In that case Dearborn was almost certainly the father of her child. Wexford sat down heavily when it occurred to him that the child could be Alexandra. Until now he hadn't thought much about Louise's announcement, reported by Adams, that her mother couldn't have children. After all, Louise had said she was only fifteen at the time. She could have got it wrong and have taken some minor surgery for the far more serious and final operation. If she had been speaking the truth, Melanie Dearborn couldn't be Alexandra's mother. But Dearborn could have brought home his own child his and Louise's to be adopted by himself and Louise's mother. And Melanie wouldn't have to know whose it was, only that it was a child whom Dearborn had adopted through a 'third party'. You didn't have to adopt through a society.
Alexandra, an adopted child . . . Or rather, adopted by one of her parents. That would account for the mother's indifference and the father's the real father passionate obsession.
But where was she all this time? Why didn't she come down? He heard her footsteps moving briskly overhead but he heard no other sound. Louise could have threatened Dearborn, especially if he had begun to cool off her, with exposure to her mother of their affair and then of the identity of the child. A very real threat, Wexford thought. Louise hadn't just been young and his mistress, but his stepdaughter as well. Melanie would surely have left him if she had found out. A strong motive for murder.
That was a clever explanation he had come up with for his office number having been found in Louise's handbag. How much more likely, though, that she had it there because she phoned him at work habitually! Perhaps it was he whom she had phoned on February 25th . . . But no, it couldn't be, for on that day, at that time she had phoned her mother.
There was, of course, a good deal more to be worked out. Probably Mrs Dearborn could help him if only she would come down. He felt a return of anguish for her, deepened now by his strong suspicion of her husband's guilt. The footsteps stopped and Alexandra began to cry, but the sounds were those of a baby who is peevish rather than distressed. He looked at his watch and saw that he had been there for nearly a quarter of an hour. Perhaps he should find the cleaning woman and ask her to . . .
The door swung open and Mrs Dearborn walked in. She was more smartly dressed than on the previous occasions when he had seen her, her hair was brushed and lacquered and her face carefully made up. The baby was in her arms.
'Oh, Mr Wexford, I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.' She freed one hand and held it out to him. 'My poor little girl is having such trouble with her teeth. I was trying to get changed and comfort her at the same time. I see you've brought reinforcements,' she said, and joked, 'Don't worry, I'd have come quietly.'
Have come? Did she mean she couldn't come? He wished she didn't look so happy and carefree, cradling the baby and stroking her head with a tenderness he had thought she lacked. 'Mrs. Dearborn,' he began, 'I want you to . . .'
'Sit down, Mr Wexford. You can sit down for a moment, can't you?'
Uneasily he lowered himself on to the edge of one of the mutilated chairs. It is hard enough to break bad news to anyone at any time, but to break it to someone as cheerful and pleased with life as Melanie Dearborn looked now . . . ? 'We really shouldn't delay,' he said. 'The car's waiting and . . .'
'But we don't have to go anywhere. It's all rim. My daughter phoned me. She phoned m,e as soon as you rang off.'
His stomach seemed to turn over, the way it sometimes did when he was in a lift, and a faint sweat broke out in the palms of his hands. He couldn't speak. He could only stare stupidly at hen She smiled at him triumphantly, her head a little on one side. Some of her joy at last communicated itself to Alexandra, who stopped crying, rolled over on to her back on the sofa cushion and gave a crow of laughter.
'Are you sure?' he said, and his voice was a croak. 'Sure it was your daughter?'
'Of course I'm sure! You'll see her if you wait a while. She's coming this afternoon. Isn't it marvellous? Isn't it?'
'Marvellous,' he said.
'The phone rang and I thought it was you, calling back for something or other.' She spoke quickly, chattily, quite unaware of the shock she had given him. 'I picked it up and I heard the pips. As soon as I heard them I knew. Then she said, "Hello, Mummy." Oh, it was wonderful! I tried to get in touch with you but you'd already left. I just sat down and ate an enormous lunch I haven't been able to eat properly for days and then I went upstairs and got all dressed up. I don't know why.'
Wexford gave her a stiff, sickly smile. Alexandra laughed at him, kicking her legs in the air.
'Will you stay and see her?'
'No. I don't think anyone would doubt your word on this, Mrs Dearborn. I'll go and tell the sergeant not to wait, and then if you'd just give me a few details . . .'
Clements was treating the policewoman to one of his lectures, waving his hands as he pontificated on change and decay, Utopias and Dystopias, past glory and contemporary decadence. Wexford put his head through the car window.
'Tell Mr Fortune it's no dice. The girl's turned up.'
'Oh, great!' said the policewoman sincerely.
Clements wagged his head up and down with a kind of grim gratification. He started the car. 'She'll have a tale to tell, you can bet on that, and bring home a load of trouble for mother to sort out.'
'Give it a rest, can't you?' Wexford said savagely, knowing he shouldn't speak like that to a man who had been kind to him and hospitable and who liked him, but he hadn't been able to help himself. He saw Clements' face go red and truculent with hurt and then he went back into the house.
Alexandra was chewing voraciously at her teething ring while her mother fetched smoked salmon and a bottle of asti spumante out of her husband's fancy dining refrigerator, setting it all op a tray. Killing the fatted calf, he thought. Thou art ever my daughter and all that I have is shine . . .
'Where had she been? What was all that disappearing act about?'
'She's going to get married. It's this boy, John. I suppose she's been living with him.' Mrs Dearborn sighed. 'They've had their ups and downs, but it sounds as if they really love t each other. He's married but separated from his wife awful, isn't it, to be married and separated before you're twentyfive? He's getting a divorce under the new act. Isa knew that last time she phoned but she wouldn't tell me until he'd got his decree in case something went wrong. That's Isa all over always cautious, always secretive. She sounds so happy now.'
He smiled stiffly. She probably thought he disapproved. Let her. The realisation that he had been hopelessly wrong, the shock of it, was only just beginning to hit him where it hurt. An awful desire to run away had seized him, to run to Victoria and get on a train and go home. He couldn't remember ever having made such a monumental howler before and the memory of how he had talked so eagerly to Howard, had nearly convinced him, made him go hot all over.