Unfinished Portrait (21 page)

‘I've not seen it myself, but Lindsey's delighted with it.'

‘I might just give them a ring,' Magda said thoughtfully. ‘No harm in getting their input, at least.' She put down her knife and fork. ‘I won't stay for coffee, if you don't mind.' She took her out her purse, but Rona shook her head.

‘Have it on me. I talked you into it, after all.'

‘Oh, no, I—'

‘An extra pizza isn't going to break me,' Rona said, and Magda smiled.

‘All right, then – thanks. And our next lunch is on me. Good luck with the Addams Family tomorrow.'

And she was gone. Rona ordered coffee and belatedly took out her paperback, but her attention was wandering. So Crispin was aware she was writing Elspeth's bio. If he
did
know her, surely, as Magda said, he'd have made some comment, if only about her continuing absence? Which meant, Rona concluded, that she'd read more into that photo than was actually there.

She thought for a moment of the handsome, vibrant man she'd met, and all the stories she'd heard about him; and she remembered Naomi's comment, that it seemed unlikely in the extreme that his path should cross with a publicity-shy woman like Elspeth. In which case, she told herself, she should dismiss him from her speculations once and for all. With a sigh, she returned to her book.

Rona had just reached her study when the phone rang, and she lifted it to find Barnie Trent on the line.

‘How's my errant feature writer?' he asked her.

‘Just about surviving.'

‘Not changing your mind, by any chance?'

Rona laughed. ‘No, no. A bit disenchanted at the moment, that's all.'

‘I don't think you said who you're doing?'

‘Elspeth Wilding, the artist.'

‘Ah – good choice. I met her several years back, when she had an exhibition locally and we did a feature on it. A charming woman, I thought.'

Rona bit back her surprise. Here was a new angle! But before she could pursue it, Barnie was continuing.

‘When we last spoke, I mentioned Dinah was hoping to invite you for a meal. Sorry to be so long coming back, but she's been a bit under the weather lately.'

‘Nothing serious, I hope?'

‘No, no. The doctor's given her some vitamin pills and she's got her bounce back. So, when are you free?'

‘Well, as you know, Max is limited to Wednesdays and the weekend, and tomorrow we're going to London – though that would be too soon, anyway.'

‘And we've a school-friend of Dinah's staying over on Saturday. How about next week?'

‘I'd have to check with Max.'

‘Look, no offence, but since he's so tied up, why not come by yourself this time? You've done it before, and I can't think, excellent chap though he is, that he's overly interested in shop-talk, which, inevitably, we slide into from time to time.'

It was true that, even apart from the business angle, Barnie and Dinah were more her friends than Max's. She was sure he'd be agreeable.

‘Right, then, thanks.'

‘So – Monday? Tuesday? Thursday?'

Rona laughed. ‘Well, if you have a weekend guest, Monday's too soon, but either of the others would be fine.'

‘Right, I'll get Dinah to phone you with a definite date. In the meantime, don't let the disenchantment get you down.'

‘I'll try not to,' she said.

‘Barnie thought Elspeth was charming,' Rona told Max, on the train to London the next evening. ‘In Barnie-speak, that means she gave a good interview, which is pretty unusual, from all accounts.

‘Come to think of it,' she went on thoughtfully, ‘the more I hear about her, the more contradictory she seems. One version is that she's uncommunicative and camera-shy, another that she's self-centred, domineering and ruthless, as per Nathan and the Pynes.'

‘Both of whom have axes to grind,' Max reminded her.

‘True,' Rona acknowledged. ‘It will be interesting to hear what Big Brother has to say. I hope they won't object to my recorder.'

The Wildings lived in what proved to be a luxury flat overlooking Regent's Park. The hall porter, having enquired her name, phoned to check she was expected before escorting her to the lift and pressing the button for the appropriate floor.

Rona sailed up in majestic silence, and, as the gates opened, found herself face to face with Richard Wilding. For a split second they observed each other, Rona seeing a tall, hard-eyed man whose hair was liberally sprinkled with grey. Then he came forward, extending a hand.

