Dark Rooms

Chapter Seventeen

Tim had the window seat and at first had been almost childishly excited, but as he was over six feet tall, he soon began to complain about the lack of leg room.

He perked up when their meal came, though, and when Jane offered him her fruit and jelly dessert, he scoffed it down. After enjoying a couple of glasses of wine, Jane was tempted to settle down with one of the books she’d bought at WH Smith before boarding, but decided she ought to take the opportunity to get to know Tim a little better.

‘Do you live with your parents?’

‘No just my mother. She’s a stenographer — her fingers move like lightning.’

‘So she’s in court a lot?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘How did she react when you told her you were going to Australia?’

‘She was a bit freaked at first because she thought I was going to emigrate, but then when I told her it was just a few days and part of an investigation she was... sort of impressed.’

‘Did you mention anything about the reasons we are flying out?’

‘You mean the investigation?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, well... not really, just that it was connected to the house in Stockwell. She knew about it because of all the stuff in the papers.’

‘So, what did you tell her?’

‘Nothing much — just that it was connected to a member of the family. She was more concerned about me not being home to let the cat out.’

Jane was finding it hard work trying to maintain a conversation with him. ‘Don’t you have a cat flap?’

‘No, we live in a flat. He only goes out at night because he has cat litter, which my mum doesn’t think is very hygienic. It was my girlfriend’s cat — well, it was actually a stray, but she went back to Sheffield, so I was sort of left with it.’

Jane eased her seat back and closed her eyes as Tim began to cross and uncross his legs. Eventually, hunched into the corner of his seat, he fell asleep. Jane, on the contrary, was wide awake. She sat back with her eyes closed and went over her last conversation with Hadley. Something didn’t feel right.

Hadley had initially been adamant that Helena Lanark would never have given her nephew her pearls. But during their last conversation he seemed to have changed his mind.

Jane recalled the last thing Hadley said, about Jason learning how ‘wrong he would be’. It made her wonder if Hadley knew Jason had used his power of attorney for Helena improperly, and if Hadley had also benefitted from the sale of the Stockwell property.

It all went round and round in her head until she couldn’t concentrate anymore and she went to sleep.

The announcement came across the intercom system that the plane was scheduled to land in Bangkok in forty minutes. DC Taylor woke with a start as Jane gently nudged him. They had two hours to wait for refuelling and were told they couldn’t leave the airport but would be allowed into the duty-free area. They were to return to the plane again half an hour prior to take-off.

The airport was stiflingly hot, and most of the shops seemed to be selling cheap tourist gadgets. Jane did find one stall which sold beautiful silk scarves and saris and selected one for her mother and one for her sister. She then went to a small coffee area.

The heat was almost overpowering but after downing an iced coffee Jane continued to stretch her legs as much as possible before returning to the plane. There was no sign of Tim and she waited along with the other passengers at the Departure gate. Eventually their departure was announced, and Jane boarded, returning to her seat. Tim still hadn’t appeared and most of the passengers had been re-seated when he hurried on board with numerous packages and carrier bags. Jane stood up from her seat as he opened the overhead luggage compartment and stowed his goods.

‘I bought a sari each for both of my sisters,’ he said, climbing back into his window seat.

‘You never mentioned you had any sisters?’

‘Well, stepsisters — they’re a lot older, from my father’s first marriage. One’s an accountant and the other is an estate agent.’

With his purchases safely in the overhead locker, he sat back in his seat, staring excitedly from the window as the plane prepared to take off.

‘My dad was a lot older than my mother. He was in the air force — always wanted me to go into the RAF — but he passed when I was only eight, so it’s all been down to my mother and she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s not that keen on me being in the Met, to be honest.’

Jane could tell from the sharp smell of body odour that he had not removed his jacket for some time, and sighed at the prospect of another twelve hours sitting next to him. Tim continued to enthuse about his shopping spree, explaining that he had also bought some candle holders and incense burners for his mother. Jane tried not to get impatient with him; he was just an innocent and rather naïve young man. Instead, she pointedly opened her novel to make it obvious that she didn’t want to chat.

