Saturday
It was eight twenty when Marvik knocked on the door of Irene Templeton’s thatched cottage in Steepleridge. Within a few seconds it was opened by a florid-faced, balding man in his mid-sixties who regarded Marvik with open hostility. His brown eyes flicked to Marvik’s scars and the door closed just perceptibly.
Marvik recognized him as the impatient husband who had been tooting his horn in the car outside the church. Quickly he introduced himself and was relieved to see Irene Templeton appear behind her husband. Marvik apologized for the intrusion but said he had another question to put to Mr Warnford and that it was quite urgent that he spoke to him.
‘It’s a good job you’ve come early,’ she said brightly, admitting him. ‘Gerald is taking my father to the golf club. Dad likes to sit in the club room and chat to some of the older members he knows, having been a member there himself, while Gerald plays golf. Come through.’
Gerald looked as though he’d rather have refused Marvik entry. Marvik heard him huff as he followed Irene into the lounge, where he found Ralph Warnford dressed smartly in a dark grey suit, shirt and tie, sitting in a wheelchair. His eyes lit up as he greeted Marvik. Quickly he dismissed Marvik’s apology.
‘It’s about that cargo, sir,’ Marvik began, taking the seat in front of the elderly man. ‘Did anyone come on board to check that it was loaded?’
‘No. I oversaw that.’
‘But you didn’t open the crates.’
‘No. I wasn’t authorized to. They were labelled strictly confidential.’
‘And they were both sealed.’
‘Yes, and there was no evidence they had been tampered with.’
‘What did you do after they were loaded?’
‘I signed the documentation and reported to my commanding officer that they were secure on board.’
‘Did he inspect them?’
‘He might have done later but he didn’t immediately after I’d handed him the paperwork.’
‘Was there anyone else travelling on board with you, a government official or diplomat?’ Marvik asked.
‘No, only the crew and some soldiers we were taking back to England. No one had clearance to go to the hold where the cargo was.’
That didn’t mean they hadn’t, just that Warnford wasn’t aware of anyone doing so. And there was still the possibility that someone could have accessed the crates after the lorry crash and before they had been put on board the ship. How they would discover who that person was, though, was probably as impossible as discovering what the cargo had been.
Disappointed but not surprised, Marvik made to take his leave when Warnford said, ‘The captain dined ashore with some people from the High Commission before the cargo was loaded. He could have been told what was inside the crates but he’ll have died a long while ago so you won’t be able to ask him. His name was James Ethelton. He was Scottish and a very good friend of Sir Ambrose Shale’s. In fact, he and Sir Ambrose had dinner on board ship the day before it sailed.’
‘Why was Shale in Singapore?’ Marvik asked, suddenly alert to this new information, hardly daring to hope it might take them a step forward.
‘His ships often put in there and he had other business interests in Malaya. He owned mines and plantations. In fact, it was on one of Shale’s ships that Bradley died. But as I said before I didn’t know that Bradley was dead when we set sail for home.’
Marvik swiftly sifted this new information, recalling what Irene Templeton and Ralph Warnford had previously told him. Ambrose Shale had owned most of the land around here and both Pulford and Gurney’s adoptive parents had managed farms belonging to him. Sir Ambrose Shale had been a wealthy man – influential, too – with connections. He was dead, though, so he couldn’t be the man Crowder was interested in. But there was a connection.
‘What was Sir Ambrose like?’ he asked.
Warnford didn’t need to think about his answer. It came immediately. ‘Brave, tough, clever, highly respected and a very astute businessman. He was also very religious, a legacy from his father who had been a renowned and respected clergyman in Bath. But Ambrose wasn’t interested in going into the church. Much like me – my father was the vicar here. I never intended following in my father’s footsteps. Ambrose had a love of the sea the same as I did but there our paths diverged.’
Gerald Templeton cleared his throat noisily and said, ‘Dad, we should be making a move.’
Warnford nodded but continued, ‘Sir Ambrose built his shipping business from scratch. He was too young to be in the Great War and he escaped the terrible flu epidemic after it. At the age of twenty he started by chartering sailing vessels from Bristol but very soon turned to motor ships and cargo when he saw the returns were greater. By 1925 he’d raised money from investors to purchase the Portery Shipping Line, a fleet of eighteen ships which he expanded to twenty-seven, sailing from various ports around the UK but primarily the south.’
‘Southampton?’
‘Yes, and London and Bristol. His cargo ships were soon on regular runs to Australia, in fact, transporting building materials for the building of the Sydney Bridge which opened in 1932, and on runs to Canada and India and then the Far East. By 1939 he owned thirty-three ships. Thirteen of them were lost during the war. Unlucky for some, eh?’
