Black Valley (36 page)

‘Nothing for me, thanks.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Nella reached over and took her arm, a look of concern on her face.

‘Fine, love. Don’t worry about me. Honestly, I’m OK. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re back.’ Nella gave a sigh. ‘It’s been awful without you and Rose here. I’ve really missed you both.’

Rose had gone to stay with Bob while Jess was in hospital.

‘Hasn’t Gareth been here?’

‘Not so much. I’ve been trying to get some work done. I find he distracts me.’

Jess smiled. This was a side of Nella she hadn’t seen before. Perhaps her sojourn in hospital had helped her daughter to take responsibility for herself at last.

Nella took a sip of her tea. ‘Actually, Mum, there’s something I have to tell you. I should have done it before. But I never seemed to find the right moment.’

Jess stopped smiling. Her heart sank. The words
she’s pregnant
flashed through her mind.

‘What is it?’

Nella hesitated. She looked anxious, ashamed.

There was a silence.

I should have stopped her sleeping with Gareth, Jess thought. It’s my fault this has happened. I must have been mad . . . Jess stopped herself. There was nothing to reproach herself for.
When Nella had met Gareth, she’d come to her and told her she wanted to sleep with him. It was her first time, she’d said, and she didn’t know how to go about it all. They’d
discussed the various methods of contraception, looked through some information online, and decided that the Pill, combined with condoms, was the method best suited to her. Nella had gone to the
doctor, got herself kitted out, and hadn’t mentioned the matter since. As far as Jess knew, it had all been going smoothly. At the same time, Nella was only seventeen. And she was, by nature,
a forgetful person. She could have forgotten to take her pills. The condom could have broken. They were too young, perhaps, to . . .

Nella stood up and lifted up her T-shirt. On her navel, near her hip, was a tattoo.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I know you said I couldn’t until I was eighteen, but I went off and got it done anyway. I feel really bad about it.’

Jess closed her eyes, sat back in her chair, and gave a sigh of relief. Then she opened them again, and realized Nella was waiting for her to say something.

‘Well, you really shouldn’t have done that without my permission.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Nella hung her head. ‘I wish I hadn’t now. It made me feel so guilty keeping it a secret from you all this time.’

Jess peered at the tattoo. It was an image of an old-fashioned gramophone with a pair of wings on either side.

‘What do you think?’

In truth, Jess thought it was rather sweet. But she wasn’t going to say so.

‘It’s not too bad, I suppose. At least it’s quite small. And hidden away.’ Jess paused. ‘But you’re not to get any more done.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘Well, as long as that’s clear.’

Nella nodded, let the shirt drop, and sat down again. She looked relieved, as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from her.

Jess changed the subject.

‘So what’s been going on while I’ve been away?’ It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime.

‘Nothing much. I’ve been working, mostly. Cooked a few meals with Gareth. Mari came over to see me before she went off on tour with Sexual Perversity, did a bit of watering in the
garden. Oh yes, and a friend of yours dropped by yesterday. Someone I hadn’t met before.’

‘A friend?’

‘Elinor, her name was. Elinor Powell. An artist. She seemed really nice.’

Jess froze.

‘We talked about painting and stuff. She was interested in my music. Said she’d like to hear it some time.’ Nella paused. ‘She didn’t seem like your usual friends.
How do you know her?’

‘She’s an ex-client.’ Jess kept her tone steady, but her heart was thumping in her chest.

‘She wanted to know how you were,’ Nella went on. ‘I told her you were still in hospital. I said you were getting better. I didn’t know you were coming out today. Anyway,
she sent her love. Actually, she said she was going to pray for you, although she wasn’t religious. She was quite intense about it.’ Nella looked pensive. ‘She was a funny person,
but I kind of liked her. I told her I’d let you know she’d called by.’

‘Thanks.’ Jess tried to speak normally, but her voice came out in a whisper. She was frightened. She wondered how Elinor had found out her address, but she didn’t want to worry
Nella, so she didn’t quiz her about it. Instead, she changed the subject.

‘How’s the work going?’ She picked up one of Nella’s books and flicked through it, not taking in a word.

‘Fine. It’s easy if you put in the hours.’

‘I told you it wasn’t that hard, didn’t I?’

