Unfinished Portrait (9 page)

‘Max wondered if you'd removed her work, in case someone stole it.'

‘We thought of it, but there's an alarm system, as you see, and anyway, Elspeth's work is so distinctive they'd have difficulty selling it. Also, her later paintings are very large – six feet across in some cases – and removing them would involve taking out a window and lowering them to the ground. A laborious and expensive business, and, I should think, enough to deter all but the most determined thief.'

The ground floor of the building comprised a minute hall with two rooms opening off it, one a washroom, the other a kitchenette with sink, hob and fridge, and a drop-down table with stool alongside.

‘When she was in full spate,' Naomi explained, ‘she'd have lunch and even dinner out here, rather than break off to go back to the house.' She gestured to the open staircase. ‘After you.'

It was a similar approach to Farthings, Rona thought, emerging from the stair head into a large space overflowing with light, though in addition to accoutrements similar to Max's – easels, trolleys with tubes of paint, brushes in jars, turps and linseed – there was also a small desk bearing a computer and printer.

Naomi, emerging from the staircase behind her, saw her glance at it. ‘Her assistant sometimes works up here,' she explained.

Rona nodded, looking about her with interest. There was a row of canvases against a wall, but unlike Max's, they were covered and facing inwards, and a couple of large, wall-mounted paintings were similarly draped. In fact, only one was open to view, a cloudscape measuring some three feet by six, but she'd barely glanced at it when Naomi gave a sudden exclamation.

‘God, is that the time?'

Rona, glancing at her watch, saw it was approaching one o'clock.

‘I must go – I'd no idea it was so late. I was intending to buy you lunch, but I'm playing bridge at two thirty. God, I'm so sorry! What must you think of me, driving you all the way out here, then immediately dragging you away again?'

‘Don't worry,' Rona said quickly. ‘I want to get home myself in time to walk the dog before dark.'

‘Tell you what, I'll arrange for Gwen Saunders to meet you here. She's Elspeth's part-time assistant, and much more competent than I am to discuss her work. It was her job to organize exhibitions and see to the correspondence, though Elspeth called on her less and less during that last year. She still looks in once a month to see if anything needs doing, and asked me to tell you she'll be pleased to help in any way she can.'

Naomi scrabbled in her handbag for notebook and pen. ‘Let me just list the phone numbers you'll need, while I remember. There's Gwen, my parents, my brother, the Strongs, the Pynes – can you think of anyone else?'

Rona smiled. ‘That'll be fine to be going on with.'

Locking up as they went, they hurried across the garden and through the house to Naomi's car, and she drove swiftly back to the town centre.

‘Where can I drop you?' she enquired.

‘Anywhere will do. My car's in the multi-storey, but I'll have a sandwich before I leave.'

‘I feel dreadful dumping you like this—'

‘Really,' Rona assured her, getting out of the car, ‘it's fine. Thanks for everything.'

‘I'll phone this evening, with the numbers you need.' And then she was gone, the car accelerating away in the direction of Sunningdene.

‘It was frustrating in the extreme,' Rona said, ‘to be in the same room as her paintings, only to be dragged away without so much as a glance at them.'

They were in the kitchen at Farthings, Max having broken off work to join her for a cup of tea before she took Gus home.

‘However,' she went on, ‘the big news is that Elspeth
did
tell them she was leaving, but they never got the message.' She explained what Naomi had told her.

‘Bang goes my theory about her being dead,' Max said resignedly.

‘Not necessarily; they haven't heard from her since Christmas.'

‘Less likely, though, which is all to the good. So, you're telling me that after all that, you never even saw her work?'

‘As I said, we ran out of time. There was a canvas on the wall, though, showing clouds racing across the sky.'

Max nodded. ‘A cloudscape – that figures. She's well known for them; must have painted a couple of dozen at least.'

‘Heavens! You'd think she'd get tired of them.'

‘Ah, but then you're not an artist! Seriously, though, clouds are her trademark. There's Monet and water lilies, and Hockney and swimming pools, and Wilding and clouds.'

