Next Door to Murder (6 page)

‘Well, close your eyes and pretend you're there! The accordion should help!'

They ordered a bottle of wine and, since it was lunchtime, some savoury crêpes, and sat back, watching the colourful crowds swirl past their enclosure.

‘Is Lindsey over there for anything specific?' Magda enquired.

‘Just a day out, I think. Her latest admirer has a private plane.'

‘Very civilized! And who is this desirable escort?'

Rona hesitated, but Lindsey had not requested secrecy, and thankfully, unlike Jonathan Hurst, this one wasn't married. ‘Dominic Frayne,' she replied.

‘Dominic Frayne?' repeated Gavin, with raised eyebrows. ‘Better tell her to watch her step.'

‘What do you mean?' Rona asked sharply.

‘Oh – nothing concrete. I've heard he's pretty hard-headed in the business world, but that wouldn't impact on Lindsey.'

‘Yet you said she should watch her step,' Rona persisted. ‘Is there anything I should warn her about?'

Gavin looked embarrassed. ‘I was probably speaking out of turn. It's just that his name's been linked with several society women, and I wouldn't like her to get hurt. Tell her not to get in too deep, that's all.'

Nothing more was said on the subject, but his warning weighed heavily on Rona's mind for the rest of the day.

Lindsey didn't reach home till the early hours, but although tired, she was unable to sleep. Her mind was continually whirling through the events of the day; the flight out in the morning, their leisurely stroll through cobbled streets, and particularly Dominic's sudden and unexpected kiss. Then the afternoon drive through lush countryside to the impressive mound of Mont St Michel, and the long climb up to its abbey.

Dinner at the chateau, now converted into a five-star hotel and restaurant, was as sumptuous as he had promised, each course meticulously cooked and presented. They'd eaten on the veranda by candlelight, watching winking lights in the darkness of the valley below them.

Yet now she was filled with a bleak sense of anticlimax. After that tantalizingly brief kiss at lunchtime, she'd felt sure they'd drawn closer, that at last they would come together. But throughout those long hours, other than a cautionary hand on her arm at the Mont, he'd made no further attempt to touch her. And on the final stage of their journey home, despite the screen between them and the chauffeur, they'd sat as decorously apart as if a searchlight were shining on them. No goodnight kiss, simply a brushing aside of her thanks, thanking her in turn for her company.

Her dreams during brief intervals of sleep continued the theme, replaying in distorted form various incidents of the day, woven in with vivid but imaginary events, so that, when she tossed herself awake, she couldn't be sure which of them had actually happened.

Minutes, it seemed, after she'd fallen into her first deep sleep, the alarm clock dragged her up from dizzying depths to the awareness of a raging thirst and an agonizing headache. Too much wine, she diagnosed; she'd been too distracted on her return to drink the requisite glasses of water to fend off dehydration.

Should she phone to thank him? she wondered, holding up her face to the stream of water jetting from the shower. He'd left his number when he'd called that first time. Or would it seem too eager? Perhaps a brief note – but she didn't know his address. In fact, she thought in frustration, despite the more relaxed atmosphere between them, she still knew virtually nothing about him. The names and professions of his children: what earthly use was that?

God, she'd be like a limp rag at work today, and she'd a new client coming in this afternoon. Black coffee and paracetamol were the order of the day, and it was to be hoped one wouldn't cancel out the other.

Rona's uneasiness concerning Dominic Frayne overlapped into the next morning, and she agonized over what, if anything, to say to her sister. Lindsey would no doubt ring later with an account of her day in France, and she'd have to temper her response, or Linz would take the huff and clam up. On a flash of irritation, Rona reflected that she spent more than enough time worrying about her twin's complicated love life.

Through the open study window came the sound of Gus barking in the garden below, and she went to see what was exciting him. The answer was apparent in the shape of a ginger cat, now sitting safely on the wall and glaring defiantly down at him. From the cat, Rona's amused glance slid to the garden beyond the wall. There was a bench under the apple tree, and sitting on it, apparently engrossed in a book, was a woman who was definitely not Mrs Franks. Could she be the owner of the cigarette that had glowed in the dark? If so, she must be a regular visitor, and seemingly very much at home, since then, as now, she'd been alone.

