Newcastle upon Tyne, Wednesday 28th August 1929
Andrew helped Clara out of the car beside the Royal Central Station Hotel. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Clara? You were very quiet on the way home.’ Then he lowered his voice so the doorman couldn’t hear. ‘Look, I’m sorry I let things get out of hand last night. We should talk about it. What to do now, how to move forward. But I need to get to work now. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour.’
Clara forced a smile. ‘Of course I’m all right. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. And don’t berate yourself. I was a willing participant. Nothing got “out of hand”. It was what we both wanted.’ And that was true. What she didn’t add was, she would not have been a willing participant if she knew that Andrew was her uncle’s lover. She didn’t quite know how she felt about being intimate with a man who liked both men and women, but she did know that she would not want to be intimate with someone who had deceived her. But for now, she was too fearful to bring it up.
What Andrew had said last night, about Bob’s lover possibly being the person who had given him an overdose of barbital, really disturbed her. If Andrew was that man, why had he brought it up? Clara was all too willing to point the finger of blame at Mrs Hobson, so why would he try to implicate someone else? Particularly when that someone else might be him? Clara had thought about that while she bathed and readied herself for breakfast, back on Holy Island. The best she could come up with was that it might be some sort of confession. Was Andrew saying that he had given too much barbital to Bob?
Lying in the bathtub, Clara had considered what to do next. If she had been anywhere less remote, she might have sneaked off and got a taxi home. But she was stuck on a small island until the tide receded at ten o’clock. Even if she were to run off and hide somewhere, he would report her absence and it wouldn’t take long for concerned locals to find her. She had no idea of any hiding places. And she had no idea of who to turn to for help. Apparently, there wasn’t even a policeman on the island. But if there were, how could she explain her suspicions? She had just noticed the man she had sex with last night (illicitly, of course, because scandalously, they weren’t married) had the same tattoo as the man she suspected – but didn’t actually know – was (even more scandalously) the lover of her late uncle. She reckoned she would get short shrift.
No, just like she had done with the Whittaker case, she needed to gather more concrete evidence. Her first port of call would be Roger Jennings. Yes, it might be awkward, seeing Roger and Andrew had been school chums and were now professional associates and friends, but Roger was her solicitor and he and his father had been her uncle’s solicitors too. Surely there was some kind of duty of care? Besides, she needed to find out what he thought of her Whittaker dossier.
So instead of fleeing the Crown and Anchor Hotel, as she was tempted to do, Clara had dressed and gone down to breakfast. She had pretended that everything was all right. Firstly, to the landlady who wanted to know if she had slept well (actually, madam, there had been very little sleeping involved!) and then secondly to Andrew, who – like now – seemed concerned that she was quiet and possibly regretful. She got through breakfast the best she could until it was almost time to leave.
However, there were two more things bothering her. The first: what if Andrew was dangerous? What if he suspected that Clara knew who he was and what he might have done to Bob? So, under the guise of visiting the lavatory, she had sneaked into the hotel kitchen and stolen a paring knife. It was small enough to wrap in a handkerchief and secrete in her handbag. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would use it if the occasion arose, but she felt better having some kind of weapon to hand. The second thing that bothered her was the realisation that she had not, as yet, got Andrew’s fingerprints. Was it possible that he was the man responsible for the two break-ins and Horace Fender’s death? He did, after all, have a connection to Balshard Insurance, as he had told her that Balshard was one of his brother’s clients and sometimes got free tickets for the cinema. And Andrew and his brother were in the same firm of accountants. Was Andrew acting on behalf of Humphrey Balshard?
Or was she simply being melodramatic? Even if Andrew had been her uncle’s lover, it did not mean that he had anything to do with Bob’s death or the Whittaker case in any way. But she needed to be sure. So, while Andrew was busy settling the bill with the landlady, Clara had opened the picnic basket and taken out one of the metal cups they had used for tea. Andrew had touched both cups, so his fingerprints would be on them. She’d placed the cup, along with the little knife she had stolen, at the bottom of her handbag.
Then she pretended to sleep most of the way home, so she didn’t have to talk to him. She held her handbag tightly on her lap, with her fingers ready to slip open the catch and pull out the knife if needed. Fortunately, it hadn’t been needed.
Outside the Royal Central Station Hotel Andrew looked at her curiously, his face tinged with concern – or was it disappointment? ‘Would you like to have dinner with me this evening, Clara? Then we can talk about this. Or … if you’ve already had enough of me … perhaps not.’
By this stage, Clara just wanted to get rid of him. ‘Yes, yes, let’s have dinner tonight,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you come here to the hotel?’
He smiled at her, not hiding his relief. ‘Oh yes, here at the hotel is fine. Should we say seven o’clock?’
‘Seven o’clock will be perfect.’ Then to alleviate his concern even more, she squeezed his forearm in what she hoped was a show of affection.
It appeared to do the trick as his shoulders relaxed and his smile softened. ‘I’ll see you then,’ he said, raising his hat then getting back into his car.
