Birdcage Read online

  This note read: My personal diary, intermittently kept, covering a long period of my life, Sarah. I leave the nature of its disposal or use to you. J.B.

  The diary’s pages were of very fine paper and the date of the first entry was Sunday, June 16th, 1946. The pages were unlined. Her mother’s precise renaissance script, much smaller than she normally used, covered the pages in even lines, leaving only the smallest of margins into which Sarah saw, as she riffled a few pages, her mother had put little fine pen drawings of faces, animals, birds, portions of houses and churches and landscapes and other features which she guessed could have some relevance to the diary entry so decorated. Full of relief now at the knowledge that indeed her mother had left her a possession which she could use as the means to repay Richard, she gave little heed to the diary. Leaving the note in it, she closed it and snapped the clasp home. Some time she would read it.

  She picked up the golden Venus girdle and let the soft light play across its jewels and enamel. As though to mark the joyous relief in her the now familiar nightingale began to sing from a clump of strawberry trees beyond the swimming pool whose still waters lay like polished silver beneath the growing moon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  QUINT’S ROOM ON the first floor overlooked a small courtyard, paved with close-set red bricks, worn and crumbling from the rains and frosts of years. An old plane tree stood in its centre. As Quint read the report Kerslake had drawn up, breathing with a gentle touch of a wheeze, his right hand played with the round ball of a polished alabaster paperweight on his desk. Standing on the other side of the desk—unless you were in for a long session Quint never invited you to sit—Kerslake watched a pair of London pigeons on one of the lower branches of the tree. The cock bird was making a courting display to the rather shabby hen. Faintly he could hear the pouting, bubbling love talk of the male, iridescent breast swollen, head low, tail high. In Barnstaple his father, dead now, had kept pigeons, a loft of racing birds, mostly dark blue chequers, and another loft of fancy birds, West of England tumblers, Birmingham rollers, and a few kits of tipplers, high flying trios which would soar above the town for hours on end, almost lost to sight. One night—when he was sixteen—someone bestial with jealous rivalry had broken into the fancy birds’ loft and wrung all their necks. His father’s distress had so moved him that he had set himself to find out and prove who had been responsible. He had, too . . . his first step in detection and towards joining the Force. And his first step, too, towards this room.

  Quint gave a faint, rasping sigh and looked up, studying Kerslake’s face so long in silence that the young man felt the unease of embarrassment even though it was a well-known mannerism of Quint’s. When Quint looked at him like that he felt totally exposed.

  Unexpectedly Quint smiled, and equally unexpectedly he said, “Lord Bellmaster of Conary. Mean anything to you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then it’s time it did. He once, many years ago, sat where I’m sitting. And then he got up and went and sat in higher and higher places. Long ago. But he’s still us. It’ll interest you to meet him. Brief him on all this. If he asks anything of you agree but say you must first check with me.” He tapped the report. “Let him have all we know.” He picked up the report and slid it into one of his top drawers. “I’ll let you know where and when he’ll see you. I like the stuff you’ve got from the Ministry of Defence and the other people. You’re my Barnstaple boy. Keep your nose clean. Be nice to his lordship but—between us—don’t be taken in. He’s a first-class snake.”

  At five minutes to three that afternoon Kerslake, with rolled umbrella and bowler hat, got out of a taxi close to the Albert Gate in Knightsbridge and walked a few yards down the road to Claremount Mansions. He gave his card to the hall porter and asked for Lord Bellmaster. The porter rang through from his office with the glass door shut. Coming out he gave a little nod of approval and said, “This way, sir.”

  They went up in the lift and when it stopped, the porter pointed down the righthand corridor and said, “36B. Third door down.”

  Kerslake moved down the corridor. There was no surprise in him not to hear the lift door close and the hum of its descent. The porter would wait until he had been seen to enter. London was full of politely monitored fortresses like Claremount Mansions. A manservant let him in, took his bowler and umbrella and then led him across the narrow hall, opened a door and stood back for him to pass. “Just go straight in, sir. His lordship is expecting you.”

  The door closed behind him with a faint hiss, a light came on overhead. There was another door a few feet ahead of him, without handle or knob. He pushed it open and went in, knowing that it was going to close sound-proof behind him.

  It was a large, light, comfortable room, its great bay window looking out over the Park. Above the marble fireplace was a Munnings painting of a hunting scene. A low bookshelf ran along one wall and was partly hidden by a long settee. Without obvious curiosity Kerslake took it all in; a comfortable room, furnished and littered the way the owner wanted it, the way— he wondered?—which gave him a feeling of security. Still fifes of game, an unpleasant-looking cock salmon in a glass case, an original Russell Flint of three naked to semi-naked Spanish women grouped in and around a marble pool, and a fox mask over a door which he guessed could lead to the sleeping and dining quarters.

  Lord Bellmaster was looking out of the window. In the moment before he turned Kerslake noticed that the dark, silvered hair was thinning to show the freckled skin of his scalp at the back. When he turned the big face and broad shoulders, slim hips and long legs gave the impression of power poised for use. Without the gift and use of power for many years, Kerslake thought, he would probably have gone to slack and flabbiness long ago.

