"No." Gemma sighed. "He seemed genuinely devastated. And his mum went into protective mode, so we said we'd take a statement when he was feeling a bit better."
"When he's had time to get his story straight, more likely. But if he'd said anything useful in those circumstances," Melody added, "she'd have the lawyers on you like flies.
"Ellen Miller-Scott has a history of undertaking litigation with anyone who crosses her, including her ex-husband, Dominic's father, Stephen. Apparently the marriage only lasted a couple of years. By the time she'd finished with Steve Scott, he was willing to give up all custody of Dominic and disappear without a penny. The last trace I could find of him, he was living in Canada, running an art gallery in some little village in Quebec."
"She must have been very persua-" Gemma cut out for a moment. When Melody could hear her again, she was saying, "…before we interview Dom Scott again, we need to check out his story. He says Kristin left him at the Gate, and that he stayed until closing.
"Melody, Duncan's asked Cullen to go along. Would you mind meeting him there? You've got Dom's photo, and besides, I'd like your take on the interview." She added, with some hesitation, "I wouldn't ask, but I've got to get to hospital…and Duncan's got to get home to the kids…"
"Of course," said Melody quickly, but she was torn between being flattered that Gemma wanted her opinion and annoyed at having to share the task with Doug Cullen. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was after seven. "I suppose I should go along now?"
"Cullen's on his way from the Yard."
Maybe she would beat him there, thought Melody, if she got her skates on. But before Gemma could disconnect, Melody said, "Listen, boss, about your mum…I-" Then she found that anything she had meant to say seemed trivial and useless, and she stuttered to a halt.
But there was a smile in Gemma's voice as she answered, "Yeah. Thanks."
By the time Gemma reached St. Barts, visiting hours were over and she had to bully the charge nurse into letting her into the ward, pleading she'd been delayed by urgent police business-which she supposed was true enough. The plus side to her tardiness was that her sister and father had gone, and her mum was awake, alert, and glad of the company.
"Hullo, love," said Vi as Gemma kissed her on the cheek. "How are you?"
"I should be asking you that." Feeling contrite, Gemma pulled a chair close to the bed. "I'm sorry, Mum. But there's this case…"
Vi smiled affectionately. "There always is."
"Never mind. Tell me about your day. I haven't talked to Cyn since this morning. Did you have more tests?"
"Oh, it's all a load of nonsense." Vi sounded exasperated, more like her usual self. "But the doctor's very bossy, and he says I have to start these treatments tomorrow."
So quickly? Gemma felt a lurch of fear. "Chemotherapy?" she asked, trying to keep her tone matter-of-fact.
"They say it's not so bad now," Vi said with determined cheerfulness. "And I'd much rather hear about your day than talk about mine. Tell me about your case."
So Gemma did, settling more comfortably in her chair and starting from the beginning, with Erika's request that Gemma look into the reappearance of her missing brooch, and ending with their interview that evening with Dominic Scott.
By the time she finished, her mum's eyes had drifted closed, and she was silent for so long that Gemma thought she had fallen asleep. She was reaching for her handbag when her mother said softly, "It must have been hard for your friend Erika, during the war. You can't imagine what it was like, during the bombing. You never knew if you were going to get through the night. But we were family, all the neighbors, and everyone looked out after everyone else. If you had no one…"
Gemma sat back in surprise. Her mum never talked about the war.
"Of course, it was easier for children," Vi went on, her eyes still closed. "Children adapt. We forgot, after a bit, that we had ever known anything different." She opened her eyes and smiled at Gemma. "Little savages, weren't we? Got up in the mornings and ran to see what had been hit the night before. And we got used to people disappearing from our lives.
"Children are such odd creatures, like sweets, hard on the outside and soft on the inside. It was only later that the memories would creep up on us."
"I never knew." Gemma took her mother's hand, stroking her thumb over the soft skin between her mum's thumb and finger. The tissue felt thin, fragile.
"Oh, I never meant you to. Don't know why I'm going on about it now. Except…I was thinking about Kit today." Vi met Gemma's gaze. "He'll be worried about me."
"Yes," Gemma admitted. "He is."
Her mother gripped her hand. "It's hard for you, isn't it-to tell Kit that you love him."
"I-" Gemma stared at her mum, blindsided. "I-I don't want-I never want him to feel I'm trying-"
"Kit won't think you're trying to take his mother's place," Vi said with unexpected fierceness. "You've gone past that now. He loves you, and he needs to know that you are not going away."
It wasn't until Melody stood on the pavement outside the nightclub at Notting Hill Gate that she thought about her clothes. The street was in shadow as the setting sun dipped behind the buildings to the west. The amplifiers in the club pumped music up the stairs, pushing it out into the street in throbbing waves of sound, and the handful of girls that slipped into the doorway as Melody watched looked like butterflies in their jeans and gaudy tops.
Melody glanced down at her suit, charcoal that day, with the skirt showing an entire daring inch of thigh. Her legs were bare, at least-it had been too warm for tights-and were worth showing off a bit, but she was going to look as out of place as a polar bear at the equator. This was an occasion when her protective coloring would put her at a disadvantage, and she found that bothered her more than she expected.
"Oh, bugger," she muttered, and slipped off her jacket. She pulled out her shirttail and unbuttoned the second button on her white shirt, then the third, then ran a hand through her dark hair, mussing her usual tidy style.
Grimacing at her own foolishness, she added, aloud, "Fat lot of good that will do."
"Have you started talking to yourself?" said a voice behind her.
She jumped, swearing, and turned to find Doug Cullen watching her with a grin. "I was just-never mind," she said. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"And you shouldn't do a strip in public if you don't want people watching."
Melody flushed, furious with him and with herself. "It's warm, and warmer down there."
"You were going to steal a march on me, weren't you?" said Cullen, giving her a considering eye.
"And you weren't?" she challenged.
"I couldn't," he answered mildly. "You have Dominic Scott's photo."
Somehow this made her more aggravated, not less. Gritting her teeth, she said, "Yes. So let's get it over with," and charged towards the stairs.
But she found immediately that it was a steep, straight flight, and not made for plunging down in heels. Forced to slow down and step carefully, she felt Doug Cullen's eyes on her back and it made her as awkward as the schoolgirl she had once been.
But as she reached the floor of the club, the pulse of the music and the liquid blue light subsumed all other perception. Even though it was still early, the floor was crowded. Melody found she had to twist and sidle to make her way through the crush of bodies.