CHAPTER FOUR
DECEMBER
1
THE PILASTER CRASH was the society scandal of the year. The cheap newspapers reported every development breathlessly: the sale of the great Kensington mansions; the auctions of the paintings, antique furniture, and cases of port; the cancellation of Nick and Dotty’s planned six-month honeymoon in Europe; and the modest suburban houses where the proud and mighty Pilasters now peeled potatoes for themselves and washed their own undergarments.
Hugh and Nora rented a small house with a garden in Chingford, a village nine miles from London. They left all their servants behind, but a muscular fourteen-year-old girl from a nearby farm came in the afternoons to scrub floors and wash windows. Nora, who had not done housework for twelve years, took it very badly, and shuffled about in a grubby apron, halfheartedly sweeping floors and preparing indigestible dinners, complaining constantly. The boys liked it better than London because they could play in the woods. Hugh traveled into the City every day by train and continued to go to the bank, where his work consisted of disposing of Pilasters’ assets on behalf of the syndicate.
Each partner received a small monthly allowance from the bank. In theory they were not entitled to anything. But the syndicate members were bankers just like the Pilasters, and in their hearts they thought There but for the grace of God go I. Besides, the cooperation of the partners was helpful in selling off the assets, and it was worth a small payment to retain their goodwill.
Hugh watched the progress of the civil war in Cordova with an anxious heart. The outcome would determine how much money the syndicate would lose. Hugh badly wanted them to make a profit. He wanted one day to be able to say that no one had lost money rescuing Pilasters Bank. But the possibility seemed remote.
At first the Miranda faction seemed set to win the war. By all accounts their attack was well planned and bloodily executed. President Garcia was forced to flee the capital and take refuge in the fortified city of Campanario, in the south, his home region. Hugh was dispirited. If the Mirandas won they would run Cordova like a private kingdom, and would never pay interest on loans made to the previous regime; and Cordova bonds would be worthless for the foreseeable future.
But then came an unexpected development. Tonio’s family, the Silvas, who for some years had been the mainstay of the small and ineffectual liberal opposition, joined in the fighting on the president’s side, in return for promises of free elections and land reform when the president regained control. Hugh’s hopes rose again.
The revitalized presidential army won a lot of popular support and fought the usurpers to a standstill. The forces were evenly balanced. So were the financial resources: the Mirandas had spent their war chest on a fierce all-out initial assault. The north had nitrate mines and the south had silver, but neither side could get its exports financed or insured, since Pilasters was no longer in business and no other banks would take on a customer who might vanish tomorrow.
Both sides appealed to the British government for recognition, in the hope that it would help them get credit. Micky Miranda, still officially the Cordovan Minister in London, furiously lobbied Foreign Office officials, government ministers and members of Parliament, pressing for Papa Miranda to be recognized as the new president. But so far the prime minister, Lord Salisbury, refused to favor either side.
Then Tonio Silva arrived in London.
He turned up at Hugh’s suburban home on Christmas Eve. Hugh was in the kitchen, giving the boys hot milk and buttered toast for breakfast. Nora was still getting dressed: she was going into London to do her Christmas shopping, although she would have very little money to spend. Hugh had agreed to stay at home and take care of the boys: there was nothing urgent for him to do at the bank today.
He answered the doorbell himself, an experience that reminded him of the old days with his mother in Folkestone. Tonio had grown a beard and moustache, no doubt to hide the scars of the beating he had been given by Micky’s thugs eleven years earlier; but Hugh instantly recognized the carrot-colored hair and reckless grin. It was snowing, and there was a dusting of white on Tonio’s hat and the shoulders of his coat.
Hugh took his old friend into the kitchen and gave him tea. “How did you find me?” he asked.
“It wasn’t easy,” Tonio replied. “There was no one at your old house and the bank was closed. But I went to Whitehaven House and saw your aunt Augusta. She hasn’t changed. She didn’t know your address, but she remembered Chingford. The way she said the name, it sounded like a prison camp, like Van Diemen’s Land.”
Hugh nodded. “It’s not so bad. The boys are fine. Nora finds it hard.”
“Augusta hasn’t moved house.”
“No. She’s more to blame than anyone else for the mess we’re in. Yet she of all of them is the one who refuses to accept reality. She’ll find out that there are worse places than Chingford.”
“Cordova, for instance,” said Tonio.
“How is it?”
“My brother was killed in the fighting.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The war has reached a stalemate. Everything depends on the British government now. The side that wins recognition will be able to get credit, resupply its army, and overrun the opposition. That’s why I’m here.”
“Have you been sent by President Garcia?”
“Better than that. I am now officially the Cordovan Minister in London. Miranda has been dismissed.”
“Splendid!” Hugh was pleased that at last Micky had been sacked. It had irked him to see a man who had stolen two million pounds from him walking around London, going to clubs and theatres and dinner parties as if nothing had happened.
Tonio added: “I brought letters of accreditation with me and lodged them at the Foreign Office yesterday.”
“And you’re hoping to persuade the prime minister to support your side.”
“Yes.”
Hugh looked at him quizzically. “How?”
“Garcia is the president—Britain ought to support the legitimate government.”