When another tray of food was placed in front of her, Jane had lost count of how many meals they had been served. Tim had to make her get up from her seat on numerous occasions to visit the toilet and on his last sojourn she noticed he must have given himself a wash, as his smell was less pungent.

He nudged her arm. ‘I’m sure you’ve checked, but do we know if Jason Thorpe is actually at home?’

Jane pursed her lips. ‘It’s really Beatrice Thorpe I need to speak to. But Jason told me he was returning to Australia, and I know he lives with his mother, so I certainly hope he’ll be there.’

Jane closed her eyes. It was risky for her not to have confirmed that Beatrice was at home, but she hadn’t wanted Jason to be forewarned about their arrival. She just hoped she hadn’t made a huge mistake by not making the necessary arrangements with the Australian police to confirm if Beatrice was in residence and prepared to be interviewed.

They spent considerable time going through Customs before they were at last able to get out and into a taxi. The Palm Tree Court Hotel was described by the travel agent as ‘a small, exclusive establishment serving breakfasts, with a bar facility in the main reception. Easily accessible to sightseeing and shopping.’

Tim was agog at all the sights as they drove to the hotel. He had taken his thick tweed jacket off but was still sweating profusely. Both had slept for the latter part of the flight so neither felt too exhausted or disorientated by the time difference. Jane had never been to Australia, so she was equally interested in the views. But she started to feel uneasy when they left the affluent suburbs and entered an area which felt quite similar to London’s Soho.

Although it was early in the morning, the streets seemed quite busy, full of seedy-looking neon lights and grubby bars. When they arrived at their hotel, Jane was shocked to discover that they had been booked into a very low-grade establishment in the notorious Kings Cross area, rife with drug addiction and prostitution. She was even more disgusted to find there were rooms let on an hourly basis.

‘Jesus Christ, this looks like a knocking shop,’ she muttered to Tim.

The reception area was dark and there was an unpleasant-looking man behind a grille. Jane asked briskly if they could be shown to their rooms. Hers had a large double bed covered with a cheap cotton throw. The room had a stained carpet, with a wash basin and mirror in the corner beside a wardrobe. Jane checked to make sure that at least the pillows and sheets were clean.

She’d told Tim to unpack quickly and meet her downstairs in the lobby, as she wanted to get to the Thorpes’ house as soon as possible.

As she was unpacking her toiletries there was a knock at her door. When Jane opened it, Tim was on the landing holding a towel.

‘The bathroom is just down the corridor on the right,’ he said, pointing.

Jane decided she would shower later. ‘I’ll be downstairs in five minutes.’

She changed into her light trousers, shirt and jacket, brushed her hair and dug out her sunglasses from her handbag before descending the three flights of stairs to the lobby.

The same rough-looking man was wiping glasses behind the bar.

‘I wonder if you could help. I need a taxi to take me to Circular Quay?’

He completely ignored her.

Jane waited a moment. ‘Excuse me, can you possibly order me a taxi, or tell me where I can find the nearest taxi rank, please?’

‘Take the first turning right as you leave the hotel,’ he grunted.

They walked out into the sunshine and headed towards the taxi rank. There was one yellow cab waiting and Jane asked the driver to take them to Circular Quay. Then they had a fifteen-minute wait before a ferry going to Mosman arrived. It was eleven in the morning and it was already about seventy-five degrees, but there was a welcome breeze on the ferry.

Tim puffed out his cheeks. ‘My God, it’s hot.’

‘Wait until it gets to the hottest part of the day,’ she said, peering at him over the top of her sunglasses.

‘You probably should have checked out the weather, as well as whether you were booking us into a flea pit of a hotel.’

‘I didn’t make the booking, ma’am,’ Tim said. ‘I think Carter told Sergeant Hunt to do it.’