Rona studied her a little guiltily. Dark glasses hid her eyes, but her heavy black hair hung in a long straight bob, with a fringe that reached the top of her glasses. She was wearing a printed cotton dress, and her bare arms and legs were pale, as though they'd not been exposed to the sun.

Rona turned away. Whoever she was, it was no business of hers.

‘Your little heiress is proving persistent,' Carla remarked. ‘Following last week's calls, she's phoned three times in the last two days. I thought you'd signed her off?'

Dominic looked up from a report, reluctant to be reminded of what he'd hoped had been cleanly and fairly dealt with. ‘I did, over dinner at the Savoy.'

‘It seems she's not accepted it. Would you care to make it more plain?'

He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘I'd prefer not to have to speak to her.'

‘So I keep on saying you're unavailable, or out of the country, or in a meeting?'

‘If you would. Eventually, perhaps, she'll realize I'm being cruel to be kind.'

‘I shouldn't count on it,' Carla said darkly.

Jonathan, who'd overridden Lindsey's refusal to have lunch with him, leaned back in his chair and studied her across the table.

‘You look pretty wiped, I must say.'

‘Thanks; that makes me feel a lot better.'

‘No need to snap, sweetie. So what's wrong? Were you out with your ex again yesterday?'

Lindsey looked up sharply, and winced as the movement sent a pain through her head. ‘What do you mean, again?'

‘I mean after having dinner with him on Saturday. You're not going to deny it, are you? My spies are everywhere!'

‘Why should I deny it? You have dinner with your wife
every
night.'

‘Honey, I'm not making an issue of it. Have dinner with whomever you choose.'

‘Thank you.' Lindsey took a long draught of mineral water.

‘I'm just trying to find out what's put you in such a foul mood. It can't only be the hangover, surely?'

‘For the last time, I have
not
got a hangover. I simply had a bad night.'

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Have it your way.' He put a tentative hand over hers. She moved impatiently but did not withdraw it, and, encouraged, he leaned forward and said quietly, ‘I could manage an hour or so this evening, if that would help?'

Lindsey felt an absurd desire to cry. How had she come to make such a wholesale mess of her love life?

‘No, it would not,' she said.

On the afternoons that Avril played bridge, she arrived home roughly an hour after Sarah. It had become the custom that whoever was last back called to the other to announce their arrival, and this Avril proceeded to do. To her surprise, the response, unusually muted, came from the kitchen, and she pushed open the door to see Sarah standing at the sink with her back to her.

‘I was getting a glass of water,' she said.

‘Fine. Will you be out this evening?'

The girl still hadn't turned. ‘No,' she said baldly.

Avril paused, a little nonplussed. ‘Right,' she said.

As she hesitated, Sarah, unable any longer to avoid turning, passed her in the doorway with lowered eyes, and went up the stairs. It was obvious she'd been crying.

Slowly Avril followed her and went to change out of her best suit, feeling somewhat at a loss. Had it been one of her daughters, she could have attempted to find out the cause of her distress, perhaps offer some comfort, but she and Sarah hadn't that kind of relationship, and personal exchanges were kept to a minimum. Yet the girl was clearly unhappy, and away from home.

As she came out on to the landing, she heard muffled sobbing from behind the closed door, and, making up her mind, went to tap on it. The sobs stopped abruptly and there was silence.

‘I don't want to interfere,' Avril began, ‘and I'll go away if you ask me to, but might it help to talk things over?'

A long silence, and Avril, defeated, was turning away, when a choked voice said, ‘I don't think so.'

Encouraged to have elicited some response, Avril ventured to ask, ‘May I come in?'

Another pause, then, ‘If you like.'

Sarah was sitting at the dressing table, a wad of Kleenex in her hand. Avril sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. When Sarah didn't speak, she said hesitantly, ‘Is there any way I could help?'

Sarah swivelled round to face her, her eyes red and puffy. ‘I don't mean to be rude, but I think this is something I have to weather by myself.'

