Kane and Abel Page 12

  ‘The one given to him by his grandmothers?’

  Alan Lloyd nodded.

  ‘No, I haven’t seen it since he went away to St Paul’s. I didn’t realize it still existed.’

  ‘It still exists,’ said the banker with a chuckle, ‘and I would give a month’s wages to know what the credit column now stands at. I suppose you are aware that he now banks with Lester’s in New York, and not with us? They don’t take on private accounts under ten thousand dollars. I’m also fairly sure they wouldn’t make an exception even for the son of Richard Kane.’

  ‘The son of Richard Kane,’ said Anne thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude, Anne.’

  ‘No, no, there’s no doubt he’s the son of Richard Kane. Do you know he has never asked me for a penny of pocket money since his twelfth birthday?’ She paused. ‘I think I should warn you, Alan, that he won’t take kindly to being told you’re thinking of investing five hundred thousand dollars of his trust fund in Henry’s company.’

  ‘They don’t get on well?’ asked Alan, his eyebrows rising.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Anne.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. It would certainly make the transaction more complicated if William made it clear that he was opposed to it. Although he has no authority over the trust until he is twenty-one, we’ve discovered through sources of our own that he is not above going to an independent lawyer to find out his legal position.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Anne, ‘you can’t be serious.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m quite serious. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. To be frank, we at the bank were rather impressed, and once we realized who the enquiry was coming from, we released information we would normally have kept to ourselves. For some private reason William obviously didn’t want to approach us directly.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ repeated Anne. ‘What will he be like when he’s thirty?’

  ‘That will depend,’ said Alan, ‘on whether he is lucky enough to fall in love with someone as lovely as his mother. That was always Richard’s strength.’

  ‘You are an old flatterer, Alan. Can we leave the matter of the five hundred thousand until I’ve had a chance to discuss it with Henry?’

  ‘Of course we can, my dear. As I told you, I am here only to seek your advice.’

  Alan ordered coffee, and took Anne’s hand gently in his. And do remember to take care of yourself, Anne. Your health is far more important than the fate of a few thousand dollars.’

  When Anne returned home she started to worry about the other two letters she had received that morning. At least she was now certain of one thing after Alan Lloyd’s revelations about her son: it might be prudent to give in gracefully and let William spend the forthcoming vacation with Matthew Lester.

  The possibility that Henry and Millie were having an affair raised a problem to which she was unable to come up with so simple a solution. She sat in the maroon leather chair, Richard’s favourite, looking out through the bay window onto a beautiful bed of red and white roses. She was lost in thought, seeing nothing. Anne always took some time to come to a decision, but once she had, she seldom changed her mind.

  Henry came home earlier than usual that evening, and she couldn’t help wondering why. She soon found out.

  ‘I hear you had lunch with Alan Lloyd today,’ he said as he entered the room.

  ‘Who told you that, Henry?’

  ‘I have spies everywhere,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘Yes, Alan invited me to lunch. He wanted to know how I felt about allowing the bank to invest five hundred thousand dollars of William’s trust money in your company.’

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Henry, trying not to sound anxious.

  ‘I told him I would need to discuss the matter with you. But why in heaven’s name didn’t you let me know you’d approached the bank, Henry? I felt such a fool hearing about it from Alan for the first time.’

  ‘I didn’t think you took any interest in business, my dear. I only found out by sheer accident that you, Alan Lloyd and Millie Preston are all trustees, and that each of you has a vote on how William’s money should be invested.’

  ‘How did you find that out,’ asked Anne, ‘when I wasn’t aware of it myself ?’

  ‘You never read the small print, my darling. As a matter of fact, I didn’t myself until recently. Quite by chance, Millie told me the details of the trust. Not only is she William’s godmother, it seems she is also a trustee. Now, let’s see if we can turn the position to our advantage and make William even more money. Millie says she’ll back me if you agree.’

  The mere sound of Millie’s name made Anne feel uneasy.

