It's another Demparryless chapter I'm afraid :-(

Looking at it positively though, when they eventually get together again, it'll make their reunion all the sweeter... hopefully... maybe... you'd like to think... ;-/

Duann! All those catch-up reviews. You little star. Thank you so much XXX (Sorry, I know you wish that meant this chapter was triple X rated :-D )

Chapter 32

A single blonde hair had been found down the left-hand side of the driver's seat which was inconsistent with the others proven to belong to Makepeace. The hair was bleached light blonde but it was noted that a high volume peroxide had been used due to the fact that it was treating coarse Asian hair, namely, from a person of South Asian origin. Mrs Sherwood had speculated that this could imply it had come from a wig, with the vast majority of wigs manufactured from human hair coming from Asian countries.

Dempsey was confident that if the woman driving Harry's car had had brown skin along with that light blonde hair, those witnesses at the scene wouldn't have overlooked the fact.

The other stand-out finding that had been highlighted in the report had been made by one of Mrs Sherwood's colleagues working on the case.

Apparently, the driver's seat had been moved out of its regular position. The steel floor runners on which the seat could be adjusted showed a clearly ground impression made where the seat was typically stationed. When the forensics team got hold of the car, the seat was pushed almost six inches further back.

In Dempsey's experience, you didn't come across too many Indian broads around the 5'10" to 6' mark with bleach blonde bobbed do's and if you did, you would be sure to remember her. But was it possible the driver had been a slim white guy wearing a wig? Because odds on it was a man who'd been behind the wheel and he saw that now. He thought back to the photograph he'd seen, the one Harry had shown him of Jonathan and his brother. Couldn't Robert Makepeace fit the bill? It was a leap but…

There was something their father had said when he and Harry had visited him at Harrington Manor just a couple of days ago, something which at the time hadn't even registered but must've been significant enough for him to squirrel away into his subconscious.

'Money seems to be the only commodity my son takes notice of' … or something like that

So Robert Makepeace was a money-grabbing bastard just to add to his list of human failings but so what? Didn't mean he'd commit murder.

Dempsey flipped the lid on the container of pills with one hand as he drove and shook a couple into his mouth. He could see all the dots, he was sure, only he couldn't join them together.

Frowning, he lit himself a cigar and cranked down the side window, hoping that the aromatic smell and sense of well-being it evoked might stimulate the thought process.

But instead, he found himself thinking of Harry. She'd admitted to him a couple of years back that she enjoyed the smell of a good cigar, could even recognise one or two of the various tobaccos. Funny but he enjoyed it a lot more now himself, knowing he wasn't causing offence by contaminating her air.

She'd got to him. In every part of his life now, Harry had an effect. And he needed her back so bad it was a crime in itself.

As luck would have it, the same receptionist was on duty only this time, minus Violet, the resident who had been assisting previously.

"Now I remember your face but I'm afraid I don't remember your name," said Hilary as she opened up the Harrington Manor visitors book and pushed it across the desk to Dempsey to sign in.

Putting down the expensive box of biscuits he'd purchased for the occasion, he wrote an indecipherable scrawl and added the date in the next column, not bothering with the car registration.

"You were here with Mr Makepeace's daughter-in-law last time, weren't you?"

"Yes, I knew I was going to be in this neck of the woods today so she asked if I'd stop by," he said pleasantly. "Is it okay? I guess I should of made an appointment."

"It should be fine," she assured him. "I saw Mr Makepeace a little while ago when he came out of breakfast and he seemed in good spirits. If you just want to take a seat, I'll find out where he is." She leaned towards him conspiratorially. "Errm, you know what happened to his other son, Jonathan, I take it?"

"I heard."

"I hope you weren't planning on telling him, were you? I mean, the police were in touch with us this morning and you probably know that we contacted Robert at that point. It was decided it would be better all round to say nothing. Mr Makepeace just wouldn't cope with something like that and it seems that there's still a chance poor Jonathan might pull through so…"

"No. No, I completely understand the situation. I'm not here for that. That's the last thing he needs, right?"

