Unfinished Portrait (22 page)

Rona thought over what he'd said. ‘Did you tell her about the biography?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘We've not spoken since I heard about it.'

‘But you'll tell her next time?'

‘Of course.'

‘How do you think she'll react?'

‘I doubt she'll be exactly overjoyed.'

‘Is there any possibility of my seeing her?'

‘That, I very much doubt.'

‘Could you perhaps ask her? I wouldn't reveal where she was.'

‘I'll ask, but I don't hold out much hope.'

Rona nodded, appreciating it was as far as he could go. ‘To come back to Chloë, then; what did you think of her?'

He looked surprised, and a little relieved, at the change of subject. ‘A nice girl, quite talented, but she couldn't hold a candle to Elspeth.'

‘How would you describe their friendship?'

‘Rock solid, I'd have said. They were virtually inseparable from the word go.'

‘Would you say, though, that Elspeth was the more dominant?'

There was a snort from Marcia at the window, and Richard frowned. ‘I don't know that I'd use the word “dominant”, but she was certainly the stronger character.'

‘Were you surprised by their estrangement?'

‘Not in the circumstances.' Marcia had turned back to the room, and it was she who answered. ‘Someone fell for Chloë, and she was as jealous as hell. Added to which, she risked losing her willing slave.'

‘For God's sake!' Richard said tiredly.

‘You know that's true; she has to come first with everyone. It's a wonder she accepted me, when I stole her beloved brother.'

‘Now you're just being ridiculous.'

Marcia simply shrugged.

Again, Rona changed direction. ‘When did you realize she was especially talented?'

‘When she started at the High School and someone took her under their wing. That's when she blossomed.' Richard looked at his watch. ‘Miss Parish, I'm sorry, but time's running out. We have to be somewhere at seven thirty.'

‘Of course,' Rona said at once. ‘I'm grateful to you for fitting me in. Perhaps I could contact you again, if I have more questions?'

He nodded, but she had the feeling she'd used up her quota of his patience. She switched off the recorder, slipped it into her bag, and followed him to the door. Marcia remained standing by the window.

‘Goodbye, Mrs Wilding. Thank you.'

She, too, simply nodded, and seconds later Rona was descending in the lift. In the foyer, she took out her mobile and texted Max:
On my way; see you in ten minutes
.

Then, her head buzzing with new information, she pushed her way through the swing doors in search of a taxi.

TWELVE

T
he news that Elspeth was alive and well and living in Scotland, dominated Rona's thoughts over the weekend.

‘How do you think I could persuade her to see me?' she asked Max, over a pub lunch on the Saturday.

‘If Richard's your intermediary, I don't rate your chances,' he replied.

‘Marcia might put her oar in, if only to annoy him. Or, come to that, they both might, to spite Naomi.'

‘Happy families!' Max commented.

‘I probably caught them on an off-day.'

Marcia had hinted that Elspeth was jealous of her, Rona reflected, but it seemed to her the boot was on the other foot; everything she'd said about her sister-in-law burned with resentment.

She looked up, to find Max regarding her thoughtfully. ‘It strikes me you're not enjoying this biography very much,' he said.

She shrugged helplessly. ‘I got off on the wrong foot, that's all. The so-called disappearance distracted me from working chronologically, though I'd sworn not to let it, and then learning first that Elspeth
had
left a message, and second that Richard actually
knows where she is
– well, I'm having to rethink everything. Not,' she added ruefully, ‘that I'd made much progress anyway.'

She leaned across, took a chip from his plate, and popped it in her mouth. ‘Added to which,' she continued, ‘there are other problems: now I'm aware of the position, I can't possibly interview the parents, knowing they're worried to death about her, but not able to reassure them.'

‘Richard admitted he couldn't hold you to that.'

‘But I can't just come out with it, can I? That their daughter's been in touch with him all along, but made him promise not to tell them? And they're expecting to hear from me any minute; I've been holding them at bay, but I can't for much longer.'

