After a couple of decent brandies, enjoyed whilst he watched a movie, he stretched out on his comfortable flat bed and slept through the rest of the first leg of his journey, all the way to Singapore.
After another meal, more champagne and more brandy, he slept through most of the next leg too, and arrived at Heathrow feeling remarkably fresh.
It was almost two decades since he had stepped foot on British soil. More than nineteen years since his father had effectively disowned him and denied him his inheritance, telling him he’d allocate him an adequate and permanent living allowance, but would be cutting him out of his will.
However, Freddie remained his father’s eldest child and his only son. He thought he might even consider marrying himself, and producing a son. It would, after all, be expected of him now.
He walked tall through Heathrow airport. He was unshaven, and his hair was uncombed. His eyes looked a tad bleary, the only-to-be expected result of a heavy alcohol-induced sleep combined with the inevitable jet lag of trans-continental travel. He was dressed in his customary faded blue jeans, a well-worn bomber jacket over an unironed shirt.
None the less, he was a Fairbrother. The oldest surviving male of the line. And he was back to claim his inheritance.
Twelve
Bella drove slowly along the driveway towards the ruins of the big old house, trying to put her memories back in their box. Bella Fairbrother was not one to dwell upon the past, or indeed upon anything she could do nothing about. Today was somehow different. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she did.
A uniformed constable on scene-guard stopped her from driving right up to the house, instructing her to park at the road end of the drive along with several other vehicles. Blackdown Manor was a crime scene, and it looked as if it might remain so for some time, Bella thought.
She was told she could walk a little closer towards the burned-down remains of her childhood home, but must not cross the cordon of blue and white tape stretching around the remains of the house. Just as she was approaching, two fire officers emerged from the ruins of Blackdown Manor carrying between them on a stretcher what appeared to be a body bag containing human remains. They were followed by another two officers also carrying a stretcher and a body bag.
There was something quite chilling about witnessing this scene, about seeing dead people being carried about in, what were more or less, sacks. Particularly in view of the identity of those people. DI Vogel had told Bella that it was more or less certain that the two victims of the fire could only be Sir John Fairbrother and his nurse, but that it was possible they may never be formally identified.
The body bags did not look very substantially filled either. Bella remembered from the shocking reports of the Grenfell Tower disaster that in the event of a truly major fire sometimes virtually no remains at all are found of the deceased.
None of this did anything to lessen the shock of what she found herself witnessing.
Bella was tough as old boots. All the same, she felt her knees wobble. She was standing next to a Crime Scenes Investigators’ van. She leaned against it for support, and fleetingly closed her eyes to shut out the spectacle unfolding before her. Therefore, she heard the voice before seeing the woman walking towards her.
‘Are you OK?’
Bella opened her eyes. A tall woman, probably in her late fifties, wearing the obligatory white plastic Tyvek suit in order to protect the integrity of the crime scene, was regarding her with some anxiety.
‘Uh yes,’ Bella answered automatically.
Her eyes travelled to the far side of the gravelled area where it seemed the two bodies were now about to be loaded into an unmarked transit van by two men also wearing Tyvek suits.
‘Wasn’t expecting to see any of this, I suppose,’ said Bella. ‘Given me a bit of a turn.’ She moved away from the CSI vehicle and drew herself up to her full five feet, five-and-a-half inches, ‘I’m fine now,’ she said.
The other woman pulled back the hood of her suit, revealing an abundance of curly reddish hair not unattractively streaked with grey.
‘May I ask who you are, and what you are doing here?’ she said, her courteous and concerned approach belying the directness of her words.
Bella introduced herself. ‘I just wanted to see the place for myself,’ she explained. ‘I grew up here, you see. And the whole thing has been, well... It’s too terrible to take in. I guess we all have to get used to death, particularly as we get older, but this...’
Bella waved an arm at the burned-out house, taking in the anonymous van with its tinted windows into which the two victims were now being unceremoniously loaded.
‘It’s all so violent, so horrible.’ She lowered her voice to a slightly distracted whisper. ‘I never expected this,’ she said again.
‘Who would?’ responded the woman gently. ‘It’s a terrible way to die, and almost as terrible for those left behind. I’m Karen Crow. Home Office Pathologist. I’m sorry about what you’ve witnessed, Miss Fairbrother.’
Bella was still staring at the transit van. The men who had loaded the remains of the two dead were now shutting and locking the rear doors.
‘It looks, so, so anonymous,’ murmured Bella. ‘So undignified.’
‘I do understand how you feel,’ said Karen Crow. ‘In cases of death by fire in particular it is very difficult to maintain dignity, at this stage anyway. Those men are employed by the coroner’s office to collect dead bodies in situations like this, and anywhere foul play might be suspected. They will be taken to the nearest police mortuary where I and my colleagues will conduct as much of a post-mortem as possible, which in cases of a fire is often not terribly constructive. And I promise you, Miss Fairbrother, we will show your father and the other deceased person as much respect throughout as we possibly can.’
Bella turned her head slightly to look directly at Karen Crow for the first time. The pathologist had very clear, pale-blue eyes. Bella doubted neither her honesty nor her compassion.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
The van containing the remains of the dead was about to pass the spot where the two women were standing. Bella watched its back end proceeding up the drive to the road beyond.
‘I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think it would be like this, or that I would feel how I do,’ she said. ‘I really didn’t.’
‘I can understand that,’ replied the pathologist. ‘Nobody ever does. It’s my job to deal with death, particularly violent death. I’ve been doing this job for a lot of years, and you can imagine what I have seen, so much that I wish I hadn’t seen. I still don’t think there’s anything worse than fire. I am so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bella again.
She was surprised at how much she appreciated, not just the human contact, but also the comfort the other woman was clearly trying to offer.
She made a conscious effort again to pull herself together, and reminded herself that the purpose of her visit was not just what she had told Karen Crow. She had reasons beyond merely surveying the scene of the crime and indulging in nostalgic reflection concerning her family and the splendid house which had been the family home for centuries. Until two nights previously.
‘There are some papers, private papers, important for the business, I was wondering when I might be allowed access,’ she said. ‘Can you help?’