Jane nodded to herself. ‘I bet he did.’

They were on the ferry for about twenty-five minutes before it slowed down as it arrived at Mosman Bay Wharf, passing several privately owned yachts anchored offshore along the way. Jane instructed Tim to get a ferry timetable as she took in the steep steps leading up to the top of the small cliff beyond the pontoon.

‘Bloody hell,’ Tim said. ‘Do you mind if I keep my jacket off?’

‘Not at all,’ Jane said. ‘I’m going to do the same.’ Jane slipped her jacket off as they started the climb, and at the halfway point they both had to pause for breath. After a few minutes they started climbing again, then walked over a small bridge which eventually led them past a small wooden ticket building, with large window boxes full of flowering geraniums.

Jane told Tim to wait as she went inside. ‘I’m looking for The Glades. It’s a property owned by Mrs Beatrice Thorpe. I was told it was on the waterfront, on Mosman Lane?’

The deeply tanned ticket seller pulled a map out of a drawer and pointed out Mosman Lane.

‘If you walk past the bus stop to the left of the ticket box, you’ll see this lane here, which I think leads to the property you’re asking about.’

Jane sighed. ‘How far would you say it is?’

‘Oh, only about a fifteen-to-twenty-minute walk. But it is all uphill.’

Jane thanked him profusely and went back to a sweating, red-faced Tim.

‘We’ve got a bit more of a walk, I’m afraid.’

‘I wish I’d brought sunglasses... this glare really blinds you,’ he said.

As they walked, they detected a slight breeze coming up off the water and they began to feel more comfortable. They passed numerous gated properties, many with high white-painted walls.

Jane paused to catch her breath. ‘I hope to God we find it soon.’ She looked around. ‘All the properties on this side of the road must have their rear gardens facing the water. Unsurprisingly, waterfront properties in this area are incredibly pricey.’

Tim wiped the sweat from the top of his lip. ‘There’s a lot of new-builds high up there on the right-hand side.’

‘Yes, I suppose they’d have to go high up to get a good view. Let’s keep going.’

They continued walking, passing an abundance of eucalyptus and jacaranda trees. Tim stopped abruptly, and Jane almost bumped into the back of him.

‘Look at all the birds! Is that a cockatoo? My God, there’s four of them!’ Tim was pointing to a large white cockatoo with a yellow crest. It was only when they stopped that they were able to fully take in the sound of the parakeets and lorikeets, who were screeching and cawing.

‘I think this is it,’ Jane said.

She had stopped beside a high wooden fence and a heavy door with an iron latch. Above it was an iron filigree archway with a hanging glass lamp. Tim puffed out his cheeks.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Tim, it says “The Glades”, albeit on a very faded plaque.’

Jane paused to put on her jacket.

‘Should I put mine on, ma’am?’

‘I think so.’ She took out a comb, tidied her hair and freshened up her lipstick. She was praying that she hadn’t blown it and that Beatrice Thorpe was actually at home. She lifted the heavy door latch and pushed it open.

‘Oh, good heavens... I didn’t expect this from the outside.’

The two-storey house had six shuttered windows at the top level, and on the lower level there were two more shuttered windows either side of a porch, with white stone steps leading to a brightly painted front door. The whole of the house had been painted a fresh cream colour.

There was a short path from the gate, surrounded by grass and flowering shrubs.

‘This is old Australian, I think,’ Jane said.

When they reached the front door there was a faded notice: PLEASE USE SIDE ENTRANCE. Jane and Tim went back down the white steps to follow the path around to the side of the house, which lead to steps up to a veranda. They then followed the veranda around to the impressive rear of the house.

‘Wow!’ Jane exclaimed. She walked down the steps onto the lawn and turned to look back at the house. Intricate wrought-iron railings surrounded the top-floor veranda, and one half of the property had an ornate cream stone façade.

Tim stood next to Jane looking out at the bay. ‘Well, they’ve certainly got a view...’

