Unfinished Portrait (24 page)

Suddenly, Tess's breeziness was too much. Rona said quickly, ‘It's good of you to have phoned back, Tess, and thanks for the information. I owe you.' And she rang off before her friend could reply.

The kiss of death
. For a long minute Rona stood motionless in the hall, until a wet nose nudged at her hand and she looked down at Gus's ingratiatingly wriggling body and waving plume of a tail.

‘Oh, Gus!' she said unsteadily, and, bending down, put her arms round the animal and gave him a hug. Then, sniffing, she straightened, feeling in her jacket pocket for a tissue.

As she pulled it out, a piece of paper fell to the floor, and its spiralling descent stirred a memory: it was the scrap that had fallen from the book in Elspeth's sitting room, and which, having stuffed in her pocket, she had totally forgotten. She picked it up for a second time, and smoothed it out to reveal a scrawled string of figures – a mobile number, by the look of it. Absentmindedly, still thinking of the call to Tess, Rona tapped it out.

The ringing continued for several seconds. Then there was a click and a voice said, ‘You have reached Crispin Ryder's phone. I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I'll get back to you. Please speak after the tone.'

Rona froze, dumbfounded. A bleep sounded in her ear, then, when she didn't speak, the voice said briskly, ‘Thank you for calling,' and the line went dead.

THIRTEEN

‘
O
K, so your hunch was correct,' Max said, ‘but I can't for the life of me see why you attach so much importance to it. They're both “celebrities” – it's not surprising they should know each other.'

‘Naomi didn't think they did.'

‘But as you said, Naomi seems to know remarkably little about her sister. And anyway, the mere fact that she has his number doesn't mean they're bosom buddies. If they met at that do, he could easily have said something like, “If I can be of any help, give me a call”, and either jotted down his number or spelt it out for her.'

‘Oh, all right, have it your way,' Rona said crossly. ‘I just think it's significant, that's all.'

‘Significant in what way?'

She shrugged. ‘I'm not sure. Just significant.'

Max laughed. ‘Feminine intuition? Well, you might be right, but I doubt if it's going to get you far.'

The mist hinted at in the afternoon had thickened, and the lights from the kitchen that usually illuminated the patio and nearer part of the garden were extinguished in an impenetrable, bluish wall that mirrored the interior. Rona, gazing out at it, shivered.

‘Lindsey's invited us to dinner on Saturday,' she said. ‘To see the flat and meet Dominic.'

‘In that order?'

‘Tied equal, I think. She was raving about the new decor over lunch.'

‘Well, it will be interesting on both counts.'

‘She's very anxious that you should like him.'

‘Not something I can guarantee in advance. Anyway, what does it matter what I think?'

‘God knows,' Rona said shortly, and, with a glance at her averted face, Max let the subject drop.

By the following day, the murder had already lost its place in the headlines. Not wanting to keep bothering either Naomi or Gwen, Rona resigned herself to waiting for bulletins, and, since her deviation to the more recent past had done little good, resolved to return to Elspeth's girlhood.

Although Catherine had given her the address of the ex-head of St Stephen's, she'd suggested Rona's most lucrative source was likely to be the art mistress at Buckford High, and accordingly she phoned the school on the Thursday morning.

‘This is an unusual request,' she began tentatively to the girl on the switchboard, ‘but I'm trying to trace the person who was head of art in about 1975.'

‘Goodness!' the girl said. ‘I've no idea, but if you'll hold on, I'll make enquiries.'

A wait of several minutes ensued, while Rona crossed her fingers that the woman was still alive.

‘Hello?' A different voice. ‘Can I help you?'

‘I hope so. My name is Rona Parish and I'm writing a biography of Elspeth Wilding. I would very much like to speak to whoever it was who encouraged her when she first arrived at the school.'

The voice became animated. ‘Miss Parish? How very interesting! May I say how much I enjoyed your previous biographies? And how exciting that you're now working on Elspeth! We're all very proud of her.'

‘I believe her talent was recognized almost as soon as she joined the school?'