She frowned, toying with the roll on her plate. ‘Then there's Chloë, another complication I hadn't foreseen. I still think I'm missing something there, something that has a bearing on Elspeth, though God knows what.'

‘If you're looking for a let-out,' Max remarked, slapping her hand as she reached for another chip, ‘you have one ready-made.'

She frowned. ‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, you could argue, justifiably, that you were approached under false pretences. Think about it:
Until the contract was signed
– and that could be significant – you were led to believe that she'd disappeared without warning, and no one knew what had happened to her. A different prospect altogether from the fact that she could turn up any minute and play merry hell.'

Rona put her head in her hands. ‘What should I do, Max?'

‘What do you want to do?'

She thought for a full minute, before looking up and meeting his eyes. ‘OK, so it's a poisoned chalice; but as you know, I don't like giving up. To coin a phrase, I've started, so I'll finish.'

He smiled. ‘That's my girl,' he said.

Dinner with Barnie and Dinah on Tuesday was a welcome break, and although they touched briefly on the biography, for the most part it was an Elspeth-free zone, and just what Rona needed. Sitting by the log fire, a drink in her hand, and one of the Trents' Siamese cats draped over her shoulder, she could feel herself start to relax, a sensation she always experienced in their home.

‘So what's the news at
Chiltern Life
?' she asked lazily, lulled by the loud purring in her ear.

‘Nothing particularly exciting. Polly's just got engaged, if that qualifies as news.'

Polly was the receptionist, and looked after Gus when Rona visited Barnie, plying him with chocolate biscuits.

‘Oh, that's lovely! Who to?'

‘Presumably her boyfriend, but no one I know.'

‘Do give her my best wishes. Will she stay on, do you think?'

‘Oh, I imagine so,' Barnie said comfortably. ‘He's a local lad, so they're not moving away. Different matter with Andy, though. He's leaving at the end of the year.'

Rona was surprised. ‘He's not old enough to retire, surely?' Andy, a photographer by profession, had accompanied her on several of her assignments.

‘No, he's still a few years to go, but he wants to try his hand at more experimental photography. Hopes to produce a book, I believe.'

‘Well, good for him. If he has a leaving party, I'd love to be there to wish him well.'

Barnie smiled. ‘I'll see you get an invite.'

Dinah bustled back into the room bearing a tray containing their first course. ‘I hope you two have finished talking shop,' she said. ‘Dinner's almost ready. Ditch Lychee, Rona; he's not supposed to take liberties with guests.'

‘I love having him.' Rona laid her cheek against the cat's soft fur.

‘Just as well Gus and the three of them have a non-aggression pact,' Barnie commented, ‘or we'd literally have the fur flying.'

Gus, on the rug before the fire, opened one eye on hearing his name, then closed it again, and they all laughed. Rona gently set the cat on the floor, where he proceeded to wash himself, and they all moved to the table.

Talk during the meal was of the Trents' family in the States – daughter Melissa, her husband Mitch, and the children Sam and Martha.

‘She's expecting again,' Dinah said worriedly. ‘I'd hoped they'd stop at two.'

Melissa's last pregnancy had been difficult, necessitating her mother going out to stay for a while.

‘They'll be keeping an extra special eye on her, I'm sure,' Rona said. ‘When's it due?'

‘June, around Martha's second birthday. Mel will have her hands full, with three under five.'

Rona tried briefly to picture herself in that position, and failed. Yet she knew, uncomfortably, that time was moving on, and that both her parents, though they were too tactful to mention it, were hoping for a grandchild. And, she thought wryly, the way Lindsey was going, it would be up to herself to provide one.

The evening passed all too quickly, and it was time to drive back to the various problems that awaited her.

‘I think of you as my oasis,' Rona said, as she kissed them goodbye. ‘You restore my soul!'

Dinah patted her arm affectionately. ‘Then don't wait for an invitation. You know you're always welcome, so if you feel stressed out, give us a ring.'

