Unfinished Portrait (17 page)

Which brought to mind her own daughters, and the fact that she'd not, as promised, phoned them back last week. But nor had they phoned her. Perhaps they'd seen through her fictitious ‘someone at the door', and were giving her space. The implications of her weekend with Guy were, heaven knew, clear enough, but when Lindsey rang, they'd been too new and too precious to share.

She'd phone them tomorrow, she resolved; Lindsey should still be at Rona's. In the meantime, since there was really no need to wait up for Sarah, she'd go to bed.

Decision reached, she switched off the television and stood up. But as she turned to leave the room, a noise from outside startled her, an odd, shuffling sound. She froze, listening. There it was again, as if someone was stumbling about outside the window. Oh God, don't let it be a drunk!

Then, strident and shocking in the still house, came the clatter of the knocker, followed by a loud, continuous ringing of the bell. Avril gripped the back of her chair. What should she do?
God, what should she do?
Phone the police? But it'd take them ages to get here. Arm herself with a poker? And still the bell clarioned. Then, abruptly, it stopped, and it was silence that rang in her ears. She stood listening intently, praying for the sound of retreating footsteps. There was nothing.

Slowly, fearfully, she went into the hall and stood motionless, staring at the front door.

‘Who's there?' Her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘The police are on their way!' How unconvincing that sounded! There was no response, not even the sound of someone leaving.

She could, of course, close her mind to it, go upstairs and lock herself in her room. But, she remembered suddenly, Sarah was due any time – overdue. She couldn't leave her to stumble unknowingly into whoever it was.

Avril tiptoed to the peephole and peered fearfully through. No one was in sight, and she drew a long, tremulous breath. Whoever it was had gone after all, but she needed to check, or she wouldn't sleep.

Slowly, silently, she slid back the snip of the Yale lock, at the same time turning the handle, and pulled the door open. Then, with a stifled scream, jumped back, as a dark shape that had been huddled against it fell forward across the threshold. It took her several paralysed seconds to realize it was Sarah.

‘Move her as little as possible,' she'd been instructed over the phone. ‘The ambulance will be with you shortly.'

So Avril sat on the hall floor, holding Sarah's hand, murmuring reassurances and praying for the sound of the siren. Her second phone call had been to Guy.

‘I don't know,' she'd answered helplessly, as he questioned her urgently about the seriousness of the injuries. Better, perhaps, not to mention the blood. ‘She has a bruise on her forehead, and is drifting in and out of consciousness, but as far as I can see, nothing's broken. I should think—'

But he'd had no time for her theories. ‘I'll see you at the hospital,' he'd said, and rung off.

And at last came the sound of an ambulance drawing up outside, and hurrying footsteps, and the calm efficiency of the paramedics. Under their ministrations, Sarah's eyes flickered fully open and she stared rather wildly up at them.

‘You're all right, love,' the woman soothed her. ‘You've some nasty cuts and bruises, so we're taking you to the hospital. Don't worry, your mum's here, and she's coming too.'

Avril, who'd been slipping on her coat, paused and caught Sarah's eye, but neither of them contradicted her.

‘The police have been notified,' said the male paramedic. ‘They're sending someone to watch the house till the locks can be changed.'

Catching Avril's blank look, he added, ‘You say her bag's missing? With the door key in it?'

Avril moistened her lips. ‘Yes. Yes, I hadn't thought.'

They lifted Sarah on her stretcher and carried her down the path to the waiting ambulance, and as Avril climbed in behind her, she was relieved to see a police car come spinning round the corner. Then they were on their way, and she lowered herself precariously on to the second bunk. Sarah, who'd been fitted with an oxygen mask, reached out a hand, and Avril took it between both hers.

‘Your father's on his way,' she said.

Though it was a fifty-minute drive from Stokely to Marsborough, it was a good twenty minutes from Avril's home in Belmont, and she'd not been waiting long before Guy came striding down the corridor towards her. She jumped up and hurried to meet him. His face was drawn and he gripped her arms, demanding without preamble, ‘What's happened? Where is she?'