‘Is it – to do with your young man?'

Fresh tears filled her eyes. ‘We had a row, and it was my fault; but that's only part of it. It's not working out at school.'

‘In what way?'

‘The staff don't like me.'

‘Oh, I'm sure—'

‘I overheard them, when I was in the loo. They think I'm bossy and have a high opinion of myself. And tonight, they're all going to Polly's engagement party, but I'm not invited.'

‘That's rather hard,' Avril agreed, ‘but there's not a lot you can do about it. However, if the row with – Clive, is it? – was your fault, you could always try phoning to apologize. That might at least clear up half the problem.'

‘Suppose he doesn't want to know?'

‘That's a chance you'll have to take. If you think he's worth it.'

‘Yes,' Sarah said in a low voice. ‘He is.'

Avril stood up. ‘Then you do that. As for the staff, go out of your way to be friendly, and they'll soon come round. It's almost the end of term, so take in a cake or something, for you all to share.'

She was rewarded by a watery smile. It was hard to reconcile this dejected young woman with the confident and – yes – slightly bossy person Avril was used to. There was indeed a prickliness about her that prevented overtures; perhaps this unhappy experience would persuade her to lower her defences.

Ten minutes later, there was a tap on the sitting room door and Sarah came in, looking decidedly brighter. ‘I took your advice,' she said, ‘and smoothed things over with Clive. We're meeting at eight thirty, and going for a drink.'

‘Well done,' Avril said heartily.

Sarah hesitated a moment, then walked quickly over, bent down, and kissed Avril's cheek.

‘Thank you!' she said, and hurried from the room.

Avril sat for a moment staring at the closed door. Then, with a little smile of satisfaction, she returned to her newspaper.

‘By the way,' Max said on the phone that evening, ‘I met our neighbour as I was leaving the house this morning. Seemed a pleasant enough chap. He was asking about the various estate agents; they haven't exactly been inundated with details.'

‘What are they looking for?'

‘Detached house, not too large, in a pleasant area; with a bit of a garden. Shouldn't be too hard to find, one would think.'

‘Might price be the problem? Property's pretty expensive round here.'

‘Not a question I could ask.'

Rona, losing interest, remarked, ‘I'm going to have one of those French quiches for supper. It looks and smells delicious.'

‘Well, don't scoff the lot before Wednesday! I'm looking forward to sampling the cheeses.'

‘Don't worry, there's plenty left. I hope these markets become a regular event.'

‘Did you tell Lindsey about it?'

Rona frowned. ‘Actually, I've not spoken to her. I thought she'd be on the phone first thing with a blow-by-blow account, but there's been a deathly silence. In view of what Gavin said, I'm a bit concerned.'

‘Why didn't you ring her?'

‘She doesn't like discussing personal things at work.'

‘Well, I shouldn't worry,' Max said briskly. ‘She's old enough to take care of herself.'

‘She should be home by now, though. I think I'll give her a ring.'

‘Let's face it, if lover-boy has ditched her, it mightn't be such a bad thing.'

But Rona, aware of her sister's vulnerability, wasn't so sure.

‘Yes, thanks. It was – very pleasant.'

Pleasant?
Lindsey had spent a day in France with the man of her dreams, and that was all she could say? Driven by an equal measure of curiosity and concern into making the call, this wasn't what Rona had expected.

‘You don't sound exactly carried away,' she probed.

‘Oh, Ro, for God's sake! I enjoyed it, right? But I've had a diabolical headache all day, and because of that I mishandled an important interview, and risk losing a prospective client. I'm not exactly on top of the world.'

‘I was expecting you to phone, that's all, but if you don't want to talk about it, fine.' Rona, feeling snubbed, was about to let it go; but, remembering Gavin's warning, she added incautiously, ‘He
was
OK with you, wasn't he? Dominic?'

‘Look,' Lindsey said, in a voice laden with patience, ‘we had a picnic lunch – “a loaf of bread, a flask of wine”-type thing – after which we explored Mont St Michel, had dinner in a fabulous chateau, and travelled home by private plane. I'd say that was pretty much OK, wouldn't you?'