That was a bit feeble, Hugh thought. “We haven’t so far.”
“I shall just tell the prime minister that you should.”
“Lord Salisbury is busy trying to keep the lid on a boiling cauldron in Ireland—he’s got no time for a distant South American civil war.” Hugh did not mean to sound negative, but an idea was forming in his mind.
Tonio said rather irritably: “Well, my job is to persuade Salisbury that he should pay attention to what is going on in South America, even if he does have other things on his mind.” But he could see the weakness of this approach, and after a moment he said: “Well, all right. You’re English, what do you think would engage his attention?”
Hugh said immediately: “You could promise to protect British investors from loss.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure, I’m thinking aloud.” Hugh shifted in his chair. Four-year-old Sol was building a castle of wooden blocks around his feet. It was odd to be deciding the future of a whole country here in the tiny kitchen of a cheap suburban house. “British investors put two million pounds into the Santamaria Harbor Corporation—Pilasters Bank being the biggest contributor. All the directors of the corporation were members or associates of the Miranda family and I have no doubt the entire two million went straight into their war chest. We need to get it back.”
“But it’s all been spent on weapons.”
“All right. But the Miranda family must have assets worth millions.”
“Indeed—they own the country’s nitrate mines.”
“If your side won the war, could President Garcia hand over the mines to the Santamaria Harbor Corporation, in compensation for the fraud? The bonds would be worth something then.”
Tonio said firmly: “I have been told by the president that I can promise anything—anything—that will get the British to side with the government forces in Cordova.”
Hugh began to feel excited. Suddenly the prospect of paying off all the Pilasters’ debts seemed closer. “Let me think,” he said. “We ought to lay the groundwork before you actually make your pitch. I believe I could persuade old Ben Greenbourne to put in a good word with Lord Salisbury, telling him he ought to support the British investor. But what about the Opposition in Parliament? We could go to see Dan Robinson, Maisie’s brother—he’s a member of Parliament, and he’s obsessed with bank failures. He approves of my rescue scheme for Pilasters and he wants it to work. He might make sure the Opposition supports us in the House of Commons.” He drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. “This is beginning to look possible!”
“We should act fast,” Tonio said.
“We’ll go into town right away. Dan Robinson lives with Maisie in south London. Greenbourne will be at his country house, but I can telephone him from the bank.” Hugh stood up. “Let me tell Nora.” He extricated his feet from Sol’s wood-block castle and went out.
Nora was in the bedroom, putting on an elaborate hat with fur trimmings. “I have to go into town,” Hugh said as he put on a collar and tie.
“Who’s going to look after the boys, then?” she said.
“You, I hope.”
“No!” she screeched. “I’m going shopping!”
“I’m sorry, Nora, but this is very important.”
“I’m important too!”
“Of course you are, but you can’t have your way about this. I have to speak to Ben Greenbourne urgently.”
“I’m sick of this,” she said disgustedly. “Sick of the house, sick of this boring village, sick of the children and sick of you. My father lives better than we do!” Nora’s father had opened a pub, with a loan from Pilasters Bank, and was doing extremely well. “I ought to go and live with him, and work as a barmaid,” she said. “I’d have more fun and I’d be paid for doing drudgery!”
Hugh stared at her. Suddenly he knew he would never share her bed again. There was nothing left of his marriage. Nora hated him, and he despised her. “Take your hat off, Nora,” he said. “You’re not going shopping today.” He put on his suit jacket and went out.
Tonio was waiting impatiently in the hall. Hugh kissed the boys, picked up his hat and coat, and opened the door. “There’s a train in a few minutes,” he said as they went out.
He put on his hat and shrugged into his coat as they hurried down the short garden path and out through the gate. It was snowing harder and there was a layer an inch thick on the grass. Hugh’s home was one of twenty or thirty identical houses built in a row on what had been a turnip field. They walked along a gravel road toward the village. “We’ll call on Robinson first,” Hugh said, planning their schedule. “Then I can tell Greenbourne that the Opposition is already on our side…. Listen!”
“What?”
“That’s our train. We’d better hurry.”
They quickened their pace. Fortunately the station was on the near side of the village. The train came into sight as they crossed a bridge over the line.
A man was leaning on the parapet, watching the approaching train. As they passed him he turned, and Hugh recognized him: it was Micky Miranda.
And he had a revolver in his hand.
After that everything happened very quickly.
Hugh cried out, but his shout was a whisper compared to the noise of the train. Micky pointed the gun at Tonio and fired at point-blank range. Tonio staggered and fell. Micky turned the gun on Hugh—but as he did so, steam and smoke from the engine billowed over the bridge in a dense cloud, and suddenly they were both blind. Hugh threw himself to the snowy ground. He heard the gun again, twice, but he felt nothing. He rolled sideways and got to his knees, peering into the fog.
The smoke began to clear. Hugh glimpsed a figure in the mist and rushed at him. Micky saw him and turned, but too late: Hugh cannoned into him. Micky fell and the gun flew from his hand and sailed in an arc over the parapet and down onto the railway line. Hugh fell on top of Micky and rolled clear.
