Jack and George looked at the entry in the street directory. ‘It’s got me stumped,’ said George eventually. ‘Jack, am I going crackers? I don’t suppose it’s a misprint or something, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Jack. ‘After all, there you are.’ He gave his friend a sideways look. ‘So, there are two George Lassiters in the world, even if this one lives in London. I wonder if this one knows anything about your missing legacy?’
‘By jingo, that’s a thought,’ said George slowly. ‘He could be the man who claimed the money.’
Jack clicked his tongue. ‘That’s going a bit too fast. After all, you said your legacy was claimed from South Africa.’
‘He might have come from South Africa. There’s nothing here to say how long he’s been living at that address.’
‘No, that’s true. He’s not alone,’ added Jack, putting his finger on the page. ‘Mr David Lassiter, Mr Nigel Lassiter, and look, this presumably is the girl you met, Mrs Anne Lassiter. I wonder who she’s married to? There’s another raft of names, too. Michael Walsh, John Corby, Nora Nelson and so on. I bet those are the servants. George, don’t the Lassiter names mean anything to you?’
George shook his head. ‘Not a damn thing. It’s got me beat. What do we do now?’
‘We could go round and see them,’ said Jack.
George drew his breath in sharply. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because of what I did. I broke in, remember? I stole their food, helped myself out of their larder and then, to top it off, caused a real scene. For heaven’s sake, the police were involved, Jack. I was very nearly arrested. I can’t walk through their front door and expect them to receive me with open arms. They’d throw me out on my ear and I couldn’t blame them.’
Jack reluctantly agreed. ‘Yes, you might be right. I can see you’re bound to feel awkward about it.’ He walked to the sofa and, sitting on the arm, ran his thumb round the side of his chin. ‘You could write to them, I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘Or I could go. I could explain what happened and say you’ve been ill and so on.’ He looked at George. ‘What d’you think? That might be the best thing to do.’
George sighed unhappily. ‘Would it?’ He hesitated. ‘Look, don’t you think you’ve done enough for me already? I appreciate it, Jack, really I do, but this is my affair.’
‘All right.’ Jack raised an interrogative eyebrow. ‘So you want to go alone?’
George looked at him ruefully. ‘I don’t want to go at all.’ He shook himself in irritation. ‘I can’t see the point of writing. I’d never be able to think of what to say. Damn! I’ll have to see them. It’s the only way.’
‘Alone?’
George’s mouth twisted. ‘I can’t ask you to come.’
‘Why not?’ asked Jack. ‘After all, I know it’s your business and not mine but I must admit I’m curious.’ He didn’t miss the relief in George’s face. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
‘Now, you mean?’ asked George, startled.
Jack shrugged. ‘Why not? Now’s as good a time as any.’ He walked to the door, turning to smile encouragingly at his friend. ‘Let’s get a taxi.’
‘What on earth do I say?’ hissed George, as the bell jangled in the depths of 19 Eden Street.
‘We’ll tell them who we are and see what happens,’ said Jack. The door was opened by a portly and glacially respectable butler. George gave a small, depressed sigh.
‘Major Haldean and Mr Lassiter to see Mr George Lassiter,’ said Jack with cheerful insouciance.
The glacier thawed and looked puzzled. ‘Excuse me, sir, did you say Mr Lassiter?’
‘That’s right,’ said George as firmly as he could manage.
The butler stood to one side to let them in. ‘If you would care to wait, gentlemen, I will ascertain if Mr Lassiter is at home.’ They were ushered into a large square hall furnished with, amongst other things, an oak table and a Jacobean settle.
As soon as the butler had gone George collapsed on to the seat. ‘Jack, it’s all wrong.’ Jack put a hand on his shoulder and George glanced up, his face showing the strain he was under. ‘The size is all wrong. The table’s too small. Everything’s too small.’ Jack tightened his grip on George’s shoulder. The table was a very substantial table in a very substantial house. There was nothing wrong with it. ‘I feel like a clumsy giant in here,’ muttered George. ‘It’s all wrong. Can’t you see it?’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Come on,’ said Jack awkwardly. ‘The butler will be back soon.’
‘He’s wrong too,’ said George savagely. ‘Everything’s wrong.’ He looked round the hall. ‘I wish I hadn’t come.’ He sat in silence until the butler returned.