‘Perhaps, when I go to see them, you should come along.'

‘God, I'd give my eye teeth to! Do you think anyone would mind?'

‘I can't see why, but I'll check with the PA.'

Rona finished her tea and looked down at the dog lying at her feet. ‘I must go, if Gus is to get any walk at all. It's too late for the park.' The afternoon had clouded over, which would hasten the onset of darkness. ‘Back home, then once round the block will have to do.'

‘He'll be fine; he had a decent outing at lunchtime, as instructed.' Max walked with them to the door. ‘I'll ring you at bedtime,' he said.

FIVE

D
uring the next couple of days, Rona felt she was marking time. Naomi had called as promised on Monday evening, but having passed on Gwen Saunders' number, warned of a delay.

‘I rang her when I got back from bridge, but she's away for a few days, so I left a message saying you'd contact her. As for the other numbers, if you give me your address, I'll ask her to email them – easier than dictating over the phone. And when you're ready to interview me, or if there's anything else you need, just phone.'

She hadn't known, when Rona enquired, when Ms Saunders was due back, and Rona's attempt to reach her the next day was again met by the answer phone. There being no point in repeating Naomi's message, she had rung off.

Wednesday morning brought a postcard from her father in Lisbon, crammed with news of all the sights they were visiting. Rona hoped he wasn't overdoing it, though Catherine was sure to be monitoring him.

Lindsey phoned at lunchtime. ‘The auction people are clearing the house on Saturday,' she announced, ‘after which, I shall be a displaced person. I trust you haven't rethought your invitation?'

‘Of course not. When are the decorators starting?'

‘Monday. They reckon the painting and papering will only take a week, but the soft furnishings have to be ordered, and some of the furniture has a delivery time of two to three weeks. Will that be OK?'

‘Of course it will. Are you getting rid of all the furniture?'

‘Except for a few pieces, which can be covered in sheets. It's not worth putting anything in store, but I'll have to bring some boxes of books and ornaments with me, not to mention my entire wardrobe.'

‘Just as well there's plenty of room up there.'

‘I'm not sure how long it will be for, but the carpets will be down, so as soon as I have the basics – i.e. a bed and somewhere to sit – I can move back in.'

‘There's no hurry, Linz, honestly. It'll be great to have you. We might even meet Dominic while you're here.'

Lindsey brightened. ‘Yes, he said he'd like that.'

‘So, you'll be arriving on Saturday?'

‘Late afternoon, if that's OK. Tell Max I'll cook the evening meal, to help earn my keep!'

‘He'll be delighted!'

Rona passed on the message when Max returned that evening. He grunted in reply, and she slid an arm round his neck.

‘You won't be grumpy with her, will you, darling?'

He smiled reluctantly. ‘I'll welcome her with open arms!' he said, turning to pick up the ringing phone.

‘The eagles have landed!' proclaimed a voice. ‘It's Charles, Max. We're at the Clarendon.'

‘Charles, hi! Did you have a good flight?'

‘Long and tedious, actually, but we're just about over the jet-lag. We were wondering if you and Rona would be free to have dinner with us on Friday?'

‘That sounds great, but hang on while I check with my social secretary.' He put a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Dinner at the Clarendon on Friday?'

‘Wonderful!' Rona confirmed.

‘We'll be delighted, Charles. Seven thirty in the bar? Excellent. We'll look forward to it, and to hearing all your news.'

As he switched off the phone, Rona said a touch anxiously, ‘We won't have to go through the murders again, will we?'

Max gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘I'm sure not; they're already feeling guilty about our involvement. I hope they do decide to come back,' he added. ‘They seem a nice couple; it would be good to know them properly, instead of a brief meeting every couple of years. Odd to think that house has been let ever since we've lived here.'

‘To get back to Linz,' Rona said, ‘we'd better go up and see what state the studio's in.'

