Tayte gave the label a cursory glance, knowing he would have had a glass, whatever it was, just to settle his nerves. ‘That would be very nice. Thank you.’
Davina poured the wine and sat in the curve of the seat beside Tayte, shifting around until their knees were touching. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ she said, and Tayte just smiled and unfurled his napkin.
‘So, tell me something about yourself,’ Davina said as they started on the meal.
Tayte laughed through his nose. ‘I’m afraid there really isn’t much to tell.’
‘I don’t believe that for a minute. Let’s start with where you’re from.’
Tayte wanted to say that he wished he knew, but he didn’t want to get into the mystery of his own ancestry right now. He just wanted to get on with his assignment. ‘Washington, DC,’ he said. Then to save time, he rattled off just about everything else about him he could think of, holding back anything he thought could lead to deeper questions about himself and his lifelong search for his biological family. ‘I’m a Redskins fan, and I like Broadway shows. Beyond that, I seem to spend my waking hours with my nose buried in my work.’
Davina sat back and stared at him with a look of mild surprise. ‘Broadway? I adore musicals. What was the last show you saw?’
‘Jersey Boys.’
‘I love that show,’ Davina said. ‘I saw it in the West End a couple of months ago. So you’re a Valli fan, too?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I just like the shows.’
Davina topped up the wine, and they ate and drank and talked about musicals all through lunch, during which time Tayte felt himself becoming more and more relaxed in Davina’s company. She’d bought a New York cheesecake for dessert, which she’d said was to make him feel more at home, and Tayte thought that was a nice gesture.
‘So what was that about having nothing much to say about yourself?’ Davina said with a smile as she topped up Tayte’s wine glass again. ‘We’ve found something in common and haven’t stopped talking about it since.’
Tayte smiled along with her, thinking that maybe small talk wasn’t so difficult after all, or maybe he’d just got lucky this time around. He finished his cheesecake and sat back, having waited until Davina had finished hers so as not to appear too eager to devour it.
‘That was a fine lunch in a fine setting, Davina. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Davina said. ‘It was nice to have someone to share it with.’
There was a solemnity in her tone as she finished speaking. Tayte was so used to dining alone that he never gave it much thought, but he imagined that mealtimes had been difficult for Davina since her husband’s death. He didn’t want her mood to slip, so a moment later he grinned and said, ‘So, can we talk about my assignment now? I’m dying to go over your research.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Davina said. ‘You’ve been very patient with me. I suppose it’s only fair. Let’s go inside. As lovely as it is out here, I think I could use some shade. I’m melting.’
‘That sounds good,’ Tayte said. ‘Let me help you clear up the table.’
The space inside the Osprey’s cabin was small, but it was bright and airy because of the white leather and cherry wood furniture that had been designed to maximise the space. All the same, Tayte couldn’t stand up without stooping, but he was pleased he hadn’t had to squeeze through or around anything to get to the table he and Davina were now sitting at by one of the starboard portholes. On the table, Davina had a lever arch file containing her research. Tayte had his briefcase open beside him.
‘Looks like someone needs a new briefcase,’ Davina said, casting a studious eye over Tayte’s long-serving travel companion.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Tayte said. He looked over the battered leather edges and at the handle that he’d worn to a high shine. Then his gaze drifted to the repair he’d made to the bullet hole in the side, which he’d picked up on a previous assignment. ‘We’ve been through so much over the years, I’m sure I couldn’t bear to part with it.’
Davina smiled at him. ‘So you’re the sentimental type?’
Tayte shrugged. ‘I guess, maybe.’
Davina opened her file and removed the contents, which comprised several loose sheets of paper and a few folders. ‘So, what happened at Hamberley?’ she asked. ‘You said your visit hadn’t gone too well.’
‘Not well at all,’ Tayte said. ‘I tiptoed around Alice for as long as I could, but when I mentioned her name and showed Lord Metcalfe the photo I have of my client’s grandmother, he became very upset about it—much as Raife Metcalfe did when I asked him about Alice.’
‘You shouldn’t be too surprised,’ Davina said. ‘They’re an old and proud family, as devoted to their country as I should think anyone can be.’
‘It’s hardly scandalous news today, though, is it?’
‘No, perhaps not, but you have to remember that Reginald Metcalfe is of a generation when such things were highly scandalous. I don’t imagine his views have changed much with the times.’
‘But what about Raife? He’s a young man. He was just as upset, if not more so.’
‘I’m sure most of the family who know about Alice have had the need to forget her drummed into them over the years. Knowing how his grandfather is about the black sheep of the family, I’m sure Raife was simply reflecting Lord Metcalfe’s wishes.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Tayte said. ‘He just seemed to go a bit over the top about it, threatening to see me off the property with his shotgun like he did. Anyway, it’s clear that I’m not going to get any assistance from the Metcalfe family anytime soon.’ He indicated Davina’s research. ‘You said on the phone this morning that you had a photograph you thought would be of particular interest to me.’
