Unfinished Portrait (16 page)

She was still in her study that evening when Lindsey returned, calling up the stairs, ‘I'm on supper duty tonight!'

‘Be right down!' Rona called back.

‘This is very noble of you,' she commented, entering the kitchen to find Lindsey unpacking a carrier bag.

‘More self-preservation. I've no wish to survive on convenience food or takeaways, so when Max isn't here, I'm taking over as chef. Even when he is, if he'd like a break.'

‘You're over your seasickness then?'

Lindsey flashed her a glance. ‘Uh-huh.'

‘Is that all you're going to say? How was the weekend?'

‘A novel experience, in more ways than one – the prime being that we shared the yacht with Dominic's daughter and her fiancé.'

‘Wow!'

‘Wow indeed; especially as Dominic didn't tell me till we were actually driving down.'

‘What's she like?'

‘She regards me as “one of Dad's girlfriends”, which pretty much sums it up.'

‘Oh Linz, I'm sorry. Was she really sniffy?'

‘Within the limits of politeness. She's a well-brought-up young lady.'

‘And the fiancé?'

‘Took his cue from her, though he thawed towards the end.'

‘Well,' Rona said after a moment, ‘perhaps it's a good sign, that Dominic took you to meet his family.'

Lindsey's only reply was an expressive sniff, and Rona thought it best to drop the subject.

They were finishing supper – rosemary-sprinkled lamb chops and sauté potatoes – when the phone rang, and Lindsey, being the nearer, picked it up.

‘Rona Parish?' asked a voice.

‘No; who shall I say is calling?'

Rona saw her twin's eyebrows go up, then she passed the phone across. ‘Nathan Tait for you,' she said.

‘Hello?' Rona hoped her surprise wasn't apparent in her voice.

‘Oh, hello, Nathan Tait here. We haven't met, but I'm a friend of Max's.'

‘I know; you had lunch together on Friday.'

‘That's right; he told me you're writing Elspeth Wilding's biography, and want to ask me about Chloë. I'm afraid I cut him short – God knows what he thought. The truth is, it was a bit of a body blow, coming out of the blue like that. I just wasn't prepared for it.'

‘I understand,' Rona said, though she wasn't sure she did.

‘But I've had time to think about it, and though I didn't know Elspeth well, if my recollections could help at all, you're welcome to them.'

‘That's good of you,' Rona replied, her spirits lifting. ‘Perhaps we could meet somewhere?'

‘Certainly. When are you next in London? I don't go to Buckfordshire these days.'

‘I could come any day to suit you. I'm intending to go round the galleries, anyway.'

‘Shall we say Thursday then? And to fit in with your plans, how about coffee at Tate Britain?'

‘That would be great. Thank you.'

‘Eleven o'clock?'

‘Fine. How . . . shall I know you?'

She heard him laugh. ‘A carnation in my buttonhole, or a furled copy of
The Times
under my arm? Seriously, if you look for a stick insect with longish dark hair, you won't go far wrong.'

‘I'll wear a red jacket,' Rona said. ‘Till Thursday, then.'

Nathan's description of himself wasn't far out, Rona thought with amusement as she made her way towards him. His extreme thinness accentuated his height and, as if aware of it, he stooped a little. His hair was indeed overlong, curling over the collar of his open-neck shirt, and his eyes, deep in their hollows, were very dark. The hand he held out was large, bony and strong, and as it gripped hers, she had to stop herself flinching.

‘I've heard so much about you over the years,' he said, pulling out a chair for her. ‘I'm delighted to meet you at last.'

‘And I you, especially after seeing your painting that we'd been harbouring all this time. I found it very . . . challenging.'

He brushed that aside. ‘First things first: how do you like your coffee, and would you like something with it?'

She requested espresso and an almond croissant, and watched while he threaded his way to the counter, returning minutes later with her order and a black coffee and Danish for himself.

