‘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.’
Chapter Twenty
Jane had been able to have a shower in the rather grotty communal bathroom. Her towel was almost threadbare, but she had at least been able to cool down. She changed into a clean T-shirt and put on her cotton trousers and sandals. She had already checked whether Tim was back, but he was not in his room and no message had been left for her at the so-called reception desk.
It was almost seven and there were a few customers at the bar. The streets outside were starting to fill up, with the neon signs flashing and loud music drifting through the open door. The same barman was on duty, and Jane ordered a lager and lime, picking up a sticky food menu.
Jane was eager to get some sleep and was not very hungry. Her ice-cold lager had no lime, but she picked up a bowl of peanuts from the bar and took them with her drink over to a small table by an air-conditioning unit. She had almost finished her drink when Tim walked in, wearing a worn-looking baseball cap and a pair of cheap sunglasses. His shirt was sweat-soaked, and his arms and neck were sunburned. He was carrying a dirty plastic carrier bag with his jacket sticking out and was about to walk straight past Jane when she called his name.
‘I was starting to get worried, Tim. You look terrible.’
‘I feel it. My God, have I been on a trip and a half. You wouldn’t believe it. And in case you don’t know, we’re right in the middle of the red-light district here... I’ve been propositioned three times.’
‘I’m surprised, looking the way you do.’
‘And not a copper in sight,’ Tim said, shaking his head.
‘You look as if you could do with a drink,’ Jane told him.
‘Do you mind if I go and have a shower and change my shirt first? I’m drenched.’
‘I hope it was all in a good cause and you did better than I did with Beatrice. Meet me in my room as soon as you’ve changed.’
Jane drained her glass and went back to the bar. It was filling up with unsavoury types, both male and female, and the music had been turned up. She was really going to have a row with Carter when she returned to London. She bought a packet of cigarettes and asked for two cans of lager to take up to her room.
Tim knocked on her door fifteen minutes later. His hair was still wet, and his nose looked as if it was going to peel badly, but he was wearing a fresh shirt. Jane held up the two cans of lager and smiled, gesturing for him to join her on the edge of the bed.
‘I think rather than rinsing out the tooth mugs, it’d be better to drink from the can.’
His can opened with a frothy hiss and he gulped down a few mouthfuls before slumping down on her bed.
‘So, what have you got for me?’ Jane asked.
Tim sat up and opened his notebook. He told her that after going to Jason Thorpe’s office and finding it shut, and then over to the docks, searching high and low for the warehouse, he had some good fortune when he stopped to have something to eat and drink at a food stand.
Jane turned to look at him. ‘Tim, can you get to the point? Are you saying his office and warehouse were closed?’
‘Yes, but I got lucky, because I met one of the drivers — name was Barry Donald — and he told me I should talk to his brother-in-law Mitch about Jason Thorpe’s export company.’
He licked a finger to turn a page in his notebook.
‘That was the good news... the bad news was the bloke I needed to talk to lives in Yennora, in the suburbs. He’s worked for Jason Thorpe for the past three years but has left under a bit of a cloud. I asked if I could just call him, but Barry said he didn’t have a phone.’
Jane sighed, closing her eyes as he flicked over another page of his notebook.
‘I had to get a train there and my new friend Barry drove me to the station, then it took me forty-five minutes on the train... I was sweating like a stuffed pig by the time I got there. This was around half past one.’
‘Yes, Tim, go on,’ Jane said, trying to be patient.
He turned another page. ‘I got a taxi to Mitch’s trailer... his wife was a really sweet Asian girl and gave me some chilled lemon juice while I waited for Mitch to get back.’
‘Tim, can you get to the point? What did this Mitch have to tell you?’