Hammond Innes: High Stand

‘Was it the mine or that land in British Columbia?’ She was watching me closely, her eyes searching. ‘Not the company, surely. That wouldn’t suit Brian, it’s been losing money for years. It must be the trees — that land Tom’s father planted fifty years or more ago.’ Her eyes, still fixed on me, caught the light, a sort of turquoise blue with flecks of green, very striking. I hadn’t seen them so clearly before, the sun straight on her. And that hair of hers, almost red. ‘Did he give any reason5 Brian has a feeling for trees, I know that. But there has to be a reason, something that impelled Tom to come and see you — right then, just after he had got back from Canada.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t discuss it. I really can’t.’

‘Balls! Really, Philip.. ‘She was suddenly more like herself — vital, very alive, with that sharp intelligence that had so attracted me. ‘He came here last Tuesday, and Brian came back about a month ago, straight from some Godforsaken village in the Himalayas where he’d been sitting at the feet of a Muslim fakir — a guru, a wizard, I don’t know what you’d call him.’ And she added, quite softly, ‘He’s wild, that boy, always has been. Tom said once he ought to have some trees of his own. The only trees he could give him are on the Halliday Arm. One of the finest stands of western red cedar in BC. That was how he described it to me once, and the only business he had with you was his Will.’ She stopped there, almost breathless, for it had come out in a rush, her eyes still fixed on mine. She seemed on the point of saying something more, but then she turned her head away, locking whatever it was up inside herself, the silence dragging.

‘Suppose you tell me what the problem is?’

She gave a slight movement of the head, a negation. ‘I thought you might be able to help, that he might have told you something.’ Another long silence, and then suddenly she had turned to me again. ‘He was in Canada, a longer trip than usual, and when he got back… That was the weekend — Sunday morning. He saw you on the Tuesday and left for London that same evening. I haven’t seen him since.’

‘So he’s been gone two and a half days, that’s all.’ I didn’t understand why she was so concerned. London, his club, the company, which was at a place called Haverhill near Cambridge, old car rallies and motor shows. Miriam was the daughter of a professor of archaeology at Cambridge. She was interested in ancient buildings, timbered buildings in particular. She knew a lot about hammerbeam roofs and old oak carvings. Nothing about cars, except as a means of getting somewhere. As a result she was often on her own, which was how it had happened, the two of us paired at a dinner party, and then the starter motor of my car packing up just as we were leaving. ‘Did he say why he was going to London?’

She shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t tell me anything.’

I reminded her then that she had told me herself he would quite often leave at a moment’s nonce to meet some fellow car enthusiast at his club, see an old crock that could be rebuilt in the company’s works or go off to a show he’d only just heard about, but again she shook her head. ‘He’s sold his fleet of old cars, you know. There’s only that lovely Rolls tourer left.’ And she added that she had tried the RAC in Pall Mall, all his usual haunts, the works at Haverhill, even Beaulieu where she knew he was trying to get the Rolls put on display.

Another woman, then? There was always that possibility, particularly at his age. But when I hinted at some personal attachment, she brushed it aside. ‘No!’ She said it explosively, adding with a little smile, ‘Whatever you may think, Tom and I are very close ‘

I hesitated then, not sure how serious this was. ‘Can we go back a bit?’ I said. ‘He returned from Canada at the weekend, you say?’ She nodded. And he had seen me on the Tuesday. ‘Did he have any meeting, anything he didn’t tell you about — did anybody come to see him?’

‘No, nobody. I picked him up at Gatwick early Sunday morning and the rest of that day we spent at home. He slept a lot of the time. Monday we were at a drinks party in the morning — the Griesons, do you know them’ Lovely place near Firle. That afternoon he dealt with a pile of post that had accumulated, dictated a lot of letters, then in the evening we dined out at a nearby restaurant.’

‘And he saw nobody between his arrival back in England and last Tuesday when he left for London. By car?’

‘Yes, by car.’

‘And nobody had contacted him?’

‘Not as far as I know — nobody who was a stranger to me, if that’s what you mean.’

Telephone calls?’

‘Yes, several.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘There was his accountant, I know. Otherwise they were social calls.’ And she added, ‘He never talked to me about money. Never needed to, I suppose. He was a Canadian citizen, as you probably know, and we’d always had what we needed. But I had the feeling — I’ve had it for some time now — that things were getting a little difficult. And there was one call, just before he returned — a man named Josef Wolchak, an American I think. He wanted to know when my husband was expected back. He had to see him — urgently, he said. I remember the call because I’d never heard of the man before and when I mentioned it to Tom he seemed quite shaken for a moment.’

‘Perhaps that was why he went to London,’ I suggested.

But she didn’t seem to think so. ‘I’m sure he would have mentioned it. And why hasn’t he phoned me?’

I didn’t tell her he had mentioned Wolchak at our meeting on Tuesday, asking whether anyone of that name had contacted me. And when I had said no, he had seemed relieved. Even so, it wouldn’t account for his sudden silence. I could still see him sitting there in the chair where his wife was now seated, his features so strained, and his manner, that sense of tension. ‘This son of his,’ I said, thinking of the codicil. ‘I’ve met the other one, Martin, but not Brian.’

‘He’s wild, like I said. Suddenly turns up at the beginning of the month looking like death. It was dysentery, but he still insisted on seeing his father. Money, of course. He wanted money tor this guru he’d been with in the Himalayas. It’s always the same, always money. Whenever he turns up. Though I’ll say this for him, it’s not for himself, always some cause.’ And she added, ‘It was trees this time. Before that it was seals. He wanted Tom to produce something in the works that would jam the Canadian sealers’ instruments. He’s crazy,’ she added softly. ‘Quite crazy.’

‘But you like him?’

‘Oddly enough, yes.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, I do. He’s a very strange, very exciting person to be with.’

That was something, I thought. At least she wouldn’t go to law when the time came and she discovered the land and the trees in British Columbia really were going to another woman’s son. I was trying to recall Tom Halliday’s words, everything he had said. But it wasn’t much. He had virtually written the codicil himself. All he’d wanted was for it to be drawn up properly. There’d been no discussions, no explanation. I’d simply done what he’d wanted and that was that. True, his features had looked drawn and rather tense, and he seemed to have a cold. But people often pick up a germ at the end of a long hard trip. ‘His health all right5’ I asked.

She looked at me quickly. ‘Why? Did you dunk he looked ill?’

‘No. A bit strained, that’s all, but one always wonders when a man starts fiddling about with his Will.’

‘Physically he’s all right. I had him go for a check-up before he went to Canada this last time. We were in London, one of those receptions to launch a new car.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘Dr Wessler’s report arrived just after he had left: all systems functioning normally, only the cholesterol slightly high. More exercise and lav off the fat. That was all, bar a reference to nervous tension and the suggestion that I should get him away for a holiday somewhere in the sun, preferably an island with no roads and no cars.’ She gave a snort of derision. ‘Seychelles. That was what he advised. Boat to hotel by bullock cart, can you imagine?’ She looked down at her hands, that warm Titian hair of hers falling across her face. ‘We’ve never had a holiday together since our honeymoon, and that was at Brighton. We drove there in a 1913 de Dion Bouton.’ She gave a suppressed giggle. ‘It’s almost as ridiculous as the colonel, married to his regiment, who took his bride round the battlefields of the Second World War.’