The Case of the Four Friends Read online

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  Sandham and Barrick walked into the bar about a quarter past six that evening, and Brendel was immediately struck by their appearance, for both looked nervous and on edge. Certainly neither had the appearance of men just starting on a carefree holiday. ‘So there is something in Mary’s fears’ was Brendel’s immediate thought. He rose to greet them.

  ‘This is kind of you, Doctor,’ said Sandham, ‘a most pleasant introduction to the Magnifico, for you know we’ve not been here before.’

  Toby smiled. ‘And I’m bound to say that an immediate drink on arrival is badly needed.’

  They sat down and Brendel beckoned to the barman. Brendel’s eyes twinkled as he continued his tale. Brendel, Dr Ernst Brendel, you know, has many virtues, some of them only imperfectly recognized, but I must confess that he had that Teutonic quality of taking pleasure in giving a little lecture. Yes, he is a natural lecturer, and so he seized the opportunity of – what do you call it? – yes, taking the floor, and giving his address on cocktails. But I think, too – indeed, I am sure – that there was what you call method in his madness, and that he wanted to – let me see – to ‘size up’ both Sandham and Barrick, and to make sure if either or both of them was really in serious trouble. What he noted gave him no sort of pleasure. Both of his guests were polite and courteous and appreciative of his efforts to entertain them, but a child could have known that both were miserably uneasy, and perhaps frightened. Sandham, it is true, maintained, though with an effort, his pose of the celebrated lawyer, relaxing for a brief holiday and cut off from the cares of his busy and important life – but he was not really relaxed for a moment, and there was every indication that he might suddenly crack and give way to – to what? Brendel could not tell, Barrick, for his part, seemed to be maintaining his air of easy and polite nonchalance, but only with a visible effort. Of the two Barrick surprised Brendel more, for he had not expected that the younger man would have any more serious trouble than the usual inconveniences which were attached to his rather haphazard mode of life. Unless of course, as Brendel began to guess, his affairs of the heart were also experiencing rough weather.

  ‘The Cocktail’, said Brendel, ‘has more uses than one. It can of course be drunk as an apéritif to encourage appetite, though for my part I find that sherry better performs that useful function. It can also be used as a pick-me-up, to restore the failing confidence, to give an extra fillip to the jaded body and mind. After a long journey by train, it seems to me that the second objective is more important than the first, and so I say to myself – choose that cocktail which most quickly acts as a restorative. What better, then, than a champagne cocktail?’

  ‘I certainly agree with my host,’ said Toby Barrick. ‘Nothing could suit me better.’

  ‘But no,’ Brendel continued. ‘Let me complete my argument. Does the barman put the best champagne into his cocktails? No, even at the Magnifico he does not. The Cointreau or cognac which he adds and the slice of lemon will indeed add piquancy, but they will reduce one champagne to the level of all. And so I say to myself that the champagne cocktail, good though it may be, must yet take second place to the wine itself, or in short, that a glass of champagne – of the right vintage and at the right temperature – serves better the purpose of the cocktail than any mixture which the art of man had yet devised. Do I carry you with me?’

  ‘Indeed you do,’ said Sandham. ‘You are a man of discernment, and I shall not hesitate to accept your choice.’

  ‘Motion seconded,’ Toby laughed. ‘I admit to a thirst which would make me a disciple of any prophet, whatever tipple he advocated.’

  Brendel waved his hand to the barman. ‘I confess’, he said, ‘that I never doubted that you would show your good taste by accepting my suggestion. Now I hope that you will enjoy this wine; it’s Bollinger Special Cuvée – their nonvintage Cuvée. The sommelier last night gave me his fullest attention, and it is his judgement which has picked this from the Magnifico cellar for this particular pre-dinner purpose.’

  Toby lifted his glass and nodded appreciatively. ‘We might, I think, drink a good deal of this, Charles,’ he said, ‘while we are here.’

