheikh, not that it matters.’
‘Hard cheese. Still not my type. All right, the sheikh was pickled when they got home. Not used to booze he told Mrs Quaint. Suppose they planned knocking over the Round House, ahead of Louella getting it put in the stately homes category?’
‘Something like that.’ He might have assumed that would have been Quaint’s automatic reaction as soon as he heard about Lady Brasset. He should have allowed that Ali would have phoned Quaint the moment he got the news — at about 4.30 the previous afternoon. The visit to Louella was an unexpected twist. It triggered a new line of thought not concerned exclusively with Quaint.
‘What time did Lady Brasset call the Round House from London yesterday?’ he asked.
‘Let’s see. Cynthia was out for a bit. It was just before she got back. Around five, I’d say. Ten to, perhaps.’
‘But you took the call?’
‘Yes. Classes finish at four-thirty. I’d stayed on to see Cynthia. I knew she was coming back. Then Lancelot Elderberry came over to look at a typewriter he’s buying when term’s over.’
Treasure glanced sharply at the girl. ‘Elderberry was there? And you told him what Lady Brasset was ringing about?’
‘Mmm. He helped me with the measurements she needed.’
‘And that was the first Elderberry knew …’
‘About Louella’s sleuthing? I should think so. He and I paced out bits of the ground floor while she waited on the phone. She wanted to know if the measurements matched with the plan she’d seen in the Soane book. Cynthia came back just as she rang off.’
‘And did the measurements match?’
‘No. The Round House was a bit bigger. The original bits, I mean.’ Tracy settled into her seat. ‘This car is so cool.’
‘Sorry, I’ll put the heating up.’
She shook her head and grinned. ‘Cool glamorous not cool cold. Like the driver. Do we absolutely have to go to Tophaven?’
‘Yes, and you’re incorrigible. Kindly respect the fact that I’m an older man who’s lived a very sheltered life. Cool can never mean glamorous, though. And poking out your tongue won’t change the fact.’
‘Don’t believe the sheltered life, and I bet you’re under forty.’
‘Bit over, as it happens.’ He was just forty-two, and it irritated him that he was increasingly unready to be accurate in the matter. ‘When did the others at that meeting know what Lady Brasset was up to?’
She frowned, more because the subject bored her than because she had difficulty supplying an answer. ‘I told Daddy first. I expect Lancelot told the Daws. Mr Daws rang Daddy asking him if he’d organize a meeting. Poor Daddy. Everybody goes to him for free advice. Especially ex-service people.’
‘That’s a great credit to him.’
‘Suppose it is, really. Some write him about their personal problems. Or telephone. Sometimes from miles away. Men who’ve served under him, mostly. Mr Daws didn’t, of course. He isn’t ex-service. Just picks Daddy’s brains. Anyhow, this time Daddy put his foot down. Said the freeholders should consult with their lawyer. That’s Denis Pitty.’
‘So someone rang him?’
‘Daddy again. Got him to join the others for dinner at seven. At the Beachcomber. Mr Daws had to stand everybody a free meal. Couldn’t get out of it. The meeting was his idea. Serve him right.’
‘I see. Tell me, what was Mrs Tring’s reaction to Lady Brasset’s call?’
‘Oh, she knew already about why Louella had gone to London. Not about her seeing you …’
‘No, that was last-minute, I think, after she’d learned the planning permission was through. So Mrs Tring knew Lady Brasset had dug up evidence …’
‘In the Marshford Papers? In the library? Yes. Louella came over to the Round House to tell her Thursday evening.’
‘You were there then, too?’
‘No. Cynthia told me a bit about it in the morning. I was in before the others. That’s why I told Daddy. At lunch-time.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t indicate his earlier misunderstanding — or his present surprise. ‘You go home for lunch?’
‘Usually. Daddy’s by himself.’
‘D’you suppose Mrs Tring told anyone else?’
‘About Louella’s dreadful disclosures? She may have. Her husband probably. Does it matter?’