‘They're examining her now,' Avril said. ‘Really, Guy, I don't think it's as bad as it seemed.'

His eyes had gone beyond her, searching the corridor. ‘Who can I speak to?'

She was saved from answering by the appearance of a doctor in a white coat.

‘Mr and Mrs Lacey? You can see Sarah now. We'll keep her in overnight for observation, but she should be able to go home tomorrow.'

‘What are her injuries, doctor?' Guy demanded.

‘Pretty minor, I'm glad to say. A few cuts on her face, one needing some stitches, and a nasty bruise that was responsible for the concussion. The police are waiting to interview her, but she's still in shock and I've asked them to leave it till morning.'

He glanced at his watch and, starting back the way he had come, gestured to them to follow. ‘She needs to rest,' he said, over his shoulder, ‘so please don't stay more than a few minutes. You can phone in the morning to find out when to collect her.'

They halted at the entrance to a ward. ‘In there,' the doctor told them. ‘Ask at the nurses' station – they'll direct you to her bed.'

Nodding in response to their thanks, he hurried away. Avril stood to one side.

‘You go in,' she told Guy. ‘I'll wait here.'

He started to protest, but she nodded confirmation, and after a moment he went ahead. Avril seated herself on a bench against the wall, but almost immediately Guy reappeared.

‘She wants to see you,' he said.

Avril looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Of course I'm sure! She asked where you were.'

He took her arm and they went in together. Sarah was in a bed halfway down on the right, and turned her head as they approached. There was a bandage round it, and her face, adorned with pads and plasters, was scarcely less white, though she managed a smile. She held out both hands, and, after a slight hesitation on Avril's part, they each took one.

‘Sorry to have given you such a fright,' she said, her voice slightly croaky.

‘Do you remember what happened?' Guy asked her.

‘Only vaguely. I was walking home from school, past the parade of shops, and he must have been waiting in one of the doorways. He grabbed at my briefcase, and when I held on to it, hit me with something and knocked me down. I . . . can't remember how I got home.'

Guy swore under his breath.

‘Of course!' Avril exclaimed. ‘For Parents' Evening, you'd have needed your briefcase. I was thinking it was your bag he took.'

‘My purse and wallet were in it, though, so credit cards and about twenty pounds in cash, as well as my keys, mobile and laptop.' Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, love,' Guy said sympathetically. ‘Did you get a look at him?'

‘He was wearing a hood, and his breath smelt of beer. That's all I can remember.'

Feeling her hand tremble, Avril said quickly, ‘Don't worry about it for the moment. The police will speak to you in the morning.'

Sarah nodded, tears of weakness coming to her eyes.

Guy said quietly, ‘I think we should go, and let you rest – it's after one o'clock. Just relax, darling; you're safe now, and we'll be back in the morning to bring you home.'

Sarah gave him a shaky smile and turned to Avril. ‘Thank you for being there,' she said. ‘I could hear your voice, and it . . . helped.'

‘I'm glad,' Avril said, and, on impulse, bent down to kiss her cheek. Guy followed suit, and as they left the ward, Avril's own eyes were full of tears.

Rona spent some time the next morning listing as many of Elspeth's paintings as she could trace, and noting where they were displayed. The prospect of having to view a good proportion of them was daunting but would have to be done, and she was in the process of ticking them off when she was interrupted by a phone call from Naomi.

‘Just wondering how you're getting on,' she began brightly, causing Rona to hope this wouldn't become a regular practice.

‘Slowly, but I hope surely,' she replied cautiously.

‘The reason I'm phoning is to ask when you're planning to see my parents? Ever since you were here last week, they've been gearing themselves up to be interviewed.'

Rona felt a spurt of irritation. ‘I'm sorry, but where possible, I try to see people when I'm ready for their particular input.'

‘So I can't give them a definite date?'

