Miss Henderson discovered Alex trying to open one of Edward’s locked drawers. ‘There seem to be some keys missing, I know Edward had a personal safe in here, is it in the desk?’
‘No, sir, the entire office is computerized. You see, he had a double security system installed.’
‘What?’
‘Every office has a camera, as you know, connected to the security room in the basement — but they are also connected to a bank of screens behind that wall, and the computer is built into the desk.’
‘What?’
‘It’s very complicated, and I’m not sure how it works, no one but Mr Edward ever touched it.’
Alex glanced at his watch — he would be late if he didn’t get a move on. He told Miss Henderson to get a representative from the security firm that installed the equipment into the office first thing in the morning.
Miss Henderson, still dressed from head to toe in black, was waiting anxiously for Alex to leave so she and the rest of the staff could go to the memorial service. Of course, they had not been invited to the Savoy for champagne afterwards with two hundred other guests.
She became agitated, looking at the clock. ‘Mrs Barkley is waiting, sir. Shall I tell her you are just on your way? It’s almost time.’
‘Yes, yes, do that...’
Alex took another look round Edward’s office. Now he had a damned good idea how his brother had kept tabs on every move the company made. As he left he looked into his own office, and sure enough there was another camera. He would never have known it was there if he hadn’t known to look for it.
He sat at his desk, rang down for his car. The medallion was in a drawer, and he took it out, held it in the palm of his hand. Alex had been ‘killed’ in a car crash, his body identified by false dental evidence. For a moment he wondered, could Edward...? Would he have done it to himself? He turned the medallion over — ‘Stubbs’. Barbara burst into the room.
‘Alex, if we don’t get a move on we will be late — it’s your brother, for Chrissake! Really, I’ve been waiting for over half an hour, and we are in the front pew...’
‘All right, all right... I’ll be with you. Wait in the car.’
‘Yes Alex, no Alex, you know you are beginning to sound like him? Just don’t get like him, I don’t think I could stand it.’
‘No? You did once, more than liked him.’
‘That was uncalled for.’
‘Maybe, but if you don’t like our present arrangement then you know what you can do, any time you want. Right, let’s get this show on the road — has anyone had word from his wayward daughter?’
‘She’ll no doubt be at the memorial service...’
‘No doubt.’
Alex replaced the medallion in the drawer and slammed it shut.
Miss Henderson was just leaving. As she hurried along the corridor, a tall figure, veiled and swathed in black, walked into reception.
‘Hello, Hennie — recognize me?’
Slowly the figure lifted the mourning veil and smiled. Miss Henderson gasped. ‘Why it’s Miss Jinks...’
‘I hate to be called that — Juliana, my name is Juliana.’
The memorial service was, as Barbara had planned, an ornate show of wealth and social contacts. Cars were parked along the Strand almost to Trafalgar Square. The small St Mark’s Chapel was filled to capacity and press photographers clustered outside snapping politicians, film stars, actors... It was an elaborate but exceptionally well-organized circus.
Barbara had invited four well-known Shakespearian actors to read verses, and they stood in the small vestry rehearsing their lines as though getting ready for a theatrical premiere. In some ways it was — out in the pews were some very famous people, and one never knew when luck would strike. Why not at Edward Barkley’s funeral?
Alex and Barbara were the last to arrive. Barbara’s grandchildren were acting as ushers. Every pew was filled, and the rows of elegantly attired people looked around to see who was there. Two rows of exceptionally beautiful women, all dressed in black, sat in the centre of the chapel. No one knew who they were, but all eyes were upon them. They looked neither to left nor right. Jodie and her girls mourned Edward Barkley, some of the older ones more than the new young breed of girls. Jodie had brought them all from the still-flourishing Notting Hill Gate house. She was soon to own it outright — Edward Barkley had remembered her in his will.
Jinks sat well back, her hat pulled over her face to make sure she was not photographed or pressured into giving an interview. Jinks was not emotionally disturbed in any way by the showiness of the occasion — far from it. She took surreptitious glances at her watch, wondering how long it would go on.
A few seats in front of her Miss Henderson wiped the tears from her eyes. She turned and gave Juliana Barkley a small, intimate smile.
Alex was growing impatient. Yet another actor stepped up to the small, lily-bedecked rostrum. His voice rang out as he began Christina Rossetti’s poem, ‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand...’
Alex turned to Barbara in fury. ‘Who chose this? Why this?’
Barbara looked round the chapel quickly, then glared at Alex. She whispered that it was Dewint’s idea, apparently Edward had liked it. Alex bowed his head — it had been his mother’s favourite poem, the one she had recited to him when he was a child. He gripped the edge of his seat, gritted his teeth. He could hear his mother’s voice.
‘Damn Barbara, damn her interfering bloody memorial service...’ he cursed silently. ‘Damn you, Edward, for this charade.’ He could feel himself ready to explode, ‘I’ve got to get out of here...’
Alex half rose from his seat, and was saved an embarrassing moment as the congregation stood to sing the final hymn.
Standing hidden in the shadows at the very back of the church was Evelyn Barkley. He had only just made it. He had been released from prison ahead of time, his lawyers having requested for him to be present. He had watched Alex’s face during the proceedings, and his mother, sitting there like royalty. Before the end of the service he left, feeling unable to cope with everyone at the Savoy, unable to return to the house in Mayfair... His good intentions were already fading. He didn’t want to talk to his mother.
Evelyn arrived at the manor house, he had nowhere else to go and no money. Dewint came walking painfully up the overgrown gravel drive. He wore razor sharp creases in his trousers, his stiff-collared shirt and black tie, a thick black arm band around his jacket sleeve. He had to support himself with a stick, his arthritis was so bad. He had been allocated a seat at the very back of the church, and had wept through the entire service. When he saw the boy waiting, he couldn’t walk another step, he recognized him immediately but couldn’t speak.
‘Hello, it’s Dewint, isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind, I wondered if I could stay over for the night. It’s Evelyn, Evelyn Barkley.’
‘I know who you are — come in, sah, we’ll go the back way, Mr Edward put a newfangled lock on the front door and I’m blowed if I can fathom it out...’ The pixie face crumpled, and he apologized as he took out a neatly pressed handkerchief. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sah, but I just can’t get used to not having him come home.’
Evelyn helped the aged servant round to the back door, and they entered the kitchen. Having Evelyn there gave Dewint something to do, and he bustled around muttering about making up a bed, and that it would be best to use Mr Edward’s as the spare rooms had not been slept in for years. He appeared not to need his walking stick, and fussed over Evelyn like an old woman.