‘Mr Lassiter will see you now. Allow me to take your coats, gentlemen, then if you will come with me, please.’
They followed the butler’s stately progress down the hall. He paused outside a door, coughed, then showed them into a big room made cosy by curtains and lamps. A fire burned in the grate at the further end of the room, surrounded by modern and inviting easy chairs. Above the fireplace hung an oil painting of an aeroplane in flight, which, from its graceful outline, Jack immediately recognized as an LE4c.
A white-haired old man, who, at a guess, was well into his seventies but still bright-eyed and vigorous, stood on the rug in front of the fire. There was something vaguely familiar about him and Jack wondered where he’d seen him before. A woman in her late twenties, with dark hair and intelligent eyes, attractively dressed in blue and green, stood beside him. Mrs Anne Lassiter? Probably, thought Jack. So this was the woman who had refused to let the police arrest George after the incident in the kitchen. He looked at her with concealed interest. She seemed a thoroughly dependable sort, who could take charge when necessary. Exactly, in fact, as she had done that evening when George needed her help so badly. He wasn’t surprised she had made such a strong impression on George. As they were shown into the room her face was alive with interest.
‘Major Haldean and Mr Lassiter,’ said the butler.
As the door shut behind the butler, the old man moved forward a pace. ‘I wondered if Corby had heard your names correctly,’ he began, when George stepped into the lamplight. The man gasped and swayed. The woman beside him caught his arm. He stared at George, his mouth open and his eyes wide. ‘Charles?’ he mumbled. ‘Charles? Charles, it can’t be you!’ He made a fluttering movement with his hand and groped his way into a chair. Quickly but without fuss, Mrs Lassiter took a bottle of brandy from the cabinet behind her, poured some into a glass and added soda water. She put it into his outstretched hand, standing by with a calm, reassuring stillness.
He gulped it down, then handed the glass back to her, colour returning to his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Anne.’ So it was Mrs Lassiter. The old man looked at George in bewilderment. ‘Who the devil are you?’
George took a deep breath. ‘Lassiter. My name’s George Lassiter,’ he said. ‘I –’
‘Wait.’ The old man held up his hand. ‘Please, before you say anything more, wait. Anne, there’s a photograph on the cabinet. A photograph of Charles. Can you bring it to me, please?’
A collection of silver-framed photographs stood on the cabinet. After a short search she found the one he wanted and gave it to him. He motioned with his hand to Jack and George. ‘Come and look at this.’
It was a studio portrait of a young man dressed in the fashion of thirty-odd years ago. Jack looked at the stiffly posed figure, then at his friend. ‘But it’s you, George,’ he said in astonishment. ‘Hang on, it’s not quite . . . Well, it’s nearly you,’ he finished.
George shook his head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s my father. We had that photo at home.’ He looked from the old man to the photograph, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘I don’t understand, sir. Who are you? Why have you got my father’s picture?’
‘Charles is your father?’ The old man looked George up and down and tentatively reached out to him with an expression of such tenderness it made Jack catch his breath. ‘And you’re George. You were called after me. You don’t know this, but I’ve thought about you a lot.’ George took his outstretched hand. ‘You’re my grandson.’
The next ten minutes or so were spent in a tumble of explanations, most of which were so fragmentary that, with the best will in the world, Jack didn’t see how anyone could follow them. He watched George’s earnest face as he leaned forward, listening to his grandfather. He should have seen the likeness immediately. It was no wonder old Mr Lassiter reminded him of someone. It was George, of course – those similarities in the shape of the nose and the line of the jaw. There were mannerisms too; how they sat, how both men would give a sharp tilt of the head before speaking and little unconscious gestures of the hands.
George had embarked on an account of his bewilderment at how oddly familiar the house and surrounding streets seemed, when his grandfather interrupted.
‘But of course it all seems familiar, George. You were born here, here in this house. You lived here until you were nearly three.’
George looked at him with a puzzled frown. ‘I was born in South Africa.’
His grandfather smiled. ‘No, you weren’t. Not a bit of it. This is where you were born and this was your home when you were very young.’
George turned to Jack. ‘That must be it, Jack! I must have remembered without knowing I did.’