Davina flicked through her papers, nodding as she did so. ‘Here we are,’ she said. She slid an old sepia photograph in front of Tayte. ‘It’s a family-and-friends gathering, circa early 1900s, I should think.’
Tayte studied the image, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the young girl on the knee of the bearded naval officer in the foreground.
‘I believe that must be Alice,’ Davina added, ‘because that’s her father, Charles Metcalfe. Her mother Lilian is standing beside them.’
‘Can you put names to all these faces?’
‘No, not all,’ Davina said. ‘Although I’ve tried to. My husband was able to help with some, and I managed to connect others by talking to the family over the years.’ She leaned closer to Tayte and put a finger on one of the figures to the side. ‘That’s Alice’s Aunt Cordelia and her Uncle Oscar, who as you know is my husband’s great-grandfather.’ She laughed to herself. ‘Chancers and wheeler-dealers, the lot of them by all accounts. I suppose that’s why Lionel was so well suited to the antiques business.’
‘Who are these gentlemen?’ Tayte asked, pointing to a line of highly decorated naval uniforms in the background.
‘I don’t know all their names,’ Davina said. She indicated a white-haired man with wiry sideburns. ‘His name’s Waverley—he was another admiral I believe, like Lord Charles Metcalfe. To his right is Lord Ashcroft. I’m sure they’re all friends of Charles through their connection to the Royal Navy.’
‘And who’s this smart young fella?’ Tayte asked, indicating a boy who looked no more than a few years older than Alice, standing straight as a ship’s mast before the naval officer who Davina had informed him was Lord Ashcroft.
Davina paused before answering. Then she nodded to herself and said, ‘That’s Archibald Ashcroft—Archie, I believe he was called.’
‘Do you know whether the Ashcrofts were from around here?’
‘Yes, I’m sure they were, although I’ve no idea where they live now. I think the two families lost touch over the years. I did hear that Archibald and Alice were to be married. At least, that was the hope of their parents,
but it never happened.’ Davina caught Tayte’s eyes. ‘Love should come from the heart. Don’t you think?’
Tayte swallowed dryly and looked back at the photograph. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said, keen to move on. He pointed to another figure—this time to a man in a sharp business suit on the left side of the photograph. ‘And what about this man here?’
‘My husband told me his name was Frank Saxby,’ Davina said. ‘He was a friend of the family with connections to the Metcalfe family through a failed partnership with my husband’s great-grandfather, Oscar Scanlon.’ She paused and stared into space for a moment. ‘I do know that one of Frank Saxby’s descendants lives locally—a young man called Dean Saxby.’
Tayte was writing names into his notepad. He looked up. ‘How do you know him?’
‘I don’t. I went to the workshop to collect something for a client about a month ago, and I almost bumped into him as he was coming out. Lionel told me who he was.’
‘Do you know how your husband knew him?’
‘I’m not sure he really knew him. At least, he’d never mentioned him. I was running late, and I was in such a hurry that I didn’t think to ask why he was there. I’d forgotten all about him until now. Come to think of it,’ she added, ‘he seemed a far cry from the sort of people we usually do business with.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, they’re typically older and well heeled. Dean Saxby can’t have been more than twenty-five, and he was wearing sportswear—shabby with it, too.’
‘Maybe he’d been jogging,’ Tayte said, wondering why Dean Saxby had gone to see Lionel Scanlon. He thought it would be good to pay him a visit, both to find out and to see if he knew anything that might prove useful about his ancestors and about Frank Saxby’s connection to the Metcalfe family. ‘Do you have his address? Maybe it’s on file somewhere.’
‘I’ll check for you,’ Davina said. ‘Lionel might have written it down. We keep business contacts and customer details in books, the old-fashioned way.’
‘Great,’ Tayte said, and then he turned his thoughts back to Alice. He gazed at the image of the young girl again, and then he took the photograph of his client’s grandmother out from his briefcase. He set the two images side by side, and he could see little resemblance between them—not that he’d really expected to see much of a likeness. The photographs were old and faded, and there were clearly a few decades between the two Alices when the photographs were taken. As expected as it was, Tayte’s disappointment must have been written all over his face.
‘No good?’ Davina said.
Tayte shook his head and slid both photographs across so that Davina could get a better look. ‘It’s possible to see how the young Alice might have grown up to look like the older Alice, but it’s hardly conclusive, is it?’
‘No, it’s not conclusive at all. I’m sorry. When I saw the photo and knew the girl must be Alice, I really thought it would help.’
‘That’s okay,’ Tayte said. ‘It’s still a great photo. I’ll just have to keep looking. Lord Reginald Metcalfe’s reaction when I showed him the locket and this photo of Alice Dixon was certainly enough to keep me going for now. I’m sure that proving they’re the same person is only going to be a matter of time.’
Davina showed Tayte a few more photographs. They were largely of her late husband’s ancestors and were too recent to hold any significance to Tayte’s assignment.
‘Does all your research concern the Scanlon line?’
‘Most of it,’ Davina said. ‘I’m sure you’re not interested in that, though, are you? I started with my own line of course, but I soon got stuck, so I switched to Lionel’s family, then I started hitting brick walls there, too.’