‘I might well do that,' Rona said.

Rona decided to spend the next day going through the brochures and tour details Gwen had supplied. After that, she hoped to have a clearer idea of whom to contact in the art world for a professional assessment of Elspeth's work – her dealer, for example, and the owner of the gallery where many of her paintings were displayed. It was time, she told herself firmly, to stop procrastinating and start working more methodically on her research.

Down in the kitchen, she filled Gus's bowl, changed his water and switched on the radio, only half-listening to the news headlines as she slid two slices of bread into the toaster. Then a change in the announcer's tone alerted her, and she instinctively paused, marmalade jar in hand.

‘The body of a woman was discovered last night at the Buckford house of the artist Elspeth Wilding, and police are treating the death as suspicious. Ms Wilding, who is widely regarded as a major British artist, disappeared from her home eighteen months ago.'

Another change of tone. ‘Today's weather forecast is for . . .'

Rona stood motionless, staring at the radio. Had Elspeth returned unexpectedly, and somehow had an accident? Or, more likely, was the victim Naomi? Oh God, what had happened? Had she had a fall? Somehow electrocuted herself? But the word
suspicious
echoed in her mind. God, not again! Please, not again!

She snatched up the phone, jamming her finger on the button for Farthings.

‘Max Allerdyce.'

‘Oh Max!' Her voice was shaking. ‘Have you heard the news?'

‘What news?'

‘On the radio. It said a woman's body's been found in Elspeth's house and the police are treating it as suspicious!'

There was a pause. Then he said flatly, ‘Good God.'

‘What can I do?' Rona demanded frantically.

‘Hold on a minute. What do you mean, do?'

‘Well, I have to do
something
! I have to know definitely who it is, and how she died!'

‘Honey,' he said gently, ‘there's nothing you
can
do. Just think for a minute. The family will already be besieged with reporters and cameramen and God knows what. You'd never get through, but even if you did, what would you say? “I'm ringing to find out who's dead?”'

Rona drew a tremulous breath. ‘Yes,' she said numbly. ‘I see.'

‘You'll hear in due course – everyone will. Just keep listening to the bulletins. But promise me one thing, Rona: you will not, repeat not, under any circumstances, drive up to Buckford.'

‘All right. I promise.'

‘I'll be home this evening, and we can talk about it then. Possibly—' He broke off.

‘Possibly what?'

‘I was just wondering if Gwen Saunders might know something.'

‘Oh Max, you're brilliant! I'll give her a ring! Why didn't I think of that? I was planning to go through the papers she gave me.'

‘Well, just remember that whatever's happened doesn't directly involve you. All right?'

‘All right,' she echoed obediently, but she was not convinced. Reluctantly, she broke the connection. Then, no longer hungry, she removed the slices of toast from the machine and, opening the patio door, threw them out for the birds.

Gwen Saunders was not answering calls. Though Rona tried repeatedly, and increasingly frantically, to phone her, she was invariably met with the bland voice of the answer phone. Nor did she fare better with her friend Tess Chadwick, crime reporter for the
Stokely Gazette
. Tess's mobile was diverted to voice mail, and all Rona could do was leave a message asking Tess to phone her.

When, frustrated, she eventually replaced the phone, it immediately rang, and she lifted it to hear her father's voice.

‘Just checking it wasn't you up in that house!' he said, and though he spoke jokingly, Rona caught the anxious undertone.

‘I don't know
who
it was, Pops, and it's driving me mad.'

‘You have been to the house, though, haven't you?'

‘Yes, three times in all.'

‘Then thank God this didn't happen while you were there. Poor soul, whoever it is.'

Avril and Lindsey, both of whom had also been trying to reach her, phoned soon after, but Rona wasn't able to tell them any more than they'd heard on the news.

‘Why is it that everything you work on sooner or later involves murder?' Avril demanded irritably.