They both struggled to their feet. Micky stooped to pick up his walking cane. Hugh rushed at him again and knocked him down, but Micky kept hold of the cane. As Micky scrambled to his feet again Hugh lashed out at him. But Hugh had not punched anyone for twenty years and he missed. Micky struck at him with the cane and hit his head. The blow hurt. Micky hit him again. The second blow maddened Hugh and he roared with rage, rushed at Micky and butted his face. They both staggered back, breathing hard.
Then there was a whistle from the station, indicating that the train was leaving, and panic showed on Micky’s face. Hugh guessed that Micky had planned to escape by train, and could not afford to be stuck in Chingford for another hour so close to the scene of his crime. The guess was right: Micky turned and ran to the station.
Hugh gave chase.
Micky was no sprinter, having spent too many nights drinking in brothels; but Hugh had passed his adult life sitting behind a desk, and he was not in much better shape. Micky ran into the station as the train was pulling out. Hugh followed him, blowing hard. When they charged onto the platform a railwayman shouted: “Oy! Where’s your tickets?”
By way of reply Hugh yelled: “Murder!”
Micky ran along the platform, trying to catch the receding rear end of the train. Hugh charged after him, doing his best to ignore the stabbing pain in his side. The railwayman joined in the chase. Micky caught up with the train, grabbed a handle and jumped on a step. Hugh dived after him, caught him by the ankle and lost his grip. The railwayman tripped over Hugh and went flying.
When Hugh got to his feet the train was out of reach. He stared after it in despair. He saw Micky open the door of the carriage and move gingerly from the step into the train, closing the door behind him.
The railwayman got up, brushing snow off his clothes, and said: “What the ’ell was all that about?”
Hugh bent over, breathing like a leaky bellows, too weak to speak.
“A man has been shot,” he said when he caught his breath. As soon as he felt strong enough to move he walked back toward the station entrance, beckoning the railwayman to follow. He led the man to the bridge where Tonio lay.
Hugh knelt by the body. Tonio had been hit between the eyes, and there was not much left of his face. “My God, what a mess,” said the railwayman. Hugh swallowed hard, fighting down nausea. He forced himself to slide his hand under Tonio’s coat and feel for a heartbeat. As he had expected there was none. He remembered the mischievous boy with whom he had splashed around in the swimming hole at Bishop’s Wood twenty-four years earlier, and he felt a wave of grief that pushed him close to tears.
Hugh’s head was clearing, and he could see, with anguished clarity, how Micky had planned this. Micky had friends in the Foreign Office, as did every halfway competent diplomat. One of those friends must have whispered in his ear, perhaps at a reception or dinner party last night, that Tonio was in London. Tonio had lodged his letters of accreditation already, so Micky knew his days were numbered. But if Tonio were to die the situation would become muddled again. There would be no one in London to negotiate on behalf of President Garcia, and Micky would be the de facto minister. It was Micky’s only hope. But he had to act fast and take chances, for he had only a day or two.
How had Micky known where to find Tonio? Perhaps he had people following Tonio—or maybe Augusta had told him that Tonio had been there, asking where to find Hugh. Either way, he had followed Tonio to Chingford.
To seek out Hugh’s house would have meant talking to too many people. However, he had known that Tonio had to come back to the railway station sooner or later. So he had lurked near the station, planning to kill Tonio—and any witnesses to the murder—and escape by train.
Micky was a desperate man, and it was a fearfully risky scheme—but it had almost worked. He had needed to kill Hugh as well as Tonio, but the smoke from the engine had spoiled his aim. If things had gone according to plan no one would have recognized him. Chingford had neither telegraph nor telephone, and there was no means of transport faster than the train, so he would have been back in London before the crime could be reported. No doubt one of his employees would have given him an alibi, too.
But he had failed to kill Hugh. And—Hugh suddenly realized—technically Micky was no longer the Cordovan Minister, so he had lost his diplomatic immunity.
He could hang for this.
Hugh stood up. “We must report the murder as soon as possible,” he said.
“There’s a police station in Walthamstow, a few stops down the line.”
“When’s the next train?”
The railwayman took a large watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Forty-seven minutes,” he said.
“We should both get on it. You go to the police in Walthamstow and I’ll go on to town and report it to Scotland Yard.”
“There’s no one to mind the station. I’m on my own, being Christmas Eve.”
“I’m sure your employer would want you to do your public duty.”
“Right you are.” The man seemed grateful to be told what to do.
“We’d better put poor Silva somewhere. Is there a place in the station?”
“Only the waiting room.”
“We’d better carry him there and lock it up.” Hugh bent and took hold of the body under the arms. “You take his legs.” They lifted Tonio and carried him into the station.
They laid him on a bench in the waiting room. Then they were not sure what to do. Hugh felt restive. He could not grieve—it was too soon. He wanted to catch the murderer, not mourn. He paced up and down, consulting his watch every few minutes, and rubbing the sore place on his head where Micky’s cane had struck him. The railwayman sat on the opposite bench, staring at the body with fearful fascination. After a while Hugh sat beside him. They stayed like that, silent and watchful, sharing the cold room with the dead man, until the train came in.