Hand In Glove Part 47

"Look around for one moment. Please."

Irritably, Charlotte looked. On every wall, Natasha's point was made. The man offering what the maiden affected not to want. The man winning her over with gifts and endearments. Then the maiden alone, with only her melancholy for company. But it was a point entirely lost on Charlotte. "If you have something to tell me, Natasha, I'd be grateful if-"

"I am telling you. This is part of it. There are letters even here."

She pointed to one of the paintings on the south wall, in which the H A N D I N G L O V E.

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maiden sat on a plinth beneath bowering trees, reading a billet-doux whilst its author wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her neck. "Is he really there? I sometimes wonder. Or is she imagining him as she reads? Is he already somewhere else, betraying her love, preparing to desert her? Hers is every woman's fallacy and every woman's fate. She'd do better to throw the letter away unread, wouldn't she?"

"Perhaps."

"As Beatrix should have done with Tristram's letters from Spain."

"But she didn't."

"No. And now others must suffer for it." She looked intently at Charlotte. "I don't intend to be one of them."

"Why did you ask to meet me, then?"

"To give you something. To act more charitably than I customar-ily do. Come with me and I'll explain."

Natasha led the way through several more rooms until they emerged into a pillared roof-lit court at the centre of the mansion, where a fountain played amidst tropical plants. They sat on a marble bench near the fountain, into whose plas.h.i.+ng water Natasha stared as she spoke.

"I was Maurice's mistress for twelve years. He treated me well. As I'm sure you're aware, he was a generous man. He made it clear he could never acknowledge my existence to his family and I didn't expect him to. I was his secret. Or one of them. He had many, of course.

Many more than either you or I will ever know about. But I found out his real secret a long time ago. I found out what made him tick."

"What was it?"

"Secrecy itself. The greatest pleasure I gave him was the fact that n.o.body knew about me. It was the biggest thrill for him in everything we did together."

"But Beatrix found out about you."

"Yes. She did." Natasha sighed. "I'm not going to admit anything, Charlie. I'm not going to incriminate myself. What Maurice did he did. You'll never force me to say I was a party to it."

"I'm not trying to."

"Good. Then don't challenge what I'm about to tell you. Any of it."

"All right. I won't."

"Let's walk." Natasha rose abruptly and began a slow circuit of the court, with Charlotte beside her. "If Maurice had possessed what 284 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

the kidnappers want, he'd have given it up. I'm absolutely certain of that. He left nothing of the kind with me and never made any reference to such a doc.u.ment. You drew a blank at the Park Avenue apartment, I a.s.sume?"

"Yes."

"There you are, then. No, I fear I can't help you in this search."

She glanced round at Charlotte. "Honestly. You can believe what I say."

"In that case-"

"What do I have for you? Firstly, my apologies for becoming angry yesterday. We shouldn't have met at the apartment. There were too many reminders of Maurice. Here I can remain calm. Secondly, to tell you what Beatrix really sent me. Not blank paper, obviously. But a tape, on which she recorded a conversation she had with Maurice a few weeks before her death. Their last face-to-face conversation, as a matter of fact. In it, she confronted him with evidence she'd unearthed of a conspiracy against her and accused him of being behind it. Maurice didn't know their discussion was recorded, of course. And I never told him. I taunted him with the same lie Ursula used. He didn't know which of us to believe or disbelieve. Now, I suppose I regret holding out on him. But perhaps it's as well I did. He'd have destroyed the tape for sure."

"Why did you hold out on him?"

"Because the tape was evidence I could use against him. If I needed to. Or wanted to. And mistresses always antic.i.p.ate desertion.

Unlike Fragonard's star-struck damsels, we keep one eye permanently trained on the future. Beatrix must have known that. She was a clever old- Well, let's just say she was cleverer than Maurice thought, though not as clever as she needed to be. Or maybe her friends weren't. If they'd done exactly what she asked, she'd have outmanoeuvred Maurice completely, as she a.s.sumed she would. That's why she sent me the tape. Because without the royalties, he'd have abandoned me. But with the tape, I'd have been able to extract a pretty pension from him, as Beatrix calculated. It would have been a double twist of the knife. Neat, don't you think?"

"Yes. But Beatrix was. Very neat."

"With the private detective's report on Maurice's finances and the tape, you should be able to clear Fairfax-Vane. I'm afraid he's the only one of your innocents I can help. But the tape's no use to me now, so he might as well benefit from it." She took a miniature ca.s.sette from H A N D I N G L O V E.