Nella grinned. ‘Actually, some of it’s quite interesting. This business about social exclusion—’

‘Well, you carry on.’ Jess interrupted her. ‘I’ve got a few calls to make.’

Nella looked up, surprised.

Jess finished her tea and got up, doing her best to hide the fact that she couldn’t wait to get away. ‘What are your plans for the day?’

‘I’m going in to college this afternoon. I’ll come back and make you supper tonight, if you like. Will Rose be coming back from Dad’s?’

‘Not right away. I think I’ll leave her with him for a while longer.’ Jess paused. ‘And don’t worry about cooking for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be
in.’

‘Oh. OK.’ Nella was disappointed. ‘I’ll cook something nice on Sunday, then. For all of us. I’ll do a nice roast, celebrate your homecoming.’

‘Lovely, darling.’ Jess leaned over and squeezed her arm. ‘Now, I must be getting on. See you later.’

Jess registered the perplexed look on her daughter’s face. She didn’t try to explain herself. Instead, she went into her study to make her call.

‘DS Bonetti?’

‘Dr Mayhew.’ Bonetti was polite, but there was an unmistakeably frosty tone to her voice. ‘How can I help?’

‘I want to ask you a favour.’

‘Oh yes?’ The frost turned to ice, but Jess persevered.

‘I’m going to see Elinor Powell. There’s something I need to talk to her about. And I’d like you to accompany me, please. Just in case there’s any
trouble.’

There was a silence.

‘I don’t think it’ll take up too much of your time.’

‘Dr Mayhew.’ Jess noticed Bonetti didn’t use her Christian name. ‘I’m afraid I really can’t help you. I’m sorry, but I’ve been taken off this
case.’

‘Oh really. Why’s that?’

‘Because, as you know, acting on your allegations against Ms Powell, I sent a search party down into the mine. It took a great deal of police time, and cost a lot of money. And we found
nothing.’ Bonetti paused. ‘My boss wasn’t impressed. In fact, I got into a lot of trouble over it.’

There was a brief silence.

‘Well, I’m sorry about that.’ Jess was apologetic. ‘The twins must have come back and cleared everything away before you got down there. But it doesn’t matter now.
You see, I’ve come up with a plan. I think I can nail this once and for all. I’ll explain what I’ve got in mind, if you want—’

‘No thanks.’ Bonetti was firm. ‘I couldn’t find the time if I wanted to, anyway. I’ve got a lot on here at the moment.’

‘I see.’ Jess was disappointed. She’d expected more support from Bonetti. ‘Well, I’ll just have to pursue this matter myself then, won’t I?’

‘Sounds like it.’

Jess was angered by Bonetti’s offhand tone, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

Silence fell. Bonetti didn’t break it.

‘OK, then.’ Jess took the hint, ending the conversation. ‘I’ll be back in touch. And this time I’ll have the evidence you need, I promise you. Hard
evidence.’

‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Bonetti spoke in an even tone. She wasn’t being sarcastic, Jess told herself. She was just doing her job.

‘Bye, then.’

‘Goodbye.’

Jess rang off, her hand shaking as she replaced the receiver. It was partly anger, but also fear. It was foolhardy to set off by herself to look for Elinor, she was aware of that. She knew only
too well what the twins were capable of. They’d tried to kill her once, and they would do so again, to protect their secret.

But with Bonetti out of the picture, she had no other choice.

That afternoon, Jess drove into Cardiff looking for Elinor. Now that she knew Elinor had been snooping around her house, talking to Nella, she was more determined than ever to
find her, and put her plan into action.

When she got to the city, she drove past the museum, into a small crescent, and parked the car. She took a pair of sunglasses from her bag and put them on. They were expensive-looking and rather
large – a present from Bob that she’d never worn. She’d also brought a scarf with her, a silk horsey number with snaffles all over it that she’d bought in an airport once,
years ago, her judgement clouded after a long delay and a couple of stiff gin and tonics.

