The Darkest Hour (63 page)

She looked surprised. ‘No. I was in the wrong. I didn’t trust you and that was unforgivable.’

‘Can we go back to the beginning?’

She smiled. ‘I would like that very much.’

‘Good. If I went home without us making up Dolly would probably kill me. She says I am a lousy judge of character, which brings me to my next problem. Charlotte.’

‘Do you believe her?’ They were walking round the garden in the soft autumn sunshine as he told her Charlotte’s latest threat. ‘If I’m honest, I think I do. Dolly remembers the writing case. She thought I had given it to you. I don’t remember ever noticing it. What worries me is that if it was in the bedroom, maybe it had particularly important things in it. I can’t imagine how Christopher missed it.’

‘And it might contain more recent information. I think I have a grip on Evie’s life up until she and Eddie moved to London. George told me a bit about it, but I feel there is a huge gap. There are so few paintings from that period. Where did they go? She sold some through David Fuller, I gather, and they presumably disappeared into the open market, but I wonder if when she was back in London she stopped painting altogether. I gather from one or two letters she had never wanted to move from Sussex. The Downs were her muse. And if she was having problems with Eddie and his reluctance to give her any money perhaps she went on strike.’

‘She’s always been known as a Sussex painter, that is true,’ Mike said thoughtfully, ‘though she seems to have painted Hampstead when they lived there.’

There was an awkward pause. ‘Hannah has gone home, by the way. Did you know?’ Lucy said after the silence had drawn out uncomfortably long. ‘She ran away from home because she saw a ghost in the attic of their house. It was hanging around some of Evie’s paintings that Christopher had stored up there, and, Mike, she recognised who it was. Your mother has a picture of Eddie in her dining room and apparently Hannah completely freaked out when she saw it.’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the house and dropped her voice as if she could be overheard. ‘She was terrified.’

‘The ghost is Eddie? My grandfather? I did wonder when you mentioned before that he seemed so angry.’ He paused for a moment, looking confused. ‘I thought you’d said the ghost was Ralph.’

‘It is,’ she said. ‘But the other ghost, the angry ghost, no, I’ve never seen him. I just feel him. See what he does. I don’t think I’ve seen a clear picture of him. Quite a few old photos but none close up. I want to go and see your mother’s portrait. Do you think she would mind? Did Evie paint it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I can remember it, to be honest.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Do you want to go over there and see?’

‘Now?’

‘If you like. I want to get this sorted, Lucy. The whole thing is getting to me.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve never seen a ghost at Rosebank. I keep telling myself that. It’s as if Evie’s presence is too strong. She’s not a ghost. She died peacefully, as far as I know, but I do sometimes think she is still there, keeping it all safe.’

‘Even when the studio caught fire,’ Lucy agreed. ‘It could have been so much worse.’

They went in his car. Forewarned by a phone call, Juliette was waiting for them and apart from a quick glance at them both as if to reassure herself that they were not about to kill each other, she refrained from saying anything about the last time they had all met in her house. She led the way inside.

‘Christopher came and collected Hannah,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I phoned them as soon as I realised she hadn’t told them where she was.’

‘I hope he wasn’t too angry with her,’ Lucy said with a shiver.

‘No. Surprisingly not.’

‘Did you show him the picture?’

Juliette nodded. ‘He was very shaken by the whole thing. Hannah disappearing like that had really rattled him. He stared at it for a long time. He was very white about the gills and tight-lipped but he didn’t say anything. He just turned round and walked out of the room.’

‘You didn’t ask?’ Mike was incredulous.

‘Don’t forget Hannah was standing there,’ Juliette said defensively. ‘I didn’t want to upset her any more than she was already.’

‘Can I see the picture?’ Lucy asked.

Without a word Juliette walked along the passage and opened the door into her dining room. She stood back and ushered them in. She didn’t follow them. Lucy and Mike stood side by side looking at the painting. It wasn‘t large, about thirty centimetres by twenty or so, a pen and ink sketch with a sepia wash to shade it.

‘That’s Evie’s work,’ Lucy said at once. ‘I recognise her style.’

Mike walked over and took it off the wall. He carried it to the window. ‘It is very good, isn’t it? I do recognise him. I was about thirteen when he died.’

‘What do you remember about him?’

‘Are you going to take notes?’

