The landscape was far less appealing than the previous time they had taken this journey, and it made Theo question whether Mallorca would be a pleasant place to be in the winter.

  Before they got anywhere near to the crematorium, it was clear the event was going to be a total bunfight. The small village was heaving with journalists, camera crews, ambulance chasers and a large number of genuine mourners. Theo drove all the way through the village and out the other side. Finally he found a parking spot beside a gate to a field. They left the car there and walked back to the centre.

  They could get nowhere near the building itself due to the crowds, but Theo spotted more than one point of interest. Firstly, two police vehicles at either end of the street. Beatrice saw them at the same time.

  “You think they are going to arrest her here?” she asked.

  “It certainly looks that way to me.”

  The second point which drew Theo’s attention was the media focus. Camera flashes and shouted questions revolved around a couple of people entering the building. A tall man with white hair was escorting Ophelia Moffatt through the crowd.

  “Raf Beaumont,” muttered Beatrice, standing on tiptoes.

  Trying to get closer would require the skills of an American footballer and she gave up, content to observe. They waited in the grounds as the ceremony began, beamed onto a screen for those shut outside. Greg Palliser gave a eulogy for his sister which was schmaltzy and overwritten, and his delivery was not particularly heartfelt. Next up, racing driver brother Nat delivered a pointed speech directed largely at the police, expressing disappointment that no one had been charged with the murder of his sister. There were a few songs and many more tributes from Romy’s friends, all of whom were dressed as glamorously as you could get in black. Miranda Flynn gave an unimaginative poetry reading with a veil covering her face. A veil? Surely that type of gear should be the prerogative of very close family, not somebody who’d had a screaming row with the murder victim shortly before her death.

  Theo turned to address Beatrice and realised Matthew was no longer standing behind her.

  “Where’d Matthew go?”

  Her head snapped from left to right scanning the crowds. Theo could see no sign of him.

  “Quick, we have to find that wretched man,” she hissed.

  Just as they had done on the beach, Theo and Beatrice split up to search the crowds, him left, her right. Many people were weeping, hugging each other and making the sign of the cross. Mostly those in designer clothes, Theo noted. Halfway up the driveway, beside a rosebush arch, he saw Matthew in conversation with a short bald man.

  “Theo! There you are. This is Mike, who works for the Daily Express. Comes from Bristol, would you believe? Mike, this is Theo, my wife’s assistant.”

  Theo tried not to show any alarm. “Hello, Mike, what brings you to Mallorca?”

  “All right, mate? Covering the Romy Palliser case. What about you?”

  “We’re on holiday, but one of our party has wandered off. We’d better go and find her. Nice to meet you, Mike. Come on, Matthew, this way.”

  “Righty ho. Have a safe trip back to Bristol.” With a contented smile, he allowed Theo to steer him closer to the crematorium. “It’s a charming building, don’t you think? Crematoria often are, I find. There she is!”

  Red-faced and puffing, Beatrice hurried towards them.

  “Where did you get to, you old goat?” she asked.

  “Beatrice! We’ve been looking for you, haven’t we, Theo? I just got chatting to a chap from Bristol. A reporter, as it turns out. He’s here to cover the funeral. Seems this is international news.”

  Beatrice checked Theo’s expression. He gave an infinitesimal shake of his head. He was pretty sure Matthew had given nothing away. Before she could ask any more questions, the doors opened and the mourners poured out, some red-eyed and sniffling, some hurrying away from the cameras. They stood back and waited, watching as the family departed, protected by some burly individuals in black suits. To Theo’s amazement, Greg and his brother Nat were actually laughing together, as if they were coming out of the pub rather than saying a final farewell to their sister.

  Beatrice nudged him and nodded towards the street. Detective Quintana stood beside the family car, his arms folded and his gaze fixed on the approaching party. As they passed, Theo noticed Miranda Flynn was not with them.

  Theo had a bad feeling about that. He looked at Beatrice. “Stay here in case she comes out, I’ll check the other doors.”

