Unfinished Portrait (13 page)

‘Yes?' Rona leaned forward and switched the recorder back on.

‘Well, I told you she'd never had a love affair, and to the best of my knowledge that's true. But she did have a passionate crush on someone when she was about sixteen. I wonder sometimes if we underestimated that.'

‘Who was he?'

‘A master at the school – Mr Palmer, we knew him as. She was totally besotted with him, though I can't remember how we knew that – certainly not from her. What
did
hit the headlines was that he was dismissed for having an affair with one of his pupils. Elspeth was distraught – there's no other word for it. I suppose she'd built up a fantasy that he loved
her
, and learning in the most brutal way that he didn't almost destroyed her. My mother wrote it off as puppy love, insisting she'd soon get over it, but I'm not sure she ever did. Certainly she never risked being hurt again.'

Rona pondered over that during the drive home. Naomi might have a point: in as complex and intense a nature as Elspeth's, what must have appeared as rejection could indeed have had a lasting effect. She wished passionately that Chloë, who surely would have known all about it, was still alive and could fill in the gaps. Though even without her, Rona felt she'd come some way towards understanding the woman behind the averted face and screen of pale hair.

Max's mobile rang as he was cleaning his brushes after the day's work.

‘Charles here, Max.'

‘Hi there. Thanks again for the meal the other night.'

‘A pleasure, and please thank Rona for her note – there was no need to write. This is just a courtesy call to put you in the picture, and I'm phoning your mobile to spare Rona hearing about the house.'

‘That's good of you. So, what's the news?'

‘We've taken the plunge and decided to come and live there ourselves.'

‘That's excellent, Charles. It will be good to have you as neighbours.'

‘Thanks, but as you'd imagine, there's the hell of a lot to do in the meantime. I've arranged for a clearance firm to remove the entire contents. There's nothing there of value, and frankly Monica doesn't fancy any of it, after what happened. The carpets particularly are in a parlous state, some with pieces actually cut out of them. For forensic purposes, I suppose, though I'd rather not know. And, of course, we've a lot of our own furniture in Hong Kong, some of which we took out in the first place, so we'll be shipping all that home.

‘We've ordered the fittings for a total refit of the kitchen and bathroom, and we're putting in a shower room and loo on the top floor for the kids. So there'll be the hell of a lot of drilling and hammering going on. I should invest in earplugs if I were you!'

‘You seem to have organized a great deal in a short time!'

‘It's been a rush to fit it all in before we leave, but we're just about there. We fly back at the end of the week.'

‘So when do you hope to move in?'

‘Spring next year, when the contract ends. With luck, we'll be settled in by Easter.'

‘Well, anything Rona or I can do in the meantime, just let us know.'

‘Thanks; we've booked a pretty reliable firm to supervise everything, but if I may, I'll give them your number, in case of emergencies. So, it just remains to say it was great to see you both, apologies again for the ordeal, and we'll be back next year.'

‘We'll look forward to it,' Max said, ‘and in the meantime, bon voyage!'

SEVEN

R
ona's mood was decidedly more positive the next morning, and she worked steadily, transcribing her conversations with Naomi Harris and transferring them to the file she'd previously set up. And listening to Naomi's voice without the distraction of her presence, it struck Rona, with a sense of surprise, that she was not overly fond of her sister. True, it could be argued she'd been specifically asked about Elspeth's childhood, but the descriptions of her tantrums, her sulkiness, the attacks on her siblings, were surely more detailed and judgemental than was strictly necessary, perhaps indicating resentment of a talented younger sister.

Yet according to Prue, Naomi had begged her to commission the biography. Why? In the hope, as she'd half-admitted, that it might spur Elspeth into returning home? Or, as Max had cynically suggested, to increase the worth of her paintings?

That evening, as they were enjoying their pre-dinner drinks in the kitchen, Max announced that he'd arranged to meet Nathan on Friday, to hand over his painting.

‘But Friday's your birthday!' Rona objected.

