austerity of the single bed had been softened by a couple of cushions and a piece of dark red fabric which served as a cover. The small bedside table held an alarm clock and a photograph, and Penrose was momentarily taken aback to see Elspeth so suddenly and unexpectedly brought to life. The picture showed her standing with White outside the New Theatre, next to the ‘House Full’ sign, and triumphantly waving two tickets at the camera. It was a moment of unreserved happiness and it brought the tragedy of her death home to him more starkly even than the murder scene or the Simmonses’ grief. Next to the photograph, a handful of picture postcards from some of London’s tourist attractions had been propped against a water jug full of flowers, and Penrose was relieved at last to find someone whose pocket preferred daffodils to irises; he was beginning to find the more majestic flower a little oppressive. He wondered if the neat domesticity of the room was habitual, or if a special effort had been made for this weekend.
White followed his gaze and anticipated the question before it was asked. ‘I got those for Elspeth on Friday,’ he said. ‘I thought she could look through the postcards and choose where she wanted to go on Sunday, then we could save the rest for another time. And the daffodils – well, if she did happen to come back here, I wanted it to be nice for her.’
Penrose looked round the room again and, with a stab of nostalgia, recognised all the signs of someone hoping to take his first tentative steps towards a physical relationship. The flowers, the window open to air the small space, the best clothes hung ready complete with carefully darned socks – all were part of a universal language spoken by young men regardless of class and geography.
Hedley had left nothing to chance. The gas ring on the floor – a typ-205
ical feature of rented accommodation – held a kettle, and two mugs had been placed next to it, not matching but brightly coloured and welcoming; there was an alternative to tea, too, in the form of a bottle of Guinness and a pair of tumblers, and Penrose was sure that if he were to move a little closer to the bed he would be able to catch the optimistic scent of freshly laundered sheets.
These first impressions of Hedley White were both an affirmation of what he had expected, and a surprise. He had thought of him as a frightened boy and fear was certainly written all over his face – fear, and the relief which Penrose often saw in people who had decided to confront the worst thing that could happen to them. But he had not anticipated someone quite as out of the ordinary as the young man in front of him. Hedley was remarkably good-looking, with the broad shoulders and narrow hips of an athlete and an open, spirited face which was devoid of all vanity and all the more handsome for that. If Penrose didn’t steer clear of such adjectives when questioning a suspect, he would have said it was an honest face. There was a strength, too, behind the fear, a resolve in his eyes to stick to the course he had chosen no matter what; whether that was to White’s credit or not, Penrose hoped now to find out. ‘Was Elspeth fond of daffodils?’ he asked.
For a moment, White seemed to think that Penrose was mocking him. When he realised it was a serious question, he just looked bewildered. ‘She liked all sorts of flowers.’
‘But no particular favourites?’
‘Not that I know of. She talked about rose bushes in her garden at home, but I’ve bought her violets and snowdrops as well as daffodils, and she said she liked them all.’
‘Why did you run away, Hedley? You must have known how that would look.’
‘Because I was scared,’ he said with disarming simplicity. ‘The papers were calling it a crime of passion, so I knew you’d be looking for me and I knew you’d think I killed Elspeth. Haven’t you ever been so frightened that you just wanted to get as far away as possible, even though you had nothing to hide?’
It was a rhetorical question, although Penrose could have cited 206
several salient examples. ‘When did you find out that Elspeth had been killed?’ he asked.
‘During the matinee. I didn’t know straight away that it was Elspeth but everyone backstage was talking about what had happened at King’s Cross the night before and how it was connected to the play. Then after the show I saw a newspaper in the Green Room. It didn’t give any names or a description or anything, but it said a young girl had been killed and the time, and I just knew it had to be her. I left the theatre at about five o’clock and went to a telephone box, and I kept telephoning her aunt and uncle, hoping they’d say she was with them and all right, but there was no answer. That confirmed something was wrong. They’d never leave the shop on a Saturday.’
‘So why did you go to the theatre last night?’
‘Because of the Boat Race.’ Penrose looked confused, so Hedley continued. ‘I suddenly thought that might be why no one was at home. Elspeth had mentioned it in one of her letters – they always go if she’s there because they live so close to the river, and I thought they might have stayed on to join in the celebrations after the race. So I waited outside the theatre in case it had all been some horrible mistake, hoping she’d turn up just like we’d arranged. I suppose I knew in my heart it was no good, but I so desperately wanted there to be another explanation.’
‘What arrangements had you made for the weekend?’
‘We were going to meet at the theatre, an hour or so before the show so we’d have time for a drink. Afterwards, we were going to have dinner at the Lyons on Shaftesbury Avenue. Her uncle works for them and he put in a good word for us. The staff there love Frank, so we knew we’d get a good deal.’
‘And afterwards?’
Penrose could see that imagining how the weekend should have gone was painful for Hedley, but the boy was making a big effort to hold himself together and he carried on. ‘I would have taken her home. On Sunday, we were going to go out for the day but we hadn’t made any definite plans. We thought we’d see what the weather was like.’
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‘How long did you stay at the theatre on Saturday night?’
‘We’d agreed to meet out the front, so I waited across the road.
I got there at about a quarter past six, I suppose – Elspeth was always early because she’d get so excited, so I didn’t want to miss her. I stayed until the house had gone in and they started to turn the queues away. By that time, I couldn’t pretend any more. I knew she wasn’t coming, and that I wouldn’t need the tickets, so I sold them.’
‘Where did you go after that?’
‘I walked about for a long time – it must have been hours. I couldn’t come home because I knew you’d look for me here, so I went in the opposite direction, round all the parks, and ended up at Paddington. I thought about getting a train and making a run for it.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