After a short wait, Dempsey was shown through to what the attendant referred to as the Day Room. Patrick Makepeace was there, holding a copy of the Financial Times but not attempting to read it.

"Good morning!" Dempsey greeted brightly and the old man looked up questioningly.

"It's your daughter-in-law's friend… Mr Dempsey. You said you were okay to see him."

The young man, dressed quite smartly in trousers, a v-neck jumper and shirt wore a name badge bearing the Harrington Manor insignia along with the name, Richard.

"Ah, no, you're mistaken there I'm afraid."

Shit! He didn't remember him. How was he supposed to play this now?

"Harriet isn't my daughter-in-law. Not any longer. She and my son were recently divorced, you see. Mr Dempsey here is her solicitor."

He looked pleased with himself, glad to be able to set the record straight.

"Oh, okay," said Richard cheerfully, not particularly taking in the information. He'd been at this job for four years now and had learnt to take most things with a pinch of salt when it came from a resident.

"Now Mr Dempsey, how about a cup of tea on the veranda?" asked his host graciously, "and you can give me 'the low down' as you Americans say."

"Sound good to me," Dempsey smiled, proffering the box of Artisan Vanillekipferl Biscuits he'd bought en route from an exclusive little delicatessen.

"How kind! Thank you. I like to sit out here in the mornings," said the old man. "Don't usually come out 'til around ten though now it's getting a bit colder."

Dempsey had to wonder what this joint was costing when within minutes of seating themselves at one of the green, wrought iron bistro tables with their pretty cream and green leaf print cushions tied to the seats of the chairs, a tray was brought out to them.

Having checked his preference before they came outside, Richard served a small pot of coffee alongside Patrick Makepeace's tea.

"Nice place, Mr Makepeace. A hotel with a heart, huh?"

He got a slightly confused smile and Dempsey thought maybe he wasn't really sure where the hell he was.

"I'm wracking my brains but I can't seem to remember why it was you wanted to see me. Is it about Robert? Is he still causing trouble? I really wouldn't be surprised if that poor girl wants to file charges."

This from the mans' own father! And what was it he thought she might be filing charges over?

"No, Sir. No issue there. There's a delicate financial matter I was hoping to get your thoughts on."

Patrick Makepeace looked surprised. "Financial? I don't follow. Everything has been settled, hasn't it?"

It was at this point that Dempsey started to feel bad about the deception. It wasn't fair. The old guy was just a shell of his former self; the remains of what Harry had told him was a once brilliant, witty, charming and astute person, which was now just rattling around in there like a dried pea in a tin can.

"It's come to my attention that your son might possibly have been withholding information concerning his finances prior to the divorce."

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that."

"I'm not after specifics from you and I realise you wouldn't want to compromise Robert's position but it would seem there's a possibility Mrs Makepeace…" it sounded weird, calling her that but he figured that formal was appropriate, "was entitled to a settlement which she never received."

Although he knew very little about Harry's divorce, he did know she'd walked away without a penny more than she'd gone into the marriage with.

Mr Makepeace looked surprised. "Did she 'need' a settlement?"

Dempsey doubted she'd wanted a bean from the bastard. And even if she'd been struggling with her financial independence, he was pretty sure she'd sooner have asked Freddie for help than go through the courts with Robert.

"More a case of entitlement than actual need, Mr Makepeace. And I personally don't like to be hoodwinked."

"Hmmm. I see."

He took a thoughtful sip from his cup of tea and it seemed to take an age before he placed it back on the saucer, producing a tinkling rattle of bone china. In fact, Dempsey was just beginning to think Mr Makepeace's had totally lost track of the conversation when he said, "I have to say, this doesn't sound like it's coming from Harriet."

There was a cautionary note in his tone. He wasn't for hoodwinking either.