‘I bet that’s why everything seemed the wrong size,’ said Jack. ‘When you go back to somewhere you knew as a kid it all seems too small. I’ve had that experience.’
‘It explains the other night as well,’ said George eagerly. ‘It explains why I felt so drawn to this particular house. That and the fire.’ He gave a shy smile, braced himself and looked at Anne. ‘You don’t seem to have recognized me, but I was the man in the kitchen. You know, with the police and so on.’
‘You?’ Anne sat up and stared at him sharply. ‘Of course you are! I thought I recognized you. Ever since you came in I’ve been trying to think where I’ve seen you before.’ She turned to Mr Lassiter. ‘You remember I told you about it? A man broke into the kitchen. The police took him to hospital.’
Mr Lassiter drew back, shocked. ‘You broke in, George?’
‘He was desperate,’ put in Jack, seeing his friend’s face. Poor old George was brick-red with embarrassment and the atmosphere in the sitting room had suffered a sudden chill. ‘He was completely on his uppers – destitute, I mean – and had nowhere to go. He was coming down with malaria and flu and, from what I can make out, half-dead with cold.’
Old Mr Lassiter relaxed but still looked at George warily.
‘I told you I was attracted to the house,’ said George. ‘I seemed to remember what it would be like inside. I . . . I so wanted to be inside.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s as Jack said. I was desperate, but I still shouldn’t have done it. I know that. All I can say is, I’m sorry.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘I think we’d better go.’
His grandfather rose to his feet. ‘Go? For heaven’s sake, boy, you’ve only just arrived.’ He reached his hand out once more. ‘Please, George, sit down. You were ill, you say?’
George looked at Jack for support.
‘George was completely broke and very ill indeed,’ said Jack, seeing his friend needed helping out. ‘I don’t think it’s any exaggeration to say that he would have died that night if it hadn’t been for your help, Mrs Lassiter. As it was, he got taken to the Royal Free and very nearly didn’t make it, even then. George and I are old friends,’ he continued, seeing that further explanation was necessary. ‘I found out from a pal of mine in the police what had happened, recognized the name and, to cut a long story short, George is staying with me until he recovers completely.’
‘But, George, how did you come to be in such dire straits?’ asked Mr Lassiter wonderingly. ‘Sit down.’ He turned the command into a request. ‘Please?’
George hesitantly sat down again. ‘I think I’d better tell you the story of the legacy,’ he said. He did so, as briefly as he could. ‘But who this Rosemary Belmont is, I don’t know,’ he finished.
His grandfather looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Rosemary?’ he said quietly. ‘Rosemary. I knew she’d married again but I’d forgotten her husband’s name. She must be the woman I knew as Rosemary Vernon. She . . .’ He broke off, looking at George. ‘I’m sorry, my boy. I don’t know quite how to break this to you. You see . . .’ He hesitated once more then, gathering himself, spoke in a rush. ‘Rosemary was your mother.’
There was dead silence. George sat bolt upright, his hands clenched. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘No, she wasn’t. My mother wasn’t called Rosemary. She was Susan. Susan Harrison. You’re wrong, sir. You must be wrong.’
‘I’m not,’ said Mr Lassiter quietly. ‘I’m sorry if this is a shock to you, George, but Rosemary Vernon was your mother.’
George looked at him in bewilderment. ‘But how can she be, sir?’ he protested. ‘I know who my mother was.’
Mr Lassiter put down his glass. ‘I’m sorry, George. Your father should have told you.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s obvious that he didn’t. All I can say in mitigation is that he was hurt. Badly hurt.’ He sighed. ‘Rosemary Vernon was your mother and the reason why you lived here.’ His eyes became distant. ‘Your father was a stubborn boy. Mary – your grandmother – always said that he took after me.’ He blinked rapidly. ‘Maybe he did. Poor Charles. I wish I could have seen him again. It’s too late now.’
George gazed at him in complete disbelief. ‘Can you explain, sir?’ he said at last.
There was a long pause, then Mr Lassiter shook himself. ‘Charles married Rosemary Vernon against my wishes. I don’t wish to speak ill of your mother, George, particularly as she is dead, but I considered her to be flighty and spoiled and the very last person who Charles should have married.’ He looked at George apologetically. ‘I have to tell you the truth as I see it, otherwise you’ll never understand.’
