Dark Rooms

Chapter Nineteen

After an exhausting search, Tim Taylor had finally located Jason Thorpe’s export offices. Tim had been advised that he should go to the warehouse at the main Sydney docks as Mr Thorpe had a facility there and on a Saturday they would be loading crates of wine for shipment.

In the heat of the midday sun Tim had taken a taxi to the docks and had spent forty-five minutes trying to locate the right warehouse. He had become increasingly disorientated, as there were hundreds of massive warehouses lined up along the dock, with trucks delivering and loading, and he couldn’t remember which way it was back to the street. He was also by this time feeling a bit woozy as the jet lag started to creep in on him. He was relieved to spot a pie and drinks stand next to a huge open-doored structure, with lorries driving in and out loaded with crates.

Tim ordered himself a meat pie and two Cokes and sat on a stool at one of the small tables. The man behind the counter suggested he should get a sun hat and as they began to chat, Tim explained that he had been searching vainly for Jason Thorpe’s warehouse. Then a heavily tattooed man approached Tim’s table.

‘What’s the name of the company you’re looking for, mate?’

‘Thorpe’s Wine Export.’

‘You’re not from round here, are you?’

‘No, I’m from London.’

‘I got an aunt lives in Southport... you know Southport?’

‘I don’t actually. It’s up North.’

‘I never been to Thorpe’s, but I know who might be able to give you directions. He’s in one of the loading bays. Lemme get me pie, first.’

A battered old VW pulled up with two equally tattooed men wearing working overalls and string vests. The dashboard was piled with bent lager cans and old newspapers. Tim’s new-found friend picked up his pie from the counter and went over to talk to them. As Tim tossed his Coke can and napkin into a rubbish bin, the driver of the VW called him over. He was thick set with spiked black hair and dark stubble, and he put out a big callused hand to shake Tim’s.

‘Barry Donald, mate. I know the Thorpes’ business. My brother-in-law worked for them, but they’ve been shut for over a couple of weeks now. If you’re after any part-time work, I can maybe help you out, though.’

‘I’m not actually looking for work... but would it be possible to talk to your brother-in-law? I’m here with...’ Tim fumbled in his jacket pocket to pull out his ID and showed it to Barry. ‘I’m from the Metropolitan Police in London... just making some inquiries.’

‘You’re a copper? Jesus, scraping the barrel, aren’t they, sending a kid?’

The man behind the counter watched from his food stand as DC Tim Taylor climbed into the back seat of the VW and the car drove off.

Jane was leaning on the railing of the shaded veranda, enjoying the breeze that was coming off the bay. Tina appeared, carrying a tray of crockery, cutlery and glasses which she laid out on the small round table. The table was covered with a pristine white cloth and four small, gilt-back chairs surrounded it. Jane was about to ask where Beatrice was when she appeared, waving a hand.

‘Do sit down. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’ She turned on her heel, calling out for Tina to serve them lunch and to bring a chilled bottle of wine.

Beatrice sat down opposite Jane. ‘I hope you enjoy the wine, it’s the brand we export, and Jason is very proud of it.’ She made a great show of looking at her gold wristwatch. ‘Hopefully he should be on his way, as he was catching the next flight from Melbourne.’

Jane was served an avocado salad with white crab meat and delicately sliced brown bread. Tina poured wine for them both and Beatrice lifted her glass.

‘Tell me this isn’t delicious.’

Jane took a sip of the cold white wine and smiled. ‘It most certainly is, Mrs Thorpe. You must be so proud of your son’s business acumen, particularly after he sold the Stockwell property. I believe he also has shares in the development company who are building on the site?’

Beatrice shrugged. ‘I don’t really pay much attention to that side of Jason’s business. He enrolled at Roseworthy Agricultural College on his sixteenth birthday, studying three years of agriculture and two years of oenology, until he was twenty-one. He did some winemaking at Seppelt and worked a few vintages at Great Western before he decided that he would be better equipped to export, as financially he could not even contemplate starting his own vineyard.’

Beatrice’s charm bracelet jangled as she ate, pausing only to take sips of her wine.

‘Jason must have been very successful in his business... this is such a substantial property. How long have you lived here?’

Beatrice drained her wine glass, picked up the bottle and poured herself another. ‘Considering how my life began in Sydney, I have come a long way. I had only been in Sydney for a few days when I received a cable from John to say he was sick. He had been invalided out of the army and he was often quite poorly.’

Beatrice seemed to gather energy from her bitterness as she angrily pursed her lips.

‘You have no idea what I had to suffer. Totally alone and with no financial assistance, I had to fend for myself. I had never worked a day in my life, but I was forced to take any job I could, however demeaning. I had a very small, nasty apartment and in the beginning, I survived by pawning pieces of my mother’s precious jewels — though I was deeply shocked to be told that a number of her brooches were fake. I wrote letter after letter to my sister, asking her to help me, but she never replied.’

Tina approached the table to clear the plates. Jane had only eaten half her salad and was astonished that Beatrice had been able to talk non-stop in addition to eating and drinking, even down to wiping her plate clean with the sliced bread.

