The Jigsaw Puzzle (5 page)

‘I'm sorry,' said Penny softly.

Great-uncle Charles ran a gentle hand over the pre-war picnic. ‘Good memories don't ever fade, my dear. I daresay you'll find that out for yourself in time.' He looked at his nephew. ‘Going to make a story out of it?'

Leo cleared his throat, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘If I may.'

‘You'll do it with or without my say so. But don't glamorise war, boy.'

‘I won't.'

‘Sad story,' said Penny as they walked back across the lawn to Leo's boat.

‘
The Jigsaws That Went To War.
Excellent for circulation figures.'

‘Leo! I meant sad about your great-uncle and his Arlette.'

‘Oh. Yes. But they probably wouldn't have made a go of it. He's always been wrapped up in his work.'

‘You think a job is sufficient to make up for lack of daily companionship?'

‘It works for me.' He eyed her as he started up the engine and cast off the mooring ropes. ‘Except when it comes to that first cup of tea in the morning and eggs for breakfast.'

Penny's head whipped round.
Was he suggesting …?
‘Forget it,' she said, possibly with a little too much vigour. ‘You can drop me off at my car.'

Later, after she'd told Frances all about Charles and Arlette and they'd shared a sympathetic tear, she made her original jigsaw one last time. The scene grew out of the tumble of pieces: a sunny afternoon in 1935 that no one would ever see again.
Good memories never fade,
Leo's uncle had said. Penny looked at the carefree, untidy infant who would one day be her mother and felt a tiny flame of comfort.

Well?
said the young Aunt Bridget's accusing stare.
Have you found new and interesting things to do yet? Booked a sleeper in the Orient Express or a parachute jump over the Grand Canyon?

Penny narrowed her eyes at the jigsaw. ‘I've been to the pub at lunchtime. I've been kidnapped and taken for a river trip. I've had a look at how the other half live and I think I might have turned down an indecent proposal. That do for now?'

‘Who are you talking to, Ma?' called Frances from the stairs.

‘No one, love.'

Anyway, it was all over. Tomorrow she'd pack up the rest of Mum's stuff and move it out of the way. Then she'd have to get ready for the opening of the new extension at her friend Rosamund's art gallery. Back to normal. Life goes on. The only regret was that she hadn't really ‘solved' Leo. He was just much too dynamic for provincial Salthaven. He was a puzzle all in himself. What had he been doing when he crashed, for instance? Why didn't he want to talk about that missing week of memory? She'd never get a chance to find out now.

The phone rang just as she sat down to watch Miss Marple.

‘Hi,' said Leo's cheerful voice.

‘Go away,' said Penny, even as her heart gave the tiniest,
tiniest
fillip.

‘I don't suppose you know anything about the Salthaven Heights Art Gallery, do you? Only I happened to notice your name on the guest list for the opening of the Retrospective Exhibition and there's been a really unusual break-in there …'

Chapter Three

Penny laid her clothes for the opening of the retrospective exhibition at the Salthaven Heights Gallery on the rear seat of the car and came back indoors to make herself a substantial breakfast. She knew from past experience that it was no use expecting Rosamund to have anything of practical value in the fridge at the gallery. Her friend had lost interest in cooking the moment she discovered bread came ready-sliced and that it was possible to buy meals in boxes from the freezer section of the supermarket. The oven hadn't been used in anger since.

Penny glanced at herself as she went past the hall mirror. She nodded. She looked casual, unplanned, and natural. Perfect.

‘Morning, Ma.'

‘Frances!' Penny nearly had a heart attack as her daughter came down the stairs. ‘What are you doing awake? You usually sleep until mid-afternoon on Saturdays.'

‘I said I'd help Marissa set out her jewellery at the gallery.'

‘And that's going to take all day?'

‘Oh, Ma, you know there's never anything to eat there. If I come with you I get breakfast and a lift. Are those new jeans?'

‘Goodness, no, I've had them ages. You could always cook for yourself.'

Frances ignored this flight of fancy. ‘I knew that necklace would look good on you,' she continued complacently. ‘And the cut of that top really makes the most of your –'

‘One egg or two?'

Her daughter hitched herself up on the kitchen table, swinging her legs. ‘I thought I could ask Dad about a holiday job while we were there. What do you think? He's bound to be around early, isn't he? Being as how it's his extension that's housing the new exhibition.'

‘Your father? I suppose he might be,' said Penny with a convincing air of disinterest. ‘Go and get your outfit for the opening, then. I'm not running you back here again just because you've forgotten the right feather for your hair.'

All the same, Frances mentioning Julian had unsettled her. It wasn't that they didn't get on, they did – after a fashion. And she certainly didn't want to turn the clock back to when they were married, because she was revelling in the freedom of being herself after all these years. It was just that he was still in the background, still in Salthaven, not quite letting her go. His life was still brushing against hers.