George sat back in his chair. ‘I think you’d better.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘I didn’t know what to expect, but certainly nothing like this.’
Mr Lassiter turned to Anne. ‘Would you get drinks for us, my dear? I think we could all do with something.’
Both George and Jack accepted a whisky and soda gratefully. ‘As I say,’ continued old Mr Lassiter, ‘I never thought Rosemary was the right wife for Charles.’ He picked up his glass and grimaced. ‘It gave me no pleasure at all to be proved right. She was an actress and Charles was dazzled by her. They very quickly grew apart. Rosemary wasn’t interested in making a home for Charles and it was in an attempt to bring them together that Mary and I suggested they live here until you were born, at least. The idea was to take the cares of running a household off her shoulders so she could concentrate on you, but Rosemary was never cut out to be a mother. She was fond of you, don’t think she wasn’t, but she couldn’t cope with responsibility. She left Charles when you were a few months old and went abroad.’ He looked away. ‘She went to Paris with Belmont. He was far more her type. He was an artist, a successful one, I believe.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘She wasn’t a conventional woman, George. Much to Charles’s distress, she lived an openly scandalous life with Belmont until the divorce was granted. She married him after that.’ He looked at his grandson with worried eyes. ‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to break such unpalatable news.’
‘It’s not your fault, sir,’ said George. ‘It’s just – well, it’s a bit of a shock, you know?’ He paused, then shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much I can say.’
‘She obviously never forgot you, George,’ said Anne, gently. ‘I don’t suppose it’s much consolation, but she left you all her money.’
He looked at her bleakly. ‘I don’t think that’s very important. Not now.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I wish I’d known. My father should have told me.’
‘He probably wanted to put it behind him,’ said Anne. ‘We’ve never talked about it but I know David – David’s my father-in-law – still finds it difficult. We were in the Tate a few months ago and some of Jerome Belmont’s paintings were there. I knew something was wrong and asked what the matter was. David looked at the paintings and said, “I don’t know much about art but I know about the devil who painted these. He’s the swine who ran off with my brother’s wife.” He wouldn’t tell me much more. I gathered it was a painful subject still.’ She glanced at Jack. ‘You’ve heard of Jerome Belmont, haven’t you?’
‘Jerome Belmont? Yes, of course I’ve heard of him, but the name didn’t ring a bell when George told me about his legacy, I’m afraid.’
‘I imagine the money came from Belmont’s paintings,’ said Mr Lassiter. ‘Rosemary certainly never had any of her own.’
‘I wonder what happened to it?’ asked Anne. ‘You say it was claimed from South Africa, George? There must be some mistake. I’m sure the solicitors will be able to sort it out.’
‘They weren’t very helpful when I saw them before.’
‘Yes, but things are different now. I mean, you know who Rosemary Belmont was now, and where you fit in and so on. There must be a mistake.’
Mr Lassiter looked grave. ‘If there has been a mistake it might be more difficult to put right than you imagine, Anne. In my experience lawyers are very reluctant to admit an error.’
‘Excuse me for asking, sir,’ said Jack, ‘but one way George can put the matter right is to prove who he is. I don’t suppose you’ve got George’s birth certificate, have you?’
‘His birth certificate?’ Mr Lassiter looked surprised. ‘I imagine it’s in the desk in the library with all the other family papers. If you think it will help, George, I can look it out for you but even then, I’m afraid it may be some time before you see the money.’ He looked at his grandson. ‘Rosemary did have feelings for you. You mustn’t think otherwise. She did write once, many years ago, I remember, wanting to know where you were. I forwarded the letter on to Charles but I don’t know what happened afterwards.’
‘He must have answered her, Grandfather,’ said Anne. ‘That must have been where she got George’s old address from.’
‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Mr Lassiter. He took a deep breath. ‘My word, I haven’t thought of either her or Belmont for years. I’d forgotten his name until you mentioned it just now.’ He sipped his drink thoughtfully. ‘I had no idea David still resented what happened but he was very close to Charles. It all seems so long ago, now. You must remember how different things were before the war,’ he added reflectively. ‘We hushed things up a great deal more but that wouldn’t do for Charles. He was determined to get a divorce. I was horrified. I don’t approve of divorce now but then it was unthinkable. Charles and I quarrelled and I said a great many things which I now regret. After the divorce was granted, Charles went to South Africa. You were here anyway, so he left you with us. When your grandmother died I wrote to him but all I got in reply was a brief note.’ He looked at his grandson with an oddly hungry expression. ‘Did he tell you much about us?’
George met his eyes, then looked away. ‘He never mentioned you. I honestly believed I had no relations at all.’ He spoke as gently as he could but his grandfather sagged and looked suddenly much older.
‘He was always stubborn,’ he said quietly. ‘So terribly stubborn.’
George moved uneasily. ‘Where did my mother – I suppose I should call her my stepmother, really – come into it?’
‘Charles met her in the Cape. I got a short letter from him to say that he’d married again. Now that he had a home to offer you he wanted you back, so we sent you out to him in the care of your nurse. I believe she stayed with you in South Africa.’
‘I certainly had an English nurse,’ agreed George. ‘I liked her a lot.’
‘Your grandmother picked her. She was heartbroken when you left. She missed you terribly.’
George sat back in his chair and let his breath out in a long sigh. ‘I’m stunned,’ he said eventually. ‘Everything I believed about myself has been turned upside down. My mother wasn’t my mother and I’ve got a family I never knew about.’ He shook himself. ‘I can’t tell you how strongly I felt drawn to this house. I wish I’d known why.’ He looked apologetically at Jack. ‘It would have saved you a lot of trouble, old man.’ He glanced at Anne. ‘After I’d found the house again we looked you up in a street directory. I saw there was a David and a Nigel Lassiter. You said David was my father’s brother. Are you married to Nigel?’
Anne looked surprised. ‘No, Nigel’s a lot older than I am. He’s my uncle-in-law, I suppose, if I can call him that.’
George looked puzzled. ‘Well . . . Excuse my asking, but who’s in the family?’
‘I had three sons,’ said Mr Lassiter. ‘The eldest was Charles, your father. He never took any interest in the family firm.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘We argued about that, too.’ Anne laid a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her gratefully. ‘My other two sons,’ he continued in a stronger voice, ‘are still very much with us. There’s David. You’ll like David. He’s your uncle, of course.’ He said the name with infectious warmth. ‘He looked up to your father. They used to argue all the time, but it never stopped them being friends. David could never understand why your father wanted to strike out on his own. He’s as committed to the firm as I am. I should have retired years ago but I could never bring myself to take the plunge.’ He smiled. ‘It’s lucky I’m here. I’m usually at the works but I’m recovering from a nasty cold. David’s taking over the reins. I rely on him tremendously.’
‘And your other son, sir?’ asked George. ‘Is that Nigel? He’ll be my uncle, too, I suppose.’
Mr Lassiter raised an eyebrow. ‘So he will. It’s hard to think of him in that role. Nigel.’ Jack heard the chill in the old man’s voice as he said the name. ‘Don’t expect any great show of affection from Nigel, George. It’s not that there’s anything wrong, mind, but he can seem a bit cold at times.’
‘The thing about Nigel,’ put in Anne, ‘is that he’s either a genius or the next best thing to it. He’s completely absorbed in his work.’ She smiled at George’s expression. ‘I’m sorry. You look a bit worried and I’m not surprised. I’m just saying that he probably won’t throw his hat in the air at the sight of you.’
‘Well, why should he?’ said George. He looked at Anne. ‘What about the rest of the family? You said David was your father-in-law. That means I’ve got a cousin, doesn’t it? Your husband, I mean.’
Jack felt genuine sympathy for his friend. It was an innocent enough question but the silence which followed was nearly tangible. George flushed. ‘I’m sorry. Have I said something I shouldn’t? I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.’
‘You haven’t,’ said Anne quickly. ‘Really, you haven’t. It’s just having to spell everything out is a bit stark. My husband died, you see.’