  ‘I don’t think we ought to touch William’s money,’ she said. ‘I’ve never looked upon the trust as having anything to do with me. I’d be much happier to leave well alone and let the bank continue to reinvest the interest as it’s done in the past.’

  ‘Why be satisfied with the bank’s investment programme when I’m on to such a winner with this city hospital contract? Surely Alan was able to confirm that?’

  ‘I’m not altogether certain how he felt. He was his usual discreet self, though he did say the contract would be an excellent one to win, and that you had a good chance of being awarded it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But he added that he’d need to see your books before he came to any firm conclusion, and he also wondered what had happened to my five hundred thousand dollars.’

  ‘Our five hundred thousand, my darling, is doing very well, as you’ll soon discover. I’ll send the books around to Alan tomorrow morning so he can inspect them for himself. I can assure you, he’ll be impressed.’

  ‘I hope so, Henry, for both our sakes,’ said Anne. ‘Let’s wait and see what his opinion is - you know how much I’ve always trusted Alan.’

  ‘But not me,’ said Henry.

  ‘Oh, no, Henry, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I was only teasing. I assume you trust your own husband.’

  ‘I would hope so,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ve never had to worry about money before, and it’s all too much to cope with right now. The baby makes me feel so tired and depressed.’

  Henry’s manner changed quickly to one of concern. ‘I know, my darling, and I don’t want you ever to have to bother your head with business matters - I can always handle that side of things. Look, why don’t you go to bed early, and I’ll bring you some supper on a tray? That will give me a chance to go back to the office and pick up the files I need to send to Alan in the morning.’

  Anne agreed, but once Henry had left she made no attempt to sleep, tired as she was, but sat up in bed reading. She knew it would take Henry about fifteen minutes to reach his office, so she waited twenty and then dialled his private line. The ringing tone continued for almost a minute.

  Anne tried a second time twenty minutes later; still no one answered. She kept calling every twenty minutes, but no one came on the line. Henry’s remark about trust began to echo bitterly in her head.

  When he eventually returned home a few minutes after midnight, he looked surprised to find Anne still awake.

  ‘You shouldn’t have stayed up for me.’

  He gave her a warm kiss. Anne thought she could smell perfume - or was she becoming overly suspicious?

  ‘I had to stay on a little longer than I expected - at first I couldn’t find all the papers Alan will need. Damn silly secretary filed some of them under the wrong headings.’

  ‘It must be lonely sitting there in the office all on your own in the middle of the night,’ said Anne.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that bad if you have a worthwhile job to do,’ said Henry as he climbed into bed and took Anne in his arms. ‘At least there’s one thing to be said for it: you can get a lot more done when the phone isn’t continually interrupting you.’

  Henry left for work straight after breakfast the following morning - not that Anne was sure where he went any longer. S
he turned the pages of a section of the Boston Globe she had never consulted before. There were several advertisements offering the services she required. She selected one almost at random, picked up the phone and made an appointment to see a Mr Ricardo at midday.

  Anne was shocked by the dinginess of the streets and the forlorn state of the buildings. She had never previously visited the southern district of the city, and in normal circumstances she could have gone through her entire life without even knowing such places existed.

  A small wooden staircase littered with matches, cigarette butts and other rubbish created its own paper chase to a door with a frosted window on which the name GLEN RICARDO appeared in large black letters, and underneath:

  PRIVATE DETECTIVE

  (Registered in the commonwealth of Massachusetts)

  Anne knocked softly.

  ‘Come right in, the door’s open,’ shouted a deep whiskey voice.

  Anne entered. The man seated behind the desk, his legs stretched over its surface, glanced up. His cigar stub nearly fell out of his mouth when he caught sight of Anne. It was the first time a woman wearing a mink coat had ever walked into his office.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, rising quickly. ‘I’m Glen Ricardo.’ He leaned across the desk and offered a nicotine-stained hand to Anne. She took it, glad to be wearing gloves. ‘Do you have an appointment?’ Ricardo asked, not that he cared whether she did or not. He was always available for a consultation with a mink coat.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Ah, then you must be Mrs Osborne. Can I take your coat?’

