on those who depended on it.
? Full Dark House ?
31
THE STRENGTH OF DAMAGED SOULS
Arthur Bryant sat in the flesh-chilling gloom of the marble foyer and wondered whether he should tackle the receptionist again. He had been waiting to see Andreas Renalda for forty minutes, and no one had appeared. The reception room of Three Hundred International, Horseferry Road, Victoria, was a dingy mausoleum filled with paintings of continental lakes, their frames criss-crossed with strips of tape to prevent injury from flying glass. Filling the entire wall opposite was an immense Victorian bookcase, the contents of which appeared to have been chosen by the yard. He had heard about companies buying up the stock of bombed-out booksellers. It irritated him that they were being used merely to suggest erudition. Bryant was considering the problem when the receptionist received a call and beckoned to him.
“Please go to the fourth floor, Mr Bryant, and someone will meet you.”
The young detective straightened the knot of his tie in the lift mirror. It had been his partner’s idea to interview the head of the theatre company. May made a good impression on strangers, whereas Bryant’s interview technique managed to be both obtuse and hectoring. In an attempt to learn from his affable partner, Bryant had insisted on handling the appointment, and had scribbled out a scrappy list of questions a few minutes before setting out from Bow Street. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but something told him it was best to start at the top.
John May had his hands full comforting his chorus girl, who had not yet recovered from her encounter in the theatre. Her lurid description of her assailant was exaggerated, no doubt, by an attack of blackout nerves and too much to drink. Bryant had suggested as much to May. He had not meant to sound callous; it was all too easy to joke about being scared nowadays. Everyone was scared. Nobody was given enough information. The newspapers were short of paper and short of news. Too many heart-warming stories about horses being dug out of collapsed stables and not enough analysis of the nation’s long-term prospects. Perhaps that was the idea, Bryant decided; if people suspected the cold truth, they would give up right now.
Andreas Renalda’s assistant was encased in a black wool dress and black stockings, and looked more like a theatrical performer than anyone he had met at the Palace. He was shown into a plush cream-shaded office overlooking a block of Edwardian apartments. It must seem odd, he thought, that pyjama-clad couples could find themselves separated from company executives by ten yards and two panes of glass.
“Peculiar, is it not?” came a strongly accented voice behind him. “On my first day I arrived early and walked to the window to find a startled woman with no clothes on just a few feet away. Such a thing would never happen in my country. People have more respect for themselves.”
Bryant turned to face a stocky man in his mid-thirties with shoulder-length black hair and fierce dark eyes. As he set a lurching pace across the room, the detective realized that the man facing him was wearing steel calipers on both legs.
“I am Andreas Renalda.” The tycoon held out his hand. “You must be Mr Bryant. Please take a seat. You will forgive me if I stand.”
Bryant tried to explain his look of surprise. “I’m sorry to see you’ve been injured.”
“No, I was born this way. My legs are useless, but my brain is in perfect working order. So, you were expecting someone in good health and I was expecting someone older. Well, nothing lives up to expectations.”
“I assure you I meant no offence.”
“Of course you did not, and none has been taken.” Renalda waved aside the apology. “I am at a loss to understand how I can help you, though.”
“I just wanted to learn a little about you,” said Bryant, shrugging with what he hoped was a look of healthy curiosity.
“There is nothing here to interest a policeman. The company belonged to my father, and he left a long shadow.” He gave a crooked smile, wagging his finger at Bryant. “I have seen you before.”
“Oh? Where?”
“At the theatre. I am often there, watching the rehearsals.”
“Nobody told me.”
“That is because no one else knows. I do not want them to feel they should be on their best behaviour just because the man to whom they all owe their jobs is in the building.”
“Are you financing the entire production?” asked Bryant.
“One hundred per cent,” Renalda answered, leaning against the rear wall of the office in a position he presumably found comfortable. “You have a particular question in mind?”
“What can you tell me about the Club of Rome?”
Renalda’s smile cooled a little. “Ah, that. Rather an embarrassment to us all. The Three Hundred.” He made a little gesture with his hand, as if to say, you understand. “My father was not the most tolerant of men. For a while he kept an office in Berlin, and he created the name while it was there. We closed that branch in nineteen thirty-six. The company’s history is rarely recounted with any accuracy.”
“Well, I’m a pretty attentive listener,” lied Bryant.
“We are Greeks, Mr Bryant. To be a success in Greece, you are connected with the sea. My father, Sirius, made his money in shipping. He understood the sea, and trusted no one but his immediate family. He had a son whom he considered worthless, and then his beloved wife gave birth to me. From the day I was born, I was chosen to run the business. Sirius was half blinded in the Boer War, but his handicap only made him fight harder. When he saw my withered legs, he took it as a sign that I would grow up to be a fighter too. He believed in the strength of those who were damaged, saw it as a test of man’s nature. My father was very superstitious. Sirius never understood women, but he valued his wife enough to take her advice. I remember a conversation he once had with William Randolph Hearst. ‘Grant the women some of your power,’ Hearst said, ‘they will always surprise you.’ He did not say whether he regarded it as a good thing.”
“And your mother took over the running of the company when your father died?”
“She held the reins of power in his lifetime, and maintained them until I was strong enough to make decisions.” Renalda winced, shifting his balance from one steel scaffold to the other. The device that granted him mobility was also the source of great pain.
“Why did he not consider your older brother worthy of taking control?”
“Perhaps he saw too much of his younger self in him.”
“But after your father died, your mother presumably could have shared his empire with her other son?”
“I really do not see that this can have relevance to your problems, Mr Bryant.”
“They’re your problems, too. Two people died in your theatre this week. I’m sure you appreciate that where the loss of human life is concerned, we have to expand our investigations into areas we would not normally enter.”
“Indeed. And on a personal level, I must insist that you include me in your list of suspects. After all, I was in the building when Mr Senechal was killed.”
“You weren’t on my list.” Bryant hated being caught out. “Nobody told me you were there.”
“I have my own key to the royal entrance. It’s more private. If I attempt the stairs with these things,” he banged the side of his leg, “I clank like a steam train. People can always hear me coming.”
Bryant picked up his hat and rose to leave. “You realize I’ll have to ask you to close down the theatre if anything else happens.”
“You must understand the scale of our undertaking, Mr Bryant. This is not some little play that can weather bad reviews and closure after a week. Global capital is invested in this production.
“Perhaps not, but if I thought it would protect lives, I’d order it.”
“I think you will find yourself with an interesting battle on your hands.” Renalda displayed an alarming array
