Be Not Afraid Page 11
He lay on his back in bed and stared at the ceiling. He did possess a possible replacement. Dared he risk it? He had no doubts at all that when push came to shove, Martina was as valuable as any man. It was the long valleys between the peaks that bothered him, her ability to concentrate when there was nothing to concentrate on, when he knew, again from experience, would-be victims were at their most vulnerable. On the other hand, he had no alternative, save for Anna and possibly Johnnie, and he could not contemplate involving his own children in something that might require them to take life – or sacrifice their own. And there could be no doubt that working with Martina would be an enormous pleasure.
He got out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and opened his door. It was coming up to midnight and the house was quiet. But there was a sliver of light under the door of his parents’ bedroom, which was now Martina’s.
He knocked gently.
“Come.”
He opened the door.
“Berkeley,” she said. “I knew it was you. I knew you would come when you were ready.”
He closed the door behind himself. Predictably, like himself, she slept naked and was sitting up in bed with the sheet folded just beneath her breasts while her midnight hair was spread behind her on the pillow like a shawl. He did not think she had been reading – there was no book in evidence – but what she had been doing was very obvious from the trace of white at her nostrils.
“Must you do that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It is not a case of must. I enjoy it. It makes me sleep and have very pleasant dreams.”
He went towards her.
“Are you going to beat me?” she asked.
“I probably would, if you weren’t so obviously anxious for me to do it. We need to talk about the future.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I agree to everything you propose. Except if you wish to send me away; I will not agree to that.”
“Move over.”
She shifted her thighs and he sat on the side of the bed. She reached for his dressing gown but he caught her wrists.
“Later. Maybe. Now listen. That man who called this morning was a general in the British army. He used to employ me, and for him and Britain I have had to do some illegal acts.”
“I know this. Alexandros has told me.”
Berkeley nodded. “That also bothers him. But what bothers him most is that when we are cross-examined in court we may let something slip about my involvement with the British government; or you may. They would not like this.”
“We must be careful.”
“I assured him we would be. But he still thinks that a clever counsel, and Bullard is one of the best, might be able to trap us. So he offered me money to take you and Anna, and flee the country until after the trial.”
“Oooh!” she said. “Where are we going to go?”
“Nowhere. I refused the offer.”
“But – why?”
“For two reasons. One is that we have each received a subpoena, which means that should we not appear we will be held in contempt of court.”
She blew a raspberry.
Berkeley ruffled her hair. “You would not like to spend a year in prison, now would you?”
She caught his hand and held it against her breast; he could feel the pounding of her heart. “Not if it would mean separation from you, my dearest. What is the other reason?”
“I have sworn to save Helen Karlovy from the gallows, and I can only do that by appearing in court.”
“Oh!” She threw his hand away from her. “What do you have for that girl? She has been your mistress, eh? That time you kidnapped her to exchange her for Anna, you had her then, eh?”
“No, I did not. I had far too many things on my mind to have anybody then. I have never slept with Helen Karlovy. But I have destroyed her family.”
“And has she not destroyed yours?”
“Not all of it, and she did not want to.”
“Ha! So she says. She was still out for your blood.”
“Everything she has done has been because she conceived it to be her duty to her father and sister.”
“And if she gets away with this, do you not think she will continue to consider it her duty? Now she has her brother to avenge, as well.”
“I am not suggesting that she get away with it. She will go to prison. But I do not want her blood on my hands. There is enough there already.”
“And I am supposed to testify on her behalf, I suppose.”
“You are required to do nothing except answer with absolute truthfulness any questions that may be put to you by either the prosecution or the defence.”
“Then I will do that.”
“There is a little more to it than that,” Berkeley said. “By appearing in court at all, much less giving evidence, we shall be defying the British government.”
“But we will not be breaking the law.”
“No. We shall not be breaking the law.”
“Then what can they do about it?”
“Defying governments is a pretty risky business. Especially this one.”
“You think they may attempt to harm you?”
“I think it is very likely. I want you to understand this. I would also like to think that you will stand at my shoulder, always.”
“But of course. You may rely upon me, Berkeley. I am your bodyguard, eh? And now, Berkeley, my darling Berkeley, as you are here, and I am here . . .”
And why not? he asked himself. It was more than six months since he had held a naked woman in his arms, and this woman, if by no means the equal of Caterina, was, at least in looks, about the best second he had ever known. As for loyalty, she would rank higher, because she had none of the inbuilt hatreds of the Bosnian woman.
He allowed her to untie his dressing gown and reach inside.
*
Martina slept in the next morning and Anna prepared breakfast. Then she rested her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table, and gazed at him. Seated in his high chair beside her, Howard looked equally intent.
“Was it good?” Anna asked.
Berkeley raised his head. “Just what do you mean by that?”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
“I see. Don’t tell me you listened at the door.”
“Of course I did not. But I heard you go into her room and you didn’t come back out, at least before I fell asleep again.”
