Hand In Glove Part 44

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"There is more. And we want it."

"We don't have it."

"Then find it. We know Beatrix Abberley had what we require.

Therefore it must lie within your power to locate and surrender it."

"Tell me what we're looking for."

"A doc.u.ment sent by Tristram Abberley to his sister in March 1938, written in the Catalan language."

"What sort of doc.u.ment?"

"I have said enough. We are patient, but not infinitely so. We will keep your niece alive for one month from today. You have until October eleven to procure the doc.u.ment. When you do, place an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the personal column of the International Herald Tribune to read as follows: Pen pals can be reunited. Orwell will pay."

He paused for a moment. "You have that?"

Charlotte read back her own scrawled note from the jotter beside the telephone. "Pen pals can be reunited. Orwell will pay."

"Correct. If such a message appears on or before October eleven, we will contact you."

"You must give me more information." Charlotte knew she should glean as much as she possibly could, but her brain seemed sluggish and uninventive. "We're prepared to do anything to get Sam back."

"All you have to do is meet our requirements, fully and promptly.

Do not tell the police we have made contact. If they seem to be drawing close to us, we shall kill your niece without hesitation."

"How . . . How is Sam?"

"She is alive."

"Can I speak to her?"

"Enough of speaking. You agree to our terms?"

"Of course. But-"

"Then our business is concluded. Good afternoon, Miss Ladram."

CHAPTER.

THIRTEEN.

Derek's first surprise when he arrived at Ockham House shortly before noon on Sat.u.r.day was the cancellation of lunch. Charlotte Ladram was more obviously nervous than he had known her to be on any previous occasion and professed herself reluctant to remain indoors, let alone cook a meal. She suggested a walk in the open air and he readily agreed. Her willingness to talk verged on a compelling need and after all his previous attempts to gain her confidence, which had made little headway, he knew he must not let such an opportunity pa.s.s him by.

They drove towards Ashdown Forest, and even before they had found a suitable place to stop, Charlotte had begun to recount the events of the past week in such detail that it was obvious she was holding nothing back. She slipped, without appearing to notice it, into addressing Derek by his first name and, after some initial awkwardness, he reciprocated. Her brother's death seemed to have removed a barrier between them. It was no longer necessary to pretend they knew less or more than they did. Their obligation to be honest with each other outweighed for the first time whatever they owed to anyone else.

They parked near Camp Hill and walked out aimlessly across the heath amidst the estranged fathers flying kites with their sons and the headscarfed ladies exercising their labradors. Everyday preoccupations had never seemed more remote, the present never more real, than now.

"I suppose you think I should tell the police," said Charlotte, after describing the telephone call with which her niece's kidnappers had broken their silence.

"Are you afraid they won't believe you?"

"I wouldn't blame them if they didn't. They've seen and heard nothing to convince them. For all they know, Sam's abduction may be a figment of our imaginations."

"But she is missing."

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"Or hiding. How are they to know which?"

"If you don't tell the police, what will you do?"

"Try to find the doc.u.ment the kidnappers want. Offer it to them in exchange for Sam's release."

"But where is there left to look? You've combed through Beatrix's possessions time after time. And I can't believe Frank would be holding anything back if he thought it could save a young girl's life."

"Neither can I. Which leaves the two other recipients of letters from Beatrix."

"One of whom is still unidentified."

"Yes. But one isn't. Natasha van Ryneveld."

"Maurice's mistress? Why would Beatrix have sent a doc.u.ment entrusted to her by her brother fifty years ago to her nephew's mistress?"

"I can't give you a reason. But she sent her something. That we do know."

"Surely Maurice would have known what it was-and handed it over to the kidnappers accordingly."

"Not necessarily. Natasha may have lied to him about what her letter contained-as Ursula did. After all, Beatrix wouldn't have sent her anything unless she had good reason to think it would be kept from Maurice. And I'm pretty sure Natasha knew nothing about the kidnap. Maurice probably didn't want to risk her objecting to the surrender of Tristram's letters. So, if what she received from Beatrix is what the kidnappers want, she's not to know, is she?"

"It still doesn't seem very likely."

