He stood holding the tray and hesitated a moment before putting it down on the side table.
‘If you want, we could make it permanent.’
Jane hurled the duvet aside and embraced him, wrapping her arms and legs around him.
‘Yes, yes, YES!’
Sunday was a cold but gloriously sunny. They had brunch together and Jane didn’t want to let Eddie go, not even wanting him to go back to his own flat to get some clothes. He kissed her and promised not to be too long.
Jane cleared up the kitchen. When she went into the sitting room, she saw the dust sheet and the wallpaper stripper she had held as a weapon and suddenly doubted her promise to Beatrice. She stood by the fireplace and looked at the charred remains of the family tree, aware of her error in not paying attention to it. But before she could question herself anymore, Eddie walked in holding up one newspaper with more under his arm.
‘You’re not going to like this, I’m afraid. I bought some of the Sunday papers. A couple of them don’t have it on the front page, but...’
‘What is it?’
‘Here you go.’
He passed Jane a copy of the News of World and the headline blared out at her.
She started to read the story.
Detective Chief Inspector Wayne Carter, the lead investigator on the Stockwell baby murder, says ‘case closed’ after uncovering a letter written by Helena Lanark confessing to killing the child thirty years ago...
Eddie was flicking through another paper.
‘Didn’t you say Helena’s letter talked about Beatrice blackmailing her and doubts about Jason’s parentage when it came to any inheritance?’
Jane nodded.
‘Well, there’s no mention of Beatrice wanting money or Jason’s parentage in any of these papers. I can’t see your name mentioned anywhere either.’
Jane wondered if Carter had discussed the letter with DCS Bridges and a decision had been made not to release its full content. She was somewhat relieved, as Helena’s allegations of blackmail and the question of Jason’s inheritance might enrage Beatrice and make her decide to lodge a formal complaint of theft.
Eddie continued. ‘Carter also gets in that he was recently successful in making a number of arrests after a series of house burglaries and had been congratulated on returning stolen possessions to their rightful owners... blimey, talk about blowing his own trumpet.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised he left my name out of it,’ Jane said. ‘Let’s just call it another lesson learned. I’m definitely not going to let him or this crap in the papers get to me.’
Eddie continued reading a rather less scurrilous article in The Sunday Times, focusing on the fact that the Lanark fortune had been made during the First and Second World Wars, through paper factories and weapons manufacturing. Helena Lanark had been the sole beneficiary, inheriting a vast fortune. ‘Christ, she was worth millions!’ he exclaimed.
‘This is the best place for these.’ Jane gathered up the newspapers, then started ripping them up, making them into balls and dropping them in the fireplace. A smile of satisfaction lit up her face as she put a match to them and they burst into flames.
Eddie smiled. He was constantly seeing Jane in so many different lights. Only time would tell if he liked them all, but he certainly admired her now. He had been concerned at how she would react to the stories in the papers, but she seemed to have been energised by them if anything, clapping her hands and laughing.
‘It’s all over, Eddie, bar the funeral.’
‘You aren’t going to go, are you?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it. Now, I want you to give me a proper invoice for the repairs to the kitchen and bathroom doors... and make them for as much as you like.’
The following morning Eddie left before seven, reminding Jane to contact BT to arrange about the telephone extension. With the house to herself Jane took her time carefully choosing her best suit, white high-collared blouse and high heels. She washed and blow-dried her hair and applied subtle makeup with pale lipstick. Instead of the big handbag she used for carrying documents, she chose a small black leather clutch. She stood looking at herself in the wardrobe mirror.
‘I am Detective Inspector Jane Tennison,’ she said, feeling a surge of pride.
Jane drove herself to St Martin’s and went and stood in the entrance vestibule, looking at the list of christenings and funerals taking place that day. She was slightly taken aback to see Helena Lanark’s name was given as Mrs Helena Hadley.
Possibly for that reason, there were fewer press photographers than she had expected.
Jane returned to her car and sat inside to wait. She had a clear view of the entrance and at ten to ten a hearse drew up, containing a dark wood coffin and a wreath of white lilies. Behind the hearse was a black Mercedes, with an identical one following.
As the coffin was taken into the church, Arnold Hadley stepped out of the first Mercedes, accompanied, much to Jane’s surprise, by Beatrice Thorpe. Hadley appeared poised and almost debonair as he proffered an arm to Beatrice, who was wearing a black figure-hugging suit over a high-necked black silk blouse, tied with a bow at the neck. She had on a small and rather fashionable black feathered hat and wore elegant black leather gloves.
Seeing them together like this, Jane started to wonder about their relationship. She quickly got out of the car and crossed the road, until she was only a few steps behind them. As they entered the church, she stepped closer.
‘Good morning, Mr Hadley. You have my sincerest condolences, and those of the Metropolitan Police,’ Jane said.
Hadley nodded briefly but seemed uneasy and his expression was cold. Beatrice looked surprised to see Jane. Up close, Jane thought she was wearing too much makeup, with rouged cheeks, bright red lips, heavy blue eye shadow and thick mascara on her lashes.
‘My condolences to you as well, Mrs Thorpe. Is your son coming to the funeral?’
‘No, he had to return to Australia on business,’ she replied with a smug smile.
Hadley took Beatrice’s arm and they walked down the aisle together to take a pew at the front. Jane followed, sitting down in a pew a few rows behind.
The service began, and Jane quickly looked around, noticing that there were no other mourners present. It felt like a bleak, cheerless end to a life as the minister gave a lengthy reading then asked the tiny gathering to join him in prayers before ending the service. There weren’t even any hymns to raise the spirits.
‘Holy Lord, almighty and eternal God, hear our prayers as we entrust to you Helena Hadley, as you summon her from this world. Forgive her sins and grant her a haven of light and peace...’
After the bleak service, Hadley stepped to one side to allow Beatrice to move out of the pew. As they walked towards Jane, she noticed Beatrice had unbuttoned her suit jacket, revealing three strands of pearls hanging around her neck. As she passed Jane, she gave her a small, tight smile and drew closer to Hadley. Beatrice’s black-gloved hand held him possessively, almost like a claw. Jane suspected she would not be letting him go any time soon.
There was one solitary journalist waiting outside, and as Jane walked out from the church the flash of his camera was directed at Beatrice. She put her hands up in a theatrical gesture and turned away as Hadley tried to shield her. Jane took the opportunity to approach them.
‘Excuse me, Mr Hadley. I wonder if I could have a quick word.’
He looked at Beatrice, as if for her approval. She nodded, saying she would wait in the car.
‘I wanted to ask you about Helena’s letter...’
‘Well,’ he said quickly, ‘I have to say I received a rather belligerent phone call from your DCI Carter regarding that.’