‘No,’ he answered, without being sure he meant it. ‘Just idle curiosity.’
But why had Lady Brasset been so much less circumspect than she had implied to Grenwood and himself? Perhaps, at the end, she had abandoned concern at being thwarted by the Tophaven Council. Certainly it had been Seawell and Roxton International that had been worrying her when she came to Grenwood, Phipps for protection against the rapacious instincts of property developers.
Still, he found the dead woman’s behaviour inconsistent unless …
‘Are you really taking me straight home?’
They were passing through the industrial estate that ringed the outskirts of the town.
‘Since you insist.’
‘Grr!’
He glanced at the time. ‘We can go on afterwards, if you like.’
‘Where?’ Her eyes opened wide.
‘The library.’
She fell back in the seat, pouting. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t stand the excitement.’
Chapter Eight
‘I wasn’t prying, Mr Treasure, I assure you.’
‘On the contrary, Mr Sims. I should have assumed you were showing a wholly professional attitude.’
‘That was it. That was it entirely. Well, almost. But Lady Brasset. She quite spurned assistance from the staff. One hesitates. Such a tragic accident. But she was … how can I put it? … She was almost perversely suspicious. Oh dear. I really shouldn’t say such things now.’
Treasure nodded understanding. Physically, and in mental attitude, Sims was a male replica of Mrs Daws, twenty or so years on. He was a worrier, the melancholic lines set deep into his brow. The remorse about speaking ill of the dead was genuine enough.
They were seated side by side at a reading desk in the reference room. There was no one else present. No one had been excluded: as usual, there were no other takers.
The Marshford Papers were arranged on the desk. Treasure had spent half an hour with the material before Sims had been able to join him. The sole assistant librarian had been late for work.
‘So instead of sharing in her research project, you were duplicating it?’
‘You could say that. Yes.’
‘You didn’t know what she was looking for, of course.’
‘A re-awakened interest in some aspect of the town’s history, I thought. As Chief Librarian —’ now that the other one had turned up — ‘one feels a working knowledge of archive material in active use …’
He droned on in a subdued tone. It was difficult to catch all the words, but even the cadence sounded unconvincing.
‘There was no hint from Lady Brasset as to her special interest?’ Treasure had interrupted at random. He knew the answer, of course. ‘You were perhaps trying to assess the irritant quotient to the Council of whatever it was she was trying to uncover.’
Sims turned a blotchy pink. ‘That wasn’t …’
‘You have my sympathy, believe me. I’ve learned the lady had a certain reputation as an interfering busybody. A meddler. It’s easy to credit. I spent an hour with her yesterday afternoon. Nice old thing, but I imagine also formidable in battle.’
There was relief on the other’s face. The hesitancy of manner began to fade: the voice gathered a bit of resonance. ‘It was the new library, you see. Everything’s approved. The money. The site. The plans. She might have been finding a way to block it. It could be ready in a year. I’d so looked forward. You understand, Mr Treasure? Sydney Marshford built this terrible place. What if there was something in these wretched Papers …?’
‘To stop you getting a new library? Yes, I do see. There isn’t, though?’
‘It appears not. But the thought’s been haunting me. You’ve no idea. I’m getting on, but I’m far from past it. My wife died some years ago. There’s only my married daughter. The new place, it’ll be an interest. A challenge.’
Even so, woolly mittens not steel gauntlets seemed most appropriate for Sims.
‘Difficult to imagine what a past benefactor could have arranged. To stop things.’
‘You’d be surprised, Mr Treasure. He set up enduring considerations. Considerations and penalties.’
‘But it would have looked exactly as intended. A teenage tearaway run riot with our machine.’
‘One who knew how to operate a JCB.’