  Mourners filed past in small, subdued groups. Not one contained Miranda Flynn. The gardens cleared at speed and Theo saw another funeral party entering via the other end of the building. It was pretty much a conveyor belt.

  Theo rounded the corner and paced down the side of the building in the shade. He got almost to the end when a movement caught his eye. Miranda Flynn was speed-walking down a slope towards the garden of remembrance, beyond which lay the car park.

  “Miranda!” Theo called. “Just a minute!”

  She whirled around and saw him, then broke into a run.

  Theo launched himself after her without hesitation, heedless of Beatrice’s warnings not to tackle anyone alone. She was fit, sure, but she had the impediment of heels, whereas Theo wore running shoes. He gained on her fast and reached out to catch her jacket. As he did so, she let out a piercing scream and two men came running from the gardens towards them. Theo held up his hands in a peaceful gesture but Miranda continued screeching so he could not make himself heard. The two men grabbed an arm each and frog-marched him in the direction he had come.

  He kept trying to explain, twisting to see Miranda running towards the car park. They dragged him onwards.

  “What on earth is going on?” Beatrice and Matthew stood at the corner of the crematorium,

  “Beatrice, call Quintana! She’s getting away! She’s heading towards the car park! Tell the police!”

  Beatrice turned to rush in the opposite direction and collided with Detective Quintana running towards her.

  Theo yelled, “¡La mujer se escapa! ¡Ahí abajo!”

  Quintana bellowed an order to the gardeners, who released Theo, and spoke into his radio. Theo took off at a run, Quintana on his heels. Theo scanned the area for a fleeing female but could see nothing more than trees. She had disappeared.

  “Over there!” Beatrice shouted from the top of the slope, pointing at the incoming funeral party. Abruptly, Theo veered right, running directly at the group of mourners. Quintana yelled ‘¡Policía!’ and the black-clad crowd parted to allow them through. In the gap, Theo saw his target. Sprinting across the grass, shoes discarded, was Miranda Flynn. People moved out of Theo’s path, all gawping at the pursuit. He was closing the gap, near enough to see her handbag bouncing at her side and her veil flying.

  Behind him, Quintana shouted for her to stop. Miranda did not heed his warning and ran straight into the road, colliding with a passing car. Fortunately, the car was turning into the crematorium, so only travelling at around five kilometres per hour, but the impact bounced Miranda onto the ground. Just enough time for Theo to catch up. He reached down a hand to help her up and to his horror, she drew a knife from her bag and slashed at him. Theo scrambled away from the blade, giving her time to crab her way into a crouch.

  The driver of the car got out and on hearing Quintana roar, instantly got in again. The Spanish detective drew closer, his weapon trained on Flynn.

  “Alléjate de ella,” Quintana told Theo, no longer shouting.

  Theo reversed, leaving a space between him and the cornered woman. Two uniformed officers raced over the lawn, both drawing their own weapons as they skidded to a halt. Miranda had nowhere to run. She took a couple of cautious paces until her back pressed against the car. Her left hand reached for the driver’s door handle. A shot boomed into the silence, making Theo gasp.

  Quintana’s aim was true. The front tyre shattered, pieces of rubber flying into the air like a shower of spiders. It was enough. Flynn dropped the knife and raised her hands. Quintana and one other officer kept their guns pointed at her as their colleague kicked away the knife and put her in handcuffs.

  Once the police car carrying the would-be fugitive drove away, Quintana strode up the drive to face Theo and Beatrice, his hands on his hips. He shook hands with them both.

  Quintana looked at the ground and inhaled deeply. Once he had released his breath, he looked them in the eyes and spoke in English. “We will charge her today. Her behaviour gave us all the evidence we needed. Thank you both for the information and thanks to you, Mr Wolfe, for your help with the arrest.”

  Theo also switched languages. “You’re welcome. Do you need statements from us?”

  “If I take statements from you, I don’t get the glory.” He gave them a wry smile. “You did a good job and I appreciate your help. As a thank you, I’ll be in touch to tell you what happens next. Have a good afternoon.” He stalked off as if going into battle.