She doubled the quantities of food in the pan. A ‘full English' might not be the breakfast of choice for the weight-conscious, but Frances had inherited her father's irritating ability to eat like a horse and not put on an inch – and Penny had the feeling she'd be working most of her own calories off during the day. She knew that the extension itself, converted by Julian from a disused wing of Rosamund's eccentric Art Deco house-turned-gallery, would be in perfect order. It was the rest of the place that would need the cleaning abilities of an army of domestics.

*……* ……*

As Penny turned onto the road to Salthaven Heights, she saw a familiar figure ahead of them. ‘Leo,' she said with resignation. As if today wasn't going to be complicated enough.

‘Who?' said Frances. ‘Oh, your reporter friend. Look, he's waving.'

‘There's a surprise.'

‘What does he want?'

Penny knew exactly what Leo wanted. He was aware that she was going up to the gallery this morning and he wanted an entrée that didn't shriek
journalist
. She pulled into the kerb.

‘That's a bit of luck, seeing you,' said Leo through the window. ‘You don't know how far up the hill the Salthaven Heights Art Gallery is, I suppose?'

Frances' eyes widened at this coincidence. ‘We're on our way there!'

Penny banged her head gently on the steering wheel. Her daughter was going to have to lose the incredulity factor before she went to university. ‘Hop in the back, love, otherwise he'll crush the clothes.'

Frances scrambled out and Leo got in.

‘Thanks,' he said. ‘You look nice.'

‘You don't have to flatter me. I'm already giving you a lift. I do hope you haven't been loitering around here for long.'

He grinned, completely unfazed at being rumbled. ‘I was on my way to ask about their strange break-in. The one where nothing was stolen.'

‘It's only Rosamund who says it was a break-in. The police are reserving judgement. I can't help feeling she'd rather you did a nice feature on the new extension and the retrospective exhibition.'

‘That's boring. Anyone can write a story from a press release. I'll mention it, of course, but this would be a different angle.'

‘There have been two break-ins,' said Frances from the back seat. ‘Marissa told me.'

Leo twisted to look over his shoulder. ‘Two? That's interesting. Who is Marissa?'

‘Rosamund's her mum. We've been friends for ever. She makes jewellery. Sells it too, lucky thing.'

‘You'll sell your clothes eventually, Frances. Why are you interested, Leo? Nothing was taken.'

He eased his legs as best he could in the car. Penny had a twinge of worry that his injured one might be hurting.

‘Old reporting adage,' he said with a wicked grin. ‘If there's smoke and no fire, someone's got a very good reason for hiding the tinderbox. And
that's
a story.'

Penny snorted. ‘Not in Salthaven. I hate to disillusion you, but the non-thieves probably broke in by mistake. They were misled by the idiotic amount of money being spent on the extension into believing that there might be something of value inside.'

Leo eyed her speculatively. ‘I couldn't help noticing that the architect for this new wing was Julian Plain.'

‘Amazing what you can learn from the internet.' Penny changed down a gear. ‘Hold on, this is the steep bit. Bet you're glad we showed up, eh?'

She could sense more questions on the tip of his tongue but either her repressive comment or the fact that she was driving up a one-in-six incline stopped him voicing them. Good. Solving one small mystery together didn't make them anything more than occasional colleagues. Certainly she didn't know him well enough to suffer a catechism on the charms and ambitions of her ex-husband.

‘Stunning view,' he said diplomatically.

‘Isn't it? Sky, sea, and the whole of Salthaven laid out below you. Just wait, though. The view is as nothing to your first sight of the gallery itself. Did you never come up here before?'

‘No. Whenever I was here on holiday, Uncle Charles gave me the run of the house and the beach, then went back to his inventions and forgot about me. Besides, this is East Salthaven and we were up on the cliff in West Salthaven. Too much effort to go down into town, across the river, and then back up again just to see a few old paintings.'

‘It's not the contents so much as the building that's worth the trip.'

‘It's awesome,' confirmed Frances.

‘I looked it up. Definitely different. Built by an American eccentric in the thirties, wasn't it?'

‘Wallace T. Wallace,' said Penny. ‘Rosamund's great-uncle. He was a millionaire who fancied himself as an artist, sculptor, architect, you name it. Anyway, he fell in with a moderately accomplished painter called George Greville, who convinced him that the best way to develop his own talent was to surround himself with artists and soak up the ambience. Greville even altruistically offered to give up his own garret and live at Wallace's expense in order to start the community off.'

Leo grinned. ‘I like his style. I take it the millionaire didn't see through him?'

‘Are you kidding? Wallace thought it was a cracking idea. He bought up the land at the top of Salthaven Heights and designed a radical, sweeping modern building with room for all the indigent artists he could find. After encouraging him all the way, Greville then shot himself in the foot by saying that of course Wallace would never be a truly great artist because he'd never had to suffer for his art.'

Leo looked puzzled. ‘Don't follow you.'

Frances giggled, knowing what was coming.

‘Shh, you,' said Penny. And to Leo, ‘You can imagine this was a terrible blow as far as Wallace's hopes were concerned, but he was nothing if not philanthropic. He thoughtfully built the artists' quarters with wonderful north light, but no heating – so they could continue to suffer in order to produce great art.'