“Are you jealous?”
“I suppose I am. But I did say I was happy with the idea. I just want to know if she was worth it.”
“Yes, she was.”
“I’m glad. Are you going to marry her?”
“If I do, it won’t be for some time yet. We actually had a lot to talk about. You do realise that in addition to the Nazi Party I now have the British government gunning for me.”
“Are they in the same class?”
“Very much so. I would put the Nazi Party second.”
“Well, then . . .”
Berkeley wagged his finger at her. “I don’t want you involved. Martina and I will take care of any trouble.”
Anna got up, came round the table, and kissed him on the forehead. “But I am involved, Daddy dear.”
*
“All ready for the off?” Douglas Jameson said buoyantly, surveying the three people seated before him in his office. This was one occasion when Berkeley had allowed Joan Horsfall to have Howard for the morning.
“I think we are,” Berkeley said.
“Excellent. There is nothing to be apprehensive about.” He smiled at Anna and Martina; rather disconcertingly, neither of them was looking the least apprehensive, but this was the manner he used to all Crown witnesses. “All you have to do, in reply to my questions, is say exactly what you remember happening on that dreadful day. I know it will be an ordeal but I will be as quick as I can. I cannot, of course, answer for the defence, but I will certainly not allow Bullard to badger you, I promise.”
“And the motive?” Berkeley asked.
“Well, that will have to be brought out. However, as I understand it, you found it necessary to shoot these people’s father in self-defence. You had no idea that by doing so you were creating a blood feud.”
“I’m afraid I did. I had lived in Serbia for several years, and was aware of their ethics.”
“Well, even if you were, what were you to do, Colonel? Stand there and be shot yourself? I don’t think we will have any trouble with the jury about that.”
“I’m sure you know best,” Berkeley murmured. “But I imagine the defence will use it.”
“I am sure they will,” Jameson said. “They have nothing else. And another country’s ethics or mores have nothing to do with British justice. I mean to say, Colonel, if some cannibal from darkest Africa, carrying out his grisly business with the consent of his fellows, were to come to England and eat somebody, he would be guilty of murder according to our law. Anyway, this fellow Karlovy, from what I have been able to gather, was an absolute thug, a robber and a murderer.”
“I have an idea that the Normans, a few hundred years ago, would so have described Robin Hood,” Berkeley suggested. “But to a lot of Englishmen, then and now, he was a patriot.”
Jameson regarded him for several moments, then produced one of his smiles. “No doubt, Colonel. However, English law does not recognise the right of any man to rob and murder no matter how patriotic his motives. I assure you, sir, that the defence may flog that horse for as much as they like but they will have no effect on the jury. The law is the law. I’ll see you in court.”
*
“I think you will make a lot of enemies if you speak up for that woman,” Martina said as they drove home.
“I already have a lot of enemies,” Berkeley said. “A few more can’t make that much difference.”
“What are we going to do?” Anna asked. She was sitting in the back.
“Keep a low profile,” Berkeley said.
“But if those Nazi people try again—”
“I shouldn’t think they will,” Berkeley said. “Once bitten, twice shy, eh?”
“I wish we could go after them, and get them,” Anna said. “The three of us could do it.”
“Not a whole organisation,” Berkeley said.
“Well then, the man Himmler. I’m sure we could find him.”
“I’ll think about it,” Berkeley said, “when the trial is over.”
*
He would have liked to see Helen Karlovy again but that was obviously out of the question; both Peter Watt and Jameson would throw a fit. So he would have to wait until he was called as a witness which would come early on in the trial, immediately after the police and medical evidence. Rather to his surprise, when the door of the Witness Room was opened it was Anna’s name that was called first; she and Martina were the only two other witnesses for the Crown. Anna waggled her eyebrows at him and left the room.
“Why has she been called first?” Martina asked.
“I have a notion they’re saving me as the pièce de résistance,” Berkeley said. “They’re using Anna to set the scene, give the jury an idea of the tragedy. You’ll be next.”
Martina was indeed next. Anna of course was not returned to the Witness Room, so Berkeley had no idea what she had been asked or how she had responded, or indeed, what she was presently feeling. But he knew Martina would go and sit with her as soon as she had given her evidence. Then it was just a matter of waiting. Not for very long, as it turned out.
The courtroom was crowded; this was the most sensational trial in Northampton for some years. There was no time to look over the spectators’ seats but he was able to glance at the dock where Helen Karlovy stood between two wardresses. She had been given a good and well-fitting dress to wear and a little hat; without make-up and after several months in prison, her face was pale and she had lost weight, but she appeared composed. She did not look at him.
Below her were Walton and Druce, the young man looking fairly hot and bothered, and beneath them Bullard and his junior beside Jameson and his junior; the two KCs looked perfectly relaxed.
Berkeley climbed into the witness box and took the oath, giving a nod towards the red-robed Mr Justice Carmichael, with whom he had an acquaintance.