‘Plenty of kids do, especially the way I was making it look. And those things are never immobilized. They sit about on building sites all over the country — evenings, weekends. No one would have been any the wiser, except we’d have lost one unlisted building surplus to requirements. It wouldn’t have been there next week for some interfering bureaucrat to preserve for the bloody nation. And Seawell does own the freehold.’ Quaint slurped back a whole cup of coffee. ‘And I didn’t know the Brasset woman was dead. I went …’ He stopped speaking, painfully straightened his back, then remained silent but glowering.
‘And you really believe you’d never have been twigged?’
‘Please, what is twigged?’ Ali had his pen poised.
‘Found out,’ Treasure explained automatically.
‘Rumbled,’ said Quaint at the same moment. Then he went on. ‘Of course we’d never have been rumbled. There was no one about. Early morning. Sheltered site. No close neighbours except that writer chap the girl mentioned. She says he sleeps through anything.’
‘You weren’t to know that.’
‘Risk worth taking. Anyway, he’d be used to demolition noises by now. I tell you there’d have been no one to prove a damn thing if you and the girl hadn’t come out of nowhere. How was I supposed to know you were down here already? Later this morning, you told Ali.’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘Anyway, you’re supposed to be on our side. And that goes for the girl too, if she’s got any sense.’
‘She’s very nice, the girl. She’s your girl, Mark?’ Ali nodded approvingly.
‘No, she is not my girl. And I came down primarily to see a promise was kept. A promise made to the late Lady Brasset by my company, and later by Seawell. That was yesterday afternoon. I’d hoped I could count on your word, Ali.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ mumbled the Sheikh, staring into his empty cup. ‘Very sorry, also, for Lady Brasset.’
‘Miss Mane is the daughter of one of the freeholders, who should have nothing to lose or gain now, whatever happens to the Round House, Ali. That’s assuming Seawell keeps its other promise.’
‘We’re ready to pay all. Everybody. The conveyances are processed. They get cheques in the post Monday, if you think that’s right, Mark. Banker’s drafts better, perhaps?’ Ali’s statement was delivered eagerly.
Treasure nodded. ‘And in a few days it’s ninety-nine per cent certain the DoE will agree the Round House doesn’t rate listing.’
‘You can’t be certain,’ grumbled Quaint.
‘Pretty certain they won’t stop it coming down. I’ve been over the place. I was doing it while you were getting ready to masquerade as a vandal. Lucky you didn’t demolish me with the house.’
‘If you’d put a light on upstairs …’
‘Well, I didn’t. And if you’re suggesting that would have stopped you coming, why didn’t you go back when you did see me?’
‘You asked me that in the car.’
‘And you never gave me an answer.’
‘I was in terrible pain in the car …’
‘Well, you’re not now.’
‘I am, actually. Anyway, I carried on because I thought you’d have the sense to know it was me. Know what I was doing. Push off and let me do it.’
‘With another witness there?’
‘The girl? Your little friend?’
Treasure paused, then decided to ignore the innuendo. ‘If you’d had that place in ruins, as you say, Seawell would certainly have been blamed. It would all have been too convenient. In the end you might easily have been sued by the leaseholder.’
‘For pennies?’
‘Who might very well have pressed the DoE or the local authority to make Ali rebuild the place. What Lady Brasset took to be the Soane plan really does exist, you know.’
‘There’s a lot of supposition in the Brasset theory.’
‘All right. But what if your corporate vandalism had meant no planning permission for the marina? I assume you still hope to build that next?’
‘They would do that? The Department of the Environment?’
‘They could, Ali, and very possibly would. Government ministries don’t like being made fools of.’ He turned again to Quaint. ‘And I couldn’t have left you to wreck the building in any circumstances since I couldn’t know it was you in that cab.’
‘Would it have made any difference?’
‘Not much. I’d have been marginally less worried about being run down if I’d known it was you and not some thug you’d hired.’
‘I could have been killed going down that hole.’
‘Which makes two of us. OK, the worst has been avoided. I’m sure no one saw or heard us, and that includes Elderberry. The story is, we spotted a vandal and chased him away before he did too much damage.’