Leo's shout of laughter rocked the car. ‘Served Greville right.'

‘He endured it nobly, right up until he married a local girl and moved out. The whole ground floor of the house is a gallery now, and it's the artists' wing that has been turned into the new extension. Rosamund is displaying paintings by Wallace's original protégés for the opening. And here we are.'

The car surged up the last incline and ran into the mercifully level car park. Penny got out and patted its bonnet. ‘Well done,' she said. To think she and Rosamund used to
bike
up here!

Leo unfolded himself from the front seat, then turned around to look at the gallery. ‘Good heavens,' he said, stepping back a pace to take in every inch of the flowing, curving, white concrete magnificence. ‘Art Deco at its wildest.'

‘Or ‘Early Odeon', as I prefer to call it,' said Penny.

‘Can it really survive as a gallery? All the way up here?'

‘You wouldn't think so, would you? But Wallace set up a trust to keep it going and the council is immensely proud of it and runs a couple of buses a day up the hill. Salthaven Heights has a certain notoriety in the art world. It was a Mecca for a whole community of nutty arty types right up until the sixties.'

‘And were they all visionaries and eccentrics?'

‘Pretty much. Talking of which, meet my friend Rosamund. She owns the place.'

‘Darling! Where did you find him?'

Penny had known Rosamund would be intrigued. ‘At the church jumble sale last week,' she said with a straight face.

Rosamund's eyes widened. ‘How fabulous. Maybe I should go with Marissa when she's off rummaging for junk jewellery to reset. Why the limp?'

‘He broke his leg in a car accident.'

‘Was it serious? What happened?'

‘He can't remember. No memory at all of the week before the crash. Don't ask him about it – he gets very touchy.'

‘Better out than in. You look nice. Oh, sweetie, you've brought nibbles. You didn't need to do that.'

‘It was preferable to fainting with hunger, I thought.' Penny rolled her eyes at Leo as he hefted a tray of vol-au-vents out of the boot and asked Frances artlessly if she and Marissa could show him to the kitchen.

‘And so helpful,' murmured Rosamund.

Penny was just about to say that Leo was as helpful as a salesgirl with a commission in mind, when she sensed her ex-husband in the close vicinity.

‘Penny,' said Julian's warm velvet voice. ‘Bearing food as usual. What do you think of the new wing?'

Julian had always needed praise and glory. ‘You seem to have done a masterly job of the conversion,' she said diplomatically.

‘Rather splendid, isn't it?' He strolled indoors to admire his design properly.

Hello, Penny, how have you been keeping? How are the children? Good to see you haven't been letting yourself go. Got over your mother's death yet?

Oh, we're all fine, thank you, Julian, and I'm coming to terms with being an orphan. So nice of you to ask.

Penny shook her head at her own stupidity and marched into the house. She needn't have bothered dressing so carefully, just to prove she was OK. Julian was charm itself, but he never thought of other people unless it suited him. That was one reason they were now divorced. She really hoped Frances would think better of asking him for a holiday job. The poor girl would end up manning the phones in his office – or photocopying his blueprints – and not learn anything useful at all. Although at least she'd be paid. That reminded Penny of something.

‘Did the trust pay for this whole conversion?' she asked her friend. ‘Julian doesn't come cheap.'

‘The council topped it up, sweetie.'

‘And the fees to borrow all the original paintings for the opening display?'

‘I think some of those were free. People are always keen on a resurgence of interest in their old dears, especially if they don't have to put themselves out at all. Advertising,' she added vaguely.

‘You don't know, do you? Rosamund, you are hopeless.'

‘Well, really, darling, it's quite stressful having Julian here all the time …'

‘Tell me about it!'

‘So I was very glad when Alice offered to help track down the paintings and sort out the commissions – which was only fair as it was her idea in the first place.'

Alice was Julian's accountant and also his new girlfriend. She had hair that could cut ham (as the popular saying went), was a county councillor on the side, had her sights set on Westminster, and was altogether the most efficient young woman Penny had ever come across. So efficient, in fact, that …

‘Rosamund,' said Penny suspiciously, ‘have you done
anything
for the exhibition?'

‘Of course I have! I have been consulting with Alice, humouring Julian, and flirting with the builders to keep them on side. I can
so
see why you divorced him, darling. I just wish I liked
her
a little more.'

‘Ah, well that's where we differ. I don't have to like Alice, just be grateful to her.' And if Alice managed to fulfil her political ambitions and get elected to the House of Commons, taking Julian with her, then Penny would be even more grateful.

On cue, there was a click-clack of high heels and Alice herself appeared from the back premises, mobile phone to her ear and carrying a clipboard. ‘Rosamund, there you are! Who is the – Oh.'

‘Hello, Alice,' said Penny, with the utmost friendliness.

‘Penny,' said Alice, giving a stiff, reluctant nod of the head. ‘Rosamund, there is a man delivering vol-au-vents and sausage rolls to the kitchen. I thought we had agreed with the caterers what was to be served.'