“You are Colonel Berkeley Townsend, of the Townsend Farm?” Jameson asked.
“That is correct.”
“And you are a retired army officer?”
“That is correct.”
“Would you tell the jury what you remember of the events of eight December last, Colonel Townsend?”
Berkeley recounted what had happened.
“You shot the male assassin, the man Karlovy.”
“That is correct.” Berkeley reflected that he had already committed perjury.
“You have testified that you had been to the railway station to pick up your friends the Savoses, and had just entered the house.”
“That is correct.”
“Whereupon you stumbled over the dead body of your wife. Following which this man attacked you with a knife, and you shot him.”
“Yes.”
“That indicates that you had a firearm on your person.”
“Yes.”
“Do you usually carry a loaded weapon?”
“No, I do not. However, only a few days before, I had been attacked by someone armed with a knife in Northampton. I reported the incident to the police and informed them that I intended to be armed for the next few days.”
“And they gave you permission to carry a loaded firearm.”
“They didn’t refuse it,” Berkeley said, and earned a titter from the gallery.
“But you did not find it necessary also to shoot the accused.”
“No. She was arrested by my daughter.”
“As the young lady has testified. A most gallant act. The accused, Miss Karlovy, was also armed with a knife.”
“Yes, she was.”
“You must be very proud of your daughter.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Now we come to the motive for this vicious and dastardly attack. In your statement to the police, Colonel Townsend, you said that in your opinion it was the outcome of what is known as a blood feud.”
“That is my opinion, yes.”
“A blood feud.” Mr Jameson appeared to muse. “This is not something with which we in this country are familiar. Would you explain the circumstances of this, ah, feud, to the court?”
“I’m afraid, some thirteen years ago, I found it necessary to shoot and kill Georgiu Karlovy, the father of the assassin and his sister.”
Jameson preferred not to pick up the deliberate separation of Stefan and Helen. “You found it necessary to kill the elder Karlovy,” he said. “I assume this took place in the then Serbia?”
“Yes.”
“And at the time you were an officer in the Serbian army.”
“Yes.”
“So, was this a military execution?”
“No, it was self-defence. Karlovy was armed, and he fired at me first.”
“He attacked you. Exactly as was the case with his son. You are clearly a man who knows how to take care of himself, Colonel Townsend.”
“I am a professional soldier.”
“Quite so. You were no doubt aware that you might be instigating one of these blood feuds when you shot Karlovy?”
“I had then lived in Serbia for several years. I was aware of their customs, yes.”
“But, being an officer in the Serb army and acting as you did in self-defence, you no doubt felt this custom would not apply to you.”
“I did not really consider the matter at the time,” Berkeley said.
“Quite so. Thank you, Colonel Townsend.”
Jameson sat down, and Bullard stood up, a sheaf of notes in his hand. Berkeley presumed that the only persons in the court, apart from the pair of them, who knew that the notes had largely been supplied by Berkeley himself were Walton and young Druce; both were looking suitably po-faced.
“Colonel Townsend, yours has been an unusual career.”
“I must object, your honour,” Jameson said, standing up again. “Colonel Townsend’s military career has no bearing on the case.”
“Mr Bullard?”
“In my opinion, your honour, it does have a bearing on the case. Colonel Townsend has testified that he has recently retired from the British army, with the rank of colonel. This rank can only be attained by a considerable period of continuous and meritorious service. Indeed . . .” he snapped his fingers and Druce, with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from his hat, placed several bound volumes on the desk before him, “I have here a selection of Army Lists, covering the period from 1895 to 1922, which I offer in evidence to indicate that Colonel Townsend was a serving officer in the British army between those dates. The prosecution has stated that when Colonel Townsend shot and killed the man Karlovy, thus instigating this feud, he was acting both in self-defence and within his rights as an officer in the Serbian army. Now, your honour, Karlovy was shot in 1914. One of these books is the Army List for that year.” He opened the book at the marked page. “And here we have the name of Colonel B. Townsend, Intelligence. I feel that Colonel Townsend should tell us if this Colonel Townsend, British Military Intelligence and Brigadier-General Townsend, Serbian cavalry, are one and the same man.”
“Intriguing,” remarked Mr Justice Carmichael. “I think I am going to overrule your objection, Mr Jameson, and allow the witness to answer the question. Colonel Townsend?”
“They are the same person, your honour,” Berkeley said.
“Mr Bullard?”
“With your permission, your honour, I think it may be important to discover whether Colonel Townsend shot Georgiu Karlovy as a Serbian brigadier-general dealing with a mutineer, or as a British colonel dealing with someone who had perhaps penetrated his double role.”
“I agree with you,” Carmichael said. “Colonel?”
“I shot Karlovy in self-defence,” Berkeley said. “He drew first but I was quicker. However, I was not at that moment acting as an officer in the Serbian army.”
There was a rustle of comment round the court.
“You mean you were acting on behalf of British Military Intelligence,” Bullard suggested.
“Indirectly.”