Lucy stepped back, surprised by the sharpness of his tone. ‘I probably should,’ she said as gently as she could. ‘It is part of Evie’s story.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He put the picture down on the table and rubbed his hands on the seat of his trousers with a shiver. ‘He wasn’t a very child-friendly person, as I remember. I avoided him. We hardly saw him because of course he and Evie were divorced long before I was born, but he came to Rosebank once or twice when we were there. It must have been to family parties.’ He thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘That doesn’t sound likely, does it? I don’t know, although –’ He paused again. ‘Once, I remember there was a row going on. He and Evie were shouting at each other. He wanted to go into her studio and she wouldn’t let him.’ He looked up. ‘That was it. He wanted to go and look at her paintings and she said no. They were screaming at each other and Mummy dragged me away. I remember we walked down the lane and we didn’t go back until his car had gone. He drove a huge Mercedes, which rather impressed me. I hoped to have a ride in it, but that was, I think, the last time I saw him.’

They stood looking down at the face in the portrait before them. It was Lucy’s turn to shiver. His eyes appeared to follow her even when she stepped away from the table. They were a hard brilliant slate colour as far as she could see, all seeing and all knowing.

As they stood there Mike’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at it and switched it off. ‘Charlotte,’ he said. He glanced at Lucy. ‘I think it would be a good thing if you avoided seeing her on your own at the moment.’

‘I don’t intend to see her at all if I can help it,’ Lucy retorted.

‘Good.’ With a sigh he turned away from the table and headed back towards the door. ‘So, what am I going to do about this writing case?’

They went into the kitchen where Juliette made a jug of coffee. She produced a plate of flapjacks. ‘I never liked that woman,’ she said succinctly. ‘Of course I could never say anything to you, Mike, but really!’

He gave a surprised laugh. ‘Not like you to hold back on your views.’

‘No. But with one’s son’s girlfriends one has to be tactful.’ She sat down at the small table in the window and leaned forward on her elbows, pushing her bracelets up her arms with a rattle. The other two sat down opposite each other. Outside the garden was misted with rain. ‘So, what do you make of the picture?’ Juliette changed the subject.

Mike glanced at Lucy and shook his head. ‘Did Dad ever say anything about it?’

‘No. He didn’t get on with his father very well, as you know. I sometimes used to think Eddie actually hated him. It was so sad. That picture was never hung while Johnny was alive. I found it in a box when I moved in here with Bill. I could see it was a fine portrait and I guessed Evie did it.’

‘Do you remember the time at Rosebank Cottage when he came over and wanted Evie to let him into the studio?’ Mike said thoughtfully. He picked up a flapjack and took a bite.

Juliette nodded. ‘I believe he used to ring her up from time to time and try and browbeat her into giving him any paintings she had done. He claimed he had a right to them. She wouldn’t, of course, and I don’t think she was frightened of him, I don’t think Evie was frightened of anyone, but he used to swear at her terribly, so Johnny told me. He only actually turned up in person once when I was there.’

‘I remember it vividly. I think that was the last time I saw him except –’ Mike broke off suddenly with an expression of horror on his face. ‘At his funeral. Oh my God! I saw him at his funeral. I remember now. We were at the front in the church in Hampstead. Evie had insisted he should be cremated but George and Chris wanted him to have a memorial service first. His coffin was there in front of the altar and it must have been the first funeral I’d been to?’ He glanced at his mother for confirmation. ‘It gave me the creeps to think of his body there, so near us, and then I looked up and I saw him standing there on the far side of the coffin and he was looking straight at me and Dad. I can remember it clearly now. He had this sort of sardonic smile on his face and he could obviously see us and I nearly freaked out. But I was too afraid of all the people behind us to make a fuss. There were a lot of people at the service, and you didn’t seem to see anything, Mum, and nor did Granny.

‘I remember thinking, he’s not dead. The coffin is empty, and then as I watched he sort of faded away.’ He exhaled loudly. ‘Oh my God, he was a ghost even then, wasn’t he? I don’t know if I twigged. I don’t think so. We went to the crematorium and I don’t think I saw him in there, I was too horrified by the coffin disappearing and imagining it going into the flames and then we went and had tea somewhere and I put it out of my mind.’ He shook his head. ‘To think, I didn’t believe in ghosts until all this happened! What rational person does?’ He shook his head and exhaled loudly. ‘And now –’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

Evie was staring round her studio. The picture on the easel was half-finished, a bright sketch using acrylic paints, with which she had begun to experiment, of Christ Church, the sun reflecting off its green spire, the women in Church Row wearing gaudy summer dresses, some of them with parasols. She walked over to it and then turned to survey the room. Two or three paintings which had been standing, face to the wall, had gone. She stared at the space where they had been and then looked again to be sure, then she went to find Eddie.