She arranged the scarf on her head, knotting it under her chin like the Queen, and inspected herself in the rear-view mirror. She was pleased with the general effect. She looked like a
well-heeled, middle-aged Italian tourist, someone with money whose fashion sense was designed to advertise the fact. From the neck up, at least. The rest of her clothes were rather dull in
comparison, she had to admit, but smart enough not to give the game away: a neat pair of navy chinos, a beige sweater with a crisp white shirt showing underneath, and a pair of tasselled
loafers.

She got out of the car and walked quickly down the street to the Frederick Powell Gallery. It was an elegant red-brick building with a large window at the front, in which a painting was
displayed. As Jess got closer, she saw that it was a picture of a young woman, painted in muted tones of grey, cream and black. She stopped in front of it for a moment to take a look.

This must be one of Elinor’s, she thought, as she scanned it. The style was very much that of Gwen John. And the subject could have been Isobel or, indeed, Elinor herself. It was the work
of a talented painter – the modelling of the head was sensitive, the light falling on the girl’s bony shoulder blades skilfully done – but it was somewhat derivative. No wonder,
thought Jess, that Elinor hadn’t got very far doing this kind of stuff.

She peered round the painting to look inside the gallery.

Immediately, she saw Isobel sitting at a desk to the right of the door. There was no mistaking her pale, translucent bob.

Isobel looked up.

Jess backed away from the window. Her disguise was serviceable enough from a distance, but close scrutiny would reveal her identity.

She walked quickly back to the car, hoping that she hadn’t roused Isobel’s suspicions. Probably not, she thought; at this time of year, there were lots of foreign tourists in the
city, popping in and out of the museum and the galleries around it, wandering around aimlessly with no intention to buy. She’d be unlikely to stand out from the crowd. Even so, she told
herself, she’d do well to get a move on, just in case Isobel’s suspicions had been alerted.

She got into the car and drove up to Llandaff. Isobel was safely in the gallery, so there was a good chance that Elinor would be at home on her own, perhaps painting in the studio.

The traffic was light, it being mid-afternoon, and when she got to Llandaff Green she found it easy enough to park the car, next to the statue of the gaitered cleric. As she got out, she looked
up at him. He was gazing out towards the cathedral, as if surveying all that was happening on the green. He must have seen what happened on the evening of Ursula’s murder, Jess thought. If
only he could speak, tell her what had happened.

There was no one around as she walked up to the Powells’ house; this corner of the city was always quiet, except on Sundays when the services at the cathedral were in progress. All to the
good, she thought. The fewer witnesses the better.

When she got to the black iron gate, she looked up at the house. It was neat and tidy, the porch freshly swept, the curtains drawn back from the arched white windows. But there was no sign of
life within.

She opened the gate, which creaked a little as it swung on its hinges, and walked up the path, past the rowan tree in the middle of the front garden. She noticed that the lawn had been recently
mowed. When she arrived at the front door, she saw that there was a leaflet stuck in the letterbox – junk mail.

She pressed the old-fashioned bell beside the door, and heard it chime through the house. She waited, but no one came. She wondered whether perhaps Elinor was at the back of the house, in the
studio, and couldn’t hear the bell. And whether, if no one answered, she’d have the nerve to creep down the side entrance and investigate further.

She rang again. Once again, there was no reply, so she pushed the leaflet through the letterbox and bent down to peer through the slit into the hall. There was no sign of life.

She stood up, turned, and walked back down the path, deep in thought. It probably wasn’t worth trying to get into the studio. Elinor evidently wasn’t at home, otherwise she’d
have picked up her letters. Moreover, since the break-in, she might have fixed up an alarm. Better to work out where she was, and track her down.

She made her way back to the car. As she walked past the cathedral, Nella’s words came back to her:
She said she would pray for you.
On an impulse, she walked down the steps, and
went inside.

There was no service in progress. There was no one there, not even one of the old people who manned the postcard stall. The place was completely empty.

She walked down the aisle, her footsteps echoing on the flag-stones, and took a pew. She sat down and gazed up at the figure of Christ suspended over the concrete arch, arms outstretched in a
gesture of forgiveness.

Strange religion, she thought. At the centre of it, a mutilated man on a cross. A crown of thorns round his head. Whacking great holes in his hands and feet, bits of his skeleton showing through
his skin, like a zombie.

She knelt down. As her knees touched the hassock, she felt the sore skin on them where her cuts were still healing.