64

Three hours later Ben was sitting in the back of the Bentley Arnage for the second time on his way to the Fairfax residence. Dusk was beginning to fall as they swept down the leaf-strewn lanes between rows of golden beeches and sycamores, and pulled in through the gates of the Fairfax estate. The Bentley passed the neat little red-brick estate cottages that Ben remembered from his first visit.

A short way further down the private road, the car began to pull to the right and Ben could feel a faint bumping from the front end. The driver swore quietly to himself, stopped the car and climbed out to see what the matter was. He poked his head back in through the open door. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Puncture.’

Ben got out as the driver fetched the tools from the back of the car and unhitched the spare wheel. ‘Need any help?’ he asked.

‘No, sir, it’ll only take a few minutes,’ the driver said.

As he started unbolting the wheel, the door of a nearby estate cottage opened and an elderly man in a flat cap walked grinning across the verge. ‘Must’ve picked up a nail or somethin’,’ he said, plucking a pipe out of his mouth. He turned to Ben. ‘Would you like to come in for a moment while Jim changes the wheel? Evenings’re getting chilly now.’

‘Thanks, but I thought I’d just have a smoke and look at the horses.’

The old man walked with him towards the paddocks. ‘Like horses, do you, sir?’ He put out his hand. ‘Herbie Greenwood, head of stables for Mr Fairfax.’

‘Good to meet you, Herbie.’ Ben leaned over the paddock fence and lit a cigarette.

Herbie chewed on his pipe stem as two horses, a chestnut and a dark bay, came thundering across the pocked surface. They curved round in a parallel arc towards the fence, slowed and approached the old man, shaking their heads and blowing through their nostrils. Herbie patted them as they nuzzled him affectionately. ‘See this one ‘ere?’ He pointed at the bay. ‘Three times Derby winner, Black Prince. Out to grass now, like I will be soon. Ain’t ya, boy?’ He stroked the horse’s neck as it snuffled his shoulder.

‘He’s a beauty,’ Ben said, running his eye down the horse’s rippling muscles. He held his palm out flat and Black Prince pressed his soft, velvety nose against it.

‘Twenty-seven and still gallops about like a young colt,’ Herbie chuckled. ‘I remember the day ‘e was born. They thought ‘e wouldn’t thrive, but he’s done well for ‘imself, the old boy.’

In the next paddock Ben could see a small grey pony grazing contentedly on a clump of grass, and it made him think of the picture Fairfax had shown him of little Ruth. ‘I wonder if Ruth will ever be able to ride again?’ he thought out loud.

The Bentley crunched to a halt on the gravel in front of the mansion a few minutes later, and an assist ant met Ben on the steps. ‘Mr Fairfax will see you in the library in half an hour, sir. I am to show you to your rooms.’ They walked through the marbled hall, their footsteps echoing up to the high ceiling. The assistant led him up the staircase to the upper floor of the west wing. After freshening up, Ben came down half an hour later and was shown to the galleried library.

Fairfax rushed across the room, extending his hand. ‘Mr Hope, this is a wonderful moment for me.’

‘How’s Ruth?’

‘You couldn’t have come at a better time,’ Fairfax replied. ‘Her condition’s been declining steadily, even since we last spoke. You have the manuscript?’ He held out his hand expectantly.

‘The Fulcanelli manuscript is worthless to you, Mr Fairfax,’ Ben said.

A ripple of fury shot through Fairfax’s reddening face. ‘What?’

Ben smiled, and reached inside his jacket. ‘What I’ve brought you instead is this.’ He took it out and gave it to him.

Fairfax stared at the dented drinking flask in his hand.

‘I put it in there for safekeeping,’ Ben explained.

Understanding dawned on Fairfax’s face. ‘The elixir?’

‘Prepared by Fulcanelli himself. This is it, Mr Fairfax. This is what you were looking for, I assume?’

There were tears in Fairfax’s eyes as he grasped the precious object. ‘I cannot thank you enough for this. I will take it up to Ruth’s quarters immediately. My daughter Caroline is nursing her night and day.’ He paused sadly. ‘And then, Mr Hope, I trust you will join me for dinner?’

‘So you had a difficult time of it,’ Fairfax was saying.

The two of them were seated at the long burnished walnut table in Fairfax’s dining-room. Fairfax sat at the head of the table, and behind him a log blaze crackled in the hearth. To one side of the fireplace stood a tall knight in armour, holding a glittering broadsword.

‘I knew it would be a hard task,’ Fairfax con tinued. ‘But you’ve more than fulfilled my expectations. I raise my glass to you, Mr Hope.’ The old man looked triumphant. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done for me.’

‘For Ruth,’ Ben said, raising his glass.

‘For Ruth.’

Ben watched him. ‘You never told me: how did you get to hear about Fulcanelli in the first place?’

‘The search for the elixir has long been my pre occupation,’ Fairfax replied. ‘I’ve been a student of the esoteric for many years. I’ve read every book on the subject, tried to follow every clue. But my investigations led me nowhere. I’d almost given up hope when a chance encounter with an old bookseller in Prague led me to discover the name Fulcanelli. I came to understand that this elusive master alchemist was one of the very few men to have uncovered the secret of the elixir vitae’

Ben listened, sipping his wine.