‘Miss Parish,' he said formally.

‘Mr Wilding. Thank you for agreeing to see me.'

He escorted her through the open door of the flat and into a large, airy room overlooking the dark expanse of the park. It was furnished in exquisite taste, mainly with antiques, and one of Elspeth's cloudscapes hung in pride of place, taking up much of one wall.

‘My wife, Marcia.'

The woman who came forward was, at a guess, in her late forties. Her mid-brown hair was straight and shining, her face a little pinched, and she was wearing a designer suit in claret, with a white silk blouse and high heels that brought her almost to her husband's height. There was an air of concealed impatience about her, and Rona had the distinct impression that her own arrival was inconveniently delaying the start of their evening.

‘Perhaps you'll join us in a sherry?' Richard said, going to a table that displayed a range of cut-glass decanters and glasses.

Although she didn't care for sherry, it seemed politic to accept, and when it came, it was so pale as to be almost colourless. The first sip proved, as she'd feared, dry enough to shrivel the inside of her mouth. Suppressing an instinctive shudder, she produced her recorder.

‘Would you mind if I used this? It ensures accuracy and makes for a more relaxed interview.'

Not that she'd be relaxing herself, in such an atmosphere. Neither of them objected, for which she was grateful, and she switched it on.

‘As you'll appreciate,' she began, ‘I've only just started my research, but it would be a great help if you could tell me what you remember of Elspeth's childhood.'

‘She was enchanting,' Richard said promptly. ‘A determined little thing, full of character from the start.'

‘In other words,' Marcia put in dryly, ‘she idolized her big brother, and still does.'

Richard shot her a warning look, which Rona intercepted.

‘No doubt Naomi gave you a different picture,' he said, ignoring his wife.

‘Slightly,' Rona admitted tactfully.

He gave a short laugh. ‘They're totally incompatible, those two. To be frank, Naomi's always been jealous of her, not only because she was the baby of the family and spoiled by our parents, but because of her talent, which, as you'll have heard, manifested itself at a very early age. Naomi always resented that; I suppose if there's jealousy in a family, it's more likely to be between siblings of the same sex.'

‘Yet she chose Elspeth as godmother to her daughter,' Rona protested, obliged to defend Naomi in the face of such criticism.

Richard shrugged dismissively, and she wondered, for the first time, if he had family of his own. Marcia didn't look the maternal type.

‘You were the middle one?' she checked.

‘That's right, slightly nearer in age to Elspeth.'

‘And closer in other ways, too?'

He smiled. ‘You could say that.'

‘Did your moving to London affect that closeness?'

‘Not at all, she often—' He broke off, flashed another look at his wife, and continued ‘came to stay.'

Rona paused; it seemed she was on the brink of something important, if she could just uncover it. ‘I know this is out of context,' she probed gently, ‘but were you surprised when she suddenly left?'

It seemed she'd lit the touchpaper. ‘Why does everyone keep harping on that?' Richard demanded forcefully. ‘Surely she's entitled to a leave of absence? She needed to stretch herself – artists do – and Buckford had become claustrophobic.'

‘But it's eighteen months since she left,' Rona objected, ‘and she's not even been in touch.'

‘She has with us,' Marcia said unexpectedly.

‘Marcia!'

‘Oh, for God's sake, Richard, this is ridiculous!'

He slapped his hand on his knee. ‘I
knew
this biography was a mistake! I
told
Naomi—'

‘But you didn't tell her
why
, did you? That we've always known roughly where she is?'

Rona held her breath. This, she had certainly
not
expected. They were glaring at each other, and it seemed all she had to do was keep quiet and await the outcome. Thank God for her recorder!

Richard passed a hand over his eyes. ‘Now you've done it,' he said dully.

