Unfinished Portrait (29 page)

‘
Who
have you interviewed?' Elspeth interrupted again.

‘Your sister, your brother, your parents, Miss Saunders, Mary Strong—'

‘Mary? You spoke to Mary? When?'

‘The week before she was killed. I'm so sorry—'

‘How did she seem? I still can't believe . . . oh, look . . .' Elspeth let go of the door and stood to one side. ‘Since you're here, you might as well come in. You can tell me how they all are.'

‘Thank you.' Rona slipped the unneeded envelope back in her bag and followed her into the hall. It was immediately apparent that the room on the right had been requisitioned as a studio; through its open door, Rona caught sight of an easel holding a painting, several more stacked against the wall, and a sheet spread over the carpet for protection. But Elspeth, having shrugged off her coat, had passed it and was walking down the hall to the kitchen.

‘I'll make coffee,' she said, ‘and the first thing is to put you straight about my so-called disappearance. Believe me, I never intended all that hoo-ha. I was horrified when I realized what the family was going through, especially since, as I thought, I'd told them I was going.'

Rona seated herself at the wooden table. ‘They never got the message.'

‘So I gather.' Elspeth spooned instant coffee into two mugs and added boiling water. ‘I immediately phoned my brother – I think he told you – but by then my nephew had come forward and the worst of the panic was over.'

‘But you didn't tell them where you were,' Rona said.

Elspeth shot her a quick look, put the mugs on the table, and took some milk out of the fridge. ‘I was getting stale, Rona. I needed a complete break, to find my way again. You blame me for concealing my whereabouts, but although I love my family, I didn't want them phoning every few days to see how I was, or even – horror of horrors! – coming up here to check on me. And they would have done, believe me.'

‘You missed your goddaughter's party,' Rona pointed out. ‘That's why they were sure something had happened to you.'

Elspeth seated herself, wrapping her hands round her mug. ‘That, I
was
guilty of, but I told them in the message I couldn't make it, and where I'd left Gill's present. Actually, I hadn't intended leaving till the following week, but a chance came up to go a few days early, and, selfishly, I took it.'

She looked up, meeting Rona's eyes. ‘There
were
mitigating circumstances, you know. I'd had a pretty hellish year, and lost all confidence in my painting.'

Rona thought of the canvases in the Buckford studio, and Max's belief that she'd turned the corner, but it seemed wiser not to argue the point.

‘I needed a fresh look, and, to achieve it, a totally new environment. Scotland was the perfect solution. No one bothers me here – I doubt if they know who I am, though I've never made a secret of it – and the scenery really is breathtaking. I'd not intended to stay away so long, but as my talent came back, I decided to paint enough canvases for a solo exhibition, to relaunch my career; and the obvious course was to stay here till I'd completed them. Which I've now almost done.'

She took a sip of coffee. ‘Tell me about Mary. How did you come to meet her?'

‘Miss Saunders had shown me your studio, but I wanted to get the feel of the house. It's something I like to do when I'm writing biographies; you can tell a lot about someone from their home. So Naomi arranged for me to go back when Mrs Strong was there, and she showed me round.'

‘What did she say about me?' Elspeth's voice was low.

‘That she wasn't worried, because you'd said you might take a sabbatical, and that you'd told her to keep the house clean, which she was doing.'

Elspeth's eyes filled with tears. ‘And they haven't caught anyone?'

Rona shook her head. ‘They were questioning a man, but he's been released without charge.'

‘I have this terrible fear that her death might be connected with me, though I can't think how. And coming after . . .'

‘Chloë's?' Rona supplied quietly.

Elspeth's head jerked up. ‘God, you've not been wasting your time, have you?'

‘I'm sorry, I just—'

‘Well, I can't fool myself there. Chloë's death was
definitely
my fault. That's something I have to live with.'

She stood up abruptly, took a box of tissues off the counter, and blew her nose. Then she took a deep breath and changed the subject.