‘I'm aware of that, darling, and that we're going out in the evening. This is at lunchtime.'

‘Where are you meeting?'

He gave a short laugh. ‘Nowhere exotic – Toddington service station. He's driving up to Yorkshire for an exhibition, and as he now lives in London, it's the most convenient place.'

‘Who's Nathan?' Lindsey asked. ‘Do I know him?'

‘I doubt it,' Max replied, reaching down a pan. ‘He's an artist friend of mine. We went on a painting trip about three years ago, and I must have scooped up one of his canvases. I found it when we were clearing the studio.'

‘I'd like to meet him myself,' Rona said. ‘Perhaps he could throw more light on the Chloë connection.'

‘And who's Chloë?' Lindsey again.

‘Elspeth's best friend; Nathan was in love with her.'

‘Was being past tense?'

‘As past as it gets. She's dead.'

Lindsey groaned. ‘I might have known. Murdered, no doubt?'

‘No, actually she killed herself. Under a train.'

‘Ye gods!' Lindsey shuddered.

‘I'm not sure it would be wise to broach the subject,' Max said mildly, above the hiss of melting butter. ‘He's unlikely to relish being quizzed about his dear departed.'

‘It was two and a half years ago,' Rona protested. ‘You can't wrap him in cotton wool for ever. Anyway, it's not so much Chloë I want to discuss, as Elspeth. He must have known her.'

‘All roads lead to Elspeth,' Lindsey said resignedly.

‘The trouble is, most of them are cul-de-sacs.'

‘Why's that?'

‘She's an intensely private person. Even her own family don't seem to know her.'

Lindsey finished her drink. ‘Then it sounds to me as though you're on a hiding to nothing,' she rejoined.

‘Hi,' Lindsey said.

It was four hours later, and she was leaning on the studio windowsill, mobile in hand, gazing down at the street below.

‘How did the move go?' Dominic asked. He'd been in Frankfurt for the past week.

‘As well as can be expected. I cried when the van drove away.'

‘
Off went the van, with my home in it
? Poor baby. When's the auction?'

‘Next week, but I shan't go. If I did, I'd probably buy everything back.'

‘So much for your desire for a clean sweep.'

‘I know, I know. Ignore me – I'm feeling a bit rootless at the moment, though Ro and Max have been great.'

‘Well, you've the weekend to look forward to.'

‘I know.' She brightened. ‘You haven't said where we're going?'

‘Sailing,' he replied.

‘
Sailing
? At this time of year?'

‘The forecast's good; it'll be perfect.'

‘I trust you're not expecting me to hoist up sails or anything?'

Dominic laughed. ‘Hardly. No, it's what's known as a luxury yacht, property of a friend of mine, and comes complete with crew and cordon bleu chef.'

‘Ah, that sounds better!'

‘I thought it might. There's an extra surprise, but that'll keep for the moment.'

‘Dominic, you know I hate secrets! Tell me now!'

‘Sorry, you'll have to wait till Friday. Sleep well.' And he rang off.

Lindsey clicked her mobile shut and went on staring down into the road. From this height, she could see the streetlights in Fullers Walk leading up towards Guild Street. Immediately below her, a man was walking his dog, allowing it to stop and sniff at every tree. In no hurry to go home, evidently.

She turned and, still leaning her elbows on the sill, surveyed her studio bedroom, lit softly by the lamp Rona had found for her. There were no curtains up here, just vertical blinds to pull across if the sun was too hot. In daytime, the room was flooded with light. At night, it held mysterious shadows. Her eyes moved across the spaces to the heaped shapes against the walls. God only knew what they were; some must be Max's paintings, since among them he'd found one by his friend, whose girlfriend jumped under a train.

The radiator clicked suddenly, startling her. Oh God, she wished she was in her own cosy little flat!