  “Kerslake?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Sit ye down.” A big single-ringed hand jerked towards the settee. “And ‘sir’ will do.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Kerslake sat down, knowing instinctively that in the next few minutes he must find himself either liking or disliking this man. There would be no halfway point.

  Going to the empty fireplace, standing square in front of it, Lord Bellmaster said, “Quint speaks well of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The big lips in the large face moved to the beginning of a smile. “Praise from Quint is like bloody snow in June. What were you when you left Barnstaple?”

  “Detective-sergeant, sir.”

  “Not sorry to leave the leafy lanes?”

  “No sir.”

  “Well, what have you got up to date?”

  “A fresh Lisbon report. Miss Sarah Branton was driven by the man Farley from the villa to Estoril yesterday. She went into an hotel briefly—twenty minutes about—and came out carrying a brown paper parcel, or at least a brownish parcel. They drove straight back to the villa. The hotel is called the Hotel Globo and it is run by a man and his wife. Carlo and Melina Spuggi. Lisbon have nothing on either of them.”

  “Lisbon was always a bad office.”

  “They’re only using light contact, sir.”

  Bellmaster suddenly smiled. “Loyalty noticed. And you can ration the ‘sirs’.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What about this Richard Farley?”

  “Lisbon have nothing on record. As long as we keep it light contact they won’t do anything. But since there was no danger of any personal contact he’s been checked from this end.”

  “By whom? By the way, smoke if you wish.” Bellmaster nodded to a silver box on a nearby low table.

  “I don’t use them, thank you. He was checked by me on Mr Quint’s instructions. I got most of the stuff from the Ministry of Defence. The rest came from old Colonial Office files. I checked Farley for national or war service. He did national service in Kenya. His father was a naval officer, retired as lieutenant-commander after the war and with his wife went to Kenya. I checked the father with Naval Personnel. One of the older staff there remembered him well, kn
ew him personally, and kept up for a time after the war. As a sub-lieutenant he served under Farley’s father in destroyers for a time. From just after the war the family farmed in Kenya. The boy—only child—went to school in this country. A small public school, Cranbrook in Kent. All this on his national service record.” Bellmaster smiled. “You’ve been mining away like a busy mole, haven’t you? All this in one morning?”

  Kerslake gave a little shrug. “It was all practically under one roof.”

  “The father’s dead. What about the mother?”

  “I was going on to say—they’re both dead. They were killed by the Mau-Mau on their farm during the trouble—so Farley’s father’s shipmate told me.”

  “Sods. What about the boy, Richard?”

  “The father’s friend knew him quite well. He did prep, school in Kenya. When he came over here to Cranbrook he spent the occasional holiday with him and short leaves. He said—quiet, reserved, pleasant. I didn’t overpress him at this stage because I thought it might not be wise. They’ll always help so far but if you press then they dig in their toes and ask for an official directive. I didn’t have that. But I made it clear that it wasn’t just a chummy little coffee chat between us. Service people get very spiky. Especially about old chums.”

  “No hint of Farley’s later life?”

  “Not really, sir. He left Kenya after his parents were killed and worked in South Africa. That’s where he was last heard from. He never kept up with his father’s friend. That’s it, sir.” Bellmaster rubbed his large chin thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not grumbling. You’ve done well.” He turned away to the window and stood looking out.

  Kerslake sat and waited. He would have given a lot, he thought, to know what was going through the man’s mind. Once he had been a very big gun in Birdcage Walk. Probably still was in a way because no one ever really went away. He was less interested in this Richard Farley. If you let your curiosity run away with you in the early stages then you just muddled up your thinking. By going too far, or even a little way on your own initiative, you could be repaid with kicks. For all he knew he might have done wrong in probing Lieutenant-Commander Farley’s young friend in Naval Personnel.

  Without turning Bellmaster said casually, “What did you get in your field division?”

  “A-minus, sir.”

  “Languages?”

  “English only.”

  Still without turning Bellmaster gave a light chuckle and said, “——with a not-too-broad Devonshire accent. How did you do on law?”

  “A-plus, sir.”

  “What’s a great fee?” Bellmaster turned, a smile on his large face.

  “The holding of a tenant of the Crown.”

  “Ever been to Portugal?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Abroad?”

  “France, Germany and Majorca.”

  “Like to play a solicitor?”

  “Sir?”

  “There is a certain legal matter which I want to arrange— now that I’ve heard what you have to say—with Miss Sarah Branton. Quite a simple one which won’t give you any trouble. You’ll get a full briefing from me before you go to see her in Portugal—on the legal and the personal side. But just for the moment, as a favour to me, don’t say anything about the possibility of your going to Portugal to Quint. I’ll fix that when the time comes. No question of disloyalty—just no point in jumping the gun, yet. All right?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. That’s all. I’ll show you out.”

  . Fifteen minutes after Kerslake had gone, Lord Bellmaster telephoned Geddy at his offices in Cheltenham and told him that he was coming down to Cheltenham the next day and would be obliged if they could meet for lunch. This call made, he then rang Lieutenant-Colonel Branton’s house. The Colonel was out and his wife answered. Lord Bellmaster asked her to tell her husband that he would be in the Cirencester area the next day and—unless he received a call to the contrary —he would be glad if the Colonel would see him at four o’clock. He put the telephone down without the least doubt that the Colonel would see him for he had used the phrase in the course of his talk—“on a matter which could prove very welcome to him.”