  But Brendel shook his head. ‘You might do worse,’ he said, ‘but I think you could do better. This wine, is in my judgement, near perfection for its purpose, but remember what its purpose is. It is lively, it refreshes, it is exciting. But for your steady drinking you should choose rather the Krug 1928, or so at least my friend the expert tells me. It is perhaps really a little past its prime – it might be accused of being “an old gentleman” but for the vrai amateur it is superb. Certainly the Magnifico cellar lives up to its reputation.’

  For a few minutes they sipped their wine, and talked of trivialities. Then Brendel fired a sighting shot.

  ‘And how did you leave Mary?’ he asked.

  Charles Sandham shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘Oh, about as well as usual,’ he replied. ‘You know that she always insists that I should take this New Year’s holiday, though I’d much rather be with her, poor dear. But did you see any change in her?’ He looked a little suspiciously at his host.

  ‘No, I can’t say that I did,’ Brendel answered, ‘but she did seem to me to be worrying a little more than she generally does. As a rule, she is so immensely quiet and contented in her mind. No, I can’t say that she seemed other than as usual physically – but yet somehow she contrived to give the impression that she was worrying herself about something or other, or even that she was worrying about you. Probably I was. just imagining things.’ He changed the subject almost abruptly. ‘It must be a great thing for you workers to throw off all your cares, and start on an absolutely carefree holiday. That feels pretty good, I imagine.’

  Both Charles and Toby seemed slightly discomposed.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Sandham said, ‘it doesn’t work like that. In a business like ours there is never a real let-up, and I’ve no doubt that I shall be pursued by the telephone and by business worries all the time I’m here. Poor old William Merger, for instance, who is one of our oldest clients, is likely to die at any moment, and for all I know I may have to hurry back to town before even my four days’ holiday is finished. That means, for one thing, that I may have to raise a good deal of money quickly – and that it always troublesome. Ah well, c’est la vie.’

  ‘Or is it, in this case, la mort?’ Toby added dryly. ‘But the sentiment is correct enough. There’s not much leisure nowadays, and one trouble seems to arrive before the last has been overcome. It’s rather like foreign politics – there’s always some new danger spot.’

  ‘For a man about to be engaged that seems to me a curious attitude of mind,’ said Sandham with a kind of forced gaiety. ‘I should have thought that the presence of Dahlia Constant here would have put all other things out of your mind.’ Toby’s retort was not uttered, for at that moment the door opened and Bannister walked in. To Brendel’s satisfaction, Piers Gradon entered with him.

  ‘This is friendly of you, Brendel,’ said Bannister. ‘Let me see, I forget if you know my nephew, Piers Gradon – if not, let me introduce you, and we’ll both sit down and drink a short one with you. Evening, Charles; evening, Toby.’

  ‘If you drink with Brendel, it won’t be the usual short one. He has just been persuading us that no cocktail yet invented can hold a candle to a straight glass of champagne.’

  ‘With which I cordially agree,’ said Bannister, ‘and especially after being driven from London by Piers. You certainly need some sort of restorative after that. I always find myself speculating what dizzy heights the needle of the speedometer is going to reach when I drive with him.’

  Piers smiled. ‘Well, yes, the car can move, though English roads don’t give it a real chance. But what did you think of that damned puppy who tried to pass us this side of Salisbury?’

  ‘When you’d slowed down a bit to show me where Cordingly’s home is? Well, to be candid, I thought that the damned puppy, as you call him, was going to be
pushed off the road and end his life in the ditch.’

  ‘And that, had he tried again, was precisely my intention – but he didn’t try again. I suppose he had more sense than I supposed.’

  ‘Or, like the rest of us, set some store on the preservation of his own life. But what about the railway journey down, Charles? I’m not sure that that is not the preferable way, when all is said and done.’

  Why, Brendel wondered, was the conversation between these friends forced and artificial? He smiled to the barman to bring another bottle, waving aside a half-hearted attempt on Sandham’s part to forestall him. Perhaps Sandham’s difficulties, whatever they were, were more clearly linked with Bannister than he had guessed. Well, he must watch and listen, and try to help later on if he could.