George shifted uneasily. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes. There was an accident. It’s two years ago now. David was heartbroken.’ As you were, thought Jack, watching her consciously bright eyes. She sat very straight in the chair. ‘David’s wife died years ago and his other two boys had been killed in the war, you see, so Tom was all he had. It was tragic. Awkward, too,’ she added, to Jack’s surprise. He felt very sorry for Anne, and David, too, come to that. He had an idea he’d heard of David Lassiter before. Where? He dismissed the notion, more interested in Anne’s choice of words. Tragic? It was certainly tragic, but why was it awkward? He might have asked why, but Anne continued speaking, obviously concerned to put George at his ease. ‘After Tom died, Grandfather asked me to come and live here.’
‘It was very kind of you to accept, my dear,’ said old Mr Lassiter.
She smiled briefly at him. ‘I’d rather be here than on my own.’ She looked at Jack and George. ‘David feels much the same. Nigel lives here, too.’
Mr Lassiter leaned forward. ‘George,’ he said, ‘tell me about yourself.’ He was another one who had suffered, thought Jack. Poor devil. Old Mr Lassiter seemed so outwardly prosperous that most men of his age would envy him, yet behind the facade lay a pretty rocky past. He knew how oddly sensitive George could be and it looked as if he’d inherited that trait from his grandfather. ‘You said you sold the farm. What did you do after that?’
‘All sorts of things,’ said George, clearly relieved by the change of subject from Anne’s husband. ‘I worked on the railways and led parties big-game hunting and did a stint at the diamond fields. What I enjoyed most, though, was my seaplane.’
‘Your seaplane?’ echoed his grandfather.
George blinked at his grandfather’s surprise. ‘Yes, I had a seaplane, a Short 184, on Lake Nyasa with a couple of pals. We set up an air service around the lake.’
‘Bless my soul. What did you do in the war?’
‘I was in the RFC with Major Haldean here.’
Mr Lassiter laughed. ‘The Flying Corps? It must be in the blood.’ His smile broadened at George’s expression. ‘That’s the firm, the family firm. The Lassiter Aircraft Company.’
‘What?’ George leaned forward excitedly. Perhaps, thought Jack, he was relieved to find a topic that didn’t seem to lacerate anyone’s feelings. ‘You mean you made the LE4c?’ He glanced up to the oil painting above the fireplace. ‘I wondered why you had a painting of one. It was a lovely machine.’
‘It was a shame about the LE4c,’ said Mr Lassiter, shaking his head. ‘We were all ready to start full production when the war ended and the contracts were cancelled. It was a bad time for us. We weathered it, but it was touch and go at one time. Fortunately Nigel managed to win a seaplane contract with the Sprite but it was a close-run thing.’
‘You’re developing another flying-boat aren’t you, sir?’ asked Jack, his memory stirred by the mention of the Sprite. ‘I saw a picture of it in Modern Flight. It said it was going to be one of the largest aircraft in the world.’
‘The Pegasus,’ said Mr Lassiter with a wry note in his voice. ‘It’s supposed to be the biggest aircraft ever made. It’s Nigel’s design. I sometimes wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.’
‘He lives and breathes for his flying-boat,’ put in Anne.
Mr Lassiter leaned back in his chair. ‘I can’t get over you being a pilot, George. We’ll have to get you involved in the firm. Obviously you’re going to see the solicitors again but it’ll take some time to get the matter cleared up. I think the best thing would be to find you a temporary position until we see where your talents lie. Perhaps the best introduction to the firm would be some sort of secretarial role.’
Anne looked startled. ‘You wouldn’t replace Michael Walsh, would you, Grandfather?’
‘Good Lord, no.’ Mr Lassiter looked at George. ‘Michael Walsh is my secretary,’ he said in explanation. ‘He’s a very competent man.’ He sucked his cheeks in. ‘Nigel’s the one who really needs help. He works far too hard and the only assistance he’s got is that precious clerk of his, Miss Aldryn.’
‘She suits Nigel, though,’ said Anne. ‘What about David? I’m sure he could find work for George without any trouble.’ She looked reassuringly at George. ‘Being a pilot gives you a huge advantage. You’ll be able to pick up everything else you need to know easily enough.’
Mr Lassiter looked at George. ‘Are you interested?’
‘Well, of course I am,’ began George awkwardly. ‘The only thing is, I’ve never done an office job before. I don’t know what David – my Uncle David, I suppose I should call him – will think about it.’
