David Williams [Williams - Treasure Up in Smoke

A delightfully offbeat murder mystery amid West Indian hi-jinks of an extraordinarily wacky nature

Banker-Detective Mark Treasures first two adventures were related in Unholy Writ (a first novel, educated and refreshingly traditional, involving mayhem and wickedness in the English middle classes Library Journal ) and Treasure by Degrees (in the best traditions of the classic British mystery N.Y. Times Book Review). Now, in an antic change of pace, Treasure and his actress-wife Molly visit a bizarre island that is straight out of the fantasies of Evelyn Waugh. The descendents of a 17th-century pirate named OHara have traditionally ruled this West Indian paradise, but their preeminence is now threatened by the ambitious industrial plans of a firebreathing parvenu. Treasure s role, intended to be one of financial consultation, takes a more active turn when the last surviving OHara is found decapitated during a traditional ceremony, and Treasure s junior banking colleague is seen making his escape in a state of undress. It all adds up to a colorful and wildly exuberant romp from one of Britains fastest rising literary stars.

David Williams was born in South Wales, read history at Oxford, and began a career in advertising which has taken him to the top. He is chairman of David Williams & Ketchum Ltd, and a director of Ketchum, MacLeod & Grove, Inc. in the USA.

He is well known in the advertising industry, has been a Council member of the Institute of Practitioners in Advertising since 1959, and at various times has been Honorary Secretary of the IPA and chairman of its working party on the Royal Commission on the Press, as well as a Council member of the Advertising Association and of the Advertising Standards Authority.

His interests include architecture, music, golf and gardening. He is married, with two children, and lives at Wentworth, Surrey.

Copyright 1978 by David Williams

All rights reserved. For information, write:

St. Martins Press, Inc., 175 Fifth Ave.,

New York, N.Y. 10010.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Williams, David, 1926-

Treasure up in smoke.

I. Title.

PZ4.W72254Ts [PR6073.I42583] 823.914 78-4010

ISBN 0-312-81648-0

This one for

Linda and Jonathan

All the characters and incidents in this book are imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

One never drops names as I said to the Prince this morning. Lord Grenwood intended no witticism. He poked a finger into the hairy orifice of his left ear, examined the result of this exploration with close interest and then continued. I see no reason, though, why you shouldnt tell the Governor whats the chaps name?

Rees Sir Archibald Rees.

Archie Rees, thats the fellow. Eton and Christ Church.

Brecon and London University, Mark Treasure corrected firmly, anticipating the momentary expression of displeasure that followed. The venerable Lord Grenwood, Chairman of Grenwood, Phipps and Co., respected Merchant Bankers in the City of London, harboured fixed notions about what he considered a seemly educational provenance for colonial administrators. Treasure, chief executive in the same establishment, but Grenwoods junior by some thirty years, nurtured no such predilections. He was himself the product of a lesser public school and what had been an unfashionable Oxford College; such distinctions had been meaningful at one time.

Lord Grenwood rallied; in view of the general drop in standards, he reflected, there was some compensation in knowing that Her Majestys representative on King Charles Island had been educated at all. Socialist appointment, was it? he asked, resignation in his tone.

Tory, actually. Hes been there some time. You were saying?

Grenwood leant forward to press an electric button on his desk. His hand returned to touch the knot of his bow tie. Oh yes. No harm in your telling this... er... Rees Archie had been relegated as an impostor weve got more than just a Commonwealth Office blessing on this one.

You mean the Royal Family...

The Chairman glanced about him to ensure his office had not been infiltrated by republican spies. No need to be too specific, dear boy, but the island does have rather special ties with the monarchy...

With the House of Stuart, Treasure interrupted irreverently.

Grenwood chose not to be confused by historical minutiae. Suggest very obliquely, you understand there could be a peerage in it... er, life peerage, of course. The Grenwood title was hereditary; courtesy of Lloyd George for services and other considerations rendered. Were all human, after all. This last generalization was charitably intended to include graduates of London University, and if this was an unguarded overindulgence on the part of the speaker, the reason was plainly due to a distraction.

In answer to the electronic summons a well built and loudly attractive young woman had entered and moved with confident steps to where Grenwood was sitting a relatively considerable distance. Lord Grenwood watched the girls progress with undivided attention, his straightened frame pushed well to the back of the chair, stomach in.

Mark, youve met... er... Dorothy?

Deirdre, the girl corrected: notwithstanding, she had been baptized Ethel.

Deirdre, of course. This is Mr Treasure, my dear, ViceChairman of the Bank.

Treasure half rose from his seat, nodded and smiled. George Grenwood changed attractive secretaries practically with the seasons and invariably following one of his wifes carefully spaced visits to the office. This connection was obvious, but the reason for it as perceived by even close observers including Grenwood himself was invariably wrong. Lady Grenwood was a tolerant and wise woman who believed change and challenge to be the best defence against waning libertarianism and the prospect of her husband retiring or even coming home too early. He rarely came home late.

Wed like some coffee, wouldnt we, Mark? Treasure nodded. Oh, make it for three, and ask Mr Peregrine Gore to join us, theres a good girl. The gaze that accompanied these instructions and lingered on the retreating form of his secretary suggested that goodness might not be the exact virtue Lord Grenwood expected in his new employee. What a corker, eh, Mark? Fooled the old girl again.

Lady Grenwoods only confidant smiled in apparent agreement. And you want Peregrine to come with us?

Not exactly with you, Mark, no. To go on ahead, I thought, soften the ground; get the locals teed up for you and Molly, as it were. Then he can be your ADC while you tie things together. Grenwood finished with an especially engaging smile a sure indication that he felt uncomfortable.

Grenwood, Phipps were acting for an Anglo-Australian consortium bidding for an interest in the West Indian island of King Charles. In financial terms the project was not massive, and in normal circumstances would have been handled by one of the Banks four Joint Managing Directors with Treasure exercising a supervisory role from London. It would certainly not have involved Lord Grenwood, nor put Treasure in the situation of having to be instructed by the non-executive Chairman. But the circumstances were not quite normal. The British company involved in the consortium a client of the Banks for more than fifty years was controlled by a chairman nearly as decrepit as Grenwood himself. The two men were old cronies and had enjoyed progressing the proposals in principle that is, up to the point where the necessity for real-application had appeared imminent. That was when Grenwood had grandly promised Treasures personal involvement.