The garden was on three tiers, with topiary hedges separating each level. One level had an ornate waterlily-covered pond with a fountain in the centre. The second level had a manicured lawn with neat flower beds. The third level led to a waterside dock.

‘They must have a yacht, so there’ll probably be a boathouse somewhere down there,’ Tim suggested.

‘Well, you’re not going off to look for it,’ Jane replied, but she was equally impressed.

On the veranda there were several white wicker chairs with faded, sun-bleached cushions, as well as a glass-topped table for dining. Jane went up the few white steps to the side entrance, which looked like another front door with a polished brass knocker and old-fashioned bell pull.

She took a deep breath and yanked the bell pull. There was a loud jangle but no response. Jane was unsure if she should pull it again when she heard footsteps and the door was opened by a young housemaid wearing a pale blue cotton dress and white apron.

‘Good afternoon. I am Detective Inspector Jane Tennison from the Metropolitan Police in London.’ Jane held out her ID. ‘This is Detective Constable Timothy Taylor.’

The girl looked rather nonplussed.

‘I wish to speak to Mrs Beatrice Thorpe,’ Jane added.

The girl nodded. ‘Is she expecting you?’

‘This is rather an important matter. If you would be so kind as to tell Mrs Thorpe that we are here to see her.’

‘One moment, please.’ The girl turned, leaving Jane and Tim standing on the doorstep as she disappeared through a wide arch leading onto a staircase. Whilst they waited, a stocky man passed through the hallway, pushing a man in a wheelchair who Jane presumed was Matthew Thorpe.

Although close in age to Jason, Matthew looked to be extremely overweight with a jowly face, sunken eyes and greasy blond hair. Neither acknowledged Jane or Tim as they continued through the opposite arch. Jane then heard the click of high-heeled shoes on the stone floor as a woman walked towards them.

Beatrice Thorpe did not at all resemble her sister Helena, being broad-shouldered and a trifle stout around her waist. She was wearing a floral print dress with frilly sleeves and her grey hair was coiled up into a plait at the back. But it was the string of pearls around her neck that confirmed her identity. She was also wearing pearl drop earrings and was heavily made up, with thick mascara and eye shadow.

‘I’m sorry, I’m rather confused... the maid said you’re from the Metropolitan Police force?’

Jane held up her ID. ‘I am Detective Inspector Jane Tennison, and this is Detective Constable Timothy Taylor. We have come from England and are part of a Metropolitan Police inquiry.’

‘Oh... and you’ve come to see me?’

‘Yes, Mrs Thorpe. We’d also like to talk to your son, Jason.’

‘He’s not here. He’s in Melbourne. But please, do come through.’

She gestured for them to walk through the arch into a sitting room.

‘I’ll be with you in one moment. I just need to make a call. I was due to be meeting friends for lunch today.’ Mrs Thorpe picked up an ivory-coloured phone on the hall table. After dialling, she looked towards Jane and Tim and gestured for them to wait.

‘Deidre, my dear, I am so sorry it’s such short notice, but I won’t be able to join you and the girls for lunch. Something rather important has come up, but I’ll call you later.’

She replaced the phone and headed towards her waiting visitors. Jane noticed she was wearing rather elegant, high-heeled sandals.

‘I think I may know why you’re here. Jason has told me about the situation at the Stockwell property.’

The sitting room had two ceiling fans, and polished pine floors with expensive Persian rugs. There were a few comfortable-looking velvet armchairs and two large sofas in matching covers. On the white marble fireplace was an impressive gold ormolu clock, and either side of the mantelpiece there were framed paintings of floral arrangements. Fine white muslin curtains that billowed slightly from the four open French doors.

‘Do please sit down,’ Beatrice said, without a trace of an Australian accent; in fact, she sounded rather aristocratic. ‘I see you weren’t driven here, so you must be thirsty after climbing up all those steps.’

Jane sat down in one of the velvet armchairs. ‘Yes, we caught the ferry to Mosman.’