‘Yes, we like to claim a little credit there. It would be Miss Pemberton you're looking for; she taught Elspeth throughout her time here.'

‘Does she still live in the area?' Rona asked hopefully.

‘Indeed yes; in fact, she retired only a couple of years ago. I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet you, but I hope you'll understand if I have a word with her first?'

‘Of course.'

‘My name is Elizabeth Temple, by the way, and I'm the present head of art. If you could tell me how to contact you . . .?'

Rona supplied her number, and with mutual expressions of goodwill, the call ended. Now, Rona thought, she'd have to curb her impatience till someone came back to her.

She did not have long to wait. Within half an hour, Miss Pemberton herself was on the line.

‘You'd like to discuss Elspeth's early progress, I believe?' she said, in a clear, clipped voice.

‘I should indeed, if you could spare the time.'

‘Of course; I'm always pleased to speak about my star pupil. Do you live in Buckford, Miss Parish?'

‘No, Marsborough, but that's no problem.'

‘Then suppose you come up tomorrow morning, and I could give you coffee?'

Rona accepted with gratitude, and made a note of the address. After all the delays and frustrations, it seemed she might actually be making some progress.

Moira Pemberton was younger than Rona had expected – probably in her mid-sixties – and lived with her aged mother in a little house in Greenwood Lane. The old lady was ensconced in the front room, and Rona was shown to a sitting room at the back of the house.

‘We converted the front room to a bedsit ten years ago,' Miss Pemberton said briskly, ‘when Mother's arthritis made it difficult for her to get upstairs. She's just celebrated her ninetieth birthday, but apart from lack of mobility, you'd never know it. She's as bright as a button, and interested in everything that goes on.'

Rona guessed that if Miss Pemberton lived as long, she too would remain in full possession of her faculties. A tall, thin woman, her silver hair was drawn into a French pleat, her make-up almost undetectable, and she was wearing a grey skirt and twinset with a string of pearls. Not at all Rona's somewhat fanciful idea of an art teacher: though she'd never admit it to Max, she'd envisaged beads and shawls.

A tray bearing cups and saucers and a silver coffee pot was awaiting them, and her hostess lost no time in pouring what proved to be a very good cup of coffee. Shortbread fingers were offered, accompanied by an attractive paper napkin in the shape of a butterfly, and permission was given for the recorder.

‘I saw at once that Elspeth was gifted,' Miss Pemberton said matter-of-factly, seating herself with her own cup and saucer, ‘but she was a difficult child, and at first resisted all attempts to help her. At the tender age of eleven, she knew exactly what she wished to paint, and proceeded to do so, irrespective of what was set in class. But Miss Parish – the flair she showed! One might almost say, even at that early age, the genius! She had a God-given eye for colour and shape, and could make any sheet of paper come alive. I confess I was very excited by her, and pleaded on her behalf that she be allowed free rein. Time enough for the necessary discipline later.

‘Once she realized I was, as she considered it, “on her side”, she immediately relaxed, and her work blossomed with incredible speed. She painted with the assurance of someone twice her age, seldom needing to redo or retouch any of her work.'

‘You say she was difficult; was that only in relation to her art?'

‘No,' Miss Pemberton said frankly, ‘I fear my colleagues had quite a lot of trouble with her in the early days. She could be totally uncooperative when she chose, as I'd already discovered, but gradually, as she found fulfilment in her art, she became more amenable in other areas.'

‘Was she popular, would you say?'

Moira Pemberton considered, nibbling delicately on a piece of shortbread. ‘She was
different
. That can often lead to bullying, but thankfully, in Elspeth's case, it didn't. A few girls, I believe, made tentative offers of friendship, but her take-it-or-leave it attitude was scarcely encouraging. Her only real friend was a girl called Chloë Pyne, and I worried about that.'

Rona leant forward interestedly. ‘Why?'