‘It might surprise you to know that I eat like a horse,' he said, unloading the tray. ‘Though it never puts any meat on my bones.'

‘A lot of my friends would envy you.'

He nodded and, niceties completed, moved straight from the banal to the business in hand. ‘So, you're writing a biography of Elspeth Wilding.'

‘Yes.' Tread carefully, Rona warned herself.

‘I should make it clear there was no love lost between us. I imagine we resented each other in equal measure.'

‘Because of Chloë?'

He nodded. ‘She was the love of my life,' he said quietly. ‘And it was reciprocated, till Elspeth put her spoke in.'

‘In what way?'

‘She was insanely jealous and did everything she could to split us up. Between you and me – and for God's sake don't quote me –' he lowered his voice still further – ‘I was convinced she was in love with Chloë herself. She'd never had any men friends, Chloë seemed her only female one, and she was frankly terrified of losing her.'

He paused, staring down at the table. ‘Well, she
did
lose her,' he finished bitterly. ‘We both did.'

He looked up, and Rona saw the pain in his eyes. ‘To be fair, Chloë was fond of her, too, and intensely loyal. She was torn in half between us, but I didn't realize the strain it caused until too late.'

His hands were clenched on the table, the knuckles white and shining. It seemed wise to steer the conversation back to Elspeth. ‘You say you didn't know Elspeth well; how often did you actually meet?'

He gave his head a little shake, as though to clear it. ‘Two or three times at most, and always at Chloë's instigation.' His mouth twisted. ‘She tried her hardest to make us like each other, and failed miserably. But to start at the beginning, the first time I saw them was way back, at the RCA, though we were in different classes and never came into contact. Have you seen photos of Chloë? She was absolutely stunning. It was love at first sight, but I was too unsure of myself to make a move and, even then, Elspeth was ever-present.'

He bit reflectively into his Danish. ‘After that, our paths separated. I had relationships over the years – of course I did – but I never forgot her, and it seemed nothing short of a miracle when, years later, we were exhibiting in the same gallery and met again. Even more miraculously, there was no sign of Elspeth. She'd far outstripped us by that time, in both talent and fame. I took Chloë out for a meal, we went on to a club, had too much to drink, and she missed her last train home. So I took her back to my hotel and we spent the night together.'

He was silent for so long that Rona wondered if she should make some comment, though it was hard to know what. Then he started talking again, softly, as though to himself.

‘It was perfect, beyond my wildest dreams, if you'll excuse the cliché. I was . . . euphoric, scarcely able to believe it had happened. But it wasn't the same for Chloë; she was embarrassed by what had happened and blamed the champagne.

‘I soon talked her round, though. I was still living in Chilswood then, so for a time – a very short time – we saw quite a lot of each other, even made love again. But then Elspeth realized what was happening and moved swiftly to nip it in the bud. God knows what she said to Chloë, but she changed, became cooler and began to make excuses. I knew it was down to Elspeth, and that there was a mental tug of war between us. And, damn her, she won.

‘As you can imagine, I was distraught. After all those years, I had what I'd always wanted, only to have it snatched away again. I phoned, wrote, called at her house, all without avail. Then one evening when I drew up at her gate, her father came out to meet me. He said Chloë was very upset and asked me to give her a little space to sort herself out. He was very reasonable about it, so, against my will, I agreed. Six weeks later, she killed herself.'

The buzz of the café seemed a million miles away. Nathan's half-eaten Danish lay on his plate, the coffee in his cup grew cold. Finally, Rona said gently, ‘I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to make you go through all that again. I just—'

‘I know.' He looked up, and there were tears in his eyes ‘But you see, it's impossible to speak about Elspeth without Chloë. They were inextricably entwined. It . . . wasn't healthy, but there you are.'

‘Have you seen Elspeth since?'

‘Only across the grave at the funeral. She looked much the way I felt. I hoped she realized what she'd done.'

‘So you never saw her without Chloë being there?'

He shook his head. ‘Do you think she's still alive?' he asked after a moment.