Tim hovered behind her, and Jane turned to indicate that he could sit down. He chose a hard-backed chair positioned next to a polished bureau.

‘Would you like some iced tea or lemonade?’ Beatrice asked.

‘I think lemonade would be perfect,’ Jane replied.

Beatrice was wearing a heavy gold charm bracelet which jangled when she moved.

‘I didn’t actually formally introduce myself, did I?’

She leaned over to Jane with her hand outstretched. ‘I am Beatrice Thorpe. Just let me order those cold drinks.’ The click of her heels faded as Jane glanced over to Tim. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Nice place.’

Jane took a good look around. It was indeed a very nice place. She had read up on Australia’s fine houses and exclusive properties and was certain that The Glades was an original old English-style property.

Jane looked to her right and there was another archway into a second drawing room. From where she was sitting, she could see a number of framed family photographs on one wall and there was a grand piano with many more photographs in silver frames displayed on top.

Jane stood up as Beatrice returned, carrying a silver tray. The maid behind her pulled up a small, polished coffee table in front of Jane. Beatrice placed the silver tray down and picked up a large glass of fresh lemonade with ice and handed it to the maid to give to Jane.

Jane sipped gratefully. It really was delicious after their hot, sweaty walk, and she took a few more sips before replacing it on the tray. Beatrice sat down opposite her and crossed her legs, giving Jane an inquiring look.

‘I suppose you must be here about that wretchedly sad discovery at my old family home.’

Jane nodded. ‘Yes, I am, but I’m afraid that I am also here to inform you of some very sad news that occurred just before I left London. I’m very sorry, Mrs Thorpe, but I have to tell you that your sister Helena died.’

‘Oh my goodness, that is so sad,’ Beatrice said. ‘But I have to say, we have been expecting her passing for some considerable time now. Please excuse me, but I really should let Jason know. I do hate to be the bearer of bad news to him, particularly as he is currently with his hopefully future in-laws, but I am sure he will want to come home immediately.’

She headed towards the hallway, pausing to look back at Jane. ‘Is Mr Hadley aware of her passing? I will obviously need to contact him about arranging a funeral. I don’t know whether or not I will be able to make the journey to London; it will depend on what my son feels would be best...’

The sound of Beatrice’s heels continued as she disappeared into the hallway. She did not appear to be in any way saddened by her sister’s death and Jane listened as she made the call to Jason from the phone in the hallway.

‘This is Beatrice Thorpe speaking... would it be possible to speak to my son? It is rather an important matter. Oh...’ There was a pause. ‘Would you please tell him I rang and ask him to call me as soon as he returns from the stables.’

After a moment, the sound of Beatrice’s heels heralded her return to the sitting room.

‘He is at the Balfour stables — his girlfriend Arabella has acquired a new Thoroughbred, costing over $25,000... astonishing. They had it shipped all the way from England. Her family have some of the finest racehorses in Melbourne and are very hopeful of winning the Melbourne Cup this year.’

Jane smiled politely, finding it notable that Beatrice seemed more intent on describing the wealth of her hoped-for in-laws than mourning her sister’s death. Beatrice paused by an elaborate floral display and frowned before removing a rose and placing it more centrally.

‘Flower arranging is one of my favourite pastimes... I decorate the church every other Sunday.’ She then sat back opposite Jane.

‘Your sister Helena apparently fell from her bed at the care home and suffered severe bruising to her face,’ Jane told her. ‘Sussex Police have asked for an autopsy to be carried out and hopefully that will be completed by the time I return to England.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought there was a need for that,’ Beatrice said. ‘My sister was very unwell — I expect you are aware that she had suffered from dementia for many years.’ She waved her hand and the bracelets jangled again. ‘I know my son found it very distressing.’

‘Jason seemed very keen to bring you Helena’s family photograph album,’ said Jane, changing tack.