Clara kept the smile on her face until he pulled off, then she turned and ran up the steps of the hotel. ‘Good morning, Miss Vale,’ said the manager as she entered the foyer. ‘There’s a gentleman here to see you.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Clara.
‘Mr Danskin. He’s in the smoking room. Would you like me to tell him you’ve arrived?’
Clara groaned inwardly. Jack Danskin was the last person she wanted to see. ‘No, please don’t. I’d rather not see him. Can you tell him I have telephoned to say I’ll be further delayed and that I don’t know when I’ll be back?’
‘Of course, Miss Vale,’ said the manager, without a hint of censure. The customer was always right.
Clara settled down in a chair in Roger Jennings’ office and accepted a cup of tea from his secretary. Barnaby Jennings popped his head in to greet her, and his amiable, warm demeanour helped calm her. She felt she was in good hands with Jennings & Jennings.
‘Morning, Miss Vale!’ he said cheerily. ‘I believe you’ve been a busy bee while I was away. I’d love to hear all about it, but unfortunately I have another meeting. Roger will fill me in later.’
‘I’d be grateful for your thoughts on it, when you have time,’ Clara replied. ‘I hope you had a good trip?’
‘Splendid! Thank you. Business, unfortunately, not pleasure. A conference of senior police officers, magistrates, barristers and solicitors in York, to talk about best practice in how they all worked together.’
‘In York?’ asked Clara. ‘Did you see Inspector Davidson from Whitley Bay police while you were there?’
‘As a matter of fact I did. Have you met him?’
‘I have. Did he mention me at all?’
Mr Jennings shook his head. ‘Not at all. Should he have?’
‘I thought he might have …’ said Clara.
The receptionist popped her head in and said that Mr Jennings’ client was waiting for him.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Miss Vale, I must go. I’ll speak to Roger later and then perhaps you and I can schedule a meeting.’
‘Thank you. I’d like that,’ said Clara.
The older Jennings left as his son came into the office.
‘Ah, tea! Splendid.’ He eased himself into the chair opposite Clara. ‘So, how was your trip to Holy Island?’ He grinned. ‘I hear old Ridpath managed to get the tide times mixed up.’
‘Yes,’ said Clara, still not sure how she was going to broach the subject of the shocking discovery she’d just made about Andrew. She decided to deflect from that for a while. ‘It’s a beautiful place, and the weather was perfect. But I’m very sorry I wasn’t able to get back yesterday afternoon. I want to hear what progress you’ve made.’
Roger nodded, stirring a lump of sugar into his tea. ‘Of course. Well, first things first, your brother. I have spoken to his solicitor on the telephone and he tells me they have witnesses who will testify that your uncle was mentally impaired in the weeks running up to his death and that on that basis they are challenging the will.’
Clara gave a frustrated snort. ‘I know. Jack Danskin.’
Roger cocked his head in surprise. ‘You know already?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and explained what had happened on Monday night when Danskin came to dinner. ‘So, he told me that he’d been approached by Antony’s solicitor. He said that someone here had contacted Antony and suggested to him that Bob had not been in his right mind before he died and that the will could be contested on those grounds. And that Jack Danskin might be prepared to testify in any legal challenge.’
‘Did he say who had ratted?’
‘He didn’t. He said he didn’t know. But my bet is that it was Danskin himself, probably in collusion with Balshard. Are you aware that Danskin works for Balshard?’
Roger nodded. ‘I am. And I read your report on it all. Congratulations, Miss Vale, you have put together a very convincing case.’
Relief coursed through Clara’s veins, but she didn’t want to appear too desperate for his approval. She needed to come across as confident and professional, not, as she had considered earlier, merely ‘play-acting’ at this detection game. ‘Thank you,’ she said calmly. ‘So, would you agree that Antony’s claim could possibly be linked to all this? That Balshard is trying to get me off the case?’
‘Yes, I think that is a very plausible theory. But as yet, you don’t have evidence of that.’
Clara quickly hid her disappointment. ‘You’re right, I don’t yet. But what if all this came out in a court hearing into the challenging of the will? Might Danskin be questioned on his connections to Balshard?’
Roger steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips. ‘Yes, that would be one line of defence my father and I might take. However …’ he paused and looked at Clara ‘… I’m hoping it won’t come to that. At this stage, we only have two people willing to claim your uncle was mentally impaired, and neither of them has any medical background.’
‘Two? Who’s the second person?’
‘Jane Hobson.’
‘Really? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.’ She then went on to tell Roger about Hobson’s visit to the house, her claim that she and Bob were engaged to be married and that she was expecting to have inherited something from the will.
‘Well, she did get something. Two hundred pounds,’ said Roger. ‘What exactly was she expecting?’
‘Quite a bit more than that, it seems.’
Roger gave a disapproving tut. ‘Really!’
‘Quite,’ continued Clara. ‘She intimated that she expected a share of the main estate. That as Bob’s fiancée it’s what he would have wanted. She could not explain – and seemed quite shocked – when I told her that Bob had not even mentioned her in the will, other than as a housekeeper who was to get a small gift.’
‘Did she provide any evidence of this engagement?’