Max groaned, but followed her protestingly up three flights of stairs to the top of the house. The large space was cluttered with suitcases, empty computer boxes, rolls of surplus carpet and several of Max's discarded canvases.

‘God, I'd forgotten all about these,' he remarked, lifting one up and examining it critically. ‘Not at all bad, considering.' He moved on to the next one, and stopped with a frown. ‘Hang on – this isn't mine! What the hell . . .?'

He peered down at an almost indecipherable signature in the bottom corner. ‘Good God, it's one of Nathan's. They must have got mixed up, when we went on that painting weekend.'

Rona straightened. ‘Nathan? Nathan Tait?'

‘Yes. I'd better return it, I suppose. Wonder if he missed it?'

Rona looked over his shoulder at the canvas he was studying. It was an abstract, slashes of vibrant reds, greens and blues zoning in from all angles, crossing and recrossing in a riot of colour that made the eyes ache, and creating a powerful effect of confusion.

‘Strong stuff,' she said. ‘Did you ever meet a friend of his, Chloë Pyne?'

Max turned from the painting to stare at her. ‘However did you come up with that name?'

‘Did you, Max? Meet her?'

‘No, but I certainly heard a lot about her that weekend. Nate was well and truly smitten.' His brows drew together. ‘How did you come across her?'

‘She was Elspeth Wilding's best friend, and she threw herself under a train.'

‘My God!' He stared at her. ‘Poor old Nate – he'd have been devastated.'

‘He didn't tell you?'

‘I've not seen him since that weekend. What a thing to have happened.' He frowned. ‘Was that before or after Elspeth left?'

‘A year before.'

‘No connection, then.'

Rona said slowly, ‘I'm not so sure.'

Max gave a short laugh. ‘Well, if there is, I'd put my money on your finding it. Now, enough speculation: what do you want to do with all this stuff?'

Rona forced her mind back. ‘If we stack everything in one corner, that'll leave plenty of room. She's bringing the contents of her wardrobe – and here's just the thing – that old clothes rail you had before we were married. That'll be ideal.'

‘For roughly a third of it, perhaps,' Max commented. ‘But more importantly, where's the camp bed?'

They found it buried beneath a box of Christmas decorations, Max put it together, and an hour later, the open space looked more like a rudimentary guest room. Rona had balanced a mirror on top of a tea chest to serve as a dressing table, and brought up a chair and spare lamp from her study.

‘That should do,' she said, surveying the result of their endeavours. ‘I'll put a hot water bottle in the bed to air it, and she should be fine.'

‘Right,' Max said, ‘then let's go down and get dinner under way.'

Thursday's call to Gwen Saunders struck gold.

‘Oh, Miss Parish! I'm so glad you rang; Mrs Harris asked me to look up some addresses and phone numbers for you, and I'm just about to email them.'

‘Thank you, they'll be very useful. She said you'd kindly volunteered to help, and I'd very much like to see Miss Wilding's paintings.' If the assistant was being formal, Rona reckoned so should she.

‘Of course. And I can provide catalogues, lists of paintings and exhibitions, trips abroad and so on.'

‘That would be wonderful. When would be convenient?' Rona asked, mentally crossing her fingers. She was eager, now, to start work.

‘I could manage tomorrow, or is that too soon?'

‘No, it would be ideal.' Rona paused, remembering Max's interest. Friday was the one day in the week when he'd no outside commitments. ‘I wonder – would it be all right if my husband came with me? He'd love to see—'

‘Mr Allerdyce?' Sudden animation warmed her voice. ‘It would be an honour to meet him! I've been to all his exhibitions, and attended a lecture he gave some years ago, here in Buckford.'

‘That's kind of you,' Rona murmured, taken aback. ‘Tomorrow morning, then? About eleven?'

‘That will be perfect.'

When she had rung off, Rona texted Max at the Art School.
Have arranged for you to come to Buckford with me tomorrow, to see Elspeth's studio etc. OK?

A minute later the reply came back.
Great! Well done!

So things were moving at last, Rona thought with satisfaction.

‘Avril?'