She pushed herself away from the window and started to undress, thinking over the conversation with Dominic. She wasn't sure that she'd enjoy sailing, even with a crew. She'd been seasick as a child, and had tended to avoid boats ever since. She hoped grimly she could do justice to the chef's gourmet offerings.

And that surprise Dominic had up his sleeve: why did he mention it, if he'd no intention of telling her what it was? Just to be annoying, probably. Sometimes, she thought as she climbed cautiously into the camp bed, she wished she didn't love him so much.

The next morning, Rona continued sorting through files and folders, jotting down odd points as they occurred to her. It struck her suddenly that Catherine might know who'd been the head at St Stephen's in Elspeth's time. With luck, whoever it was would still be alive and living locally. And as the thought came, the front door bell rang, and Rona answered it to find Catherine herself on the step.

‘I do hope I'm not interrupting anything,' she said. ‘I've been shopping, and thought I might as well hand-deliver a little something we brought back from Portugal.'

‘I was just thinking about you!' Rona told her. ‘Come in! Did you have a good holiday?'

‘Perfect. We paced our sightseeing, so had plenty of time to relax. And, of course, we ate extremely well.'

‘And Pops?' Rona asked diffidently, leading the way into the sitting room.

‘Is looking a lot better than when we went away.' Catherine handed Rona a little package wrapped in green tissue paper, which contained three brightly painted cockerels in diminishing sizes.

‘They're lovely! Thank you.'

‘You see them all over Portugal,' Catherine said. ‘There's a legend dating from the fourteenth century about a pilgrim who was wrongly accused of theft, for which the penalty was death. He prayed to St James for justice, and went to see the judge who was due to sentence him. The judge was sitting down to dinner, which happened to be roast chicken, and the pilgrim said, “If I'm innocent, that cockerel will get up and crow!” And of course it did, and he was released.'

Rona smiled. ‘I hadn't heard that. Have you time for some coffee?'

‘If you're sure I'm not interrupting.'

‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something. Come down to the kitchen.'

While the coffee brewed, Rona arranged the little cockerels along the shelf above the Aga. ‘I'll have to remove them when we cook chicken!' she said.

‘So what did you want to ask me?'

‘I wondered if by any chance you knew who was head of St Stephen's while Elspeth was there.'

‘When would that have been, exactly?'

‘1969 to '75.'

‘It would probably have been Miss Burbage, but I can check for you.'

‘Did you know her?'

‘Not personally, no.'

‘Do you know if she's still around?'

‘She was when I left, three years ago. I'll ring an ex-colleague, and ask her.'

‘Thanks – and, for that matter, any other staff who were there at the time. It'd be fascinating to hear their impressions of her.'

‘They might be tinged by hindsight,' Catherine warned. ‘Where did Elspeth go on to?'

‘Buckford High. I'll have to contact them, too.'

‘So how's it going?' Catherine asked curiously. ‘Have you met any of the family yet?'

‘Just her sister and brother-in-law. It was Naomi who pressed for the bio.'

‘And was she helpful?'

‘Ye-es.' Rona pressed down the plunger and poured the coffee.

‘But?'

‘I'm not sure there is a “but”. She arranged for me to see Elspeth's studio and bring home some files. And when I rang again, she invited me to lunch and answered all my questions. It's just that I got the impression there wasn't much love lost between them, so it might have been a somewhat biased account. I'll have a better idea when I've seen the rest of the family.

‘And by the way,' she added, passing Catherine a mug, ‘Elspeth's disappearance wasn't quite as mysterious as we thought; she
had
left a message for the family, but only a bit of it was recoverable, so they don't know where she is.'

Talk reverted to the Portuguese holiday, and shortly afterwards Catherine rose to go.

‘I won't take up any more of your time.' She opened her bag and took out a package in blue tissue. ‘You're likely to see Lindsey before I do; would you give her this, with our love?'

‘Of course. Actually, she's staying with us at the moment.'

Catherine looked up in surprise. ‘She's moved out already? I must tell Tom; he was intending to ring you both this evening, but now he can catch you together.'