"I agree. But isn't it worth a try?"

"I suppose so. What will you do? Visit her in New York?"

"Well, I doubt she'll come here. There are some awkward questions she may not want to answer."

"About what?"

"About your brother, Derek. Who rang him in May to make the appointment for him to visit Jackdaw Cottage? Not Beatrix, obviously.

But it was a woman, wasn't it?"

"Natasha van Ryneveld?"

"Who else?"

They reached Airman's Grave and paused together beside its perimeter wall, gazing in at the poignant tribute to one victim of a long-ago conflict, though not as long-ago, it occurred to Derek, as the H A N D I N G L O V E.

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conflict which had recently extended its crabbed old hand to touch their lives. "Chief Inspector Golding pointed out to me . . ." he hesitantly began.

"Pointed out what?"

"That Colin's defence, such as it is, collapses completely without Tristram's letters." He looked round to her and tried to smile. "Sorry,"

he murmured.

"Don't apologize. It's I who should apologize to you-and your brother-for what Maurice did."

"But as Colin is to me, so Maurice was to you. We can't choose our brothers. Or cease to care about them."

"You reminded me once that Maurice is only-was only-my half-brother."

"Perhaps that's what I was apologizing for." Before caution could restrain the impulse, he placed his hand over hers where she was resting it on the low wall in front of them. She made no move to shake it off. "You do have my sympathy, you know. My sincere sympathy."

She glanced at him. A smile flickered across her lips. "Thank you," she said softly.

Derek removed his hand, glad he had been allowed to decide when he should do so. "Do you think this is really about the Spanish Civil War?" he enquired.

"The doc.u.ment dates from then and is written in Spanish-or Catalan. What else are we to think?"

"Nothing. Which is what worries me."

"In what way?"

"If it-whatever it is-matters enough, fifty years later, for people to kill and kidnap for . . ."

"Yes?"

"Then you need to be careful. Very careful."

"Being careful won't help Sam."

"Perhaps not. But I don't know Sam, I only know you. I'm only worried about you."

"Don't be."

"If there's anything I can do . . . to help . . ."

"There's nothing." She shook her head. "If Natasha will talk to anybody, it's me."

"What about Ursula?"

"There'd be too much tension between them. Besides, the police 270 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

are keeping a close watch on her. I shall tell her what I propose to do, of course. If she insists on informing the police, so be it. But she won't. Take my word for it. She'll agree it's best for me to go-alone."

Charlotte turned away and started back up the slope towards the road. As Derek caught her up, a possibility came into his mind to which he gave immediate voice. "Is Natasha the only person you plan to visit in the States?"

Charlotte frowned. "Who else would I visit?"

"I don't know. It's just . . ." He gritted his teeth, determined to put their new-found trust to the test. "I've been thinking. Why didn't the kidnappers try to obtain the doc.u.ment earlier? Why wait fifty years?"

"Because they didn't know where it was."

"But now they do. Or they think they do. Something-or someone-drew their attention to Tristram's letters. Who? Only a few people knew about them. You. Me. Maurice. Ursula. Frank Griffith. And Emerson McKitrick."

Charlotte did not reply at once. They walked on in silence for a minute or so, then she said: "If you genuinely want to help me, Derek, don't ask about Emerson McKitrick."

"All right. I won't. But he is another reason why you should be careful."

"Then I promise I will be." She stopped and looked at him. "Satisfied?" There was no sarcasm in the remark. Her expression hovered, as Derek suspected his own did, on the brink of admitting what neither of them could quite believe.

"Not really, Charlotte, no," he said with a smile.

She smiled back. "Everybody calls me Charlie."

"Could I be an exception?"

"You could be, yes."

"Then I rather think I'd like to be."

Halfway back to Tunbridge Wells, Charlotte said suddenly: "I'd like to visit a bookshop." Seeing Derek's puzzled look, she added: "You mentioned the Spanish Civil War and I've been thinking about the message the kidnappers told me to use to contact them."

" 'Pen pals can be reunited. Orwell will pay.' "

"It has to be George Orwell, doesn't it? Didn't he fight in Spain?"

"He may have done."

H A N D I N G L O V E.