"As my client, I want to see she received a fair settlement so if I'm given to believe that certain financial assets weren't declared at the time, I have an obligation to look a little deeper."

"For which you will receive a modest fee?" Mr Makepeace asked, not unpleasantly.

Dempsey smiled and lowered his eyes in acquiescence as he rested his forearm on the little metal table. "I'm an employee Sir", he said and drank his coffee.

"Yes, I know. Just doing your job." The smile was returned with a salty glaze. "Well, Mr Dempsey, I can tell you that to the best of my knowledge, my son has no hidden assets. He couldn't hang onto anything of value long enough to hide it! And the last item of value divorced him!"

"No nice little investment deal that bought him a Lamborghini?"

"A Lamborghini no less! Is that what you heard?"

"It's what I heard," he confirmed.

"If that were true, he would have been knocking at my door to prove how wrong about him I've been all this time."

"Definitely no windfall then?"

"And certainly no Lamborghini."

Dempsey was inclined to believe the denials. He sensed that this man wasn't capable of guile even though today, unlike their first meeting, there was a great deal more lucidity about him.

"If Harriet is experiencing financial difficulties, I'd be more than happy to offer my support but I know she has a good head on her shoulders so I would find that hard to believe. And I also know Lord Winfield would never see his daughter lacking for anything."

There was a warbled cry from the dayroom causing Dempsey to look towards the French doors. Mr Makepeace didn't bat an eyelid, familiar with the issues of his fellow residents as he was. "So in my book, that leaves only my original thought; that it's simply the machinations of just another greedy lawyer."

"Hey, I'm only anxious to see my client gets what's rightfully hers."

"Oh, Robert owes her alright, I'll give you that," he agreed, "but some things can't be compensated with money."

Dempsey was on full alert. Did Patrick Makepeace know? Did he know about Robert's affair with Harry's best friend; the abortion and the beating he'd given her for it? But Harry had told him nobody knew.

"What 'things', Mr Makepeace?" he pushed, using his gentlest voice.

The old man was gazing out across the lawns, the slight breeze dislodging a carefully combed strand of hair so that it hung lankly above his right ear.

"Things that make me ashamed to call Robert my son."

Dempsey was saddened to see a tear form as the bitter memories surfaced. How cruel that when memories became such a precious commodity, the bad should be awakened along with the good.

"That must be hard for you. Whatever he's done, I guess he's still your child – your flesh and blood."

He wondered if the provocative words would goad him to elaborate.

"Maybe that's what hurts the most, Mr… errm…"

"Dempsey."

"Mr Dempsey. Yes. Where did my wife and I go wrong with him, hmm?"

"You didn't manufacture him. He's his own person, free to make his own choices."

The old man turned to him. "Thank you for that," he said with a serene smile. "You know that quote, with great wealth comes great responsibility?" He waited for Dempsey to nod his confirmation. "It also comes with great power for those who choose to wield it." He wagged a sagacious finger and told him, "He'll never have that kind of power – not of my making anyway."

"Gonna take a sentimental journey, gonna set my heart at ease…"

A few notes on a piano heralded the beginning of the song; a clearly elderly yet strong female voice performing the lyrics with practiced ease.

Mr Makepeace's chair scraped backwards and he rose with delight melting the fine wrinkles on his face.

"Ah, Grace!" he beamed. "How lovely!"

He started towards the French doors and Dempsey got up, anxious to detain him.

"Are you talkin' 'bout his inheritance?" he called after him. "D'you mean you disinherited him?"

But Patrick Makepeace had just stepped neatly into a new scene, one that was happy and uncomplicated and required little or no thought.

"Mr Makepeace!" Dempsey called out.

The old man stopped and turned briefly. "You remember Grace, don't you? She and her husband joined us all at Sainte Maxime a couple of years ago."

He faded away as Grace's singing voice drew him towards a happier world.

"Gonna make a sentimental journey, to renew old memories."