‘Oh, good heavens! He wouldn’t have bothered to bring me that. You will see in the adjoining drawing room an absolute array of family photographs. When he took over the Stockwell property, Jason was able to ship back various items of antique furniture and boxes full of photographs. My father was a very keen photographer; in fact, he was very rarely seen without his camera. Then when he got his cine camera, we were all subjected to his constant filming and were forced to watch endless reels of footage. Besides which, Jason went straight to Arabella’s family home in Melbourne when he flew back from London.’

Jane was eager to get to the point of their visit. ‘Did Jason make you aware of the tragic discoveries at the air-raid shelter of your old home?’

Beatrice concentrated on her charm bracelet, flicking from one charm to the other.

‘There was a girl they found — I believe her father had locked her in? Not that I was privy to any of the details or the salacious news coverage. Jason is very protective of me.’

‘Beatrice, I’m here because of the second discovery in that shelter,’ Jane said, leaning forward. ‘The body of a newborn baby that had been hidden there.’

There was only a short pause, as Beatrice blinked and shook her head.

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Mrs Thorpe,’ Jane continued, ‘we have discovered that the belt which was wrapped around the concrete blocks which held the child, had a silver buckle engraved with what we believe are your sister’s initials, HL. The forensic scientists have also determined that this baby had been buried alive, as fibres from the blanket it was wrapped in were found in its lungs and nasal passages.’

Jane opened her briefcase and removed a large manila envelope. She was keen to put the pressure on Beatrice, who was beginning to show signs of unease.

‘May I ask you, Mrs Thorpe, if you knew if your sister owned a monogrammed belt?’

Beatrice shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have no idea.’

Jane opened the envelope and pulled out the photograph of the belt and buckle, as well as the scene of crime photographs of the baby. She kept the photographs of the baby face down as she showed Beatrice the pictures of the belt and the close-up photograph of the buckle.

After peering at the photographs, Beatrice shrugged her shoulders again.

‘If they are her initials then it obviously belonged to her, but I don’t recall ever seeing her wearing it.’

‘I do not wish to upset you, Mrs Thorpe, but I need you to look at these photographs of the baby’s corpse that was found in the shelter.’

Beatrice was visibly shaking as Jane showed her the photographs.

‘I don’t think it is necessary for you to show me these horrible pictures. I should have someone representing me, since I feel you are trying to implicate me in some way. I have absolutely nothing to do with this wretched situation and, as I have already told you, I do not have any information about it.’

‘But is this your sister’s belt? Do you recognise it?’

‘I just told you, I don’t recognise it.’

‘Do you recall if your sister was pregnant?’

‘Helena? Are you asking me if Helena was pregnant? No, she was not. And if you knew her when she was a young woman, you would know how preposterous that question is.’

Jane replaced the photographs in the envelope. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, Mrs Thorpe, but could the baby have been yours?’

Beatrice stood up abruptly. ‘I refuse to answer any more questions.’

The telephone in the hall rang loudly and Beatrice scuttled out of the room to answer it. Jane could hear sounds of distress and presumed she was talking to Jason. ‘There is a policewoman from London here, and I need you to come back... but I will talk to you from my bedroom.’

Jane got up from her seat and saw Beatrice hurry up the stairs. She turned to Tim. ‘Well, that phone call was bloody inconvenient.’

She stood with her arms folded for a moment, then walked through the archway into the second, larger sitting room containing the grand piano.

She turned back to Tim. ‘Come and have a look in here.’

He joined her beside the grand piano. Lined up on top were silver-framed black-and-white photographs, some of which she had already seen in the album.

‘Her son threw a wobbler about his mum needing the family album, but if you ask me there are some identical photographs here.’ Jane pointed towards the photographs of the three sisters in their white dresses. ‘There’s Helena, and seated on the swing is Marjorie, then standing on the other side is Beatrice. I believe that Marjorie hanged herself with the rope on that swing.’