Fairfax went on. ‘At first I thought Fulcanelli’s secret would be simple enough to find. But it proved much harder than I anticipated. Men I hired to bring it back to me either ran off with my money, or they ended up dead. It became clear to me that there were dangerous forces bent on deterring me from my quest. I understood that ordinary private investigators or researchers were of no use to me. I needed a man of far greater skills. Then my investigations led me to you, Mr Hope, and I knew I had found the best man for the job.’

Ben smiled. ‘You flatter me.’

The hors d’oeuvre plates were taken away and servants brought in an array of antique silver dishes. The lid of the main dish was lifted to reveal a glistening saddle of roast beef. The head servant carved delicate slices with a long carving-knife. More wine was served.

‘Don’t be modest, Benedict–may I call you Benedict?’ Fairfax paused, chewing on a piece of the tender beef. ‘To return to what I was saying, I’ve examined your life story in meticulous detail. The more I found out about you, the more I realized that you were ideal for my purposes. Your activities in the Middle East. Special counter-terrorist operations in Afghanistan. Your reputation for cold efficiency and unflinching application to tasks that would be considerably too challenging for most men. Later on, your complete dedication to your new role rescuing lost or kidnapped children, and your ruthless punishment of evil men who harmed the innocent. An incorruptible man, of independent wealth. You wouldn’t try to rob me, and you wouldn’t be deterred by the dangers of the mission. You were definitely the man I needed. Should you have refused my offer, there was little I could have done to change your mind.’

‘You know why I took the job,’ Ben said. ‘It was only for your granddaughter Ruth’s sake.’ He paused. ‘But I wish you’d told me more about the risk factor. That information might have saved a lot of trouble, if I’d known.’

‘I had faith in your abilities.’ Fairfax smiled. ‘I also felt that, if I told you the complete truth, you might turn me down. It was important to me to find a way to persuade you.’

‘The complete truth? Persuade me? What are you getting at, Fairfax?’

‘Let me explain,’ replied Fairfax, leaning back in his chair. ‘A man in my position learns early in his career that men can be–shall we say–influenced. Every man has a weakness, Benedict. We all have something in our lives, or in our past. A skeleton in the cupboard, a secret. Once you know what these secrets are, you can exploit them. A man with a shameful past or a hidden vice is easy to bend to one’s will. A man who has committed a crime is even easier to influence. But you, Benedict…you were different.’ Fairfax poured himself more wine. ‘I couldn’t find anything in your background that I could use to persuade you to accept my offer, should you initially refuse. I was unhappy with this situation.’ Fairfax smiled coldly. ‘But then my investigators turned up an interesting detail of your life. I recognized its importance immediately.’

‘Go on.’

‘You’re a very driven man, Benedict,’ Fairfax continued. ‘And I know why. I came to understand what motivates you in your work…It’s also the reason you’re a drinker. You’re plagued by demons of guilt. I knew you’d never refuse to help me in my quest if you thought you were saving Ruth. Because Ruth is very dear to your heart, isn’t she?’

Ben frowned. ‘If I thought I was saving Ruth?’

Fairfax finished his glass and poured another, a look of amusement crossing his face. ‘Benedict,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That’s a name with strong religious connotations. Your family were devout Christians, I take it?’

Ben was silent.

‘I only thought…for parents to name their two children Benedict and Ruth. A rather Biblically-orientated choice, wouldn’t you say? Ruth Hope…a sadly ironic name. Because there was no hope for her, was there, Benedict?’

‘How did you find out about my sister? It’s not part of my professional résumé.’

‘Oh, when you have money, you can find out anything, my dear young friend. I thought it was interesting that you chose the work you did, Benedict,’ Fairfax went on. ‘Not a detective, not a finder of information or stolen property–but a finder of lost people, especially lost children. It’s obvious that what you were truly seeking was to expiate your guilt over losing your sister. You’ve never got over the fact that your negligence caused her death…and perhaps suffering that was worse than death. Slave-traders aren’t known for their kind ways. Rape, torture, who knows what they may have done to her?’

‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Fairfax?’ Fairfax smiled. ‘I’m always busy. I realized you could never refuse a mission to save the poor, sick little child of the same name and same age as your lost sister. And I was right. It was the story of my granddaughter that persuaded you to help me.’

‘Interesting choice of words, Fairfax. Story?’ Fairfax chuckled. ‘However you prefer to put it. A fabrication. A deception, if you want me to be completely honest. There is no Ruth. No dying little girl. And, I’m afraid, no redemption for you, Benedict.’ Fairfax got to his feet and walked to a sideboard. He lifted the lid of a large casket and brought out a small gold chalice. ‘No, no dying girl,’ he repeated. ‘Only an old man who lusts after one thing above all else.’ He gazed in dreamy fascination at the chalice. ‘You’ve no idea what it feels like, Benedict, to approach the end of a life like mine. I’ve achieved so many great things and created such wealth and power. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my empire in the hands of lesser men–men who would squander and spoil it. I would have gone to my grave a most unhappy and frustrated man.’ He held up the chalice as though proposing a toast. ‘But now my worries are over, thanks to you. I will become the richest and most powerful man in history, with all the time in the world to fulfil my ambitions.’

The door opened and Alexander Villiers came into the room. Fairfax glanced knowingly at his assistant as he approached them. Villiers’ lips spread into a broad grin as he drew a snub-nosed Taurus .357 revolver from his pocket and aimed it at Ben.

Fairfax laughed. He raised the chalice to his lips. ‘I wish I could drink to your good health, Benedict. But I’m afraid it’s the end of the road for you. Villiers, shoot him.’