‘Naturally we’ll have to ask him, but he’ll be glad of your help. You’ll see.’
George thought for a moment. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. He smiled rather shyly. ‘Besides, I want to get to know the family. When can I start?’
‘At once, if you like. The works are on the river near Tilbury.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, George,’ said Jack quickly. ‘You’re still convalescing. After all, it’s not so long ago the doctor was convinced you were on the way out. It’ll be a while before you’re fit to do any sort of work.’
George looked disappointed. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s a shame, though. I was looking forward to meeting the family.’
‘That can easily be arranged,’ said his grandfather. ‘I’m sorry, George. I should have remembered how ill you’d been. I shouldn’t have mentioned work at this stage. You get better, my boy. We’ll talk about work afterwards. However, when you’re feeling up to it you must come down to the factory, and both you and Major Haldean must stay for dinner this evening.’
‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ said Jack, answering for both of them. ‘Are you feeling up to it, George? You’re looking a bit washed out.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said George stubbornly.
‘Perhaps you can have a rest beforehand,’ suggested his grandfather. He looked at the clock. ‘Let me see. It’s nearly five o’clock now. David will be in about six, I imagine. Heaven knows when Nigel will arrive.’ He stopped as Corby, the butler, entered the room. ‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Culverton is here, sir, with an Inspector Rackham from Scotland Yard.’
Jack started. Bill? What on earth was Bill doing here?
Anne Lassiter looked at Corby in surprise. ‘A police inspector?’ she repeated. She shook her head. ‘You’d better show them in.’ She turned to Mr Lassiter. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, my dear.’ He stood up. ‘This sounds serious.’
Anne turned to George and Jack as Corby left. ‘I don’t know what this is about. Peggy Culverton is one of my closest friends. She’s highly respectable. I can’t think why she’d have a policeman in tow.’
Rackham, accompanied by a well-dressed woman in brown – Peggy Culverton, Jack presumed – entered the room a few minutes later. Rackham’s eyebrows rose at the sight of him but he said nothing.
‘Peggy? What is it?’ asked Anne, stepping forward. She reached out her hands to the older woman. ‘Peggy! You’re upset. What’s happened?’
Mrs Culverton tried to speak but couldn’t. Anne looked a question at Rackham, who coughed.
‘I’m afraid to say that Mrs Culverton has had a distressing experience. She has just come from the mortuary.’
Peggy Culverton managed to speak. ‘Anne,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Alexander’s dead.’
Mr Lassiter started forward. ‘What? Alexander Culverton?’ He put a hand to his mouth. ‘Dear God.’
Anne put an arm round her friend. ‘Come and sit down near the fire. You’re cold. Peggy, this is awful.’
‘I shouldn’t be so upset,’ said Peggy, holding on to Anne’s arm. ‘You know what it’s been like, Anne, but seeing him there . . .’ She swallowed. ‘He was murdered,’ she said starkly with a break in her voice. ‘I had to come here. It was the only place I could think of.’ She looked up at Mr Lassiter. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No. No, not all,’ he said in a dazed voice. ‘Culverton dead!’ He seemed to pull himself together. ‘You know you have my sympathy, Peggy. My greatest sympathy. Did you say murdered?’ Mrs Culverton nodded dumbly. Mr Lassiter stepped back and breathed deeply. ‘Anne,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ll telephone Nigel. He needs to know about this right away.’
As Mr Lassiter left the room, Rackham drew Jack to one side. ‘What the dickens are you doing here, Jack?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘And is that George Lassiter? The man in the Royal Free? Is he part of the family?’
‘He is,’ said Jack, ‘but he didn’t know anything about it. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Look, I don’t want to sound like a parrot, but what are you doing here?’
‘Mrs Culverton and Mrs Lassiter are old friends. After seeing her husband in the mortuary she wanted to come here and she was far too upset for me to let her come alone. You know who the dead man is?’ he added. ‘It’s Culverton of Culverton Air Navigation.’
Jack gave a low whistle. ‘My God, is it? This’ll hit the headlines and no mistake.’ He looked sharply at Rackham. ‘I say, he’s not your naked man in the Thames, is he?’ Rackham nodded. Jack’s eyes widened. He looked at Mrs Culverton. ‘The poor woman. That must have been really nasty for her.’
