Maisie placed the photograph in her bag and nodded to Georgina. “Good. Now then, I must be on my way. Please telephone me as soon as you can so that we can confirm arrangements and your progress with my list. Until then, Georgina.” Maisie held out her hand, which Georgina took in a manner that suggested she was regaining some of the strength and resolve that had propelled her somewhat infamous reputation.
When they were some three or four yards apart, Maisie turned and called to her client. “Oh, Georgina—I want to meet Harry as well.”
She had timed her final request perfectly.
Georgina flushed. “I—I’ll see what I can do, he’s…oh, never mind. I’ll contact him and let you know.” Then she hurried away.
BILLY JOINED MAISIE as she watched Georgina Bassington-Hope being swallowed into a flurry of passersby.
“Miss B-H gone then?”
Maisie nodded, seemingly half dreaming, though Billy knew that the glazed eyes disguised a depth of thought that some might have considered quite unnecessary in the circumstances.
“Everything all right, Miss?”
“Yes, yes, I’m very well, thank you.”
They began to walk toward Piccadilly underground station. “She shot off a bit sharpish, didn’t she?”
“Hmmm, yes, it was a bit quick. But then it gave us some interesting information.”
“What’s that, Miss?”
“That, concerning Harry B-H, the family—or perhaps just Georgina—has something to hide.” Maisie turned to Billy. “Now then, you know what to do this afternoon, don’t you, Billy—usual lines of inquiry with your newspaper friends.” She pulled on her gloves. “I’ll see you back at the office around three. We’ll have a talk about our respective findings, then you can go home early—perhaps Lizzie will be feeling a bit better.”
Three
“I looked through the obituary, and it didn’t say anything that wasn’t known to us already. There were a couple of write-ups on ’is paintings, otherwise it was all along the lines of ‘a rare talent lost’—you know, that sort of thing.” Billy seemed to stifle a yawn. “Mind you, there was a line or two in one of them about the sibling rivalry. I thought it was a bit snide myself. In the Sketch, it was. The reporter saying that the B-H’s had always competed to see who could get more attention, and that now there was no twin brother, Miss B-H would probably have the wind knocked out of her sails.”
“That doesn’t mean that there was anything untoward in the competition though. That sort of thing often happens, I believe.”
“Too right, Miss. You should see my boys go at it sometimes.”
Maisie smiled and was about to speak again, when Billy continued. “Now then, Brian Hickmott, one of the reporters what I know, did say that ’e remembered the story because ’e went over there, to the gallery, as soon as the press got wind of something going on.”
“And?”
“Said it was all very strange. Police didn’t stay long, just a quick look, a ‘Yes, that’s accidental death,’ then off they all went, much quicker than ’e would have thought.”
“Well, it could be that once they had determined there were no suspicious circumstances, their work was done until the inquest. The body could be released to the family that much earlier, and with little in the way of red tape.”
“Per’aps. I’ll find out a bit more about it though.”
“Good.” Maisie looked up at Billy, assessing his interest in the case and therefore his attention to detail. His attitude in the initial meeting, where he revealed some resentment toward the client’s social standing, had unsettled her.
“Mind you…” Billy sat up straighter as he read through his notes, clearly keen to move on to another point so that he could get home early, as Maisie had suggested. “Brian did mention the younger brother, ’arry.”
“What did he say?’
“Well, you know that fella, Jix?”
“The former home secretary Joyston-Hicks? Of course, but what has this to do with the younger brother?”
“It’s one of them roundabout stories, Miss. You remember that when ’e was in government, Jix was the one who got the police going round to the clubs and closin’ ’em down? Right killjoy was that man, we’re better off without the likes of ’im.”
“Billy…”
“Well, turns out that one of the people old Jix ’ad it in for was Harry B-H. The boy might’ve been able to carry a tune with that trumpet of ’is, but ’e ’ad a reputation for carryin’ on with all sorts of people—you know, girls on the game. And ’e kept the villains entertained while they got up to no good at all. The press ’ad their eyes on ’im too, and ’e’d got a few mentions in the linens, you know, when the police’d raided a club on Jix’s orders.”
Maisie was thoughtful. “Well, it’s funny you should say that, but I confess, since Miss B-H first mentioned him, I have had a sense that all was not well with the brother. I mean, as a family, they definitely sound a bit out of the ordinary, but there was a certain hesitation in her voice. Look into it again tomorrow. The club raids subsided as soon as Jix lost his position, so Harry might’ve been able to keep his job without having to move on. I want to know where he is, who he works for, who he consorts with and, if he’s on the edge of the underworld, so to speak, whether he’s in any trouble.”
Billy nodded.
“I think you might have to go back to see Levitt as well. I want to know the location of Nick’s lock-up and Levitt probably knows someone who can tell us, even if he doesn’t know it himself. An artist might be secretive about his work, but he’s also protective and would want there to be help available if there were a fire, for example—someone else may well have known the location of the lock-up, and I suspect that the major work that he wanted to hang is still there. Mind you, I am wondering what the arrangements were for its delivery to the gallery on the evening of his death—was it loaded on a lorry waiting for Nick B-H to drive it himself once the backdrop was ready? Or did he have drivers at the ready—and had they already left by the time he’d fallen? If so, then what did they do when they couldn’t gain access to the gallery?” Maisie had been staring out at the square, seeing only the closing hours of the dead man’s life, rather than the trees, people walking across the square or anything another onlooker might have noticed. She turned to Billy again. “There is much to gather, Billy. Let’s be ready to put our backs into the case again tomorrow.”
Billy nodded, consulted his watch once more, then asked Maisie whether her second visit to the Tate had been fruitful.
“Yes, I think it was. I wanted to find out more about the artist as a person, what character traits define someone who takes on that kind of work—”