  ‘As I get older,’ said Sandham, ‘I tend to prefer the train to a car, at any rate for longish journeys. You can at least read in comfort, and that in London I can seldom do. You know my penchant for Napoleonic history – today I read almost the whole of a book on Talleyrand, chiefly about his work at Vienna, and I enjoyed every minute of it.’

  ‘How curious,’ said Bannister; ‘I’m fond of that period myself, and particularly interested in some of the characters of the time. Castlereagh now, he was the sort of statesman that we could do with nowadays. In my opinion, he was much more successful at Vienna than your Talleyrand or Metternich or any of the others. But he came to a very sticky end. Suicide of that kind seems such a wretched waste of a good man. Poor devil, I suppose it was only overwork that made him lose his head. He should have turned to his friends – all his difficulties could have been overcome and his peccadilloes hushed up if he had.’ As he spoke he smiled, but only with his lips, for his eyes were hard as steel.

  It was at that moment that Brendel almost, but not quite, committed a social gaffe, for he very nearly dropped his glass of champagne on the floor. At the word peccadillo his eyes had chanced to turn towards Charles Sandham, and for an instant he had seen on the usually composed and handsome features of the solicitor a look of bitter hatred – of murderous hatred – and of overmastering fear. It had gone before Brendel could place his glass safely on the table, but it could never be forgotten, even though Sandham’s voice was entirely under control as he replied.

  ‘Castlereagh may have lost his head,’ he said, ‘but any man might if he was blackmailed. I only wish that he had killed the blackmailer instead of himself. It happens too often that the wrong man pays the penalty.’

  ‘Who was Castlereagh, anyway?’ inquired Gradon, whose knowledge of history was scanty.

  ‘Great British statesman, ran our foreign policy at the Congress of Vienna; committed suicide with a knife or razor; said to be due to a nervous breakdown, in fact due to fear of publicity about unnatural offences,’ replied Toby Barrick tersely.

  ‘So he had that sort of trouble, too. It’s another case of this damned blackmail. Did you see about poor Jack Cordingly’s suicide? Evelyn and I were talking about it yesterday. I happen to be an executor, and by God if I find out who it was who pushed old “Accordingly” over the edge I’ll strangle the bastard with my own hands, and that’d be too good for him.’ All the naked savage in Gradon’s make-up seemed to show on his handsome but sensual face – but there was no smile left on his uncle’s. Brendel’s capacity for being surprised had been exhausted when he had seen the effect of Bannister’s remarks on Charles Sandham. Since then he had watched all the four friends with sustained concentration, and he remarked with growing alarm the impression made on Bannister by the references to Cordingly. How much more complicated all this was than he had previously supposed! He saw fear on Bannister’s face as his nephew spoke, and he observed how quickly – almost desperately – Bannister attempted to switch the conversation to a new topic.

  ‘I can’t help wondering’, he said, ‘how many people can afford a holiday in a place like this. After all, we pay the earth for a few days’ holiday here, and many of these people must be staying very much longer. I can’t think where some of them find the money, especially those with families.’

  ‘Oh well, most people can raise money somehow when it’s a question of a holiday,’ replied Gradon, who himself never let any consideration of finance interfere with his own pleasure.

  ‘Perhaps,’ put in Sandham, with a half-glance towards Bannister, ‘but raising money isn’t always so easy. Our firm, for example, is as sound as any I know of, but at this moment it would be not only inconvenient but really difficult to put down any considerable sum of ready money.’

  Bannister gave no sign that he had paid attention to this remark, but Toby Barrick’s heart sank. If that was his partner’s attitude, the hope of drawing on the firm to tide him over his crisis was indeed miraginous, and if it wholly disappeared, what course was left to him to follow? Unless Charles Sandham could conveniently die, or unless … but it was not Toby’s way to face difficulties, and certainly not at that moment. He spoke rather to keep his mind from them than because he was interested in what the others said.