Ali smiled knowingly. ‘You pay the girl, no?’
‘No, I don’t pay the girl. Miss Mane is not that sort of girl. There are other sorts,’ said Treasure testily.
The Arab was about to question what he took to be a refutation of a fundamental fact of Western European life, as he knew it: then he thought better not.
‘Tracy Mane will go along with us, don’t worry,’ the banker continued. ‘Whatever happens, Ali, you weren’t there.’
‘He wasn’t,’ Quaint put in.
‘I meant, he had nothing to do with this morning. Obviously he was involved in the plan, or he wouldn’t have been here last night. Thank heaven you had the sense to leave him here.’
‘He overslept.’
Ali nodded sheepishly.
‘I was going to suggest you had another go at Mrs Tring over the lease.’ Treasure addressed Quaint again. ‘As things are, I’ll try doing it myself. I met her last evening. She seems an eminently sensible woman.’
‘And sexy with it. Putty in your hands, no doubt. Ouch!’ Quaint had embellished the comment with an energetic gesture which turned into a painful one.
‘Please, you do this for us, Mark? This is the lady who also does not accept payment?’
‘So it seems, Ali.’
The young Sheikh shook his head ruefully: what was the world coming to?’
‘It doesn’t go absolutely flat. This seat,’ complained Tracy.
‘Because this is a conveyance, not a boudoir. You’re meant to be looking out of the window, not staring at the roof. More interesting.’ Treasure turned the car out of the Quaints’ long driveway and headed towards Tophaven.
‘Not much going for it as a passion wagon.’ She operated the lever that brought her seat-back into the upright position. ‘Now I feel like the Queen on a triumphal tour of the South Downs.’
‘Well, you don’t look like her. Pay attention. I want you to forget you saw Mr Quaint driving the JCB. The whole thing was an unfortunate mistake. No real harm done …’
‘Except to Mr Quaint.’ She giggled.
‘Exactly. But if it gets out there’ll be no end of fuss. To no purpose.’
‘OK. And Daddy gets the house money on Tuesday at the latest?’
‘As will all the other freeholders.’
‘You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.’
‘I don’t require my back scratching, thank you very much.’
‘You can do mine any time.’ She turned away from him, dropping the duffel coat off her shoulders. She leant back so that her hair dangled in his lap.
‘You’re looking at the roof again, and distracting the driver. Probably an offence in law. Sit straight and do up your seat-belt.’
‘Mmm. So masterful.’ But she did as she was told.
‘Getting the money for your house isn’t dependent on your keeping quiet about Quaint.’
‘You mean you want me to do something else for that? Goody!’
‘I mean I’m appealing to your better nature over the whole episode.’
‘Pro bono publico, and all that jazz.’
‘Yes.’
She hesitated. ‘Does it matter I told Mrs Quaint?’
‘She doesn’t count.’
‘You can say that again. Talk about the downtrodden wife. Why do women like that stick it?’
‘Bad as that?’
‘Worse. We had little heart to hearts in the kitchen. He hardly tells her a thing, or only half of what’s going on. Leaves her to draw the wrong conclusions. He went to see Lady Brasset after he got home yesterday. Tarted himself up first.’
‘When?’
‘Around six. She thought he was off to see a new girlfriend. Then he asked her to look up Louella’s address in the phone book. She knew it, though. And she told him all about Louella. They used to be in a car pool together. One for transporting old people.’
‘You got the idea Quaint has girl-friends his wife knows about?’
‘Loads. Makes no secret of it, or what they cost him. But he keeps his wife on the breadline. Insists they’re nearly bankrupt. You know she was the boss’s spinster daughter? Only child and reached the desperate age — for someone who cares about that kind of thing. She couldn’t exactly have been a looker either. Must have married her for her loot. She inherited the lot. He’s spent it and run the company up the creek. Looks bad, I’d say.’
Dun & Bradstreet had something to learn from Tracy Mane.