‘You still haven't said how you tracked me down. Someone
must
have told you.'

‘No, honestly, no one did.'

Elspeth regarded her quizzically. ‘I gather you have a reputation as a detective, but isn't this rather stretching it?'

Rona sighed. Obviously, Elspeth wasn't going to be fobbed off, but she was reluctant to mention the paper with Crispin's number. It might sound too like snooping.

‘It was sheer chance,' she said. ‘I saw a picture of you at the opening of a new gallery, and Crispin Ryder was standing behind you.'

Elspeth drew in her breath sharply. ‘Now that
is
ironic; I'd no idea he was there, because at that stage I didn't even know him. We actually met later that evening, when we were leaving the gallery. But it still doesn't explain what led you here.'

‘Another fluke. Someone mentioned the Ryders had a holiday home here, and Marcia had said you were in Scotland. It was a long shot, but it . . . paid off.'

‘Bloody Marcia!' Elspeth said viciously. ‘What else did she say?'

‘She let slip that you'd been in regular contact with them. Richard wasn't best pleased.'

‘I don't know why he puts up with her. So, what are you going to do, now you've found me? Give me away?'

Rona held her challenging gaze. ‘It'll be hard to keep it from the family.'

‘Well,' Elspeth said on a sigh, ‘I shan't be here much longer, so what the hell? Tell them I'm renting a friend's house in Scotland, though I'd rather Crispin's name was kept out of it.'

‘Then how do I explain tracing you?'

‘God knows! I'm not even sure you've told
me
the full story!'

Then, when it was clear from Rona's expression that she wasn't going to elaborate, she added, ‘Say I contacted you, if you like. That I'd heard about the biography and wanted to set things straight.'

‘And how shall I say you heard of it? I suppose the truth is that Richard told you?'

‘Yes, and at this stage, you might as well tell them so; the rest of the family won't be pleased I've been in touch with him, but you can say I swore him to secrecy.' Elspeth sat back and folded her arms. ‘So, is there anything else?'

‘Well, as I said, I'd be very grateful if you'd give me an interview.'

‘What do you call this?'

‘About your work, I mean, and your childhood. How your talent developed, and what direction you want to go in now. For instance, what have you been painting up here?'

‘Landscapes and seascapes, for the most part. This place is an artist's paradise.'

‘No more clouds, then?'

Elspeth smiled wryly. ‘Isn't there a song,
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
? I've certainly done that, and then some! Which isn't to say I mightn't revert to them in the future. In the meantime, I've been doing something completely different. I even managed to persuade a local fisherman to sit for me. But all in all, I'm glad I've nearly finished. I'm ready to go home.'

She took the empty mugs and put them in the sink. ‘So how are they all? The parents, Naomi and Lionel?'

‘Very well. Delighted to have your letter, and looking forward to seeing you again.' Rona paused. ‘I know you were going out, so I won't hold you up any longer, but my flight isn't till tomorrow afternoon. Could I possibly come back in the morning, or even this afternoon, with my recorder?'

‘Can't it wait till I get home?'

‘I'd prefer not to, so I'd have something to be working on.'

‘Well, I suppose it's too late now to shut the stable door.'

‘That's great! Thank you! Then when—?'

They were interrupted by the ringing of a mobile. Elspeth frowned and hurried out to the hall, where she'd left her bag when Rona arrived.

‘Hello? Yes? What—?' She tensed, and her voice sharpened. ‘What's happened?'

Rona stood up, unsure what to do. Should she just leave? But they'd not fixed the appointment.

She moved uncertainly forward, and, as Elspeth remained intent on the phone, gestured towards the improvised studio, miming, ‘May I?'

Elspeth made a distracted gesture and hurried back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. After a moment's hesitation, Rona went into the front room and stood looking about her. Surprisingly, despite the net curtains, it was bright and airy, an uncurtained side window providing extra light.

