R Raichev - The hunt for Sonya Dufrette

She said, ‘I believe I can understand how terrible it was for you. My son was almost the same age as Sonya, you see.’

‘I do remember you mentioning your little boy. How is he? What was his name? Jonathan?’

‘David.’

‘Doing well, I hope?’

‘Yes. Not so little any more. He is fine. He is twenty-six. Married – with a child of his own. A daughter.’

‘Good to hear that. I am delighted. So you have a granddaughter! How old is she?’

He sounds so normal, Antonia thought. ‘Three and a half.’

‘Splendid. I would have loved to have grandchildren – read Belloc’s Cautionary Tales to them – I can do the voices perfectly.’ He gave a wistful smile. ‘Sadly, it wasn’t to be… It was absolutely dreadful, that day, when it happened. And the following day was worse – the day we left Twiston and drove to London… 30th July. The heat. The Union Jacks, as we drove through London. The hordes of delirious fools still walking in the streets, singing, gawping outside Buckingham Palace, shouting, “Diana, Diana.” The silly goose wasn’t even there… I told you that marriage wouldn’t last, didn’t I? I was right! Thank you.’

Their drinks had arrived. He took a sip of vermouth. ‘That journey and its aftermath were the stuff of nightmares. Lena got drunk. The grieving mamma, don’t you know. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. I went into the nursery. Everything was exactly as we had left it. I took out all of Sonya’s toys and arranged them on the floor. The one she loved best was a giraffe called Curzon. I had given him the name. One of Curzon’s ears still bore an imprint of Sonya’s teeth, where she had bitten him. I took Curzon to my room and put him on my bedside table. Then, ten days later, something very odd happened. Curzon disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘Yes. He vanished. Nobody seemed to know where he had gone. We searched everywhere, but couldn’t find him. For some reason I was profoundly upset by that second disappearance. I cried then.’ Dufrette’s hand went up to his mouth. ‘Buckets. Couldn’t stop myself. I know it sounds ridiculous…’

‘No, it doesn’t,‘ Antonia said.

‘Was he ever found?’ Major Payne asked over his scotch. ‘I mean Curzon?’

‘No. He wasn’t.’ Dufrette turned towards Antonia. ‘I wanted to talk to you in the library the other day, but didn’t after I saw the expression on your face. You looked terrified.’

Antonia blushed. ‘I am sorry. Are you a member of the Military Club? I’ve never seen you there before.’

‘I am a member, yes, but it was ages since I’d been there. I know old Haslett and so on, but I am afraid I rather detest it there, so I never visit it. I am a member of several other clubs. Terrible places, but then I am not your typical kind of clubman.’ Compressing his lips slightly, Dufrette shot a pointed glance at Payne as though to imply that he thought him precisely that – the typical clubman, a type he unequivocally despised.

‘So you really needed a book on the Himalayas? For your nephew?’

‘No, that was only an excuse. I had to think of something. I’d been making a round of all my clubs, promoting my book in my own peculiar way – since nobody else would.’

‘Promoting your book?’

‘Yes. Self-publicity of a particularly furtive kind, I hate to admit, but it is an extremely important book. A warning to mankind.’ He paused. ‘What I do is enter the library, distract the librarian with some query and then place a copy of my book somewhere handy. Clubs are good because members leave donations all the time, isn’t that right?’

‘They do.’ Antonia gave a little sigh. ‘All the time.’ She paused. ‘The Greatest Secret. You left it in one of my boxes, didn’t you?’

‘Frightfully infra dig.’ Dufrette took another sip of vermouth. ‘I get no profit whatsoever, but it’s terribly important that people should read my book, that’s why I have been going to such lengths… The threat is imminent… I don’t expect you to have read it, but I do believe you should. Time may be very short now.’

‘I have read your book,’ Payne said.

Dufrette’s face remained blank. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. I found it fascinating.’

‘You did?’ Dufrette said in a flat voice.

‘Absolutely. It’s quite amazing.’

‘It’s the truth. There isn’t a single word in my book which doesn’t reflect the truth.’ Dufrette delivered this with great gravity. ‘Are you sure we are talking about the same book? I wrote it pseudonymously.’

‘The Babylonian brotherhood – race of interbreeding bloodlines,’ Payne said. ‘They established institutions like religions in an attempt to imprison the masses mentally and emotionally – so far they have operated in secret but they are preparing to reveal themselves and take over.’

Dufrette looked at him again. ‘Well, the danger is imminent. They were behind Diana’s murder. Of course most of the royal family are brotherhood members. You see, she knew. She was foolish but remarkably intuitive. Why hasn’t it occurred to anyone that the Pont d’Alma tunnel is not the way to Dodi al Fayed’s flat? It takes you away from that area. I checked personally. I went to Paris and walked the route the Mercedes had taken that night. There are thirty pillars in that tunnel and the Mercedes hit the thirteenth because it was meant to.‘

‘The Babylonian brotherhood throughout the centuries has had an obsession with the number thirteen,’ Major Payne explained to Antonia with a deadpan expression. She managed a grave nod.

‘That’s absolutely correct. Diana, on the other hand, had an aversion to it, and she would not allow a thirteenth lot in her dress auction at Christie’s the June before she died. Well, Henri Paul was directed to pick out the thirteenth pillar at the highest speed imaginable. It was inevitable that he should. His subconscious had been programmed.’ Dufrette took a sip of vermouth.

Payne cleared his throat. ‘Your research was impressive, the details you provide fascinating.’ Dufrette remained silent and continued sipping his drink, but it was clear he was listening carefully. He’s buttering him up, Antonia thought. Suddenly she saw them as Humours: Vanity exploited by Cunning.

‘I found the chapter entitled “Knights of the Black Sun” of particular interest. Although the information you communicate is of the kind that stretches one’s sense of reality to breaking point,’ Major Payne continued, ‘you treat your readers with tremendous respect.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes. You must be one of the very few possessors of this truly astonishing data – yet you do not for a moment patronize the reader, rather you leave them to edit the information for themselves. Besides, you are brave enough to stick to your guns while you make it abundantly clear that you expect great opposition to your ideas.’

‘Well, I have been described as a raving lunatic – as a “highly dangerous nutcase” – and so on,’ Dufrette said with an indulgent smile. ‘I am perfectly aware of the fact. Still, even if one is in a minority of one, the truth is the truth.’

‘Is that Gandhi?’

Dufrette cast him another glance. ‘An intellectual Major, eh? What an oxymoron that is. Like – like “premeditated spontaneity”, or Nature Morte Vivante.’ He gave an unexpected whinny of a laugh. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Payne… That’s a Dali, isn’t it?’

‘What? Oh, the painting! Still life moving. Yes… You are showing off now, Payne. Still, better an intellectual braggadocio than a philistine ignoramus. Incidentally, do you know where “braggadocio” comes from?’

‘Marlowe? No – Spenser. Faerie Queen. A boastful character who -’