‘William and Peter will be interred together. There is a family vault at Highgate,’ said Bella, looking out of the window at the retreating station. ‘It would seem to be the best thing.’
‘We want your permission to maintain a police presence at the service,’ said May. It was not uncommon for a murderer to attend the burial of his victim.
‘I understand. Do you have any idea of the kind of person you’re looking for?’
‘We’re hoping that you can help us there,’ said Bryant. ‘Why do you think William lived so much in the past?’
‘Oh, we’re an old-fashioned bunch. The family’s history is the history of England.’ Bella rummaged in her bag, produced a vast linen handkerchief, and gave a brisk honk into it. ‘I don’t think William was even aware of the modern world. The late nineteenth century was our grand time. Our ancestors’ fortunes grew with the empire, and so did the family. Sons and daughters in every outpost. Unforgiving Christians and hard-nosed businessmen. It was the same with so many old families. Now they’re like us, in sad decline. Although I don’t suppose they’re disappearing in quite the same lurid manner. I wonder if we have any business rivals at the moment. You should check that, Mr Bryant.’
‘We’re trying, although it will be more difficult to do so now that Peter has died. Had both of your brothers retired?’
‘Apart from a bit of dabbling on the Stock Exchange. I heard about William and the painting. What an appalling thing to do.’
‘You have no idea why he might have committed such an act?’
‘None at all. I can’t imagine that either of them had any real enemies. And who would want to kill them over a painting? It wasn’t even of any importance, from what Peter told me.’
‘How well did you know Max Jacob?’
‘I didn’t, I’m afraid. He handled the family estate and all of its financial dealings, but he only ever dealt with William.’
‘He lied to his family about coming to London,’ said May. ‘If he met up with William, we have no evidence of it.’
The car had reached St John’s Wood. Bella was momentarily distracted by a passing apartment building. ‘Look at that,’ she said, pointing to a sign on the wall. ‘Tadema House. What a marvelous painter Alma-Tadema was. How we all loved the Pre-Raphaelites, Peter included. Mother owned several, you see. All donated to galleries now, of course.’
‘Did she own any paintings by Waterhouse?’ asked Bryant.
‘No, I don’t think so. Is that what my brother destroyed, a Waterhouse?’
Bryant nodded.
‘What could he have been thinking of?’ Bella blew her nose again. As the car arrived in Hampstead, a light rain began to fall.
‘We’re keeping a twenty-four-hour guard on the house,’ said May as they turned into Mayberry Grove. ‘If you’re planning to go out, you’d better let me have an itinerary.’
‘I have to attend a meeting of my society tomorrow night,’ said Bella, alighting from the car. ‘I know that William and Peter would have wanted me to keep the appointment. I suppose someone will have to come with me.’
‘Who is the meeting with?’ asked Bryant.
‘The Savoyard Society,’ said Bella, closing the door. ‘Gilbert and Sullivan. I’m the president. Don’t worry, I can see myself in.’
‘Well,’ said May as he and Bryant drove back to Mornington Crescent, ‘what did you make of her?’
‘She seems to have an extremely calm attitude to all of this. Either she’s genuinely undisturbed by what’s going on, or she’s lying about how much she knows.’ Bryant looked out at the rainswept night. ‘I hope she can tell us something.’
‘I’m not too sure she wants to,’ said May. ‘If there’s anything the Whitstable family members share in common, it’s that none of them knows how to behave like a normal human being. How can we ever expect to establish a motive?’
‘More to the point,’ said Bryant, ‘how can we hope to keep the remaining members alive?’
12 / Savoyards
She was startled to find blood on the pillow.
She had bitten her lower lip in her sleep. The dream had returned again. Now that she was awake, her face turned to the growing stripe of daylight bisecting the ceiling of her room, she felt the dread of those endless alleys dissolving within her.
In the past week Jerry had seen stranger things, and they had not been dreams. For the first time, reality had proved more disturbing than her imagination. She thought of the swathed body in the barber shop and shuddered. She had succeeded in stepping beyond the comfort zone provided by her parents, and into an area of unpredictability. The thought excited her. Dr Wayland had ended their session with a warning about the harm of allowing what he termed ‘negative aspects’ of her nature to the fore. His main concern was to keep Gwen’s monthly cheques rolling in.