‘He treated you like a-’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Lucinda, interrupting her. ‘There’s no need to put it into words. Some men are like that. You always have to make allowances for something and with Mr Tunnadine there were a lot of allowances to make.’
‘Did you never think of leaving?’
‘Yes, I did, but I was too lazy to strike out on my own.’
‘Well,’ said Dolly, sitting back, ‘I thought that George had a few faults but compared to Mr Tunnadine, he’s a saint.’ She laughed. ‘That’s perhaps overstating it. Given our life together, I don’t think he’d qualify for sainthood.’
‘He’s a good man, Dolly, and he’s yours. Hold on to him.’
‘I intend to, Lucinda.’
They were in the studio. Dolly was seated on a chair while her friend occupied the bed. Lucinda lay there fully clothed. When they’d first encouraged her to lie down, she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and awoke to find Dolly smiling down at her. The warmth of the friendship she’d received took some of the sting out of her injuries. She and her friend looked up as they heard footsteps on the staircase outside. It was not long before George Vaughan entered with an armful of food collected from other tenants in the house.
‘They all owed me favours,’ he said, cheerily. ‘We’ve enough to keep us going for days.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t eat a thing, George,’ said Lucinda, sitting up.
‘But you must be starving.’
‘It’s agony to put anything in my mouth.’
‘Surely, it won’t stop you drinking,’ said Dolly, getting up to search for glasses. ‘George has managed to scrounge some wine.’
‘That was from Hadrian Speen on the ground floor,’ explained the artist. ‘He was so grateful when I told him that he has exceptional talent as a painter.’
‘Does he?’ asked Lucinda.
‘Yes, he does. He mixes the most remarkable colours.’
Dolly was still searching. ‘Where did we put those glasses, George?’
‘Stop just for a moment,’ requested Lucinda. ‘I need to speak to you.’
‘But you can do that while we’re drinking the wine.’
‘Come and sit beside me, Dolly — please.’
Dolly obeyed the summons and George Vaughan squatted on a stool. As they waited for Lucinda to speak, she glanced nervously at them as if expecting criticism.
‘I’ve reached a decision,’ she declared.
‘There was no decision to reach,’ said Dolly. ‘You’re staying here tonight and there’s an end to it. The bed is all yours, Lucinda.’
‘This is nothing to do with your kind offer.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘My decision concerns Mr Tunnadine,’ said Lucinda, gabbling. ‘I know that you’ll think I’m stupid but I’m not going to institute proceedings against him.’
‘But you must,’ insisted the artist. ‘He could have killed you.’
‘I just can’t face him in court, George.’
‘You heard what the detectives said to you. He must be prosecuted.’
‘I’ll refuse to give evidence.’
‘We’ve seen the evidence,’ said Dolly. ‘We’re looking at it right now. Inspector Colbeck and the sergeant have seen it as well, not to mention the servants at the house. We’ll all bear witness against this vile man.’
‘It’s no use, Dolly. You and George can keep on at me as much as you like. I won’t change my mind. Yes,’ said Lucinda, ‘it may seem weak and stupid on my part but it’s what I want. Besides, it’s not as if Mr Tunnadine will go scot-free. Inspector Colbeck told us that he has a murder charge hanging over him. I just want him out of my life forever,’ she emphasised. ‘Clive Tunnadine no longer exists for me.’
After returning to Scotland Yard to report back to the superintendent, Colbeck took Victor Leeming across to the Lamb and Flag and bought him a drink. They enjoyed a convivial break then they went off to their respective homes. Both were perturbed at the way that the investigation had stalled. They had no clue as to the whereabouts of the kidnappers or, indeed, of Clive Tunnadine. At every turn, they were baulked. Arriving home by cab, Colbeck did his best to suppress his disappointment but Madeleine was too familiar with his moods to be misled. After giving him a welcome, she took him into the drawing room and sat him down.
‘You’ve just missed my father,’ she said. ‘He spent the evening here.’
‘How is he?’
‘He’s remarkably well for his age. He sends his regards.’
‘That was kind of him.’
‘He kept pressing for details of this case,’ said Madeleine, ‘so it’s as well he isn’t here now. I can see that you’ve not made much progress.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘Am I so transparent?’
‘I guessed the moment that I saw you. Am I right, Robert?’
‘Unhappily, you are,’ he told her.
He gave her a swift account of the events of the day and she listened with sympathy. Madeleine was particularly upset to hear of the beating that Lucinda Graham had taken from Tunnadine.
‘He’s supposed to be a Member of Parliament,’ she said, angrily. ‘Is that the kind of man you want helping to run this country?’
‘Well, I’d never vote for him, I can promise you that.’
‘He should be sent to prison for what he did.’
‘Let’s not spoil our time together by talking about him. How is your work?’
‘I’ve had a more rewarding time than you, by the sound of it, Robert. I’ve almost finished the latest painting. Would you like to see it?’
‘I’d love to, Madeleine.’
He took her upstairs with an arm around her shoulders. When they entered her studio, he lit an oil lamp and held it close to the easel so that it could shed the light. Madeleine lifted the cloth that covered her painting and a locomotive was revealed, hurtling towards them with dramatic effect. It seemed about to drive off from the canvas. Colbeck squeezed her in congratulation.
‘It’s wonderful,’ he said, scrutinising every detail. ‘You’ve improved so much over the years, Madeleine. The locomotives used to look so passive when you first took up painting. Now they race along. The sense of movement is quite breathtaking.’
‘It’s my idea of how Cornwall looked at top speed,’ she said. ‘The first time I painted her, she looked very static. Having driven her, Father insisted on giving me all the details. She was built at Crewe over ten years ago for the LNWR. Her weight was twenty-nine tons and her driving wheel was eight feet six inches. I was able to show the coal capacity, of course, but things like the boiler pressure and the traction power are mysteries that only people like Father know about. What do you think, Robert?’
Colbeck was highly complimentary and not only because Madeleine was his wife. She really had worked hard to hone her skills. As he looked with pride at the cosy surroundings of her studio, he found himself comparing it with the draughty attic inhabited by George Vaughan. He’d made obvious sacrifices in order to pursue his dreams of success. Colbeck was about to remark on the contrast when he heard the doorbell ring. A servant answered the door and the unexpected voice of Edward Tallis rose up from the hall. Colbeck and his wife descended the stairs to greet him. Madeleine offered him refreshment but Tallis declined the offer, and not simply because he was uncomfortable in the presence of women. Clearly, he’d come to speak to Colbeck as a matter of urgency. Madeleine therefore excused herself so that the two men could go into the drawing room.
‘I apologise for calling at this late hour,’ said Tallis, rotating the top hat he was holding by the brim, ‘but I felt that you ought to know the news.’
‘What’s happened, sir?’
‘I received a telegraph sent by Alban Kee. Doubtless, you remember him.’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘I do — though not with great fondness.’
‘You may warm a little towards him when you hear what he’s told us. It seems that he was employed by Mr Tunnadine and was present when the fellow was shot dead by one of the kidnappers. Needless to say, the telegraph is brief. Kee has promised to give us full details when he gets back tomorrow morning. I’d like you to be there when he turns up at Scotland Yard.’