A Well Kept Secret (24 page)

“I don’t know as I very much like the sound of that,” Martin responded. “Better break it to me gently.”

“Well, for a start, this person who wants to buy the house; he has been on to me again and increased his offer by five thousand pounds.”

“Has he indeed? He must want the place pretty bad; any idea why?”

“None whatsoever; as far as I have been able to discover Springwater House is smack in the middle of the Green Belt, there are no planning applications under consideration or granted for the site or anywhere near it, nor is there any suggestion in the public domain of oil or mineral deposits suspected underneath it. Not only that, I can’t get any real idea of who ‘Carl Bremner’ is. He purports to be an agent acting on behalf of a client who wishes to remain anonymous, yet as far as I have been able to ascertain, ‘Carl Bremner’ does not exist.”

“It all sounds a bit fishy to me; is there no chance of tracing him through his telephone?”

“We’ve tried that; the calls appear to be emanating from somewhere in Europe, and the suspicion exists that they are actually coming from somewhere in the UK, routed via a continental link which is proving impossible to breakdown with anything less than top-secret government equipment which, needless to say, we don’t actually possess. This of course poses the obvious question; why would anyone want to go to such elaborate lengths to conceal their identity and location just to buy a property? For the record; we are still checking.”

“Right, so until we know exactly who it is that we are dealing with, selling Springwater House is obviously not on, no matter what figure is offered.”

“Precisely what I thought.”

“What about Buxted Securities?” Martin asked, changing the subject.

“I’m relieved to say that at least that is a bona fide company.”

“Well, as you say; that’s a relief.”

“Yes, no problems with the company,” Charles continued meaningfully. “However, preliminary checks into the background of Peter Buxted himself again produce an interesting enigma.”

“Oh?”

“He seems to have appeared from nowhere about twenty-five or so years ago, founded the company and as far as we have been able to discover so far, carried on a legitimate business ever since. He seems to be pretty well-heeled from what we have managed to dig up; I guess his company must be extremely successful or he has other sources of income we haven’t uncovered as yet.”

“That’s interesting; he claims to have known my uncle about the same length of time, possibly even longer,” Martin commented. “Co-incidence I wonder?”

“Could be.”

“I don’t much like coincidences, even one’s as vague as this; surely there must be a record of his antecedents somewhere?”

“I’m sure there is, only these things take time; like I said, these are only preliminary findings. Maybe he was born and lived abroad and that was where he made his money? Perhaps he has had to change his name, legally or otherwise? Whatever the reason, we are still looking into matters.”

“Well, as it happens he is coming here on Sunday,” Martin said. “If anything odd turns up before then you’d better let me know.”

“I’ll do that. Meanwhile, there’s still Mrs Brent.”

“Why do I not like the tone of voice you are using when you mention her?”

“Because I have to tell you that like Mr Buxted, your housekeeper has no past. Mrs Brent seems to have appeared fully formed upon the scene less than about three years ago! As far as we have been able to discover to date, she simply did not exist prior to turning up at Dr Marston’s feet.”

“You are not serious?”

“I’m afraid I am,” Charles sighed. “I grant you that many avenues have yet to be looked into, yet as things stand she seems to have sprung into existence from absolutely nowhere. Naturally enquiries are ongoing, but for all practical purposes she seems to have had no existence at all prior to appearing out of the blue in Wellworthy.”

“There is something in your tone of voice that tells me there is even more?”

“I’m afraid there is, Martin. I have yet to have it confirmed you understand; the suspicion is growing here that the name ‘Mrs Brent’ is in fact a false identity given to her by the police. Naturally we cannot approach the Home Office directly to ask for confirmation or denial of this; false identities are always given for a sound reason, and the number of people who are permitted in law to know the truth about a person in receipt of a new identity are naturally few.”

There was a brief silence as Martin digested this totally unexpected piece of information.”

“Are you trying to tell me that she has a criminal record?” he asked at last.

“Not necessarily; there can be a number of reasons why this might happen. For example; she may have been an important witness in a major criminal trial; if she was deemed to be at serious risk as a result of giving testimony, she might well be awarded a new identity under the existing witness-protection programme. Equally, she could be a high profile prisoner on release who might be considered in danger of vengeance from people she has wronged if her true identity became known. There are also other possibilities which I will not bore you with right now. As I said, at the moment it is only a suspicion; it is something I hope to get clarified soon. I simply felt you should be advised that the possibility exists.”

“I’m certainly glad you warned me,” Martin responded as he thought through the ramifications of what he had just learned. “I won’t say I’m not disturbed by all this, it makes me wonder more than ever what is going on here. I hope you realise that although you have thrown a completely different light on things, I’m still no wiser as to what it all adds up to?”

“That’s the whole point Martin; how do you know that it adds up to anything at all?”