‘Not at the moment, I'm afraid. I promise to give them plenty of notice, and arrange a time that's convenient for them.'

There was a brief silence, and Rona wondered if she'd taken offence. But then Naomi said quietly, ‘I'm sorry; I did tell them we shouldn't hassle you, but they're rather uptight, as you can imagine, and made me promise to call you. Please don't worry that I'll be on the phone every five minutes – I assure you I won't.'

Rona released her breath. ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I'm sorry, too, that I can't be more definite. Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you: I always try to visit the homes of my subjects – it's amazing how helpful it can be – and if you remember, when you took me to Elspeth's studio, all I saw of the house was the kitchen. I was wondering if you'd have any objection to a return visit? Obviously I wouldn't invade her privacy in any way.'

‘Just to look at the rooms, you mean?'

‘Yes, that's all; so I can picture her living there.'

‘Well, of course, if you think it would help. When are you thinking of?'

‘Whenever's convenient for you. I'm hoping to be in Buckford one day next week; perhaps I could phone you when I know which? If it fits in with you, perfect, but if not, we can fix another time.'

‘Right. I'll wait to hear from you.'

‘Thank you.' A sudden thought struck her. ‘Before you go, do you happen to know if Elspeth knew Crispin Ryder?'

‘
Who
?'

‘Crispin Ryder. You know, the millionaire playboy.'

‘Good heavens, why ever should she?'

‘He was standing behind her in that magazine photo.'

‘
Was
he? You never said.'

‘I didn't recognize him till later.'

‘Well, I very much doubt she'd know him; he's just the type she'd run a mile from.'

It had been worth a try, Rona thought philosophically, and, as they ended the conversation, hoped the Wildings wouldn't learn of her decision to see Chloë's parents before them. But, particularly after meeting Nathan, she felt the Pynes' would be the more pertinent interview. It was doubtful whether Elspeth's parents could add much to what Naomi had told her, and, rightly or wrongly, Rona suspected that a broader view would be obtained by speaking to her brother, whom she intended to make her next priority.

Impatiently, she pushed back her chair and went to switch on the kettle, spoon coffee into a cafetière mug, and take milk from the fridge she'd had installed to save the two-flight trek to the kitchen. She felt in need of a stimulus before returning to her list of paintings.

A bark from Gus in the hall below indicated the arrival of the post, and Rona went down to investigate. A stiffened manila envelope lay on the mat, addressed to her in a hand she didn't recognize. She slit it open, and found herself gazing at a photograph of a young woman in cap and gown, holding a diploma.

She was absolutely stunning
, Nathan had said of Chloë, and he was right. The most striking thing about her was her smile, which lit up her whole face. Her hair, curling under the cap, was a rich chestnut, her eyes a vivid blue, and there was an air of such infectious happiness about her that Rona found herself returning the smile.

She felt inside the envelope and extracted a scrawled note:
After our meeting, I thought you'd be interested to see the enclosed. No need to return it – I have another copy. Good luck with the book. Nathan
.

He must have posted it within hours of leaving her, Rona thought, and hoped the memories she'd revived hadn't been too painful. Slowly, photograph in hand, she returned to the study.

They'd gone back to Belmont for what remained of the night, it not being worth Guy's driving back to Stokely. The policeman was still on duty, and had checked their identity before letting them into the house. The cloth Avril had used to stem Sarah's bleeding still lay on the floor, and she'd kicked it under the stand, hoping Guy hadn't noticed.

After an initial awkwardness, they'd spent the night together, both of them needing the comfort of each other's presence. Avril had felt a little guilty, not only that they were taking advantage of Sarah's assault, but making love in the bed she'd shared with Tom. Sensing this, Guy had offered to sleep in another room, but neither of them seriously considered it.

It had been agreed he would stay for the weekend, to be with Sarah while she recovered. ‘And I'll make up the bed in Rona's room,' Avril said, ‘so we can observe the proprieties, at least in public!'