‘He couldn’t have seen Lady Brasset …’ Treasure let the words dwindle into thoughts.
‘No. He was back by seven when the Desert Prince arrived. He wasn’t expected. The prince, that is. Not by Mrs Quaint. He and Mr Quaint went out to dinner and came back late. The prince …’
‘Actually, he’s a sheikh, not that it matters.’
‘Hard cheese. Still not my type. All right, the sheikh was pickled when they got home. Not used to booze he told Mrs Quaint. Suppose they planned knocking over the Round House, ahead of Louella getting it put in the stately homes category?’
‘Something like that.’ He might have assumed that would have been Quaint’s automatic reaction as soon as he heard about Lady Brasset. He should have allowed that Ali would have phoned Quaint the moment he got the news — at about 4.30 the previous afternoon. The visit to Louella was an unexpected twist. It triggered a new line of thought not concerned exclusively with Quaint.
‘What time did Lady Brasset call the Round House from London yesterday?’ he asked.
‘Let’s see. Cynthia was out for a bit. It was just before she got back. Around five, I’d say. Ten to, perhaps.’
‘But you took the call?’
‘Yes. Classes finish at four-thirty. I’d stayed on to see Cynthia. I knew she was coming back. Then Lancelot Elderberry came over to look at a typewriter he’s buying when term’s over.’
Treasure glanced sharply at the girl. ‘Elderberry was there? And you told him what Lady Brasset was ringing about?’
‘Mmm. He helped me with the measurements she needed.’
‘And that was the first Elderberry knew …’
‘About Louella’s sleuthing? I should think so. He and I paced out bits of the ground floor while she waited on the phone. She wanted to know if the measurements matched with the plan she’d seen in the Soane book. Cynthia came back just as she rang off.’
‘And did the measurements match?’
‘No. The Round House was a bit bigger. The original bits, I mean.’ Tracy settled into her seat. ‘This car is so cool.’
‘Sorry, I’ll put the heating up.’
She shook her head and grinned. ‘Cool glamorous not cool cold. Like the driver. Do we absolutely have to go to Tophaven?’
‘Yes, and you’re incorrigible. Kindly respect the fact that I’m an older man who’s lived a very sheltered life. Cool can never mean glamorous, though. And poking out your tongue won’t change the fact.’
‘Don’t believe the sheltered life, and I bet you’re under forty.’
‘Bit over, as it happens.’ He was just forty-two, and it irritated him that he was increasingly unready to be accurate in the matter. ‘When did the others at that meeting know what Lady Brasset was up to?’
She frowned, more because the subject bored her than because she had difficulty supplying an answer. ‘I told Daddy first. I expect Lancelot told the Daws. Mr Daws rang Daddy asking him if he’d organize a meeting. Poor Daddy. Everybody goes to him for free advice. Especially ex-service people.’
‘That’s a great credit to him.’
‘Suppose it is, really. Some write him about their personal problems. Or telephone. Sometimes from miles away. Men who’ve served under him, mostly. Mr Daws didn’t, of course. He isn’t ex-service. Just picks Daddy’s brains. Anyhow, this time Daddy put his foot down. Said the freeholders should consult with their lawyer. That’s Denis Pitty.’
‘So someone rang him?’
‘Daddy again. Got him to join the others for dinner at seven. At the Beachcomber. Mr Daws had to stand everybody a free meal. Couldn’t get out of it. The meeting was his idea. Serve him right.’
‘I see. Tell me, what was Mrs Tring’s reaction to Lady Brasset’s call?’
‘Oh, she knew already about why Louella had gone to London. Not about her seeing you …’
‘No, that was last-minute, I think, after she’d learned the planning permission was through. So Mrs Tring knew Lady Brasset had dug up evidence …’
‘In the Marshford Papers? In the library? Yes. Louella came over to the Round House to tell her Thursday evening.’
‘You were there then, too?’