‘No. She said Bob was busy having the ring made. But she didn’t say where. The only moderately convincing thing was a note that he’d written to someone called “J” which she claimed was short for Jane.’ She recounted what the note said and that that was one of the reasons she had gone to Holy Island to check out her story, but that Jane Hobson’s name was not on the register. ‘So, I don’t think J is Jane Hobson at all.’
‘Whose name was it?’
‘A gentleman called J. Smith.’
‘A gentleman?’
‘Yes.’ Was this the time to mention Bob’s homosexual relationship? Clara was not quite sure how to do that without mentioning Andrew. And how she had come to be in a position to see him naked and to notice his tattoo. She had arrived at Jennings & Jennings with the intention to talk about that very thing, but now that she was here, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Not yet. ‘But they had separate rooms,’ she said finally.
‘I see,’ said Roger, in a voice that suggested he might indeed see. But to his credit, he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he picked up a pen and made some notes. ‘That is very useful to hear, thank you. If this does go to court, we can argue that both Hobson and Danskin have ulterior motives for trying to besmirch Bob’s memory. Hobson because she was a “woman scorned” and Danskin because he wants to buy the business. I’m sure we can dig up some more evidence to discredit them if needs be. However …’ he tapped the pen on the blotter ‘… I’m hoping this doesn’t go to court.’
‘Me too,’ said Clara. ‘What are our chances?’
‘Quite good. I will talk to Antony’s solicitor and tell him that we can discredit his witnesses. I’ll also remind him that neither of them has any training in medicine and we’ll get Bob’s doctor to testify to his mental competence. And my father. And his accountant. I think a doctor, lawyer and accountant who dealt with Bob on a professional basis right up to the day he died hold more sway than a housekeeper and a private investigator.’
‘A private investigator who could have been paid by Humphrey Balshard to discredit Bob’s investigation, don’t forget,’ added Clara.
‘Oh, I haven’t forgotten that. But for now, I think linking the two cases – the Whittaker insurance case and the claim against Bob’s estate – might be muddying the waters too much. I think we might be able to get the claim dropped without bringing Balshard into it at all.’
‘Why would we want to do that?’ asked Clara. ‘Aren’t we trying to get Balshard too?’
Roger smiled, screwed the lid onto his pen and leaned back. ‘I value your enthusiasm, Miss Vale, but I think you need to take my professional advice on this. It is going to muddy the waters. Best that we leave it out.’
‘All right,’ said Clara, not fully convinced. ‘But I assume we are still going to go after Balshard. Have you passed on my report to a magistrate?’
Roger nodded. ‘I have. And the gentleman is reviewing it. He said it could take a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days?’ said Clara, disappointed. ‘I hoped we could get going on that fairly quickly. Particularly with the evidence that Horace Fender might have been killed to keep him quiet.’
Roger shrugged noncommittally.
‘What? What is it?’ she asked. ‘I thought you said I had made a convincing case.’
The lawyer raised his hands placatingly. ‘You have. About the arson and the key. Particularly if, as you say, you have found the key. But I’m afraid the “Horace Fender might have been murdered” scenario is tenuous at best.’
‘But worth looking into?’
He shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain. Let’s wait to hear what the magistrate says.’
‘All right,’ said Clara, quelling her frustration. But Roger was right. She already knew that her strongest case was the one with scientific backing – the one that proved that kerosene had been used on the fire – and the witness statements that Horace Fender had bought kerosene. That, and the key that had been found at his flat. But she did believe that Fender had been helped on his way. And she hoped that that could still be proven. Just like she believed Bob had been helped on his way too. But by whom? Perhaps she should mention it to Roger after all. No matter how embarrassing for her. Should she tell him that she had discovered Andrew was very possibly Bob’s lover, and that Andrew himself had suggested that the lover would have been in a position to administer an overdose? Or would he think that too tenuous too? Clara knew the answer to that. Yes, it was tenuous. Very tenuous. She needed to get more concrete evidence. She could talk to Dr Malone about it. He already shared her suspicions. And knew about Bob’s homosexuality. But was he ready to hear that his old friend, Andrew Ridpath, might be the one who had done it?
Clara hardly believed it herself. She still considered Jane Hobson to be the most likely suspect. Particularly after what Roger had just told her about her backing up Antony’s claim. No, she decided, she was not yet ready to voice her thoughts about Bob’s early demise. Or her shenanigans with Andrew on Holy Island.
Roger was looking at his watch, hinting her time was up. She took the hint. ‘All right, thank you for your time, Mr Jennings. I assume you’ll be in touch as soon as you hear anything more from the magistrate about the Whittaker case?’
‘Of course. And I’ll get on to Antony’s solicitor again too. I’ll also line up Bob’s doctor in case we need him. Are you still staying at the hotel?’
‘For now, yes, but I am considering moving into Bob’s house. This is taking a lot longer than I expected and the bill is getting quite steep at the Royal Station. In fact, I think I’ll pop around to the house now with that in mind; see if I can get the place aired out and the refrigerator switched back on so I can move in. But if you need me later, leave a message at the hotel. I’ll still be there tonight, at least.’
‘Righto. I’ll be in touch.’