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her pocket and slipped it into Charlotte's hand. "Maybe this will help me jump the queue in Purgatory."

"I'll make sure it reaches his solicitor. This is . . . very good of you."

"It's not such a big deal. There isn't the ghost of a case against me in anything you have. I'm not stupid. But I'm not vindictive either."

They paused by the bench they had left earlier, with one revolution of the court complete. Natasha licked her lips, uncertain, it seemed, how to conclude their encounter. "Where will you go from here, Charlie?"

"Boston."

"Ah. To see Emerson McKitrick, I suppose."

"Yes."

"It'll be a wasted journey."

"Perhaps."

"But you'll go anyway?"

"Yes."

"Be careful."

"People keep telling me that."

"Because it's good advice. On the tape, Beatrix says something I didn't pay much attention to when I first heard it. She tried to warn Maurice he was playing with fire. But he wouldn't listen. He didn't take her seriously. Neither did I. But I do now. And so should you."

"I'm bound to do what I can to help Sam."

Natasha gazed at Charlotte and shook her head. "Maurice always said you had his share of virtue as well as your own. I wish you luck."

"Thank you."

"For myself-" She glanced wistfully into the fountain. "I think I'll take another look at the Fragonards before I go. He died in poverty, like most artists. I don't plan to. But I'm no artist. Be sure you don't become one, Charlie-like Maurice's father. It doesn't pay in the long run. As Maurice found out. Just too late." She smiled, patted Charlotte's arm and walked slowly away, the clip of her heels on the marble floor lingering even after she had turned a corner and vanished from sight.

CHAPTER.

SEVENTEEN.

BEATRIX: Come into the lounge and make yourself comfortable, Maurice. Did you have a good journey?

MAURICE: So-so. Too many Sunday drivers for my liking.

BEATRIX: Of course, it's Sunday. Do you know, I'd quite forgotten. One tends to at my age.

MAURICE: Really? You hide it well, Aunt, I must say.

BEATRIX: Now you're flattering me. But it's true. My memory's failing. Names. Faces. Dates. They're all going. For instance, is it the thirtieth of May today or the thirty-first?

MAURICE: The thirty-first, as I suspect you know. You're going to Cheltenham tomorrow. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that.

BEATRIX: No, no. It's why I wanted you to come this afternoon. So we could meet before I went away.

MAURICE: To discuss something important, you said.

BEATRIX: Quite so. Oh! There's the kettle boiling. Would you mind filling the pot, Maurice? There's tea already in it. Then you can bring the tray in.

MAURICE: Leave it to me.

BEATRIX: Don't forget the biscuit-barrel. I have some of those fruit Shrewsburys you like.

MAURICE: ( from a distance): I hope you didn't buy them just for me.

There was no need.

BEATRIX: But I wanted to. And I always make a point of doing as I please. It's one of the few privileges of old age.

MAURICE: Are you trying to tell me something, Aunt?

BEATRIX: Put the tray down here. Let me clear these magazines.

MAURICE: When you phoned, I thought you might have changed your mind.

BEATRIX: About what?

MAURICE: You know full well.

BEATRIX: Do I? As I explained, I'm growing more and more forgetful.

I wouldn't want us to find ourselves talking at cross-purposes.

Why don't you remind me?

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MAURICE: You don't need reminding.

BEATRIX: Humour me, Maurice.

MAURICE: ( sighing): I thought you might have changed your mind about publis.h.i.+ng the letters.

BEATRIX: Tristram's letters, you mean? The ones he sent to me from Spain? The ones proving I wrote his poems for him?

MAURICE: Yes, Aunt. Those letters.

BEATRIX: Well, I wouldn't want there to be any misunderstanding.

MAURICE: There isn't. Have you?

BEATRIX: Have I what?

MAURICE: Changed your mind!

BEATRIX: Pour me some tea, would you? I don't want mine to stew . . .

Thank you.

MAURICE: Well?

BEATRIX: It's perfect. Just as I like it.

MAURICE: For G.o.d's sake!

BEATRIX: Drink your tea, Maurice. And help yourself to a fruit Shrewsbury. Then listen to me. It's important you shouldn't interrupt me.

MAURICE: Interrupt?

BEATRIX: Quite so. I'm not a quivering junior at Ladram Avionics, you know. So, do I have your attention?

MAURICE: Undividedly.