  ‘I prefer to keep it on,’ said Anne, eyeing a nail sticking out of the wall.

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  Anne eyed Ricardo covertly as he sat back down and lit a new cigar. She did not care for his light green suit, his multi-coloured tie or his thickly greased hair. It was only the belief that it wouldn’t be better anywhere else that stopped her leaving.

  ‘Now, what’s the problem?’ said Ricardo, sharpening an already short pencil with a blunt knife. The shavings dropped everywhere except into the wastepaper basket. ‘Have you lost your dog, your jewellery or your husband?’

  ‘First, Mr Ricardo, I want to be assured of your complete discretion,’ Anne began.

  ‘Of course, of course, it goes without saying,’ said Ricardo, not looking up from his disappearing pencil.

  ‘Nevertheless, I am saying it,’ said Anne.

  ‘Of course, of course.’

  Anne thought that if the man said ‘of course’ once more, she would scream. She drew a deep breath. ‘I have been receiving anonymous letters which allege that my husband has been having an affair with a close friend. I want to know who is sending the letters and if there is any truth in the allegations.’

  She felt an immense sense of relief at having voiced her fears for the first time. Ricardo looked at her impassively, as if it was not the first time he had heard such sentiments expressed. He put a hand through his long black hair.

  ‘Right,’ he began. ‘The husband will be easy. Who’s responsible for sending the letters could be a lot harder. You’ve kept them, of course?’

  ‘Only the last one,’ said Anne.

  Glen Ricardo sighed and wearily stretched his hand across the table. Anne reluctantly took the letter out of her bag and hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I know how you feel, Mrs Osborne, but I can’t do my job with one hand tied behind my back.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Ricardo. I’m sorry.’

  Anne couldn’t believe she had said ‘of course’.

  Ricardo read the letter through two or three times before speaking. ‘Have all of the letters been typed on the same paper and sent in this sort of envelope?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Anne. ‘As far as I can remember.’

  ‘Well, when the next one comes, be sure to—’

  ‘How can you be certain there will be another one?’ interrupted Anne.

  ‘There will be, believe me. So be sure to keep it. Now, I’ll need some details about your husband. Do you have a photograph?’

  ‘Yes.’ Once again she hesitated.

  ‘I don’t want to waste my time chasing the wrong man, do I, Mrs Osborne?’ said Ricardo.

  Anne opened her bag again and passed him a worn photograph of Henry in a lieutenant’s uniform.

  ‘Good-looking man,’ said the detective. ‘When was this photograph taken?’

  ‘About five years ago, I think,’ said Anne. ‘I didn’t know him when he was in the army.’

  Ricardo questioned Anne for several minutes on Henry’s daily routine. She was surprised to realize how little she knew about his lifestyle, and even less about his past.

  ‘Not a lot to go on, Mrs Osborne, but I’ll do the best I can. My charges are ten dollars a day plus expenses. I’ll give you a written report once a week. Two weeks’ payment in advance.’ His hand reached across the desk again, more eagerly than before.

  Anne opened her handbag, took out two crisp $100 bills and passed them across to him. He studied them carefully. Benjamin Franklin gazed imperturbably at Ricardo, who obviously had not seen the great man for some time. Ricardo handed Anne $60 in grubby fives.

  ‘I see you work on Sundays, Mr Ricardo,’ said Anne, pleased with her mental arithmetic.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘After all, that’s the most common day for infidelity. Will the same time next week suit you, Mrs Osborne?’ he added, as he pocketed the money.

  ‘Of course,’ said Anne, and left quickly, so as to avoid having to shake hands with the man a second time.

  17

  WLADEK FOUND a seat in the workers’ carriage.