  At that moment Kerslake in Birdcage Walk was just finishing giving an exact account to Quint of everything which had passed between himself and Lord Bellmaster. He might, he had told himself on the way back, be comparatively young at the game, but he knew which side his bread was buttered. He was Quint’s man, not Bellmaster’s.

  As he finished talking, Quint nodded to a leather armchair and said, “Sit down, Kerslake.”

  Kerslake sat down, knowing that the courtesy marked approval not coming censure. Quint got up and in silence went to his cupboard and brought back a whisky bottle and two glasses. Without asking Kerslake whether he wanted a drink, he poured two stiff measures and handed a glass to him, saying, “It’s a bit early in the day for working folk. But I feel virtue— yours—should be rewarded. Or—though I would find it hard to believe—did you know that unknown to Bellmaster we have a permanent tap there?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You can drop the sir as long as the whisky lasts—which shows how mellow at this moment I feel towards you. So he might want you to go to Portugal to see Miss Branton. It’ll be be interesting when his tapes come in tonight to know what phone calls he will have made after you left.”

  Feeling that Quint’s mood would allow it, Kerslake asked, “Why should he ask me to keep this Portugal thing to myself for a while? It seems of little importance.”

  “Good question. And if I told you to think it over seriously for fifteen minutes you’d probably come up with the answer. But I’ll save you that trouble. He doesn’t run this show any longer—but he can still call on our services. He’s ambitious. He likes power—and he likes having people in his pocket. That’s where he thinks he’s going to put you. If you’d not given me a full report of your talk with him—that’s where he would have had you now. It’s only a small, unimportant thing—not mentioning a possible trip abroad. The best that came to his hand at the time. But the next time it could be something important he’d want you to hold back from us, perhaps. If you refused then he’d let us know about your first little lapse and say that he had been testing you then for your loyalty to us. And then you would be out. But you’ve been a good boy and I’m pleased with you. So, now you get a directive from me officially. Play his game. If he asks you to keep anything to yourself in the future don’t make any bones about it. Yes, my lord. Certainly, your lordship. And if he asks you to do anything— then agree. But before you do it check with us.” Quint smiled, sipped his whisky and chuckled. “He’s a big, powerful man in all senses of those words. And he makes no secret of his ambitions. He’s after a plum ambassadorship or something equally important. People don’t get those jobs if they have any skeletons in their cupboard. Cupboards can be opened by other ambitious people. The best thing to do with a skeleton is to grind the bones to flour and scatter it to the winds. The only thing that can betray you then is the chance that someone sees you sorting out the bones before you start grinding. Confusing? Yes, I suppose it is. Well, don’t worry about it. Climb into his pocket when he opens it. We’ve got an even bigger pocket waiting which has been made to measure for him.” He finished his whisky and Kerslake, catching the signal, finished his and rose.

  “Thank you for the drink, sir.”

  “You earned it. We’ve wanted someone in his pocket for a long time. He’ll keep everything very official until one day he’ll ask for a personal favour—something just between the two of you. He’ll say that he’ll get you a promotion jump—say head of a section—in return. Which is what you want, of course. And what you’ll probably get, but not through him.” He lit a cigarette and coughed as he took the first draw. Wheezily, he went on, “It’s a long way from Barnstaple, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But it’s the same world . . . the same old dirty world of men’s desires an
d greeds. Where do you think the tap is?”

  Thrown for a moment, Kerslake looked blank and then rapidly recovered himself. Quint was into one of his oblique moods.

  He said, “Not the fox mask over the door. That would be too obvious. That would go for the mounted salmon, too. One of the picture frames, I’d say.”

  “That’s right. The one with the luscious Spanish girls, all tits and tummies—a well-known Bellmaster weakness. All right. Off you go. You’ve been a good lad.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Kerslake went out knowing that subtly his relationship with Quint had changed to his advantage. Head of a section. That normally could have been ten years away. Well. . . time would tell. Closing the door behind him he walked down the corridor, whistling thinly between his teeth.

  * * * *

  All day Farley had realised that she was excited and, perhaps because of it, avoiding him as much as she could. That morning he had heard her singing to herself in her room. When she had come down she had announced that she was going off for a long walk, that she had lots of things to think over, and did he mind if she went alone? He said no and had spent the morning with Mario helping him to sandpaper down and begin to repaint the big wrought iron ornamental gates at the drive entrance, and from Mario he had heard a lot about the days when Lady Jean had been mistress of the villa. Things were always lively and the place usually full of guests. For Mario those had been the great days. Mrs Ringel Fanes was quite unlike her sister. She was seldom at the villa and when she was there was little entertaining. She was a good, serious woman and, although he did not say it, he clearly implied that Lady Jean had not been.

  At lunch and before retiring to her room Sarah was full of her walk and how much she had enjoyed it and clearly had no intention yet of saying anything about the parcel she had collected in Estoril.