The question took Rona by surprise; she'd forgotten the aborted message had not been made public. ‘Yes, I do,' she replied. ‘It turned out she left a message when she went, but it was erased before anyone heard it properly.'

‘Did she now? Well, that's a new slant, admittedly. So where is she?'

‘Ah, that's the million dollar question.'

‘Well, she can burn in hell for all I care.'

And that was it, really. They'd both said all they could say, and soon afterwards they left the café, solemnly shook hands, and went their separate ways, Rona to find a corner in which to write down as much as she could remember of the conversation just ended.

Then, no longer in the mood to look at paintings, she went home.

NINE

T
hat afternoon, Rona transferred to her computer the scribbled notes of her talk with Nathan, pausing over his opinion that Elspeth had lesbian leanings. He could, of course, know nothing of the adored schoolmaster, but was it possible, after that heartbreak, that she'd switched her affections from men to women? And, if so, was this of any significance?

Her best move, surely, would be to speak to Chloë's parents, and hear their side of the story. And while she was in Buckford, it would be useful to pay another visit to Elspeth's home; houses could reveal a lot about their owners, and she'd seen nothing of it except the garden studio.

As it was likely the Pynes didn't know of the biography, a letter of introduction seemed more appropriate than a phone call out of the blue. Accordingly she wrote one, regretting as she did so that her research would, of necessity, reopen old wounds. They could, of course, decline to see her, but she sincerely hoped they wouldn't; their opinion of Elspeth, whom they'd known far longer and far better than had Nathan, should be very interesting.

‘I had a phone call from
Double N
,' Lindsey said that evening. ‘The decoration's finished and everything's in place except the bed, which is due to be delivered tomorrow. So all being well, I can move back at the weekend.'

‘As soon as that? I'd meant to ask Dominic for a meal while you were here, but the time's gone so quickly.'

‘I've a better idea: you all come to me – an official opening, as it were. I've never cooked a meal for him, so it will be a chance to show off my prowess as well as the flat.'

‘I'll miss my weekday chef!' Rona said ruefully.

‘You could always cook for yourself,' Lindsey retorted. She leafed through the
Evening Standard
Rona had bought at the station, but been too preoccupied to read. ‘I see our friend Crispin's in the news again.'

‘What's he done this time?'

‘Attended some function or other.'

Rona looked over her shoulder at the blurred photograph, and, as at the fashion show, felt a tweak of recognition, déjà vu. But now, staring at the static print rather than the living man, the memory slid into place. His stance, the angle of his head, the way he held his glass – all exactly as she had noted on approaching him at the Clarendon –
and had previously observed on the loose page in Naomi's album
.

‘Hell's teeth!' she said suddenly, startling her sister. ‘He was at the same do as Elspeth!'

Lindsey's eyebrows went up. ‘When?'

‘Shortly before she left. Naomi had a photo of her at the opening of a new gallery, and he was in the background.'

‘So?'

‘Well, they must know each other.'

‘How do you make that out? They were at a public function, not a private party. How many people do you know at such do's?'

‘But he was just behind her!'

‘As, no doubt, were a lot of other people?'

‘Well, yes, he was in a group, but—'

‘Then it was probably pure chance the camera caught him when he just happened to be near her.' Lindsey paused. ‘Anyway, would it be such a big deal if they did know each other? They're both public figures, after all. Though if Elspeth's as shy and retiring as you say, the same can hardly be said of Crispin, so it seems unlikely.'

‘I still think it's an odd coincidence,' Rona said stubbornly, ‘and I'm not sure I believe in them.'

Avril looked again at the clock. It was past eleven, and Sarah was still not back from the Parents' Evening she'd been attending at school. She might have gone for a drink with Clive, though that would be unlike her; she was scrupulous about avoiding late nights on weekdays. Well, Avril reminded herself, it wasn't up to her to clock-watch – Sarah wasn't her daughter, after all.