‘But surely you agree it's gone on long enough? She's had over a year to “do her own thing”, though why she has to be so secretive defeats me. What the hell does it
matter
where she is? If she'd been open about it in the first place, like any normal person, the family wouldn't have panicked and alerted the press. As it is, we have to be thankful we were spared
Crimewatch
!'

‘That's hardly fair!' Richard flung back. ‘She left a message, for God's sake! She wasn't to know it would be wiped before anyone heard it!'

He glanced in Rona's direction, as if suddenly recalling her presence, finished his sherry in a single gulp and banged the glass on the table. ‘Your name should be Pandora,' he said bitterly. ‘Well, after all that, there's not much point in putting the lid back on the box. All I can ask is that you keep it to yourself, until either Elspeth comes home or the book's published, whichever's the sooner.'

Rona moved uncomfortably. ‘It'll be difficult when I speak to Naomi—'

‘Oh, I realize I can't hold you to it.' He stood up abruptly and went to refill his glass, belatedly turning to ask if anyone else cared for a refill. Rona declined, Marcia held out her glass. Husband and wife weren't meeting each other's eye; it boded ill for the rest of their evening.

Richard reseated himself and leant forward, hands clasped, staring at the floor. ‘Elspeth felt stifled,' he began. ‘My parents were always phoning, wanting to know when they could see her, what she was doing, how she was. And after Chloë's death, it was ten times worse.' He looked up. ‘You know about Chloë?'

Rona nodded.

‘That, of course, was the final straw – the row between them, followed by her death. Elspeth was so distraught that we brought her back here after the funeral, and she spent days in her room, refusing to see anyone. I was seriously concerned, but after a week or so she grew calmer and even came out with us occasionally, to the theatre or for a meal, and gradually, very gradually, she regained her balance.'

‘More than,' averred Marcia, holding tightly to her glass. ‘She developed a taste for the bright lights; said she needed to widen her boundaries, whatever that meant, and although she eventually returned to Buckford, she began coming here regularly, staying for a few days at a time. And every evening it was the same: she'd set off alone for the West End. At least, that's where we assumed she was going; she wasn't specific, just told us she was meeting friends, but she never suggested we join her.'

‘It was a belated teenage rebellion,' Richard explained. ‘During her adolescence, she was totally focused on art – she'd never had any
fun
. Who were we to deny it to her?'

Rona took a deep breath, trying to assimilate this totally unexpected turn of events.

‘So when she left, she went with these friends?'

‘Oh no,' Richard said quickly. ‘She went away for a clean break, to rediscover herself as a painter. And she
has
been painting; she's quite excited about it.'

‘So when's she coming back?'

He shrugged. ‘When she's ready, I imagine.'

‘I . . . don't suppose you can tell me where she is?'

He started to shake his head, but Marcia said promptly, ‘Scotland.'

Richard came to his feet, flushing angrily. ‘Just be quiet, will you? God knows, you've said more than enough!'

Marcia had also risen, and for a moment they held each other's eye. Then she turned and, stalking to the window, stood staring out into the darkness.

Rona subtly changed tack. ‘You say she contacted you; how long was that after she left?'

It took Richard a minute to regain his equilibrium. ‘Several weeks,' he said then, trying to moderate his voice. ‘Until then, we'd been as worried as everyone else. And the only reason she phoned was because she'd come across an English paper with an article on her “disappearance”, and was appalled. Fortunately, this was after Toby owned up, so I was able to explain what had happened.'

‘Couldn't you have told your family you'd heard from her?'

‘That's what I said!' Marcia declared, without turning.

Again, he ignored her. ‘She was convinced that if they knew, they'd bombard her with requests to come home – even fly up to see her – and it was to escape all that that she'd gone in the first place. Once she was satisfied they'd had the message, truncated though it was, she made me swear not to say she'd been in touch. If I hadn't, she'd have severed the connection completely. As it is, it's very erratic – sometimes we hear once a month, sometimes it's longer. She bought a new mobile and won't give us the number, so there's no way we can contact her. Come to that, we've only her word for it she actually
is
in Scotland.'