could trust me, which I sensed, for all her prickliness, she wanted to, very much. Then she leant back and took a long drag. She blew the smoke out slowly into the air above us. ‘OK. That is something. Anyhow, it might be. And I want in on it. Naturally. Can I meet Eldritch?’
‘Of course. Let me set it up with him.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘OK. Do you live in London?’
‘No. We’ve come up from Devon.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Ritz.’ I winced as I said it. I knew Eldritch’s choice of hotel would confirm all her prejudices about him. The arch of her eyebrows declared as much. But she said nothing. ‘I’ll need your phone number.’
She took a biro out of her satchel and wrote the number on one of the empty sugar sachets. ‘You will call, won’t you, Stephen?’
‘It’s a promise.’
‘Promises have never amounted to much in my experience.’
‘You must have been given them by the wrong people.’
‘Yeah.’ She gave a melancholy little nod. ‘I guess I must.’
We parted in the courtyard at the front of the building. Rachel looked pensive, almost apprehensive. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Do you really not know what Eldritch served time for?’
‘He won’t say. He claims it was a condition of his release that he shouldn’t discuss it. He went to Ireland in June 1940 to hire Quilligan and never made it back to London. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘How much will he be paid if he finds what we need to reclaim the Picassos?’
‘You said you didn’t want to know.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Fifty thousand pounds.’
Her eyes widened. ‘As much as that?’
‘Someone obviously badly wants him to succeed.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Does Eldritch know?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘He’s a hard man to read.’
‘I’ll bet he is. Tell me, Stephen, are you worried by how many sides there are to this you don’t understand?’
‘Do you think I should be?’
‘Maybe.’ She looked intently at me. ‘Maybe we both should be.’ Then, quite suddenly, she turned and walked smartly away across the courtyard.
‘I’ll call you later,’ I shouted after her.
She raised a hand in acknowledgement. But she didn’t stop, or even glance back at me, as she strode through the gateway into Piccadilly.
TWELVE
The Red Lion was still quiet at noon, the lunchtime crush at least half an hour away. The pub was close enough to Ryder Street for me to imagine Eldritch had been a frequent customer during his seven weeks of gallery-minding back in 1940. The cramped interior didn’t look as if it had changed in a hundred years, let alone thirty-six. Catching my reflection in a mirror, which was difficult to avoid given how many of them there were, I seemed to see Eldritch’s younger face, hair slicked, mouth curled, gazing ironically back at me.
Then the old man with the stoop and the furrowed skin and the antique suit that Eldritch had become walked in behind me. And only the irony remained, a ghost in his wary gaze.
He ordered his habitual Scotch and joined me by the window. ‘Been having fun?’ he asked, coughing as he lit one of his Sobranies.
‘I took another look at the Picassos,’ I said, uncertain how soon I should tell him about Rachel Banner. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘I went to the General Register Office. It’s not called that any more and they’ve moved it from Somerset House. But I tracked down what I wanted in the end.’
‘They’ve been gone from Somerset House for a few years now. I could have told you that if you’d said where you were going.’
He smiled. ‘Indulge me, Stephen. There are still a few things I can do on my own. And I expect you were glad to be rid ofme for a morning. Meet any nice girls at the Royal Academy?’
I must have looked at least half as shocked as I felt. ‘Sorry?’ I spluttered through a mouthful of beer.
‘I used to find art galleries were
‘Of course. Let me set it up with him.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘OK. Do you live in London?’
‘No. We’ve come up from Devon.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Ritz.’ I winced as I said it. I knew Eldritch’s choice of hotel would confirm all her prejudices about him. The arch of her eyebrows declared as much. But she said nothing. ‘I’ll need your phone number.’
She took a biro out of her satchel and wrote the number on one of the empty sugar sachets. ‘You will call, won’t you, Stephen?’
‘It’s a promise.’
‘Promises have never amounted to much in my experience.’
‘You must have been given them by the wrong people.’
‘Yeah.’ She gave a melancholy little nod. ‘I guess I must.’
We parted in the courtyard at the front of the building. Rachel looked pensive, almost apprehensive. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Do you really not know what Eldritch served time for?’
‘He won’t say. He claims it was a condition of his release that he shouldn’t discuss it. He went to Ireland in June 1940 to hire Quilligan and never made it back to London. That’s all I can tell you.’
‘How much will he be paid if he finds what we need to reclaim the Picassos?’
‘You said you didn’t want to know.’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Fifty thousand pounds.’
Her eyes widened. ‘As much as that?’
‘Someone obviously badly wants him to succeed.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Does Eldritch know?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘He’s a hard man to read.’
‘I’ll bet he is. Tell me, Stephen, are you worried by how many sides there are to this you don’t understand?’
‘Do you think I should be?’
‘Maybe.’ She looked intently at me. ‘Maybe we both should be.’ Then, quite suddenly, she turned and walked smartly away across the courtyard.
‘I’ll call you later,’ I shouted after her.
She raised a hand in acknowledgement. But she didn’t stop, or even glance back at me, as she strode through the gateway into Piccadilly.
TWELVE
The Red Lion was still quiet at noon, the lunchtime crush at least half an hour away. The pub was close enough to Ryder Street for me to imagine Eldritch had been a frequent customer during his seven weeks of gallery-minding back in 1940. The cramped interior didn’t look as if it had changed in a hundred years, let alone thirty-six. Catching my reflection in a mirror, which was difficult to avoid given how many of them there were, I seemed to see Eldritch’s younger face, hair slicked, mouth curled, gazing ironically back at me.
Then the old man with the stoop and the furrowed skin and the antique suit that Eldritch had become walked in behind me. And only the irony remained, a ghost in his wary gaze.
He ordered his habitual Scotch and joined me by the window. ‘Been having fun?’ he asked, coughing as he lit one of his Sobranies.
‘I took another look at the Picassos,’ I said, uncertain how soon I should tell him about Rachel Banner. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘I went to the General Register Office. It’s not called that any more and they’ve moved it from Somerset House. But I tracked down what I wanted in the end.’
‘They’ve been gone from Somerset House for a few years now. I could have told you that if you’d said where you were going.’
He smiled. ‘Indulge me, Stephen. There are still a few things I can do on my own. And I expect you were glad to be rid ofme for a morning. Meet any nice girls at the Royal Academy?’
I must have looked at least half as shocked as I felt. ‘Sorry?’ I spluttered through a mouthful of beer.
‘I used to find art galleries were
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