  The first thing he did once the train was under way was to untie the parcel the woman had thrust into his hands. He started rummaging through the contents: apples, bread, nuts, a shirt, a pair of trousers and a pair of shoes. He changed into the new clothes in the nearest lavatory, retaining only his warm 50-rouble coat. After he had returned to his seat, he bit into an apple and smiled. He would save the rest of the food for the long journey to Odessa. Once he had finished the apple, including the core, he turned his attention to the doctor’s map.

  Odessa was not quite as far from Moscow as Irkutsk, about a thumb’s length on the doctor’s sketch, 700 miles in reality. As Wladek was studying the rudimentary map, he became distracted by another game of pitch-and-toss that was taking place in the carriage. He folded the parchment, replaced it safely in his pocket and began taking a closer interest in the game. The same routine was being carried out, with only one player consistently winning, while the others lost. Clearly a well organized gang was working the trains. Wladek decided to take advantage of his new-found knowledge.

  He edged forward and made a place for himself in the circle of gamblers. Every time the cheat had lost twice in a row, Wladek backed him with one rouble, doubling his stake until he won. The cheat never even glanced in his direction. By the time they reached the next station, Wladek had won fourteen roubles, two of which he used to buy himself another apple and a cup of hot soup. He had won enough to last the entire journey to Odessa, and he smiled at the thought of rejoining the game as he climbed back into the train.

  As his foot touched the top step, a fist landed on the side of his head and he was knocked flying into the corridor. His arm was jerked painfully behind his back and his face was pressed hard against the carriage window. His nose was bleeding, and he could feel the point of a knife touching his ear lobe. ‘Do you hear me, boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wladek, petrified.

  ‘If you go back to my carriage again, I’ll cut this ear off. Then you won’t be able to hear me, will you?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Wladek.

  Wladek felt the knife break the surface of the skin behind his ear and blood began trickling down his neck.

  ‘Let that be a warning to you, boy.’

  A knee suddenly came up into his kidneys with so much force that Wladek collapsed to the floor. A h
and rummaged inside his coat pockets and removed his recently acquired roubles.

  ‘Mine, I think,’ the voice said.

  Blood was still pouring from Wladek’s nose and from behind his ear. When he summoned the courage to look up, he was alone; there was no sign of the gambler, and the other passengers kept their distance. He tried to stand up, but his body refused to obey the order from his brain, so he remained slumped in the corridor for several minutes. Eventually, when he was able to get to his feet, he walked slowly to the other end of the train, as far away from the gambler’s carriage as possible, his limp grotesquely exaggerated. He took a seat in a carriage occupied mostly by women and children, and fell into a deep sleep.

  At the next stop, Wladek didn’t leave the train, and when it moved off he fell asleep again. He ate, he slept, he dreamed. Finally, after four days and five nights, the train chugged into the terminal at Odessa. The same check at the ticket barrier, but his papers were all in order, so the guard barely gave him a second look. Wladek was now on his own. He still had 150 roubles in the lining of his sleeve, and he didn’t intend to waste a single one of them.

  He spent the rest of the day walking around the town trying to familiarize himself with its layout, but he was continually distracted by sights he had never seen before: large town houses, shops with plate-glass windows, hawkers selling their colourful trinkets on the streets, gaslights, even a monkey on a stick. He walked on until he reached the harbour. Yes, there it was - the sea. Wladek gazed longingly into the blue expanse: that way lay freedom and escape from Russia. The Baron had told him about the great ships that crossed the high seas delivering their cargoes to foreign lands, but now he was seeing them for the first time. They were much larger than he had imagined, and they stood in a line as far as the eye could see.

  As the sun disappeared behind the tall buildings, he decided to look for somewhere to spend the night. The city must have suffered from many invaders, because dilapidated houses were everywhere to be seen. He took a side road and kept walking; he must have been a strange sight, with his sheepskin coat almost touching the ground and the brown paper parcel under his arm. Nowhere looked safe to him until he came across a railway siding in which a solitary burned-out railway carriage stood. He peered inside it cautiously: darkness and silence, no one to be seen. He threw his paper parcel into the carriage, raised his tired body up onto the boards, crawled into a corner and quickly fell asleep.