19

CHARLOTTE HAD TELEPHONED Derek from Boston late on Friday night to ask if he could meet her off the plane at Heathrow on Saturday morning. Naturally, he had agreed. Only later had it occurred to him to wonder whether he should feel alarmed by Charlotte’s anxious tone or flattered that she felt she could turn to him for advice. There was something about the mystery she seemed determined to solve which both excited and enthralled him. Until, that is, he remembered what had happened to Maurice Abberley. Then the profit-and-loss column of his mind blared out its warning. And sometimes he was inclined to listen.

Not, however, when Charlotte sat opposite him in an eerily empty airport café and described her experiences in the United States while gazing at him with an expression implying what he most wanted to believe: that she trusted him unreservedly. It was a miracle, given how often her trust had been betrayed of late. But it was a miracle, he well knew, born of desperation.

‘I wanted to speak to you before I saw Ursula,’ she concluded, ‘because she might object to my giving you the private detective’s report on Maurice’s finances.’

‘You’re giving it to me?’

‘Yes. And the tape I obtained from Natasha.’

‘But … why?’

‘Because they should persuade the police of your brother’s innocence. Or at least make them doubt his guilt.’

‘Yes. They should. But it’s your brother’s reputation that will pay the price.’

‘It can’t be helped. Maurice brought it on himself.’ Her mouth was set in a stubborn line. Her decision represented the final abandonment of a lifetime’s loyalty and could not have been easy to take. For though it was true Maurice had brought it upon himself, he had also brought it upon her. And she did not deserve to suffer because of it.

‘I’m grateful. I’m sure Colin will be too. But what about Ursula? She won’t thank you for blackening her late husband’s name.’

‘Then she must curse me. I want to put an end to every consequence of Maurice’s scheme. And this is one end I have the power to bring about.’ She reached into her hold-all, pulled out a large buff envelope and slid it across the table. ‘The report.’ Then she unzipped her handbag, took out the cassette and placed it on top of the envelope. ‘And the tape. They’re yours. On one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘Don’t use them until Sam’s been released or … Well, another few weeks in prison won’t make much difference to your brother, but it might to my niece. I don’t want to encourage the police to ask any more questions. And I don’t want to have to lie to them. The kidnappers have given us until October the eleventh to deliver the document and I haven’t despaired of finding it before then. But if the police learn I’ve been to America, they’ll ask why. And if I refuse to tell them, they’ll become suspicious.’

‘Then don’t worry. I’ll keep these safe. But I won’t breathe a word about them until after October the eleventh.’

Charlotte’s expression suddenly grew sombre. ‘I’ve just thought. It’s three weeks tomorrow. I wonder what those three weeks will bring.’

‘Your niece’s safe return home.’

‘Really? At the moment, I don’t see how.’

‘While you were away, I remembered something which might just help.’ The flash of hope in her eyes made him wish he could report a more substantial discovery than the meagre piece of intelligence he had to contribute. ‘The document’s written in Catalan, right? Presumably, therefore, by a Catalan. The capital of Catalonia is Barcelona. Tristram’s last letter to Beatrix implied the document had been given to him by a friend. What friends did he have in Spain apart from other International Brigaders? Like Frank Griffith and—’

‘Vicente Ortiz!’

‘Yes. Ortiz. According to Frank, he was a native of Barcelona.’

Charlotte leant back in her chair. ‘You’re right. It must be Ortiz who wrote it.’

‘That’s what I thought. I’m not sure it takes us very far, of course. Ortiz is long dead.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘But Frank said—’

‘He didn’t see him killed!’ She was so eager to embrace the chance of Ortiz being alive – of him holding the key to Samantha’s freedom – that she shouted the words, rousing the waitress from a slumped reverie by the till. She blushed and lowered her voice. ‘Frank must be told,’ she whispered. ‘This alters everything.’

‘He may not agree. And even if he does—’

‘Could you come with me to see him? Tomorrow, perhaps?’

Uncertain whether to admit his pleasure at being asked to assist, he said merely, ‘If you’d like me to.’

‘I would. Very much.’

‘Then certainly I’ll come.’

She looked doubtful for a moment. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know.’

‘If you’re only agreeing because of the tape and the report, then I’d rather you refused. I didn’t expect anything in return for them.’

‘I know that too. But I’d still like to come with you.’ Recognizing much of his own diffidence in this display of it on Charlotte’s part, he added: ‘I’d be honoured to.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled warily. ‘Right now, I think I need …’

‘A helping hand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then look no further.’ He reached out to touch her fingers where they rested on the table. ‘You’ve found one.’