Marvik heard Irene’s husband sniff impatiently. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
‘Ambrose bought the Wellmore estate and Kingston House, where he came to live with his wife in 1933. I was only seven at the time but my father used to take me to the big house when Sir Ambrose wanted to see him and to the farm cottages to visit his tenants. There were also services held in the private church for the family and servants – the one that’s crumbling to ruins on the clifftop which the army pump shells into.’ He smiled knowingly at Marvik, who smiled back. Warnford quickly continued before his son-in-law could interject. ‘Sir Ambrose was delighted when his son, Cedric, was born, but his joy soon turned to sorrow when his wife died shortly after giving birth. I remember my father telling me about the private christening in the church. During the war we didn’t see a lot of Sir Ambrose or the family and servants because the house was given over to the army for the duration and the American army were based there in preparation for D-Day. But you know that, being a veteran. By then I’d joined the navy. It was right at the end of the war so I didn’t get to see much action.’
His son-in-law looked set to interpose but Ralph Warnford, as though sensing this, promptly continued. Marvik thought there was a wicked twinkle in the old man’s eyes.
‘Ambrose Shale returned to Kingston House just after the war. I think it must have been about 1946. The family spent the war years in Scotland, except for Ambrose Shale, who spent most of it travelling on board his ships. He was called up in 1941 but was deemed medically unfit – a weak heart, it seemed. So he decided to travel on his ships as an example to the men. He was said to be a very good seaman and earned a great deal of respect from the men. He faced the same dangers as them – weak heart or not he never showed fear and he came through the war unscathed. No one saw much of Cedric Shale – he was away at school and then overseas. In fact, no one saw much of him until he inherited the estate and his father’s business in 1965. My father was very ill by then. I had compassionate leave and my father died that same year. I don’t know who buried Ambrose Shale or where he was buried.’
Irene Templeton answered, ‘He’s in the family plot in Salisbury.’
‘Dad …’ Irene’s husband tapped at his watch.
Marvik said, ‘And after 1965, did Cedric Shale spend much time on the estate?’
‘I think he preferred London, or at least that’s what people around here said, including my mother, who I used to come back to visit. My wife and I were living in married quarters by then, first in Plymouth and then in Portsmouth. Cedric left the management of the estate and the house to estate managers and they came and went once Frank Leyton retired fourteen years ago. Leyton managed the estate when Cedric inherited it after Sir Ambrose’s estate manager retired, having been left a legacy by him.’
Irene said, ‘I met the existing estate manager, Greg Audley, two years ago. I went to Kingston House to ask if Mr Shale would donate something for the raffle for the church fete. Mr Audley said he’d ask him. I was left waiting outside and he returned within a few minutes with one of Cedric’s paintings – apparently he does a lot of them. Even by then he’d become reclusive. Well, quite frankly, it was dreadful. I think it ended up on the tip. No one wanted it.’
‘Why not?’ Marvik asked, curious.
‘It was just daubs of black and red paint.’
‘Are there any heirs?’
Irene again answered, ignoring her husband’s black looks, ‘Not family ones. Cedric never married. We’ve often wondered who will get the estate when he passes on. When I say “we” that’s mainly me and the vicar. We’re hoping that some of the local charities and the church will be benefactors but I’m not counting on it.’
‘Will there be much to leave?’ Marvik mused.
‘Who knows? He’s been selling off the farms and property.’
Ralph Warnford said, ‘Cedric, although a successful businessman, never seemed to rise to his father’s heights. He didn’t even get a knighthood.’
‘He might have been offered one and refused,’ suggested Irene.
Her father shrugged his bony shoulders.
Marvik thanked Warnford and his daughter and took his leave, much to her husband’s relief. Sir Ambrose Shale was dead. If he had been in collusion with someone in government to steal precious fossils, amber and artefacts from Malaya and benefit from the sale of them then the revealing of that knowledge couldn’t harm him or anyone else who had collaborated with him. They’d all be long gone, but someone might be desperate to protect their father’s reputation. Cedric Shale. Would he care, though? He was elderly and reclusive. He had no heirs. He was selling off the estate, according to Irene Templeton. Why? Because he could no longer manage it? Marvik doubted he needed the money – not unless he had gone through the vast fortune his father had left him and that was possible. Marvik recalled what Warnford had said about Sir Ambrose’s business interests in Malaya. Maybe he or his managers had discovered the fossils or a rich seam of amber on his property, but if so there was surely no need to get them out of the country in the manner Warnford had described. He rang Strathen and asked first where Bryony was.
‘In her cabin.’
Marvik relayed what Warnford had told him, asked Shaun to get whatever information he could on Sir Ambrose Shale’s business empire and then struck out west for Kingston House.