‘Yes,’ said Rackham, in an odd voice. ‘I think it probably was. Look, Jack, I need to go to Culverton’s office. Lloyd, his secretary, has promised to wait for me there. Do you want to come?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Jack. ‘Of course I do. The only thing is, I’m here with George.’ He motioned to George to join them. ‘George, this is Inspector Rackham. You’ve heard me speak of him. Rackham and I could do with sloping off for a while. Will you be all right without me? I’ll be back later. I don’t know what time dinner will be.’
‘It looks as if dinner might go by the board,’ said George quietly.
Jack shook his head. ‘No, it won’t. You’ll see. I know this sort of house. If I’m not back in time, go ahead without me. I’ll skip dinner if necessary. Look, when your grandfather comes back, get him to show you where you can have a rest. There must be a sofa in the library or something. You need it.’
George nodded. ‘I don’t particularly want to stay, not with them all at sixes and sevens, but I know my grandfather would be hurt if I left right away. You go, Jack. I’ll see you later.’
‘Good man. Make my excuses for me, will you?’
‘I’d better have a word with Mrs Culverton before I go,’ said Rackham. ‘I won’t be a minute, Jack.’
On Anne’s instructions, Corby showed them to the door. As soon as they were on the street and could speak freely, Jack turned to Rackham. ‘Alexander Culverton? I can hardly believe it.’
‘Neither could I when I realized who he was. It’s incredible that the man disappeared for days before anyone noticed he was gone.’
‘Didn’t his wife know?’ asked Jack.
‘I can’t help thinking his wife knows a lot more than she’s telling me,’ said Rackham in dissatisfaction. ‘She didn’t like seeing him on the mortuary slab, Jack, that was real enough, but, God help me, she’s glad he’s dead.’
His meaning was so unmistakable that Jack stopped short. ‘Bill, what are you saying?’ Rackham didn’t answer. ‘Are you telling me that you think she murdered her husband? She can’t have done. The murder was brutal.’
‘So what if it was? I don’t like to think a woman’s tied up with it, but she really was glad he was dead. She’s obviously a very determined sort of person. Just because the crime was brutal doesn’t mean we can rule her out. After all, when a married man’s killed, the first person we usually look at is his wife – and vice versa.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Jack impatiently, falling into step beside Rackham once more. ‘But for heaven’s sake, Bill, his face was battered in. She wouldn’t do that, surely?’
Rackham shrugged. ‘Why not? I mean, look at your reaction. You’ve automatically excluded her because it was a brutal crime. I think she’s clever, Jack. Clever enough to work that out. After all, it only needs a few blows with something heavy and the job’s done. She was a nurse in the war. If she saw a fraction of what we did – and she must have done – she must be fairly proof against most horrors. She’s not some fragile little thing. Physically, she’d be perfectly capable of it.’
‘But . . .’ Jack was silent for a few moments, putting his thoughts in order. ‘How did you find her? Did she tell you her husband was missing?’
‘That’s right. She’d left him, so she says. She’s got a flat in Kensington and she telephoned me from there. She’d had a letter from his secretary, a Mr Gilchrist Lloyd, to say that he’d vanished. I went round to see her, hoping that it might be my naked man in the Thames and, as you know, was proved right. She identified him.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense, surely? If she killed him and walloped him afterwards, presumably that was to conceal his identity.’
‘I tell you, she was glad he was dead. It could be sheer hatred, Jack.’
‘Well, even it was, I still don’t see why, after having bumped him off, she runs and tells you that he’s gone. If she hadn’t come forward you’d still have an unidentified body on your hands. All she has to do is sit tight and no one’s any the wiser.’
‘Yes, that’s true enough,’ admitted Rackham. ‘However, his secretary knew he’d disappeared and if Mrs Culverton hadn’t reported the fact, he would have done. There’s the other point that it takes years before death can be presumed and she might not want to get tied up in legal wrangles. Look, Jack, I’m no happier about the idea than you are, but I can’t exclude Mrs Culverton from suspicion on the grounds she’s a woman. Having said that, we have to know a great deal more about Culverton before we can suspect anyone. That’s why I’m going to his office. It’s as good a place as any to start.’