Murder in the Museum. Simon Brett

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СКАЧАТЬ looked puzzled. His recollection had not got their conversation to quite the same point. But Carole didn’t give him time to respond – and his mouth was too full of sponge cake to make a very effective remonstrance, anyway.

      ‘That’s what you mentioned on the phone, Graham. That’s why I’m here. You said you wanted to give me some papers for Professor Teischbaum.’

      ‘Oh yes.’

      ‘In fact, to use your precise words, you said you wanted to “fob her off with some unimportant stuff”.’

      Graham Chadleigh-Bewes chuckled at his own cunning. ‘Exactly. I’ve got it all ready here.’ Clearly he’d given up on Plan A, persuading Carole to cede her meeting with Marla Teischbaum to Sheila Cartwright, and he was moving on to Plan B.

      Given the chaos on his desk, it was surprising how quickly he found the documents he was looking for. And how neatly they were ordered in a cardboard file.

      He flicked through the contents. Carole could see holograph and typewritten letters. ‘These are only copies,’ he said. ‘Obviously we wouldn’t let her have the originals. Original Esmond Chadleigh material is like gold-dust. My mother and Aunt Belinda wouldn’t let a single scrap of paper be destroyed when he died.’

      ‘Not even stuff that wasn’t to his credit?’

      Graham Chadleigh-Bewes looked at her sharply, piqued like the baby whose rattle has been taken away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. There were no secrets in Esmond Chadleigh’s life.’

      Oh no, thought Carole. Then that makes him unique in the history of the human race. But she didn’t pursue the point. ‘So all this material I’m passing on to Professor Teischbaum is completely useless, is it?’

      ‘By no means. And they’re documents I know she won’t have seen, because they’re from our archive here at Bracketts.’

      ‘Very generous of you all of a sudden,’ she observed.

      Once again he glowed at his own cleverness. ‘Oh yes,’ he agreed, ‘very generous.’ He tapped the file. ‘Useful stuff. No biographer could write anything about Esmond without access to this.’

      ‘But equally, I assume, all pretty uncontroversial.’

      ‘Hm?’

      ‘Material that reinforces the accepted image of Esmond Chadleigh, just a further illustration of information that could be obtained from other sources.’

      Graham nodded complacently. ‘That is exactly right. Sheila and I worked out a strategy on this, you see. If we give the Teischbaum woman – I might almost call her “The Teischbaum Claimant” . . .’ He chuckled at his own verbal dexterity. The play on words about a famous Victorian fraudster, ‘the Tichborne Claimant’, was exactly the sort of joke to tickle Graham Chadleigh-Bewes’ fancy – obscure, academic, and completely pointless.

      ‘If we give her this lot, there’s no way she can accuse the Esmond Chadleigh estate of being uncooperative. And when we refuse to give her anything else, we won’t appear to be unreasonable.’

      Carole took the file. ‘From the way she sounded on the phone, I don’t think she’ll be satisfied with this.’

      ‘That is her problem, not ours. That is all the documentation that will be granted to . . . The Teischbaum Claimant.’ He was rather pleased with the nickname that he had coined, and would undoubtedly be using it on many other occasions.

      ‘And what about the family?’ asked Carole.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I would think it quite likely that Professor Teischbaum would ask to talk to you . . . to your Aunt Belinda, I imagine . . . and I don’t know whether there are other living descendants of Esmond Chadleigh . . .’

      ‘There are a few, yes.’

      ‘Well, what will you say when the request comes in?’

      ‘I’ll tell the bloody woman to get lost and . . .’ But his instinctive anger dried up. A little smile irradiated his baby features. ‘No, maybe there too I’ll follow Sheila’s route of conciliation.’

      ‘So fobbing Marla Teischbaum off with the stuff in this file was Sheila’s idea, was it?’

      ‘Oh yes.’ Graham spoke as if the question had not been worth asking. He was more excited by the new thought Carole had planted in his mind, and he spoke slowly as he worked it out. ‘Yes . . . I will agree to meet The Teischbaum Claimant . . . and I will be terribly nice to her . . . and I will endeavour to answer all of her questions . . . in my inimitably helpful and charming manner . . .’ He grinned with childish glee. ‘And I will tell her absolutely nothing at all.’

      ‘Well, good luck,’ said Carole. ‘I hope she plays ball.’

      ‘It is not a matter of her “playing ball”,’ snapped Graham Chadleigh-Bewes, suddenly angry. Perhaps, after all, there was something other than food that could rouse his passion. ‘It is a matter of the truth. And of the truth being told to the public. Esmond Chadleigh was a wonderful man, a good Catholic, and a writer of extraordinary genius! It is important that the public knows that about him.’

      ‘And that is what they will know when they read your biography?’

      ‘Yes. And what they won’t know if the muck-rakers are allowed to defile his memory!’

      ‘Your use of the word, Graham . . . suggests that there might be muck to rake . . .’

      ‘No! There is none!’ With an effort, he calmed himself down. There was a silence, filled only by the persistent rain outside. ‘God, it’s a comment on the modern world, isn’t it, that everyone is assumed to have a “dark side”. Literary biography these days doesn’t look at a man’s writings; it starts its researches in the divorce courts and the VD clinics. Unless there’s some sleazy scandal, nobody’s interested. Why can’t people still believe in the concept of goodness? Esmond had no “dark side”. He was a genuinely Good Man. And that’s how he’ll be remembered . . . in spite of the worst excesses of The Teischbaum Claimant.’

      His tirade seemed both to have satisfied and exhausted him. The eyes in his chubby face gleamed as they moved towards the tray.

      ‘Now, are you going to have another slice of cake . . .’ he asked as his hand moved forward to the knife, ‘or is it just me?’

Chapter Eleven

      They heard the rattle of the front door opening, a loud female voice saying, ‘It’s all right, Belinda, I’ll see myself in’, and Sheila Cartwright’s height suddenly filled the room. She too was wearing one of the long Bracketts Volunteer waterproofs, and she shook the rain off as she lowered its hood.

      Graham Chadleigh-Bewes was instantly on his feet. Though he’d shown no such deference to Carole, there were clearly some guests for whom he had respect – or possible fear.

      ‘I’m glad you’re still here, Carole,’ said Sheila without preamble of greeting. ‘I wanted to СКАЧАТЬ