She showed him into a sitting room considerably smaller than her sister Maud’s. Here there were no pictures that looked as if they might have been Impressionists on the walls, just routine reproductions you could have picked up for a song. Mrs Cooper was polite. She ushered him to a seat on the sofa by the window. She did not offer any refreshment. Johnny reflected rather cynically that the funds from Barnes might receive a warmer welcome here than they would in Chelsea.
‘Mr Fitzgerald, my sister told me you would be coming. How can I help?’
‘This is all rather disagreeable I fear,’ said Johnny. ‘Lord Francis Powerscourt has been asked to look into the demise of your nephew. Of course I do not need to tell you that. You already know it. But it is a sad but necessary part of those investigations to find out, however disagreeable this might sound, who might benefit from his will.’
‘I do not imagine for one second that I will be a beneficiary of my brother’s will. He keeps his own counsel in such matters.’
‘I was given to understand from your sister that your brother was in the habit of telling his relations that his attentions had switched, first from one nephew, then to another, and so on. It all sounds very difficult for the families involved.’
‘I do not see why I should have to talk about my brother’s testamentary dispositions in front of a complete stranger, Mr Fitzgerald.’
‘You are quite correct in that, Mrs Cooper. But the alternatives are somewhat worse — worse for you, I mean.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr Fitzgerald.’
‘Well, there’s always the police, isn’t there? When I walk out of here you could very soon have the Oxfordshire constabulary on the trail of your two sons, who both live near Oxford, I gather. They would make a lot of enquiries with neighbours, employers, friends and so on. There would be a lot of talk.’
‘There are times when I really dislike my brother for the difficulties he has brought into this family. It is intolerable. What do you want to know, Mr Fitzgerald? What do I have to tell you to make you go away?’
‘Three things, Mrs Cooper, and thank you for deciding to be cooperative. First, if you would, do you know the size of your brother’s fortune? I don’t mean down to the last penny in the last investment trust, just a general sort of figure. Second, if you are prepared to give me your sons’ addresses, I shall call on them and I can assure you of my discretion. And third, do you know if either of your boys went to the open-air performance of the Ballets Russes at Blenheim Palace?’
‘As to your first question, Mr Fitzgerald, I think it is very difficult for me. I don’t honestly know the size of my brother’s fortune. But from your tone I suspect that the higher the figure, the higher the interest from investigators like yourself will be. Nobody’s going to murder somebody for a couple of hundred pounds. But start talking of thousands, or tens of thousands, and the bloodhounds are on your trail. Am I right?’
‘I would be deceiving you if I were to say that you were wrong, Mrs Cooper.’
‘I shall give you the boys’ addresses when you leave, Mr Fitzgerald. And I know that Nicholas and Peter were intending to go to the Oxford ballet and have their lunch on the grass in the park. I do not know if they actually went. They often change their plans, as young people do. Now it’s my time to ask a question.’
‘Of course, Mrs Cooper. Please do.’
‘Am I right in thinking from your interest in rounding up potential suspects that you still do not know who killed my nephew?’
‘That is a perfectly legitimate question. I shall tell you the truth. We don’t know who killed him. If we did I wouldn’t be here. We have a number of lines of enquiry running at present, but no, we do not know who killed your nephew.’
As he made his way back to the train station, Johnny thought she had told him one thing, even though she wouldn’t have known it. Why would she have talked of tens of thousands of pounds if that wasn’t something close to the real figure?
It was that time of the week again. Captain Yuri Gorodetsky was watching the telephone on his desk in the little office in Holborn. The windows were grimy, heaps of files packed up in disorderly fashion along the walls. It had always been one of the Captain’s worst fears that his superior officer, the General from Paris with his passion for neat and exact filing, would pay an unexpected visit.
There it was! The Captain picked up his telephone. As ever, he suspected that the General was in the next room, shouting at him.
‘Gorodetsky! Good morning to you. What news of the English Bolsheviks?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid General. It all seems fairly quiet just now.’
‘Come come man, you must have something to report, for God’s sake! Every other day now I am bombarded with questions from St Petersburg. Every day I have to say we have no news.’
‘Well, General, most of the money is still in that bank where it was last week.’
‘Most of the money? Where is the rest of it, you fool?’
‘It has gone to pay the printers, General. There are to be two sets of five hundred copies made. They will be returned to Arthur Cooper and then he will decide what to do with them.’
‘And you say this is nothing, my friend? This should keep them quiet for at least twenty-four hours, those jackals in Headquarters! What bloody language are they going to be in?’
‘English and Russian, General.’
‘It’s the Russian one that is important. The English Bolsheviks can go and throw them across the railings of Buckingham Palace as far as I’m concerned. No doubt they think the waves of strikes in their country and over in Ireland will make people receptive to their cause. Are the Russian ones ready yet?’
‘Not as far as I know, sir. The printer is a very sensitive man.’
‘Title, Gorodetsky? Do we have a title for the bloody pamphlet? No doubt they intend to circulate it inside Russia as soon as they get their hands on it.’
‘I think it’s called “What Is to Be Done Now?” sir.’
‘What indeed,’ said the General, ‘I think the bloody man Lenin wrote a pamphlet called “What Is to Be Done” some years ago. Sounds as if the comrades have been rather lax in the performance of their revolutionary obligations, if they have to get the same title twice. Repeat homework if you like. Pretty poor show.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Just get one thing into your head, Captain. You watch over this business as closely as you can with your English colleagues. When you know when and how the pamphlets are going to leave England, you let me know.’
‘Are you going to have them picked up, sir?’
‘We have had this conversation before, Captain. No, we are not going to intercept them. We are going to follow them to their destinations. I shall tell you more about this operation next week.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And remember, Captain. Any news of these pamphlets arriving, you get straight onto the telephone and let me know.’
Natasha Shaporova spent most of the afternoon reading through Alexander Taneyev’s letters to his sisters. They were all younger than him, and Natasha felt that he would not be likely to confide in them. She had more hope of the elder brother Ivan, who was an officer in a fashionable regiment and liable to appear at any moment. The girls wanted to know about the fashions in London. The youngest seemed to expect her brother to inspect the clothes of the audience very closely during a performance and report back. The middle one seemed to think her brother should spend his time checking out the latest London fashions in the great shops of Oxford Street. And the eldest one wanted an impression of English men, their clothes, their manners, how they behaved towards the opposite sex. Alexander decided that this sister, Olga, must be planning a visit to England, well prepared for the young men she would conquer there, and intending to carry one of them back to St Petersburg. There was only one note to interest Natasha. ‘Ivan has told me of the decision you may have to make. I think you should consult Papa as well as Ivan. That would be for the best.’