“Oh, come on, Charles; look at what you have just told me, look at what has happened so far, it cannot all be co-incidence. I have a strong feeling that there is a connection between my uncle and his distancing himself from my mother, yet still contriving to pay for my education; having no contact with me as I grew up, yet leaving his property to me; the mysterious would-be purchaser, the attempt at a break-in, a hearty friend of my uncle who clearly isn’t all he claims to be, and a housekeeper who has an unknown but potentially dangerous past yet taken on without hesitation by my uncle. Of course there is something very peculiar about the whole business, and I mean to find out what it is more than ever.”

“Well, if you are that determined, just be careful how you tread; you don’t want to be facing a lawsuit.”

“Don’t worry, I will be,” he said, then added, sotto voce; “Careful, that is!”

He replaced the phone and sat back deep in thought. There was little doubt in his mind that there was some mystery about Springwater House, yet what did he really have to go on other than suspicions? He hated to admit it, but Charles was undoubtedly right; there could be a simple explanation for all of the odd events and facts he had uncovered. Could he be certain that he was not unconsciously stringing them together in his mind in an effort to create something that didn’t exist? He couldn’t in all honesty deny the possibility, and yet the feeling persisted that there was genuinely something connected with the house that didn’t smell right, something he really ought to uncover.

There were real questions he needed answers to. For example; who was the mysterious would-be purchaser, anxious to conceal his or her identity, yet keen to pay well over the market price just to secure a run-down property in a little known rural backwater? What was the unknown attraction? As Charles had already assured him, the house existed in an established Green Belt area, so the chances of the place being bought by a developer keen to put a large number of houses on the site was remote, yet what else was there to recommend it? He sincerely hoped that Charles would come up with an answer to that before too long.

Was there any connection between this attempt at buying the place, and somebody trying to break in? Probably not; maybe he should dismiss that event as being unrelated to anything. He might well have done yet he recalled that for some reason June Brent had appeared to react in what he considered to be an unusual manner to it, although she had said nothing further on the subject. Was he imagining that her reaction was that of a person who recognised something about the description of the mysterious man who had been asking questions, or was it all in his own mind?

What about Peter Buxted? By all accounts he was running a legitimate business, yet like the housekeeper, he seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. How did he come to know Dr Marston? And if he had known him for the length of time he claimed, how come he appeared not to notice the alterations that had taken place in the hallway of the house? Maybe he had, and simply didn’t want to refer to the fact; was that significant or irrelevant?

There was also the matter of the letter from Mrs Jefferson, the late Dr Marston’s housekeeper. What was it she needed to impart to the doctor that was so important? Was it, as the letter implied, something of a purely personal nature, or did it tie in somehow with all the other seemingly unrelated incidents that had aroused his suspicions? Tomorrow was Thursday, and in meeting with her he hoped at least that that particular facet of matters would be cleared up.

And then of course there was the startling information concerning June Brent. Even though she had thawed a little and revealed something of her background, there was still a great deal about her that remained an enigma. Was it remotely possible, as Charles had suggested, that she was a person on the witness protection programme? Worse, was she an ex-convict released with a new identity? He had heard of such things happening, so it was not impossible. She undoubtedly had a chip on her shoulder, just as she was undeniably very defensive in her attitude, and if what she had told him was true, who knows what had brought her to such a situation, or what it had led to? The real question he needed to decide on right there and then was whether he should confront her with what he had learned?

This in turn posed an additional question in his mind; did his late uncle know the truth of the matter of her identity? Even if the doctor had been aware, was it a separate issue from the other matters that concerned him? He decided that he needed to know, if only to eliminate that aspect of things from his concerns, yet the thought of June’s probable reaction if he raised the subject made him hesitate. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have thought twice about confronting anybody with anything if he considered the situation merited it, yet somehow with her he was reluctant to risk breaching that level of trust she appeared to slowly building
 
up with him. He tried to justify this reluctance by being unable to picture her as a criminal. He hoped, as Charles had suggested, that she was a trial witness who had been given a new identity in order to protect her from subsequent repercussions and, if that was true, who was he to destroy that protection?

He suddenly recalled that only a few hours since, she had accepted his offer of help in tracing her father. To his mind, if coming to Wellworthy in search of a long-lost father had been a fictitious story, she would be most unlikely to pursue it to the point of enlisting his aid. Far better from her point of view to refuse his offer; it would have been a natural enough reaction given her professed distrust of all things male. She was obviously highly intelligent and would realise that if he probed deep enough he would inevitably expose any cover story as a pack of lies. No, for his money that part at least of what she had told him had to be genuine. That being so, assisting her in her search was a way of discovering who she really was without resorting to confrontational methods. In order to find her father, she would have to tell him her maiden name, and once he was in the possession of this information, Charles’ enquiry agent would soon establish her bona fides!

His train of thought was interrupted when the telephone started ringing. He picked up the receiver and said: “Springwater House?”

“Is that Mr Isherwood?” asked a vaguely familiar voice. “It’s Jim Perkins.”

“Hello Mr Perkins, what can I do for you?” Martin answered as he pictured the young solicitor’s clerk in his mind.

“You asked me to let you know if I saw that suspicious looking character again, you know, the one that was asking around in the pub about your place?”

“That’s right, I did. Has he shown up again?”