  ‘Whatever the reason is, there’s no doubt that there are plenty of people who can or do afford it. You know, I haven’t the least confidence in those statistics which show that there are only half per cent of the population whose income is over X pounds a year, or so forth. Anyhow, I had the devil’s own job to get our own rooms; when I finally booked the fourth room, you’d think that the Magnifico was conferring the highest distinction in the country on me in letting me have rooms at all. I damned nearly cancelled the whole booking. Charles and Evelyn are all right – they’re both on the first floor, though they’re about a quarter of a mile away from each other. Piers is on the ground floor, in an odd sort of suite that they usually keep for old gentlemen who can’t walk, so he’s all right too, and in the lap of luxury, but I’ve been pushed away to the fourth floor, and I believe I have the distinction of sleeping in the only bedroom in the whole place that hasn’t got its own bathroom.’

  ‘I suppose that you’re telling us what a self-sacrificing sort of man you are in taking that room yourself instead of foisting it on me,’ said Gradon.

  ‘That was the idea. Someone in a party has to be prepared to be a bit unselfish.’

  Brendel did not like the obvious clash of temperaments between the two, and he was experienced enough to know exactly how to avert the threatened storm. The mention of sport is the universal solvent among Englishmen of a conversational difficulty.

  ‘I, too, am on the fourth floor,’ he said, ‘and I assure you that it is not uncomfortable. But to me it seems that you will not worry about your rooms once you have started your golf. Is it not a very fine course?’

  ‘Are you a golfer, Brendel?’ asked Gradon, showing interest in his host for the first time.

  ‘Indeed, no. I am entirely out of my depth there; but I sit and listen, and I hear all these men and women discussing and generally praising the course, so I make my deduction that the course must be a good one, for, believe me, criticism is much more common than praise.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ said Toby. ‘It is a fine course. I think it might well be on the championship list if they could cater for spectators. It has most of the other qualities needed for a championship course, but I doubt if they could get over that snag. You’ll like the short holes, Charles, they’re all interesting in their different ways, and you’ll enjoy learning the tricks for each of them. And there are one or two holes which are really good golf. Take the seventh, for example; it’s a magnificent two-shotter. You must have length off the tee, if you are going to get your figures, but more than that you must place your drive well to the right also. If your drive is long and placed on the right side of the fairway, you have a reasonably straightforward shot to the green and you’ll get your four, but if your drive is short, or worse still if it’s to the left, the second is just fiendish, and it’s long odds that you’ll never look at a four for the hole. I’ve seen a good many scores wrecked in an ugly little bunker on the left wh
ich seems to have a wonderfully attractive’, almost magnetic, power. Anyone playing the course for the first time always seems to lose that hole if he’s up against someone who’s played it before.’

  ‘I’ve never found these show holes especially terrible on any course,’ said Piers Gradon. ‘Locals always exaggerate the merit and the difficulty of their pet holes. Personally I think you’ve got to treat each hole on its merits, and – if you know your distances – you’ll be all right, provided you play the shot as it should be played. I’m quite ready to have a substantial bet with you that the first time we play this hole you won’t take it off me. What about a fiver on it?’

  Toby’s hackles were up in a moment. He was proud of his golf and he was also jealous of Piers.

  ‘Oh, gladly, if you want to bet, but you’ll lose your money. But why confine it to the seventh hole? I suggest twenty-five pounds on the match, and a side-bet of a fiver on the seventh hole – that is, if the others will let us play a single tomorrow morning.’

  ‘We usually play only foursomes after the New Year’s party,’ said Sandham, ‘but of course you two tigers can have a single tomorrow if you like, and we’ll join up for a foursome in the afternoon. Probably nine holes in the forenoon will be as much as Evelyn and I will want.’

  ‘Perfectly all right so far as I’m concerned,’ Gradon answered. ‘If the money is on, I believe that this holiday is going to be much cheaper than I had expected.’