The Last Queen of England Read Online Free PDF Page A

just out of habit.   Neither he nor Jean had much of an appetite so they decided to drink the wine first and save the meal for later.  
    Jean’s flat was on the eleventh floor of a recently developed high-rise in the Docklands area, facing east along the River Thames.   It was cosy, Tayte thought as he waited for Jean to return from the kitchen with the drinks.   The kitchen doorway led off the sitting room and another went back out into a narrow hallway where he’d passed three further doors that he figured led to bedrooms and a bathroom.
    He sighed for the hundredth time in as many minutes and gazed around at all the books that were lined on shelves against the walls.   Larger tomes were piled like occasional tables beside the seating, which was covered with colourful throws.   He was thinking about Marcus’s wife, Emmy.   He’d called her when he got back to the hotel but predictably she wasn’t home.   The police had answered on his second call and he imagined her house had been overrun all afternoon.   He supposed she would be at the hospital or maybe with family by now and he hoped someone was taking care of her.   As close as he and Marcus had been, he couldn’t begin to imagine how Emmy was feeling right now.   He’d go and see her before he flew home, although he had no idea now when that would be.
    A tinkle of glass announced Jean’s return with the wine.   She pulled out a low table between the chairs, set the wine down and curled her legs up, facing Tayte.   She’d changed into jeans and a pastel-blue jumper and she was wearing her glasses now - the makeup gone.   Tayte thought the natural look suited her better.
    “Thanks,” he said as Jean handed him a glass.   The wine was red.   He took a sip.   “Not bad.”
    “I don’t know much about wine, I’m afraid,” Jean said.   She smiled.   “It’s red, white or rosé.   That’s my limit.”
    Just as long as it contained alcohol Tayte didn’t really care what colour it was or what it tasted like.   “I noticed a couple of motorcycle helmets on my way through.   You ride?”
    “It’s the only way to get around town.”
    Tayte had difficulty imagining Jean on a scooter.   She didn’t seem the type, but what did he know?   “And the other helmet?   Your ex-husband’s?”
    Jean smiled at him as if she’d just been caught with her hand in the till.   “My son’s,” she said.   The baggage was out.
    “Does he live with you?”   The question just came out.   Tayte had no idea why he was acting so interested.
    “Off and on,” Jean said.   “He prefers to stay with his dad.”
    Tayte nodded and gulped his wine.   Small talk was definitely not his thing.   He decided to change the subject, eager to go over the conversation at the restaurant earlier.   He needed to know if Jean had any more insight into what Marcus had been working on and more than anything, he hoped it would take him closer to finding out why it appeared to have led to his murder.
    “Do you think you were close with any of those questions you asked Marcus at the restaurant?”
    “I don’t know,” Jean said, “I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.   He was keen to shut me up, wasn’t he?”
    “Yes, he was, and I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, too.   Especially about what Marcus said just before he -”   Tayte couldn’t continue without pausing first.   “Before he died.”
    “Treason?”
    Tayte nodded.   “You mentioned a Bonny Prince.   Bonny Prince Charlie, the Jacobite?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And the two words fit together, don’t they?   Jacobite and treason?”
    “Very much so,” Jean said.   “But not in the twenty-first century.   The Jacobite risings happened over two hundred and fifty years ago.”
    Tayte wished he had Marcus’s briefcase.   While he hoped DI Fable and his team would turn something up at the house, he knew how particular Marcus was with his paperwork.   Whatever he