‘No. Cynthia told me a bit about it in the morning. I was in before the others. That’s why I told Daddy. At lunch-time.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t indicate his earlier misunderstanding — or his present surprise. ‘You go home for lunch?’
‘Usually. Daddy’s by himself.’
‘D’you suppose Mrs Tring told anyone else?’
‘About Louella’s dreadful disclosures? She may have. Her husband probably. Does it matter?’
‘No,’ he answered, without being sure he meant it. ‘Just idle curiosity.’
But why had Lady Brasset been so much less circumspect than she had implied to Grenwood and himself? Perhaps, at the end, she had abandoned concern at being thwarted by the Tophaven Council. Certainly it had been Seawell and Roxton International that had been worrying her when she came to Grenwood, Phipps for protection against the rapacious instincts of property developers.
Still, he found the dead woman’s behaviour inconsistent unless …
‘Are you really taking me straight home?’
They were passing through the industrial estate that ringed the outskirts of the town.
‘Since you insist.’
‘Grr!’
He glanced at the time. ‘We can go on afterwards, if you like.’
‘Where?’ Her eyes opened wide.
‘The library.’
She fell back in the seat, pouting. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t stand the excitement.’
Chapter Eight
‘I wasn’t prying, Mr Treasure, I assure you.’
‘On the contrary, Mr Sims. I should have assumed you were showing a wholly professional attitude.’
‘That was it. That was it entirely. Well, almost. But Lady Brasset. She quite spurned assistance from the staff. One hesitates. Such a tragic accident. But she was … how can I put it? … She was almost perversely suspicious. Oh dear. I really shouldn’t say such things now.’
Treasure nodded understanding. Physically, and in mental attitude, Sims was a male replica of Mrs Daws, twenty or so years on. He was a worrier, the melancholic lines set deep into his brow. The remorse about speaking ill of the dead was genuine enough.
They were seated side by side at a reading desk in the reference room. There was no one else present. No one had been excluded: as usual, there were no other takers.
The Marshford Papers were arranged on the desk. Treasure had spent half an hour with the material before Sims had been able to join him. The sole assistant librarian had been late for work.
‘So instead of sharing in her research project, you were duplicating it?’
‘You could say that. Yes.’
‘You didn’t know what she was looking for, of course.’
‘A re-awakened interest in some aspect of the town’s history, I thought. As Chief Librarian —’ now that the other one had turned up — ‘one feels a working knowledge of archive material in active use …’
He droned on in a subdued tone. It was difficult to catch all the words, but even the cadence sounded unconvincing.
‘There was no hint from Lady Brasset as to her special interest?’ Treasure had interrupted at random. He knew the answer, of course. ‘You were perhaps trying to assess the irritant quotient to the Council of whatever it was she was trying to uncover.’
Sims turned a blotchy pink. ‘That wasn’t …’
‘You have my sympathy, believe me. I’ve learned the lady had a certain reputation as an interfering busybody. A meddler. It’s easy to credit. I spent an hour with her yesterday afternoon. Nice old thing, but I imagine also formidable in battle.’
There was relief on the other’s face. The hesitancy of manner began to fade: the voice gathered a bit of resonance. ‘It was the new library, you see. Everything’s approved. The money. The site. The plans. She might have been finding a way to block it. It could be ready in a year. I’d so looked forward. You understand, Mr Treasure? Sydney Marshford built this terrible place. What if there was something in these wretched Papers …?’
‘To stop you getting a new library? Yes, I do see. There isn’t, though?’
‘It appears not. But the thought’s been haunting me. You’ve no idea. I’m getting on, but I’m far from past it. My wife died some years ago. There’s only my married daughter. The new place, it’ll be an interest. A challenge.’
Even so, woolly mittens not steel gauntlets seemed most appropriate for Sims.
‘Difficult to imagine what a past benefactor could have arranged. To stop things.’
‘You’d be surprised, Mr Treasure. He set up enduring considerations. Considerations and penalties.’
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