Messenger of Truth

“Thank you for agreeing to a meeting—and no, don’t worry about my coat, I’m still a bit cold.” Maisie smiled, shook hands and entered the flat, taking up the same seat as before, with Duncan settling onto the chesterfield in the same place that Alex had previously chosen.

“I take it that Alex and Georgina are both out today?” She slipped her gloves off, laid them in her lap and unwound her scarf.

“Yes, Alex is looking at a studio-cum-bed-sitting-room to rent, and Georgina is probably with Lord Bradley.”

“Lord Bradley?”

Duncan smirked. “A joke, Miss Dobbs. It’s a nickname we have for him, Quentin, Alex and I, and of course, Nick, when he was alive.” He paused, as if to gauge her sense of humor. “After all, the man is trying to be British to the core, what with his suits for the City, tweeds for shooting and you should see him on a horse! Tailored jodhpurs, hacking jacket, the lot, and he rides to hounds with the West Kent, and occasionally with the Old Surrey, you know. Then, of course, he opens his mouth.”

Maisie thought the man’s manner snobbish and felt like saying as much, but instead put a question to him. “Duncan, I wonder if you can tell me more about your relationship with Nick, and about your life down in Dungeness—even though you live in Hythe now, and are newly married.” She smiled. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He smiled in return, hesitating in a manner that suggested he was measuring his response to the question. “I’ve known Nick since before the war, as you know—so I won’t repeat old news.”

She inclined her head, acknowledging his subtle reference to her information gathering and her understanding that there were few secrets between the friends. But few did not eliminate the possibility that there might be one or two important facts not shared, and Maisie suspected that Alex might not have revealed all the details of the meeting to Duncan.

“I was as close as one could be to Nick, to tell you the truth. Georgina was his closest confidant, though a chap can’t tell his sister everything, can he?” The question was rhetorical; there was no pause for a reply. “We were all in the same boat, frankly. A bit broke, wanting some peace and quiet, and the coast provided exactly the environment we were looking for, plus there was the added attraction of railway carriages being sold off on the cheap and a community of artists coming together in Dungeness. Most have gone now, not everyone can hack that weather and the coast can be bleak. Of course, Nick was really coming back and forth a lot to London, as he began to enjoy a level of success that we three could only dream of, to tell you the truth. Mind you, ‘success’ is a loose term to an artist, Miss Dobbs. Success is when you can afford food on the table, your canvasses and oils and to put a new shirt on your back. But Nick was just making it, just getting to that point where the money was coming through in larger quantities.”

“But I thought Bradley had been purchasing his work for years.”

“He had, but not only does Lord Bradley drive a hard bargain—I think it’s in the blood—Svenson also takes a cut, then there’s all sorts of others to pay when you have an exhibition. And you obviously know that Nick was more or less bankrolling the activities of his brother.”

“I knew he helped him out.”

He smirked again. “Oh, to have that kind of helping out!” Standing, Duncan moved to lean against the mantelpiece, but instead kneeled down to light the paper, kindling and coals already set in the grate. The fire did not catch immediately, so for a few seconds longer Duncan’s attention was drawn to the kindling. Maisie looked on, noticing that an old packing crate had been put to good use, the black lettering still visible across one or two shards of splintered wood. Almost mindlessly, Maisie read the word: Stein. As Duncan struck yet another match, Maisie looked around the room, drawn, as she was nowadays, to the paintings. A new landscape had been added to the wall above the cocktail cabinet, a rather modern work not to her taste. She wondered, once again, what it would be like to have sufficient funds to part with money for something that wasn’t actually useful.

The wood began to catch now, and reaching for the bellows, Duncan turned to Maisie, then went on with his response to her question. “Living out there in Dungeness was an adventure, but I’d had my eye on Hythe for some time, and it seemed quite logical to move there permanently when the right house came up.”

“You must have eventually become fairly successful then.” Maisie knew the comment may have gone too far, prying into the man’s financial situation. In any case, he seemed not to notice.

“I cheat, you know. Teaching art at two schools, and in the evenings at the church hall. It helps enormously. And my wife’s family helped with the house.”

“How very fortunate for you.” Maisie went on with barely a pause. “You were with Nick and Alex on the night of Nick’s death, weren’t you?”

“Yes—look, Miss Dobbs, you know all this already, so why are you asking me? Do you think I had something to do with Nick’s death? If you do, then let’s get it out on the table and do away with all the fancy footwork. I have nothing to hide and will not be peppered with questions in this way.” His outburst was sudden and, Maisie admitted to herself, warranted. It had been her intention to push him.

“Do you think he was murdered?”

“Put it this way, he was not generally a careless person, and he had planned the exhibition down to the last nail in the wall. That, however, does not give an answer either way. He was tired, he had been working feverishly hard, and he wanted this to be the best, the most talked-about art opening in London.”

“Would it have been?”

“I saw all but the main piece, and I thought it was brilliant. Bradley’s got the bulk of the exhibit now, though. And as we all know, he would kill to get his hands on that triptych, or whatever it is.”

“You don’t know what it is?”

“No.”

“Did Nick work on it in Dungeness?”

“If he did, I never saw it. Hasn’t anyone told you how secretive he could be?”

“Did Nick ever receive visitors at his carriage?”