‘Is your husband’s father or grandfather still alive?’
‘No, my Lionel was the last of his line.’
‘That’s too bad,’ Tayte said, considering that it looked as though Davina’s research was going to prove less valuable than he’d hoped. He went back to the only photograph she’d been able to show him from the time when Alice was around, and his eyes drifted to the man Davina had called Frank Saxby. ‘You said this man was a friend of the family, connected to your husband’s ancestor, Oscar Scanlon, through business.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Davina went through her folders and pulled out a few documents. ‘I was particularly interested in the various businesses my husband’s ancestors had been involved in over the years. I researched quite a few at The National Archives, and the British Library was a good source of information, too. Going further back to the time period you’re interested in, I came across one of those rewarding family history finds that gives you goose bumps.’
‘The connection to Oscar Scanlon?’
Davina nodded. ‘I got my lead from the Historical Directories of England and Wales—specifically from an entry in Kelly’s Directory of Kent, covering the period from 1900 to 1909. Here it is.’
Davina slid a sheet of paper in front of Tayte that looked as if it had been printed from an online scan. It showed a page full of names and businesses, complete with addresses. Tayte’s eyes shot straight to the line that had been highlighted.
‘Oscar Scanlon and Frank Saxby,’ Tayte said.
‘They co-owned a shoe factory in Dartford. I found out that they began their business partnership in 1908, and it was only when I began looking into what became of the business that things started getting interesting.’
Davina placed another sheet of paper in front of Tayte. This time it was a copy of a newspaper archive dated 11 June 1912, taken from the Kent Messenger.
Tayte read the headline aloud. ‘Factory Blaze Kills Six.’
‘Now look at this.’ Davina showed Tayte another newspaper archive copy, this one from The Times. It was dated two months later.
‘ “Insurance fraud,” ’ Tayte read out.
He went on to read the verdict that had followed the inquest into the shoe factory fire in Dartford, which reported that the company was in financial difficulty at the time of the fire and that arson was suspected. Further down he read that no proof against the owners could be produced and that subsequently no charges were brought against them.
‘That’s a great piece of research,’ Tayte said, ‘and it certainly leaves suspicion hanging over your husband’s great-grandfather and his business partner.’
‘Yes, it does. It’s a shame I couldn’t find out any more about it. If it’s true, it doesn’t say much for the character of either of them, does it?’
Tayte agreed. ‘If it’s true.’ he repeated. ‘As nothing was proved, then as far as my assignment goes, we can’t draw any more conclusion from it other than that Oscar Scanlon and Frank Saxby were once business partners.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Davina went to pour more wine and found the bottle all but empty. ‘Shall I open another one?’
‘That sounds good, but I’ve got my car.’
‘You could always get a taxi.’
‘Yes, I could, but you’ve given me some research ideas. I’d like to follow up while they’re fresh.’
‘I could help,’ Davina said, and Tayte could see the eagerness in her eyes. He was about to give her his usual line about preferring to work alone, when she added, ‘If there’s any chance your assignment could help to find my husband’s killer, I need to be a part of it. You can understand that, can’t you?’
Tayte understood all too well. He’d felt exactly the same way when his good friend Marcus Brown was murdered. Understanding why had meant everything to him. He smiled at Davina and gave a small nod. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t see why not.’
Davina’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you. I won’t get in the way.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go up to my apartment. It’s a little cramped in here, and I’ve got a laptop and a fast Internet connection. Two laptops might be better than one.’
Chapt
er Thirteen
Davina’s apartment was located in one of six conjoined units that formed a crescent rising in tiers amid landscaped gardens facing the moorings and the River Medway. Tayte followed Davina into a lift that was in one of the taller sections of the building and watched her press the button for the top floor.
‘We splashed out and were lucky enough to get one of the penthouses,’ she said. ‘Oh, dear. You probably think I’m rich now, don’t you? New boat and a second property on the river.’ She laughed. ‘I wish.’
‘You can’t take it with you,’ Tayte said, and he immediately regretted it. ‘Sorry,’ he offered, thinking about her husband. Davina seemed to be handling Lionel’s death so well on the outside that Tayte had forgotten to be careful with this choice of words. ‘I’m afraid I’m always putting my foot in it. Can’t seem to help myself.’
‘That’s okay,’ Davina said as the lift door opened. ‘I like that about you. What you see is what you get. No pretence.’
‘I never really thought about it.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, would you? That’s what I mean.’
They stepped out onto a bright, sunlit landing, and Tayte began to think about his next line of research.
‘I think I’d like to find out some more about Lord Charles Metcalfe,’ he said as they walked. ‘He seems pivotal to everyone I’m interested in from the time before Alice Stilwell supposedly died. We can go over what we already know about him first. Then see what else we can find.’
They arrived at the apartment, and Davina took out her key. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
She went to put her key into the lock, but as she did so, the door nudged open, and she froze. They stared at each other for a moment. Then Tayte put a finger to his lips and moved in front of her, noticing as he did so that the lock had been forced.
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