‘He is an obnoxious creature,’ Hadley agreed. ‘And Beatrice at times is no better. But I also felt very sympathetic towards her because of her son Matthew’s illness.’
Hadley picked up Jane’s cup and saucer and put them back on the tray.
‘Well, I think I must have answered all your questions now,’ he said, suddenly seeming eager for her to leave.
Jane headed towards the double doors, then paused. On a bureau which she had not seen when she had entered the room was a row of silver-framed photographs. In one of them was the same photograph she had seen in Helena’s album of the three sisters standing by the swing. She stopped so suddenly that Hadley almost bumped into the back of her.
‘I’ve seen this photograph, and several similar, in Helena’s family album.’
Hadley tensed as Jane picked up one photograph after another. She then saw one photograph lying face down and turned it over.
It was a picture of a younger Helena standing beside Arnold Hadley, holding a small bouquet.
Jane looked up. ‘Who owns this house, Mr Hadley?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do.’
‘Is this where Helena lived after she left Devon?’
He shrugged, reaching to take the photograph, but Jane held onto it.
‘So, Helena lived here with you, in Brighton?’
Hadley hesitated, then sighed.
‘Helena was my wife.’ He took the photograph from Jane, carefully putting it back upright.
Jane had not been expecting his revelation.
‘May I ask why you never told me you were married until now?’
‘She wanted our marriage to be a private affair so, as always, I respected her wishes and we kept it to ourselves. In the end, we only had few years together here in Brighton before she became ill.’
‘So did Helena buy this property?’
Hadley seemed slightly embarrassed. ‘I also had a substantial legacy from my mother, so we simply bought it together.’
‘But the house is in your name?’ Jane asked, flatly.
‘Yes, it was her wedding gift to me.’
Jane looked at the shelves above the bureau and saw the photograph album belonging to Helena.
‘You have the album?’ Jane said, moving closer.
‘Yes, I brought it back with me from the care home, along with her belongings.’
Jane opened the album and turned to the number of empty spaces.
‘I noticed there were missing photographs... perhaps they were of you?’
‘No, no... this album was only for her family. She was obsessive about it. The missing photographs are here.’
Hadley eased open one of the small drawers in the bureau, taking out a creased manila envelope.
Jane watched as he withdrew a number of photographs, browned and tinged with age. He laid them out along the bureau. They were of Helena’s mother in a ball gown, standing beside a handsome, young, dark-eyed man. There were two more photographs of the same young man standing next to a grand piano, with Muriel Lanark leaning coquettishly against it.
‘Is that the Russian music teacher, Mikhail?’ Jane asked.
‘I believe so. Helena told me very little about him, just that there was some gossip and unpleasant rumours and he was sent away. Their mother Muriel was so beautiful, and so young when she married. Marjorie inherited her looks. But Beatrice was scathing about her mother... she even admitted stealing some of her mother’s jewellery when she ran away to Australia.’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, I know about that. I believe Beatrice did try to reclaim some of the items from the pawnbrokers, but it was all so many years ago it was a rather fruitless endeavour.’
Jane turned one page after another in the album before she found a picture of Muriel Lanark wearing not only the three strings of pearls but a high-necked choker of smaller ones with what looked like a sumptuous emerald-and-diamond brooch.
‘The pearl necklace... Mr Hadley, I was told by Beatrice that each of the Lanark girls was given a strand. Helena received the longest strand, then Beatrice the next longest, and the smallest one went to Marjorie.’
‘I am unsure of the details,’ Hadley said. ‘But I know Helena wore her pearls frequently. I think she did ask Beatrice about the second strand, but I was never told if she had sold them.’
‘Do you have any idea of their value?’ Jane asked.
Hadley shook his head. Jane went to her bag and took out the photograph of the Russian empress wearing the three strands of pearls. She did not show Hadley any of the other images.
‘This photograph is a possible provenance to establish the value. Beatrice mentioned to me that the pearls had been given to her grandmother, the countess, by a Russian aristocrat.’
Hadley peered at the photograph. ‘I have never seen this before.’
‘Mr Hadley, as you know, Helena’s pearls went missing from the care home. I have spoken to the Sussex police who are looking into it and making a formal theft report.’
Hadley frowned. ‘Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, they were so caring to Helena for so many years...’
‘I don’t believe any of Helena’s carers took them. And Jason Thorpe was the last visitor to see her.’
Hadley pursed his lips and nodded. ‘I will search through the insurance, but I had no notion they could be of great value.’
Jane was about to close the album, but then turned to the last page.
‘Mr Hadley, you see these small cardboard grips? I found some loose photographs, and pages of what looked like a family tree.’
‘Oh yes, that was another obsession of Helena’s. Her father had begun to map out the family tree, but I think after Marjorie’s tragic death...’
He paused, before continuing.
‘Helena used to spend hours communicating with births, deaths and marriages, but she told me that after the war so many dates were missing or didn’t match up. I think she found it difficult to get the exact date of her sister’s death, then her mother died and shortly afterwards Beatrice went running off to Australia. She also inferred that her father was adept at altering documents due to his experience running a printing company, so it was very difficult for her to establish exact dates of births, deaths, marriages, etcetera. Subsequently her father fell ill with cancer, and she looked after him, as I mentioned earlier, until he too died. She also discovered certain discrepancies concerning Beatrice’s marriage, as well as the births of her sons.’
He sighed, shaking his head.
‘But when the dementia made it impossible for her to concentrate, nothing interested her. I cared for her as best I could, and I believe I was able to make her final years more bearable. Dementia is a wicked illness. She was such a literate woman, but she became so silent. I recall one afternoon I had been for my usual walk along the beach, and she was sitting in here. The radio was turned on and she gave me this extraordinary smile. Her wonderful blue eyes were often vacant but that afternoon they were so expressive. She said, “I think I am dying as Daddy came to see me. He asked if his boy was thinking of him. He always said that I was like the son he had always wanted.”’
Hadley blinked.
‘She adored her father and would never hear a word against him. She spent years alone with him in that house, tending to his every whim, and in all honesty, although we were content, it sometimes felt as if she had given all the love she had to her father. But that afternoon, she was happy. I knelt down beside her wheelchair, she traced my face with her fingers and then whispered to me that she had completed the puzzle. It was over. Later that evening, after she had retired, I noticed that the phone receiver was placed the wrong way round. I knew it must have been Helena. I was surprised, as she very rarely called anyone.’