Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

Redmayne sat back, pleased with his solution. He exchanged an old soldier’s knowing smile with the handsome young man sitting opposite. He didn’t think he’d assumed too much. As well as the details he’d picked out from Sandilands’ file he had had a full report from Sir Nevil and, indeed, had even met the man in a social context on one or two occasions. You never quite knew where you were with a Scotsman but first impressions had been most favourable. Undeniably a gentleman, impeccable war record. He was, to date, unattached and that suited his department. With no wifely or domestic concerns, he had always shown himself ready to move at a second’s notice from his bachelor apartment in Chelsea without demur, travel any distance and take on any task, Nevil had assured him. But this was a state which could not, realistically, be expected to last. The Brigadier sighed. This promising chap would soon, inevitably, announce his decision to settle down in some green suburb with wife, children and labrador. Redmayne dismissed this gloomy picture. With a bit of luck he might just turn out to be that useful thing — the eternal bachelor. Still in his early thirties, fit, active and charming company. Thick head of black hair, neatly barbered. Quiet grey eyes. Pity about the face. The war wound. Still, there were those, mainly women — and Lady Redmayne one of them — who maintained that the crooked brow was most intriguing and gave a certain mystery to the otherwise clear-cut features.

Sandilands was speaking again in his low voice which still retained a slight Scottish huskiness. Another of the man’s attractions apparently. But, on this occasion, he was intrigued to hear an unaccustomed note of hesitation.

‘Quite agree, sir, and I only wish it were so easy but the scenario is quite a different one. You see, the female in question is a child. My niece. At least, my honorary niece. Little Dorcas Joliffe, the daughter of Orlando, the painter whose sister — ’

‘The Wren at the Ritz! That Joliffe? Beatrice Joliffe? Done to death three months ago. . Yes, of course I know about that disgraceful affair. Good Lord! Are you saying you’re still in contact with that rackety family? Believe me, Sandilands, you owe them no consideration. Your professional attentions ought properly to have ceased at the closing of the case. Surely Nevil. .?’

‘Orlando is an entertaining and talented fellow and, yes, I’m proud to count him my friend. His children, who, as you know, are motherless and live like gypsies, have been taken under the wing of my sister Lydia who lives quite near to them in Surrey. The oldest girl, the impediment referred to earlier, this Dorcas, is, oh. . fourteen? (Not sure she knows herself.) She’s become particularly attached to my sister’s family and seems to be living with them in the capacity of third daughter. Waifs and strays have always gravitated towards my sister and she’s made something of a project of young Dorcas. Clever little thing. Most unusual. It was her observation and insight that led to the uncovering of her aunt’s murderer.’

‘What extraordinary company you keep, man!’ said Redmayne. ‘And what’s all this nonsense about “waifs and strays”? Hardly a description of the Joliffe children, I’d have thought? Pots of family money in the background. Good home in leafy Surrey. Yes? Death and treachery swirling all around, as all admit, but a respectable grandmother to keep the lid on. I understand she has wisely done her best to minimize the impact of her daughter’s scandalous behaviour and sudden death. And it suits us to support her in this. Beatrice Joliffe died in the course of a robbery. . we must all hang on to that. The old lady, at least, seems to have got the picture. Should be enough to protect those children from the public opprobrium which might otherwise have come their way.’

‘Deprivation can take many forms, sir, and these children have been rejected by their grandmother — on whom they are materially dependent — on account of their illegitimacy. Rejected with inexcusable and unnecessary cruelty, some might say. Their father, fond though I have become of him, is feckless — not uncaring but inadequate. . say rather, perpetually distracted. When his model and current mistress, herself heavily pregnant, set fire to his caravan (and Orlando inside it at the time, under the influence of something or other) the eldest child, Dorcas, suffered burns whilst helping to rescue her father. Sister Lydia leapt in, scooped up the whole brood and took them home with her to introduce them to the civilized life.’

‘Don’t recall hearing any of this penny-dreadful, Perils-of-Pauline stuff from Nevil?’

‘No, sir. These skirmishings post-dated the premature closing of the case.’ Joe did not attempt to hide his disapproval.

Redmayne chose not to pick up the implied criticism of the military pressure which he was quite aware had been applied. ‘And the child is now loosely under the protection of your sister? A public-spirited gesture. Admirable woman! But I can’t see why her self-sacrifice should extend to and involve you , Sandilands.’

‘Oh, people do occasionally talk me into undertaking unwelcome projects,’ Joe said genially. ‘Orlando gathered his remaining four children together with his current mistress, put them aboard a train and went off to the south of France as he does every year. He carouses all summer at a sort of awful artists’ jamboree — returning in the autumn. He hobnobs with the likes of Georges Braque, Matisse, Picasso. . Augustus John, I shouldn’t wonder. . All egging each other on. At this time of year, my sister travels in the opposite direction, going north home to Scotland, and Dorcas, discovering this, kicked up a fuss. She thinks of herself as a Child of the South, which, indeed, she very much appears. . girls with her dark looks are thick on the ground in Arles. . and I was cajoled into escorting her down through France to whichever villa they’ve all descended on and there I hope she will rejoin her father.’

‘A sorry tale. I fear you allow yourself to be used too readily, Sandilands. Disappointing that you have let yourself become so embroiled in that family’s affairs. They must all, inevitably, be tainted in some minds. .’ Redmayne swept a warning glance up to the ceiling. This was his way of referring to the shadier elements of the government departments concerned with aspects of national security who were rumoured to have offices complete with the latest in listening technology situated in remote parts of the building. ‘. .tainted with the scurrilous behaviour and treachery of that woman,’ he finished with tight-lipped distaste.

Joe had noticed that the few people who needed to refer to Dame Beatrice did so in a hushed voice and called her ‘that woman’. The words ‘espionage’, ‘blackmail’ and ‘traitor’ were always in mind but never spoken.

‘Hum. . Look, take the girl with you.’

This was an order not a suggestion. ‘Might work in our favour. Give an impression of a cosy family visit, policeman on holiday with his niece, relaxed, convivial. You could well learn a lot more — and faster — that way. And let’s not forget Houdart Fils! He’s, as you calculated, sixteen.’ Redmayne smiled with satisfaction. ‘Does this Joliffe child speak any French?’

Joe recalled with dismay the fast and colloquial street French Dorcas had picked up trailing about after her father in the loucher parts of the Riviera. ‘Fluently,’ he said diplomatically.

‘She does? Good. Yes, this might all work out to our advantage. Look here, don’t hesitate to telephone us if there’s anything we can supply. Full back-up guaranteed. Shan’t be at my desk myself unfortunately. Like your sensible sister, I’m going north for a week or two.’ He glanced at the dramatic Victorian paintings of stags at bay and frothing Scottish salmon streams hanging on his panelled walls and sighed with satisfaction. ‘But there’ll be someone here keeping communications open.’