‘Because Chloë was a very different type, quiet and studious, but content to take a back seat, if you know what I mean. Her work was competent enough, though in a different class from Elspeth's, but as that first term progressed, she seemed to fall under her spell, and started neglecting her other studies in favour of art. My colleagues hinted I was to blame, but I knew it was Elspeth's influence. She could be very forceful.'

Moira Pemberton rose and refilled Rona's cup. ‘Chloë, on the other hand,
was
popular, but as they moved up through the school, her friends fell away. I did wonder if that, too, could be laid at Elspeth's door, but naturally I'd no proof, and even if I had, there was nothing I could have done about it.'

She paused, staring into her coffee cup. ‘Years later, Chloë tragically took her own life, and once again there were those who blamed Elspeth.'

‘Did you
like
Elspeth, Miss Pemberton?'

The woman seemed taken aback. ‘What a curious question! Yes, of course I did – and do. Dominant though she appeared, in a sense she was vulnerable too. Also, don't forget, I saw the best side of her.'

She smiled complacently. ‘She's been very generous in publicly acknowledging her debt to me, and I've been her guest at several Private Views.'

‘You're still in touch?' Rona asked quickly.

‘Not, alas, since Chloë died. I heard she took it very badly.'

‘And then she seemed to . . . disappear,' Rona said artlessly. ‘I believe that caused some concern?'

‘A lot of nonsense was talked, yes,' Moira Pemberton confirmed. ‘Wholly irresponsible, if you ask me. She simply needed to be alone, and who can blame her?'

‘Where do you think she is?'

‘Somewhere quiet, where she can get on with her work without distractions. That was always what she wanted. She'll come back when she's ready.' Moira Pemberton sobered suddenly. ‘A terrible thing, that woman being killed in her home.'

‘Yes, indeed.'

‘It's enough to put her work back several months.'

No doubt, Rona thought acidly, Mary Strong would have put her murder on hold if she'd realized it would distract her employer.

Possibly divining the direction of her thought, Miss Pemberton flushed. ‘That sounds appallingly insensitive, but I only meant that on occasion the muse needs careful nursing, and any upset can interrupt the flow. The woman was her cleaner, I believe?'

‘Yes, and had been for many years.'

Miss Pemberton shook her head sadly. ‘All the worse,' she said, leaving Rona unclear whether she meant for Mary or Elspeth.

‘Did you remain in touch when Elspeth was at university and the RCA?'

‘Yes, indeed. She used to come and see me in the vacations, and bring samples of her work.' She nodded at the wall behind Rona. ‘That's one of them.'

Rona turned, seeing, to her surprise, a portrait of a small black spaniel.

‘Toto, my dog at that time. He's been dead many years.'

‘I didn't know she painted animals.'

‘She can turn her hand to anything, but as you must know, clouds have always been a passion. She'd lie on the grass out there –' she nodded through the window at the back garden, now dank and November-grey – ‘staring up at the sky and watching clouds race across it. “Aren't they wonderful, Pemby?” she'd say. “Never two the same!”'

There was a pause, while Rona braced herself for a question she knew would cause annoyance. ‘Wasn't there some sort of scandal concerning one of the masters?'

Miss Pemberton frowned. ‘Wherever did you hear that? I'd hoped it was well and truly buried in the past.'

‘But it was while Elspeth was at school?'

‘I believe so, yes. But what of it? Regrettably, human nature being what it is, these things happen from time to time.'

‘I just wondered if it had any affect on her.'

‘It affected the whole school,' Miss Pemberton said sharply, ‘filling some of the girls' heads with pseudo-romantic nonsense. Elspeth, I'm sure, was above that sort of thing.'

Ah, but she wasn't, Rona thought. And maybe the affect on her was the deepest and longest lasting of all. Though she knew it was unwelcome, she probed a little further.

‘What actually happened?'

Miss Pemberton sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder if it's wise to have men teaching impressionable girls – especially young and handsome ones.' An unwilling smile tugged at her mouth. ‘I may say that some of the staff weren't above making eyes at him, either; he was a personable young man. Colin Palmer; I've not thought of that name in years.'