‘We’ll have coffee in the main drawing room, Tina, as the sun will be hitting the veranda shortly. Don’t take that!’ she snapped at Tina, taking back the bottle of wine and refilling her glass. She then waved the bottle towards Jane and indicated for her to follow her inside.

As they walked, Beatrice described her difficult life in Australia, which became even harder when her first son Matthew had been born with severe medical problems. She paused, turning to Jane, and Jane was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears.

‘Do you have children?’ she asked.

‘No, Mrs Thorpe, I don’t.’

‘When a mother has a sick child, it is often very difficult for a second healthy boy not to feel slighted. A mother’s protective instincts are for the neediest child. We never believed my poor Matthew would live this long...’

They entered the drawing room.

‘I read that my father had died in an English newspaper... can you imagine? Not a word from Helena, even when I was informed that she was my father’s sole heir and I had inherited nothing.’

Jane followed Beatrice through one drawing room and into the second.

‘It was hard to believe that things could get any worse. I was absolutely poverty-stricken, and then my poor husband, John, died. By then I was writing Helena begging letters... but with all her money, and obviously the remainder of my mother’s jewellery, as well as what Father must have left her, she boarded up the house for God knows how many years.’

At last Jane had an opportunity to ask Beatrice about why the property in Stockwell had been left empty.

‘Did your sister have a reason for not living at the family home?’

Beatrice took another gulp of wine but didn’t reply.

‘Mrs Thorpe, I’m asking if perhaps Helena had boarded up the property because she was afraid of what might be discovered in the shelter?’

Beatrice shook her head. ‘I really don’t know... I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I’m afraid that at some point, Mrs Thorpe, you will have to answer my questions. To me, it doesn’t make any sense for your sister to insist on boarding up the property and not allowing anyone to live there.’

‘Really? I am certain, my dear, that you have no legal right in a foreign country to make me answer any questions, and I really think I have been exceptionally patient in assisting you so far.’

Beatrice turned away, draining her glass once again.

Jane pressed on. ‘Mrs Thorpe, I know that when Jason converted the property into flats, no one was allowed access to the garden or the basement. Don’t you find that rather strange?’

Beatrice simply shrugged her shoulders.

‘Listen, dear, I’ve been honest with you about everything and answered your questions. But I really have no notion of how that terrible thing occurred.’

‘Why do you think your sister committed suicide?’ Jane was desperate to get Beatrice to talk about the baby.

‘I have already explained to you that my father was very cruel to her because he didn’t think that she was his daughter.’

‘Could Marjorie have been pregnant and then, after giving birth—?’

Beatrice slammed her glass down on the table. ‘I will not listen to another word. I find this questioning very intrusive... you’re talking about a beloved sister who committed suicide at a horribly young age. If you persist in questioning me further, I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

Jane took a deep breath. Questioning Beatrice was going nowhere.

‘I’m really so sorry, Mrs Thorpe... I had absolutely no intention of upsetting you. Please accept my sincere apologies,’ Jane said.

Beatrice pulled a tissue from a box by the drinks cabinet and dabbed the corner of her eyes.

‘I accept your apology, dear, but you are raking up some very upsetting memories.’

Jane was now beginning to wonder if the baby had actually been Beatrice’s. She knew Beatrice’s first son, Matthew, had been born before her marriage to John Thorpe. In all probability Jason was also illegitimate. Jane contemplated bringing this up but decided against it.

She was surprised when Beatrice came over and touched her on the shoulder.

‘I don’t want to talk about any more bad things. My darling son Jason is going to propose to Arabella... that’s why he flew straight to her home in Melbourne. He loves filming Arabella competing in her equestrian events, you know — he takes after his grandfather with photography. He has a darkroom in the boathouse.’ She laughed to herself. ‘No matter how many times I ask him to tidy up in there, it is still just a mess of old reels of film and boxes and boxes of photographs which he brought back when the Stockwell property was sold.’

Frustratingly, Jane realised that even though Beatrice had consumed a lot of gin and then almost a whole bottle of wine, she wasn’t now going to let slip the real family secrets.

‘When is Jason due to arrive?’ she asked.

Beatrice glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Well, it’s a less than two-hour flight from Melbourne to Sydney, and he could be an hour or so at the airport, you know how long the queues can be. And another hour at least to get here, so I don’t think we will see him until about six tonight.’

Jane had a thumping headache, and the jet lag was definitely kicking in. She decided it would be best if she went back to the hotel to recharge her batteries, rather than wait for Jason’s arrival.

‘If it’s OK with you, Mrs Thorpe, I would like to return to my hotel and come back to meet with you first thing in the morning, before we get our flight back to London.’

Beatrice tightened her lips. ‘No, that is not convenient. I feel I have been more than generous with my time, given your unannounced visit, which at times has felt more like an inquisition.’

Jane tried to control her temper. ‘It isn’t convenient for me either, Mrs Thorpe, but I have to leave tomorrow, and I still have many questions, the answers to which need to be included in my report.’

Beatrice suddenly seemed quite sober as she glared at Jane. ‘I would’ve thought with the death of my sister, any inquiries you had should now be over.’

Jane picked up her jacket. ‘No, Mrs Thorpe, they are not over. I will be here tomorrow morning to talk to you — and Jason.’