He was sitting at the kitchen table with a copy of
The Times
spread out in front of him as he finished his breakfast coffee. He looked up as she came in and narrowed his eyes, folding the newspaper and pushing it away. ‘So? What is it now?’

‘My pictures. The two of Hampstead pond, the large one of the dog walkers. They’ve gone.’

‘They fetched good prices. You should be pleased.’

She stared at him with such a wave of dislike and anger she was for a moment unable to speak. ‘They weren’t ready to go, Eddie. They hadn’t had time for the paint to harden.’

‘I told the buyer. He was quite happy to make sure they would be hung carefully.’

‘And it didn’t occur to you to ask me if I wanted them sold?’

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘We’ve been through this so often. They are my paintings to dispose of as I see fit, Evie. Your job is to produce them.’ Pushing back the chair he stood up, folding his glasses and slipping them into his breast pocket.

She watched him dispassionately. ‘One day, Eddie, I will stop painting.’

‘And then I will throw out your son. I spend a lot of money on his school fees.’

‘My money.’

He gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘Would you care to debate that point in court? I have a contract which says that all you paint is to be handled by me. And anyway, you are my wife.’

Walking silently back into her studio she closed the door behind her, then reaching for a tin of red poster paint, left on her table by George, who had been painting something for school, she hurled it across the room. The lid flew off as it hit the wall and the paint ran down the white surface like a streak of curdling blood.

It was ten o’clock at night when Mike rang Charlotte’s doorbell. He waited several minutes before he rang it again then he reached into his pocket for her keys; she had obviously forgotten that she had given them to him or she would have demanded them back. He pushed open her front door and peered into the hall. The flat was quiet, the lights off. Of course she could have gone to bed early but the flat felt empty. ‘Charlotte?’ he called warily. ‘Are you there?’

There was no reply.

‘Charlotte?’ He walked in and closed the door quietly behind him, then he reached for the light switch.

There was no sign of her anywhere; her bedroom felt unused. As he stood in the doorway looking round he noted the bare dressing table top, the faint layer of dust on the shelves, the cupboards slightly open. He moved towards them and looked inside. There were some clothes there but the vast majority had gone. The bathroom was the same, no toothbrush, no cosmetics, only one towel, dry and faintly sweaty. So where was she? He moved into the living room and it was here he began to hunt in earnest for the writing case, going through every cupboard, scrutinising every corner, hunting every possible place it could be. He moved on to the kitchen area, again opening all the cupboards and it was there at last he discovered the small brown leather case in the back of a saucepan drawer draped with a tea towel. He paused for a moment and listened carefully, but the flat was still silent and empty. Lifting it out he put it on the worktop and tried to open it. It was locked. He could just make out the initials E.L. under the handle, between the locks. Evie Lucas. Presumably Charlotte hadn’t managed to open it either, and to his relief she had not forced it. Absent-mindedly he dusted it with the teacloth, then he lifted it and gently he shook it. He could feel whatever was inside shifting from side to side. It was quite heavy, so presumably it was full of papers. With a sigh of relief he looked round one last time, wondering where she was. It didn’t look as though she had been at home for a while. Perhaps she was staying with her father; his flat in Kensington had always been her bolthole when she was upset or worried or felt herself in need of a little TLC. Her widowed father’s uncritical worship of his daughter was, in Mike’s opinion, way over the top. She had only to ask for something and Daddy would provide it. Well, if that was where she was, good luck to the man. Mike turned off all the lights and went back to the front door. Locking it behind him he was about to put her keys through the letterbox but he hesitated. If he did that she would know he had been there and how he had got in. He needed to keep the option of prevarication ready for the outraged phone call he would receive as soon as she discovered that the case had gone. With a grim smile he ran down the stairs and let himself out onto the street. There he made his way quickly round the corner and out of sight. Only when he was several streets away did he hail a cab.