Unfinished Portrait (20 page)

A different slant on the affair from the one Nathan had related. Which of them had angled it to suit their purpose?

Rona replaced the sheet in its envelope and returned it to Jackie. ‘You think this contributed to her killing herself?' she asked gently.

Reg gave a weary shrug. ‘She was certainly torn between them, though it scarcely seemed enough—'

He broke off, brushing a hand across his eyes. ‘“While the balance of her mind was disturbed,”' he continued after a minute. ‘Isn't that what they say? And I believe it was
exactly
that. I honestly don't think she planned it. Granted, she was unhappy, but suppose the train hadn't arrived at that crucial moment, offering a speedy way out? Her depression might have gradually lifted, and she'd have come out the other side. That's the thought that haunts me.'

Jackie Pyne, who'd remained standing, patted her husband's hand. ‘I'll make some tea,' she said.

Neither of them spoke while she was out of the room, but it wasn't an awkward silence. Reg Pyne continued to gaze into the fire, Rona to sit quietly, thinking over what she'd learned and what she still needed to know.

Jackie returned, with a tray bearing tea and a plate of biscuits, and Rona ventured her last remaining question.

‘Did Elspeth keep in touch after Chloë's death?'

They both shook their heads. ‘She wrote, of course,' Jackie said, ‘expressing her horror and sadness, and “regret” that “differences” had come between them. And I must say she seemed genuinely upset at the funeral; but after that, nothing. I think it would have been too painful on both sides.

‘Nathan wrote us a lovely letter,' she continued, passing Rona her cup of tea. ‘But although he attended the funeral, he didn't come back here afterwards, so we didn't have the chance to speak to him.'

‘Perhaps that would have been too painful, too.'

‘Perhaps.'

Rona hesitated. ‘I should tell you that I met him in London, last week.' They both stared at her, and she added apologetically, ‘I'd have mentioned it earlier, but when you started to speak about him, I didn't want to interrupt. I'd intended to contact him, but actually it was he who approached me; he had lunch with my husband, Max mentioned I was writing Elspeth's biography, and Nathan suggested we meet.'

‘And what did he tell you?'

‘Basically, what you have, but also that he'd fallen for Chloë way back, at the Royal College of Art.'

The Pynes both looked surprised. ‘We didn't know that.'

‘It was worship from afar – they never actually met, and he couldn't believe his luck when he found her again, years later.'

‘That makes it all the more poignant, then,' Jackie said sadly.

‘Like you, he blamed Elspeth for coming between them.'

‘There was no other explanation.'

Rona nodded, but she was thinking of the letter she'd just read, and Chloë's insistence that she'd never really cared for Nathan. Was that just to placate her friend, or was the truth that she'd not been as spineless as they all thought, and finishing with her lover had been her own, unprompted, decision? In which case, Elspeth's refusal to believe her must have been doubly frustrating.

Jackie went to the bureau, lifted down the framed photograph on top of it, and handed it to Rona. It was of Chloë's graduation, similar to the one Nathan had sent her.

Rona studied it for a moment – the brilliant smile, the air of happy confidence. ‘She's lovely,' she said, handing it back.

‘There are a couple of albums upstairs,' Jackie said with touching eagerness. ‘Of Chloë when she was younger, and some of Elspeth, too. Would you like to see them?'

And without waiting for confirmation, she hurried out of the room, returning with two faded photograph albums.

‘Come and sit on the sofa,' she invited, ‘so we can look at them together. There actually aren't many of Elspeth,' she admitted apologetically. ‘She never liked being photographed, even as a child.' Rona remembered the face-pulling in Naomi's album.

Not unnaturally, it was Chloë who dominated her parents' album, though there were regular appearances of younger versions of both Reg and Jackie – on the beach, in a swimming pool, in the back garden.