  “Detective? Can I have a word?” Beatrice asked. She joined him to walk down the drive, leaving Theo to look for Matthew. He was seated on a bench in the garden of remembrance and smiled as Theo approached.

  “What a lovely spot,” said Matthew.

  “Perfect,” Theo agreed and sat beside him to appreciate the shade and the silence.

  “I knew it,” said Beatrice, when she found them a few minutes later. “That whole I-don’t-speak-English shtick when he works as a cop in a tourist town. Oh well, what does it matter now? So long as they have caught Miranda Flynn and can find out exactly what happened, Philly is in the clear. Objective met. I’ll write up a report for Hoagy and we can head home.”

  “This is the frustrating bit,” Theo said. “I want to know the whole story. If Greg was in on it, if it was her who spoiled the paintings and most of all, I want to hear her confess.”

  Beatrice beckoned them and began walking towards the exit. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I have a theory about the paintings, and whether Greg was in on it remains to be seen, but we should know soon enough. We’ll get a call from Quintana later today. Now what do you say to a spot of lunch before knuckling down to that report?”

  Matthew caught up with them and linked his arm in Beatrice’s. “Capital plan. I wouldn’t say no to dining at that café you mentioned.”

  “Which café you mentioned?” Theo looked up to see a willowy woman with white-blonde hair standing on the other side of the road. “Hang on. There’s someone I need to speak to. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  Beatrice’s head snapped around to stare. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Five minutes, OK? I’ll meet you at the car.” Theo raised a hand to wave at Fae. “Matthew, take this woman away.”

  “Quite right. Come along, Old Thing, I’ve had more than enough drama for one day.”

  Chapter 26

  The formal discussion was scheduled for seven o’clock. Some elements of their meeting were not yet clear, others had been agreed. Adrian had no idea whether Will would stay the night and if so, in their bed. However, his offer to cook was gratefully received. He was nervous and as always when his mind was agitated, he spent hours on preparation for the evening ahead. He left work early and went to the delicatessen to collect all the ingredients required for a jambalaya. The Creole-style dish was one of Will’s favourites and the fact that Adrian was cooking it tonight was a display of consideration Will would not fail to appreciate.

  He chose a robust Californian Chenin Blanc to accompany it, along with cornbread and a green salad with slices of avocado. Once the pot was in the oven, he showered, shaved and changed into jeans and white shirt. Will was a big fan of the Waltons look. While he prepared the salad dressing, he ran over his arguments once again, often discarding a particular word for something more accommodating. He repeated his mantra, ‘I will not cry’ twenty times as he laid the table.

  At ten to seven, keys jangled in the apartment door. Adrian went into the corridor to greet his husband and his heart leaped at the sight of that gorgeous man in his work suit. All formality dropped away and in two strides, Adrian took his husband in his arms. They held each other close, Adrian inhaling Will’s aftershave.

  “I was so worried about you,” he murmured into Will’s shoulder.

  Will placed a hand on the back of his head. “I know and I’m sorry. I just needed some space. I should have called except I was busy being an arrogant idiot.” He pulled away and looked into Adrian’s eyes, his hands on Adrian’s shoulders. “You were the bigger person, calling me to talk things over.”

  The urge to ask where Will had spent last night grew as insistent as a drumbeat in Adrian’s head but he forced himself to ignore it. “I wouldn’t call myself the bigger person after my behaviour in the car but I thought it over. We can’t let something like this fester and damage our open communication. So I made jambalaya Creole-style, chilled a nice white and thought we could do this like grown-ups.”

  Will leaned in for a kiss. “I love jambalaya. And I love you.”

  If it wasn’t for the fact that the rice needed fluffing, Adrian would have dragged him into the bedroom there and then. But there was a conversation that needed having before they could consider make-up sex. “I know you do. Right, are you hungry?”

  After a few appreciative comments on the food, which Adrian had to admit was one of his best one-pot dishes ever, they turned to the matter at hand.

