Mrs. Hough cleared her throat.
“I’m allowed to look at photographs,” Quenby said, opening the paper file.
She spread the articles and photographs from Mrs. Douglas out on the kitchen table, looking at the various pictures she assumed were taken by Eddie Terrell. Photographs of dinner parties and of people sunning on beach chairs by a swimming pool and bathing hut. Some of the photographs had been taken inside an elaborate parlor that reminded her of the one used for Downton Abbey, Lady Ricker trimmed with a jeweled necklace, opera gloves, and a tiara.
“Where is this?” Mrs. Hough asked, picking up a photo of Lady Ricker sitting on a settee.
“Most of them were taken at Breydon Court near Tonbridge. At the home of Lord and Lady Ricker.” Quenby inched the photographs toward her. “Do you know any of these people?”
Mrs. Hough turned over one of them as if searching for writing on the back, but it was blank. “I recognize this man.”
Lucas leaned forward. “Who is it, Mum?”
“Drague,” she said, pointing at an older gentleman with Lady Ricker. “Admiral Drague. He was quite the charmer in London society after his wife died.”
“Was he a commander during World War II?” Lucas asked.
“No, it would have been the First World War. He came home a hero.”
Quenby looked at Lucas, and she knew he was wondering as well why this hero from the war was socializing with Lady Ricker. And why he had later purchased her home.
“Didn’t you say you worked for the World News Syndicate?” Mrs. Hough asked.
“That’s correct.”
“Admiral Drague’s daughter married Richard Graham, back in the 1940s, I think. Around the time he founded the syndicate.”
Quenby’s eyes widened at this revelation, stray pieces of this puzzle snapping into place. She turned back toward the iPad, her fingers itching to start researching the man.
“I’ll do it for you,” Lucas said as if he’d read her mind.
He typed as Quenby and Mrs. Hough sipped their tea. Then he whistled.
Quenby dove toward the iPad, but he pulled it out of her reach. “I’ll read it.”
He’d found an editorial written by Richard Graham—Evan’s father—in 1948, about the late Lord Ricker and his wife. It was a seething condemnation of anyone absurd enough to think they’d been part of an aristocratic espionage network. The Rickers, he wrote, were loyal to Great Britain and the efforts of the war.
“This story must have run around the time Lady Ricker was interviewed,” Quenby said. “If she and Admiral Drague were acquaintances, he would have wanted her name cleared so no one would suspect him of being a traitor to his country as well.”
Lucas nodded. “A marriage between his daughter and Richard Graham was collateral for the future. With Graham as his son-in-law, any other questions about the Rickers could have been circumvented by the papers.”
“Spoken like a lawyer,” Quenby teased.
He sat back in his chair. “It’s the power of your press.”
“If they were collaborating in some way, why would Lady Ricker keep a picture of him?” Mrs. Hough asked.
Lucas’s smile was grim. “Probably to use for blackmail.”
“A smart woman, I suppose,” Mrs. Hough said as she pushed away from the table, her mug empty.
“Where does Richard Graham’s son play into all of this?” Lucas asked.
The light on Quenby’s mobile blinked. The name on the screen was the one she’d keyed in days ago by the river. “Perhaps we are about to find out.”
CHAPTER 56
_____
“Will you walk with me?” Lucas asked after Quenby emerged from the library, shaken from her conversation with Evan Graham.
Quenby glanced toward the corridor, but Mrs. Hough had conveniently disappeared. “It’s late.”
“Does your head hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
“Please—we won’t be long.”
When she nodded, he gently took the phone from her hand and placed it on the table. “You won’t need a phone out there.”
She followed Lucas outside, onto the stone pavers of a patio. The burr of crickets accompanied them as they walked toward a pool surrounded by flowers and ornamental shrubs. Starlight reflected in the still black water, and the aromas of jasmine and rose perfumed the evening air, wind rustling their leaves.
“What did Evan say?” he asked, pausing beside the pool.
“He wants to know what I’ve uncovered in my research.”
“And you said—”
“That his grandfather was a friend of the Rickers.”
“I bet he loved that.”
“I didn’t say it exactly like that, but I told him I’d found a photograph of Admiral Drague and Lady Ricker together before Admiral Drague purchased Breydon Court. I told him I had no desire or even evidence to implicate his family, but still . . .”
“What?” Lucas asked.
“He offered me a tremendous amount of money to return to work in the morning and hand over my research. Then he wanted me to start writing a different story.”