Jane also pointed out pictures of the girls’ father and some of each of the sisters. Between the historical photographs were numerous pictures of Jason as a child, and of him with a surfboard and one with a motorbike. She noticed there were no pictures of Matthew.

Her eye was then caught by a large sepia-toned photograph in an elaborate gilt frame, hanging on the wall beside the fireplace. Moving towards it, she was certain that this was their mother, Muriel. Around her neck were three strings of pearls, a choker necklace with emeralds and diamonds and she was wearing the ornate pearl and diamond tiara. Jane beckoned Tim over.

‘This is their mother, Muriel.’

He stood looking at the image, his hands behind his back.

‘My God, she was beautiful.’

‘So are those pearls,’ Jane said.

There were several gold-edged invitations resting on the mantelpiece, for various social events in Sydney and Melbourne. On the other side of the fireplace was a similar sepia-toned portrait photograph of Henry Lanark, with his bristling moustache, in his army uniform.

‘Apparently their grandmother, Aida Petrukhin, was a Russian countess,’ she added.

There were more silver-framed photographs on a dresser and Jane was fascinated to see how many of them were of Muriel. She leaned closer, seeing that Henry Lanark’s young wife had had an extraordinary collection of jewellery. There was also another sepia photograph of their grandmother Aida in a black, high-necked mourning dress, wearing the large three-stranded pearl necklace.

‘Did you see that Beatrice was wearing a strand of large pearls?’ she asked.

‘No, I didn’t notice.’ He picked up a photograph. ‘Is this her?’

Jane studied it. Beatrice was standing beside a small, dark-haired man who looked uncomfortable in his starched collar. ‘That might be her husband.’ Jane looked at her wristwatch, impatient for Beatrice to return.

Tim walked over to a bay window with pale green, heavily ruched curtains with gold cord tiebacks. The door was slightly ajar, letting in a pleasant breeze.

‘Shall I tell you something?’ Tim said quietly.

Jane moved closer, interested if the normally unobservant young man might have anything of value to say.

‘If you take a close look around, the first impression of the house is “wow”. My stepmother was wealthy — well, she had a very elegant house, lots of antiques, and I went there when I was very young and it really impressed me — and this is just my opinion, but this all looks very old-fashioned and worn. For instance, I noticed the velvet suite in the other room is pretty old and discoloured.’

Jane was impressed by his observations and took a closer look around herself. There was something tired about everything, as if the house was clinging to a past of wealth and style, but it all needed refurbishing. She moved closer to Tim, speaking quietly.

‘I need you to do me a big favour. I want you to go and check out their wine export business, and maybe even look into the vineyards.’

‘But it’s Saturday,’ he protested.

‘So? There is bound to be someone around you can ask. We can contact the local police here, see if they can help. Jason Thorpe told me he stays in a special suite at Claridge’s when he’s in London and has a Savile Row tailor make his clothes, just like his father...’

Jane nodded to the photo of the man they believed to be Beatrice’s husband.

‘But I doubt he’s ever been to Savile Row. So why the lies? And why his obsession that he had to have Helena’s photo album when this room is heaving with family photographs?’

Tim hesitated. ‘Do I have to come back here?’

‘No, just go and see what you can find out. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.’

‘OK. And another thing, ma’am, I don’t know if you noticed, but there doesn’t seem to be a garage, unless it’s hidden from view... so no valuable cars. If he is an affluent gent and mixing with the super-rich in Melbourne...’

‘Thank you, Tim,’ Jane said, cutting him short.

‘See you later, then, ma’am.’

Jane remained standing at the bay window and soon she could see Tim, his jacket slung over his arm, walking up the path. He was stopped by the stocky man they had first seen when they arrived, pushing Matthew in a wheelchair. There was a lot of gesturing and arm waving, as Tim was presumably asking for the location of the export company.

Jane shook her head. He should have waited to ask someone who wasn’t connected to the family, in case they reported it back. Jane was distrustful of Beatrice and felt she was going to be a difficult one to break, even more so after a lengthy conversation with Jason.