But though Rona murmured appreciative comments as the pages were turned, it was soon clear that Nathan's ‘stunning' swan had been by way of an ugly duckling. In her early teens, Chloë was a tall, gawky girl with an unruly cloud of hair, worn variously long, short, up, down, in a plait over her shoulder, or tied back in a ponytail. In the only close-up, her mouth, wide open in laughter, seemed on the large side, and her teeth uneven. Rona accepted she was being uncharitable; Chloë simply looked what she'd no doubt been, a healthy, happy girl, enjoying life to the full. Too bad that life was destined to be so short.

Of Elspeth, as Jackie had belatedly warned her, there was very little, just a few prophetic snaps of the two girls painting, in a garden and once in a summerhouse. In these she'd been caught unawares, and it was pure chance that the familiar curtain of hair fell across her face as she concentrated on the task in hand. Unlike her friend, Elspeth's hairstyle appeared unchanging throughout childhood and into adulthood.

As they came to an end, Rona glanced again at the framed photograph, still lying on the sofa beside her. Though recognizably the same girl, her gawkiness had given way to confidence, her mouth, though still generous, curved in a smile that lit up her face, and her eyes, barely discernible in the old snaps, were large and dark-lashed. Stunning indeed.

Jackie closed the album and sat for a moment with her hand on the cover, a gentle caress. Somewhat belatedly, Rona indicated the pictures on the walls. ‘May I?'

‘Of course.'

There were four paintings in all, each signed
C Pyne
in the lower right-hand corner. Three were abstracts, soft colours swirling into each other in intricate patterns, soothing and pleasurable to look at. The fourth was of a beach surrounded by cliffs, the tide breaking on the sand in creamy ridges, gulls white slashes in the blueness of the sky. At the water's edge, three figures had been sketched in, a man, a woman and a child, whose red dress provided a contrasting splash of colour.

‘She gave us that for our Silver Wedding,' Reg said. ‘It's where we always spent our holidays when she was young.' There were tears in his voice.

‘What a lovely idea,' Rona said.

There was little more to say, and she didn't return to her seat. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, and especially for showing me the letter. I do hope it hasn't been too upsetting for you.'

‘We're always glad of an excuse to talk about Chloë,' her father said. He clasped Rona's hand between his paper-dry ones. ‘Good luck with the book,' he added, ‘but I hope you've not forsaken
Chiltern Life
completely.'

She smiled back at him. ‘No, I'm only taking a sabbatical,' she assured him, the word striking a chord in her mind.

Jackie saw her to the door. ‘We'll be interested to read it in due course,' she said.

‘I'll send you a copy,' Rona promised.

Jackie waited until she reached the pavement, then, with a final wave, closed the door. Rona started the car and drove slowly down the road till she was out of sight of the bungalow, where she stopped and switched off the engine. She wanted to collect her thoughts before embarking on the long drive home.

Her day in Buckford had not, after all, been unproductive. Chloë's tragic letter had been an unlooked-for bonus, not least as added proof of Elspeth's supreme self-centredness. And at her house, the talk with Mary Strong had put a new slant on things, and Rona felt she knew her at least a little better.

But not well enough, she added silently, as she started up the car. With luck, Richard Wilding might fill in a few gaps.

ELEVEN

T
he next evening, just before Max came home, Rona phoned Richard Wilding.

The voice that answered was brusque. ‘Yes?'

‘Mr Wilding? This is Rona Parish.' She paused, but he didn't help her. ‘Perhaps Mrs Harris mentioned that I'd be contacting you?'

‘On this biography? Yes, she did.' Scarcely more forthcoming.

‘I wondered when it would be convenient to see you?'

A sigh came over the line. ‘Is it really necessary?'

‘I think so, yes, if I'm to get your sister in perspective.'

‘It would have to be an evening or weekend, obviously.'

‘Fine; which would you prefer?'

‘Oh God, I don't know! Just a minute, I'll have a word with my wife.'

A hand was put over the mouthpiece and Rona could hear muted voices. Then: ‘I could spare you an hour on Friday, around six-thirty.'

Damn; that would interfere with Max being home. ‘That'd be fine. Thank you.'

‘I presume you have the address?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘Friday it is, then,' he said, and rang off.