  “I thought about what you said,” said Will, “about the fact that you would have to be mother. That made me realise how selfish I was being. Because it’s true. When I went to work this morning, I asked myself if I would be prepared to give up this job to be a full-time parent. I wrestled with that all morning and came to the conclusion that no, I wouldn’t. So expecting you to give up the business that you built from scratch was unreasonable and unfair. I wanted us to think about it and talk about it in a practical way but I went at the argument from an emotional perspective. I apologise for that.”

  In Adrian’s head, he could hear Catinca’s voice. It’s like any other negotiation, innit? Except in this case you both want the same thing. To make each other happy, right?

  “Right,” said Adrian. “Apology accepted. I hope you’ll accept mine. I flew off the handle when you brought it up in the car because the truth is, I could see it coming. I’d already been making contingency plans, such as babysitting Alejandro or spending time with your sister’s kids. But I hadn’t thought about it in any other terms than practical. This is important to you, I know that. So let’s look at both sides of the question, practical and emotional.”

  Will grinned and lifted his glass. “We are so damned reasonable it’s like an ACAS meeting. Cheers, and risk of being seen a flatterer, this is your best jambalaya yet.”

  “Cheers,” Adrian returned the smile. “I don’t see it as flattery at all, because it’s the truth. The secret is that chorizo from the deli. Now, you brought up the topic of parenthood and I think it’s only fair you should go first. Why don’t you explain how you feel about the subject and how you think it might work. I will hear you out without interruption and then give you my perspective on the question. After that, we can discuss each other’s assumptions. Does that sound fair?”

  Will’s grin spread again. “Very fair. That’s exactly how I wanted to handle it. OK, I’ll start with context. When we met, I had two priorities in my life. One, promotion to detective inspector. Two, meeting a man I could build a life with. That night I interviewed you after that freak made accusations, I fell head over heels in love. You’ve heard this before, but you thought it was pillow talk. It wasn’t, Adrian. That was the night. I broke protocol to return your laptop so I could ask you out on a date. I was younger then, and could only see as far as the next couple of years. Last week showed me a different side of myself. Being an ersatz parent was even more fulfilling than breaking up a gang of gun runners. The idea of shaping a little person’s character, teaching them a sense of right and wrong and the feeling of responsibility all thrilled me to my core. I wanted more than a part-time gig. You and I would make… Sorry. I felt that you and I would make great parents. It wasn’t just me getting broody. I watched you interact with Luke with such naturalness that I could see us raising a child together.” Will’s swirled his wine around the glass but did not drink.

  “If you let that jambalaya get cold, I will never cook for you again,” said Adrian.

  They ate for a few moments in silence, Adrian restraining himself from making any comment on Will’s previous words. He didn’t stare, or sigh, or drum his fingers on the table. He just allowed some time for Will to organise his thoughts.

  “In terms of fitting a child into our lives, I guess I thought we could cross that bridge when we came to it. But that’s naïve, I know that now. My desire for fatherhood addresses my emotional state and if I’m honest, is a fantasy. We can’t do this as a trial run, like experimenting with BDSM or something like that.”

  Adrian put down his fork, his mind racing. “You want to experiment with BDSM?” He began to think he didn’t know his husband at all.

  “No! I’m not into that kind of thing, you know that. What I meant was, it’s not a game changer to introduce a new sexual preference, redecorate the bedroom or switch roles in a relationship. Because if it doesn’t work, you can press the reset button. That is not realistic when it comes to adopting a child. That is the definition of a game changer. I know it would transform our lives. What I’m saying is, it might transform them for the better.”

  The CD player chose a new track on random select. As if the machine had a sense of irony, it picked ‘Clouds’ by Joni Mitchell. The lyrics held a particular significance as they finished their food. They listened to the entire track without speaking, occasionally meeting each other’s eyes. The poignancy was lost on neither of them. When the final chord faded, Will put down his fork and looked into Adrian’s eyes.