First, she examined the canvas on the easel. It showed mountains and valleys, streams and gorse-covered hillsides. While a traditional enough scene, it had been imbued with Elspeth's particular magic, so that the strong colours sang and burned almost three-dimensionally, seeming to leap off the canvas. She didn't need Max to recognize an outstanding work of art.

She turned and surveyed those lined up against the wall, and it was abundantly clear Elspeth had found her new metier. There was a portrait of a small girl examining a shell, the total concentration of childhood lovingly conveyed; another, of the fisherman she had mentioned – rough jersey, craggy face and blue, far-seeing eyes. One painting depicted a heron, feathers ruffled in the wind, alone on an expanse of sand, and among the rest, rough seas, topped with creaming surf, boiled and rolled under a lowering sky; lochs lay dreaming under summer suns, surrounding mountains mirrored in their depths; a herd of deer stood poised for flight, their alarm tangible. Traditional, nineteenth century scenes, most of them, but treated in a totally new way, alive with twenty-first century urgency. Scotland had indeed proved Elspeth's salvation.

An irritating buzz distracted her, and she turned to see a bluebottle climbing up the side window to within an inch of its opening, only to give up and start again at the bottom. Hoping to get rid of it, she knelt on a chair and tried several times to shoo it out, but on each attempt it managed to evade her.

About to abandon it, a flash of white caught her eye in the gap between chair and wall, and she glanced down to see a sheet of paper half-hidden under the chair. Thinking it would facilitate her attempts, she reached to retrieve it, and, as she bent closer, saw it was a pencilled drawing.

Elspeth must have mislaid it. Rona stood up, about to move the chair and rescue it, but Elspeth's voice stopped her in her tracks.

‘Rona? Where are you?' There was an odd note in her voice, almost of hysteria.

‘Here.'

As she reached the hall, Elspeth seized her arm and propelled her to the front door, her face white and strained.

‘I'm afraid you'll have to go,' she said jerkily. ‘I can't speak to you any more.'

Rona turned to stare at her. ‘But I thought you said—'

‘I've changed my mind. I'm sorry, but it's out of the question. Goodbye.'

And Rona found herself out on the path, gazing at the closed door.

SIXTEEN

‘
W
ithout any explanation?' Max demanded incredulously, on the phone that evening.

‘None whatsoever. Something in that phone call really spooked her, and as far as I know, the only person who has her number is Crispin. Richard certainly hasn't.'

‘I wonder what rattled his cage?'

‘I don't know, but I wish he'd waited one more day. She'd just agreed to an interview.'

‘Have you tried to contact her again?'

‘Not yet; I decided to wait till she'd calmed down, so I spent part of the time writing up our meeting while it was fresh in my mind. After that, I thought I should see something of the countryside while I'm here, so I took the car and pottered along the highways and byways. Elspeth's paintings had whetted my appetite.'

‘Tell me about them.'

‘They're fantastic, Max. Mostly landscapes and seascapes but a couple of portraits and an amazing picture of a heron – you could almost feel the feathers. I know they stand motionless for a long time, but even so, she must have sketched it first, surely?'

‘Birds are certainly a new subject for her. I must say, I envy you that private view. So, will you try again?'

‘I'll go back in the morning, but I can't say I'm hopeful.'

‘Well, at least your hunch proved right about her being there. Pity, as you say, the phone call scuppered it.' He paused. ‘What time do you get in tomorrow?'

‘Three forty-five at Luton.'

‘Want me to meet you?'

‘No point, my car's at the airport. I only have hand luggage, so all being well I'll be home by four thirty.'

‘Like to go out for a meal?'

‘That would be great.'

‘OK. See you soon, and good luck for tomorrow.'

As Rona had feared, there was no response to her knock the next morning. The net curtains still screened the windows, the door remained firmly shut. And this time, she knew, Elspeth might well be watching her dejected retreat down the path.

After an early lunch in the hotel bar, she checked out and drove to the airport. Not a wasted journey, by any means, but falling short of what it might have been. All she could do now was await Elspeth's return to Buckford, and hope to see her then.