‘And goodbye to you, too,' Rona muttered, and turned as Max came down the stairs.

‘Who was that on the phone?'

‘Elspeth's unpleasant brother. He doesn't want to see me at all, but has graciously agreed to “spare me an hour” on Friday evening. I'm sorry, Max; I do try to avoid Fridays.'

He kissed her. ‘No matter, let's make an evening of it. I'll come in with you, twiddle my thumbs while you do the interview, then we'll have a decent meal somewhere. How about that?'

‘Perfect!' she said gratefully.

Having spent all Wednesday and most of Thursday morning working, Rona reckoned she'd earned a respite, and decided to go out for lunch. She phoned Lindsey's office to suggest meeting, but was informed she was out all day visiting a client.

Resigned to a solitary meal, Rona slipped a paperback in her bag, fastened Gus's lead, and set off for the Gallery Café. As she reached the junction of Fullers Walk and Guild Street, however, she heard her name called, and turned to see Magda hurrying towards her.

‘Magda, hello! I've been meaning to phone to congratulate you on the fashion show, but never got round to it. Sorry!'

‘Glad you enjoyed it. It generated a lot of orders, I'm glad to say.'

‘Worth all the hard work, then. I'm on my way to lunch at the Gallery; any chance of you joining me?'

Magda checked her watch. ‘I shouldn't – I was going to grab a sandwich at my desk.'

‘But you're tempted?' Rona wheedled.

‘OK, you talked me into it. But I must be out within the hour; I've an appointment at two.'

‘Let's hope they're not busy, then.' The Gallery wasn't known for its speedy service.

They went together up the wrought iron staircase to the walkway above, which housed a delicatessen, a gift shop and a store selling rare books, as well as the Gallery Café. A couple were vacating a table as they entered, and they moved swiftly to claim it, Gus, as always, retiring under the table.

‘So, what have you been doing since we last met?' Magda asked, once they'd ordered.

‘Rushing round the county, interviewing people about Elspeth Wilding.'

‘How's it going?'

‘All right, I suppose. It always seems slow at this stage, but it's a question of gathering information and trying to steer a course between differing opinions of the person in question.'

She poured them both a glass of water, Magda having declined wine during a working day. ‘Her sister said the family was willing to speak to me, but I got a pretty cool reception from their brother. Much against his will, he's deigning to see me tomorrow evening, so Max is coming to London with me, and we're going to eat afterwards. I'll be in need of something to restore me.'

‘That should do the trick. By the way, I spoke to our mutual friend the other day.'

Rona raised enquiring eyebrows.

‘Crispin Ryder. The crowd he brought to the show have ordered well over a thousand pounds' worth of clothes – I wanted to thank him.'

‘That's wonderful, Magda!'

‘What's more, they asked to be put on my mailing list, so with luck, they'll become regulars.'

‘Even better!'

‘Incidentally, you must have made an impression – he commented again on how alike you and Lindsey are, and asked if you were also a solicitor. So I blew your trumpet for you – acclaimed biographer, and so on. He was interested to hear you're doing Elspeth Wilding.'

Rona's heart skipped a beat. ‘Does he know her?'

Magda looked surprised. ‘I don't think so, or he'd have said, surely? Why?'

Rona was on the point of telling her about the photo, but something held her back. Magda could easily mention it if she spoke to him again, and asking her not to would attach too much importance to it. As Lindsey had said, no doubt it was a coincidence, but just in case it wasn't, she didn't want to alert him. To what, she couldn't have said.

‘I just wondered, with his being interested, that's all.'

‘He was probably only being polite,' Magda said – and no doubt she was right.

Their pizzas arrived, providing a natural break in the conversation, and when it was resumed, Rona turned instead to Lindsey's redecoration and her stay at number nineteen.

‘Lucky her!' Magda commented. ‘Nothing I'd like better than to throw everything out and start again!'

‘Your house is lovely!' Rona protested.

‘But it's been the same for yonks, it could do with a facelift. Did
Double N
turn up trumps?'