‘I’m interested in those dates… what do they mean?’
He looked over at them. ‘The first one, 22 November 1963… you should know that?’
Jane shrugged.
‘It’s the date JFK was assassinated.’
‘Oh.’
‘The other one, 5 August 1962, is when Marilyn Monroe died.’
‘Oh, really? And the blank one?’
‘Well, that could be mine.’ He laughed.
‘I don’t think that’s funny… it’s sort of tempting fate.’
‘I do that for a living. They’re just people that I admire. Well, I admire JFK, and Marilyn is my perfect woman… sexy, that great blonde curly hair, and she was a lot brighter than anyone ever gave her credit for. “If you can make a woman laugh you can make her do anything.” She said that.’
Jane flushed, and sipped her wine as Dexter drained his glass and poured himself another.
‘James Dean’s Porsche was stolen from an exhibition and never recovered… some ghoulish fan has to have it hidden somewhere, but that picture was taken at the scene when he crashed it and was found mangled. It’s my dream car… a big step up from my 1965 911 Carrera.’
He got up to take her plate and stacked it on top of his. ‘Right, I can offer you coffee or cheese? I might have some ice cream.’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Let me help you.’
‘No, stay put, I won’t be a moment.’
‘Actually, could I use the bathroom?’
‘Sure, first door on the left in the hall and through the bedroom.’
The bedroom was as immaculate as the rest of the flat. A bright Mexican rug with a fringe was thrown across the huge double bed. Beside the white fitted wardrobes, a section of low shelves held an electric typewriter and stacks of A4 paper, in front of which stood a leather chair. Next to the bed was a small steel table with a silver Anglepoise lamp, an empty ashtray and a large alarm clock. There were no mirrors or ornaments, and the room was devoid of pictures and photographs. The en-suite bathroom was tiled from floor to ceiling in white. There was a separate shower in a glass booth, next to a free-standing claw foot bath, and a washbasin set in white marble. Above the basin was a large, mirror-fronted cabinet.
Jane eased the cabinet door open. An array of shampoos, deodorants, shaving equipment and aftershave faced her. Oddly there was also a large bottle of Dior perfume. The toilet was set back in an alcove with a bidet next to it. Jane washed her hands and dried them on the pristine white hand towel that was hanging on a heated rail besides thick white bath towels. On the back of the bathroom door were two towelling bathrobes. The smaller one had the belt tied around it, as if it was from a hotel, but the larger one was open and left loose.
Jane went back into the main room to find Dexter lounging on one of the sofas, smoking a cigarette and dangling his glass of wine. He had refilled her glass, which was now on the glass coffee table opposite the other sofa.
‘This place is incredible. Have you lived here a long time?’
‘No, only about six months. It took a year of refurbishment before I moved in. It was a dump when I bought it.’
Jane nodded and smiled. She would have liked to ask how he could afford it on his salary. He must have a wealthy family.
‘Did you design everything, to get it the way you wanted?’
‘Yes and no. I hate clutter and small spaces, so I got an architect to draw up the plans, and a girlfriend helped furnish it and buy some of the stuff. She used to live in Mexico, so this carpet was a housewarming gift, and I brought back the throw in my bedroom from Acapulco.’
Jane sipped her wine. ‘Do you still see her?’
‘Occasionally, when she’s in town. What about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, what about you?’
‘Well, there’s not a lot to tell you really… I was a probationary officer at Hackney, then I moved to Bow Street Station…’
‘I didn’t mean your career, I meant what about your personal life?’
‘Oh, I’ve sort of concentrated on my career. I have a sister, Pam, and my parents live in Maida Vale.’
‘So, no relationship?’
‘Not at the moment.’
It felt as if he was interrogating her and it made her uncomfortable — even more so when he eased himself off the sofa. She thought for a moment he was going to come and sit beside her, but instead he walked to the table and picked up her jacket.
‘I should run you home. I’ve got an early start in the morning, unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting a coffee?’
Jane sprang up. ‘No, really… I should be getting off. It’s been a really nice evening, and very kind of you.’
Dexter moved behind her and held out her jacket. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, he gently eased her hair away from under the collar, softly touching her neck. He smiled.
‘You have lovely skin, Detective Tennison.’
She blushed at the compliment. Her heart was beating rapidly as she picked up her handbag. Taking her hand, Dexter led her out into the hall.
As they drove back to her flat, Jane wished she could think of something to say. Dexter chatted away, saying that next time he would attempt to cook for her instead of buying fish and chips. Before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of her building and Dexter had switched off the engine. He casually rested his arm along the back of her seat.
‘Goodnight. I’ll probably see you at the lab some time.’
Jane smiled and moved to open the door but Dexter used his free arm to reach across her and open it. She now had both his arms around her, and he kissed her cheek as the door swung open. Then he climbed out and went around to the passenger door to help her out.
‘Goodnight, and thank you again.’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I could cook dinner for you one evening.’
‘That would be nice… I’ll look forward to it.’
As Dexter revved up the engine and drove off, Jane sighed. Considering that she couldn’t cook, had never entertained anyone for dinner, and lived in a tiny flat that stank of Pearl’s cabbage soup, it could be a very embarrassing evening.
Jane waved to the SPG officers opposite, and walked slowly up the stairs. At least the awful smell of cabbage had faded. She unlocked her front door and dropped her key down on the small table by the telephone. A note was on top of the receiver: Natalie called again. Jane picked up the note and walked into her bedroom. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto her bed, wishing that she’d worn something less boring. It was old-fashioned and the matching trousers were now creased. She unzipped them and kicked them off. She looked at herself in the mirror and decided that on her first weekend off she would ask Pam to cut her hair and put some highlights in it.
Still feeling disgruntled, she took off her make-up, brushed her teeth and went to bed. She closed her eyes and, unable to sleep straightaway, thought about the evening. She was disappointed at herself for being so overwhelmed. She had never met anyone like Alan Dexter, or been entertained in such an elegant and tasteful flat. She was also surprised and how attractive she found him. She felt as if she had behaved like a besotted teenager, and was now even more confused. Why had he been so attentive? Perhaps he was monitoring her, to try to find out if there was anything more she could add to her statement? She dismissed the thought. She was being paranoid. Dexter had no need to go to such lengths to get her to repeat everything she knew about the Covent Garden bomb. Increasingly restless, Jane couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had touched her neck, and then kissed her. She wondered what it would be like to lie next to him in his big double bed and feel that gentle touch over her entire body. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.