Francis Durbridge - Paul Temple and the Madison Case

The Temples had tried to make the best they could of the remaining three days of the crossing. Steve had got her sea legs well enough to become a regular visitor to the shopping arcade where such firms as Harrods, Cartier, Turnbull and Asser, Gucci had displays. Temple spent some of his time in the well-stocked library and in the business centre and kept himself fit in between times in the health spa. The sea behaved itself until the very last night, when a storm blew up. Steve was glad when they sailed into the tranquil waters of the Solent on a predictably overcast October afternoon.

George Kelly had spoken to Portland’s London office on the telephone and informed his representative there of the tragedy. Hubert Greene would be coming down to Southampton to collect Mrs Portland by car. Rather reluctantly Kelly had passed on Temple’s request that Portland’s London representative should see him as soon as he came aboard the ship.

They met by arrangement in the library, which was disused, apart from the librarian, who was checking returned books. Temple whiled away the time of waiting by reading Stalker .

‘Mr Temple?’

Greene had come into the library through the door behind him.

Temple put his book down and stood up to face him.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Hubert Greene. I understand you want to see me?’

Hubert Greene was obviously a man of strong personality. He wanted to dispel any possible impression that he was at Temple’s beck and call. His tone was faintly challenging. He was tall, even taller than Temple, and wore his clothes well.

‘Yes. Do sit down, Mr Greene.’

Greene chose a leather-upholstered, fairly upright arm chair. He crossed his legs, tweaked one trouser-leg and checked the alignment of his cuffs.

‘This is a most distressing business. I’ve just been on the ’phone to Moira …’

‘Have you seen Mrs Portland yet?’

‘No. I came up here as requested by you.’

‘Moira’s Portland’s daughter?’

‘Yes – by his first marriage of course. The poor girl is heartbroken.’

‘I rather expected Miss Portland to come on board with you.’

‘No, as a matter of fact she couldn’t leave town so I …’ Greene checked and shot Temple a wary look. ‘Do you know Moira?’

‘No, but her father spoke to me about her. I understand she works for you.’

‘Well, she’s attached to my office, yes.’ The corners of Greene’s mouth turned down and he tilted his head wryly. ‘Whether she does any work or not is open to question. Poor Sam! He thought the world of Moira.’ Greene’s expression suddenly changed. He uncrossed his legs and leant forward, quizzing Temple. ‘How did this business happen? You know, it seems perfectly extraordinary to me. Do you think he did have a heart attack, Mr Temple or …’

‘Or what?’

‘Or was it an accident?’

‘The doctor seems convinced it was a heart attack,’ Temple answered him blandly.

Greene stared at him for a second before shooting his next question.

‘How well did you know Sam?’

‘Not very well, I’m afraid. We met for the first – and the last time unfortunately – on Friday morning.’

‘Sam was a great guy,’ Greene said with warm enthusiasm ‘A real American. That’s the only way you can describe him.’

‘Was he an American?’

‘But of course!’ Greene exclaimed, surprised by the question.

‘I mean, was he born in America?’

‘Why yes, I’ve always thought so. I was always under the impression he was born in Chicago.’

‘I think perhaps I ought to tell you, Greene, before we go any further,’ Temple spoke slowly, emphasising his words, ‘Portland took me into his confidence. He told me why he was coming to England.’

Greene took that on board thoughtfully. ‘He did?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I hope you won’t say anything about it, Temple. Now that the old boy’s dead, I don’t see any reason why we should go ahead. After all, it puts rather a different complexion on it. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, but if you’ve no objection, I’d like you to do me a favour.’

‘By all means. What is it?’

‘I want you to introduce me to Mr Madison.’

‘Mr Madison?’ Greene repeated the name as if it meant nothing to him.

‘Yes,’ said Temple, watching him.

‘Who’s Mr Madison?’

‘Why, he’s the private inquiry agent, the man you …’ Temple broke off. In a few seconds this affair had taken a whole new twist. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never heard of Madison?’

‘Of course I haven’t heard of him,’ Greene said with exasperation. ‘Who is he?’

‘Two weeks ago you telexed Portland with the news that a private detective called Madison had discovered information concerning his identity.’

Greene shook his head, more bewildered than ever. ‘Whose identity? Portland’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look here, I don’t want to be rude, Temple, but have you been drinking?’

‘You’ve never heard of Madison?’

Greene met Temple’s level gaze steadily. ‘I’ve already told you that I haven’t.’

‘Then why was Sam Portland in such a hurry to get to England?’

Greene reached into his pocket and brought out a packet of cigarettes. The librarian, standing on his library steps above and behind him, gave a loud cough. The library was a ‘No Smoking’ area. Greene put his cigarettes away again. ‘I thought you knew why. You said he told you. I was having trouble with Moira. I’ve been having trouble with her for weeks now. The girl’s a little bi– well she gets completely out of hand. I tried to keep it from Sam but in the end it was quite impossible. Three days ago I made up my mind that I wasn’t going to stand any more of her damned nonsense. I telexed her father and offered my resignation.’

‘I see.’

‘If you don’t believe me, ask George Kelly.’ Greene had already stood up. ‘He knows about Moira, he knows what’s been going on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to see if Mrs Portland is ready to be taken down to the car.’

Temple did not stand up. He responded in kind to Greene’s curt nod. His head did not turn as the other man walked past him and out through the door behind. He sat there quite still for several minutes before he stood up and followed Portland’s London representative.

‘Paul, I do wish you’d get out of my way.’

‘Now don’t be irritable, Steve!’

‘Darling, we’ve been away for two weeks and I’m trying to unpack!’

The Temples were back at their flat in Eaton Square by seven o’clock. Charlie had prepared a special welcome-home dinner, which the Temples had felt bound to savour to the full. Then there had been the inevitable pile of correspondence which Temple had sifted through to find out if there was anything of immediate importance. In the end it was ten o’clock before they even started to unpack their suitcases and the extra packages of duty-free goods they had bought on board ship.

‘Yes, all right! All right, Steve! Where’s that bow tie – the one I bought in New York?’

‘Now what on earth do you want that for?’

‘I want to try it on.’

‘You can’t try it on now, not in your pyjamas, you’ll look ridiculous. Besides, you’ve been trying it on ever since you bought it!’

‘Oh, here it is!’ Temple deftly tied the bow and studied the effect in the mirror. His expression changed from enthusiasm to gloom.

‘I think it’s a bit bright.’

‘Of course it’s too bright, I told you that in the shop.’

‘It looked all right in New York.’

‘Yes, well, we’re not in New York! Paul, go into your study and read a book or get into bed or have a bath or something!’