He stopped the film, had it rewound and watched a second time, trying to assess it impartially. There was no point in avoiding the cameras if the evasion was obvious; for a trained observer, that would create suspicion and therefore as much danger as a photograph itself. But Charlie was a trained observer; and he knew he’d managed it.
He sat back in the chair, contented; the greatest hurdle and he’d cleared it easily.
There were several shots of Pendlebury which Charlie began by looking at idly, and then upon which he began increasingly to concentrate, one professional admiring another. Just as Charlie’s surreptitious entry had been one of expert concealment, so the observation the American was keeping was that of perfection. Despite his apparently aimless wandering through the room, Charlie saw that there was never a moment when Pendlebury relaxed. And then came another realisation, and with it further curiosity.
‘He’s not looking at the right thing,’ Charlie told himself, forward in his chair now.
To ensure he had not had a mistaken impression, Charlie rewound the film once more, to the very point where Pendlebury first appeared, and stared intently at the bulging, dishevelled man. He watched for ten minutes and then had the reel stopped in mid-frame, and sat nodding to himself. He’d recognised the illogicality at the time, and forgotten it.
Pendlebury’s responsibility was to guard against theft of the contents of the twelve display cases. But not once had he looked towards them, which was neither natural nor logical. Certainly there had been security men in every aisle and another in personal attendance for the case to be opened, but there should also have been a time when Pendlebury automatically checked the exhibits. He’d only done so once, at the point where Charlie remembered criticising the opening of the display cases. Apart from that isolated occasion, wherever he had walked, Pendlebury had always positioned himself with one point in view. The door.
‘Why?’ muttered Charlie, and as he did so he remembered the incident when Pendlebury had appeared to recognise somebody. He started the film again, smiling at the brief reappearance of his arm when Pendlebury had been talking to him, so that he had almost missed the swivel of the three cameras that could be turned from the control room from which the exhibition was monitored.
Charlie reached out in readiness for the stop button when he saw the moment approaching when Pendlebury had appeared to react. He halted it early and then took it forward to the right frame in a series of jumps. Having found the frame, he replayed the film through at half speed, then rewound. A mannish woman wearing trousers, an obviously married couple and a sun-tanned man who clearly liked clothes and didn’t care how much he spent on them. Charlie took the film back and forth several times, hoping for some recognition, and then gave up. He was about to ask the control room for freeze frames of the entry when he stopped, hand half out towards the linking telephone. He had the film completely rewound, then asked for still photographs of the sequences he had selected. Next he went through the film, choosing at random four other episodes in addition to the entry of the group that seemed to interest Pendlebury. Having disguised what he wanted, he ran the film on, alert for something else which he hoped would confirm his impression about Pendlebury’s behaviour.
It came immediately. After the entry of the particular group, the American had started looking at the display cases. And drinking.
The video ended within minutes. Charlie thanked the control room, then turned up the viewing room lights from the panel set into the arm of his chair.
Anything? Or nothing? Certainly Pendlebury was a paradox, an apparent professional who did unprofessional things. But by whose standards? His own, as a security firm controller? Or those of Charlie, who had been trained to the highest level of Intelligence operative? And then there was the duplicate film about which the projection room technicians were ignorant. Again, little more than odd, something for which there could be a perfectly logical explanation. Still wrong to over-react; far better to wait.
‘Surprise, surprise!’
Charlie turned, watching Pendlebury shamble into the room. Charlie saw the man hadn’t changed his shirt from the previous day: there was spaghetti sauce on the collar.
‘Why surprise?’
‘Didn’t think you’d fully appreciate the benefits of a film recording.’
‘England has come a long way,’ said Charlie. ‘Some of the better houses have got proper chimneys instead of holes in the roof.’
‘Find anything?’ asked Pendlebury. He was clearer eyed than he had appeared at their first encounter. And there was no shake about his hands, either. So he hadn’t been drunk when he accosted Clarissa Willoughby.
‘I wasn’t looking for anything in particular,’ lied Charlie. ‘Just thought I’d have another look at the faces.’
‘And?’
‘Just faces.’
Pendlebury stared at him. ‘Perhaps I’ll have better luck.’
‘Is there anything to see?’
‘Who knows?’ said Pendlebury.
‘The organisers have accepted my view and decided not to open the cases any more,’ said Charlie.
‘There are going to be some disappointed stamp collectors,’ said Pendlebury. ‘They’d been told they could examine as close as they liked.’
‘But there’s going to be an insurance syndicate who are very happy,’ said Charlie.
Pendlebury looked at his watch.
‘You didn’t have time to get authority from London,’ he said, calculating the time difference between New York and London.
‘No,’ agreed Charlie.
‘You’re empowered to make decisions like that by yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must be regarded very highly,’ said Pendlebury. ‘Or hold a special position in the company.’
‘Both,’ said Charlie. ‘Didn’t Clarissa make that clear?’
‘Clarissa?’
‘The woman you bumped into in the foyer early this morning. Strange coincidence that, wasn’t it? Particularly as you’re staying at the Waldorf.’
‘Amazing,’ agreed Pendlebury, unembarrassed. ‘Attractive woman.’
‘The wife of the principal of my company,’ said Charlie.
‘Told me she’s thinking of coming down to Florida as well.’
Charlie frowned. Why had she told the American that?
‘Got some friends at Lyford Cay and wants to combine a visit,’ added Pendlebury.
‘She hasn’t mentioned it,’ said Charlie. ‘No reason why she should.’
Pendlebury lowered himself into a viewing chair adjoining Charlie’s. ‘Going to watch it through a second time?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘One of us might see something the other misses.’
‘We can compare later,’ said Charlie, rising.
‘See you at the exhibition then.’ Pendlebury consulted his watch again. ‘They’ll be ready now,’ he said.
‘Ready?’
‘The photographs you asked for. They were being developed as I came in.’
Pendlebury was looking at him with his face absolutely blank. Charlie returned the look without any expression. ‘Thanks,’ he said. He began walking towards the door, but Pendlebury called out, stopping him.
‘You will tell me, if there’s anything I should know, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ said Charlie. ‘Will you tell me?’
‘Naturally,’ said the American. ‘We’re working towards the same purpose, aren’t we?’
‘I hope so,’ said Charlie.
‘Me too,’ said Pendlebury. ‘I hope so very much.’
The photographs had been developed, as Pendlebury had promised. Charlie paused on the pavement outside, searching for a taxi. He had decided to try to identify the group at the exhibition with the help of the social directors of either the Waldorf Astoria or the Pierre Hotel. If that failed, then he would approach one of the society column photographers. It would probably take a long time and in the end be completely without point. But then again, it might not.