Rona studied her a little guiltily. Dark glasses hid her eyes, but her heavy black hair hung in a long straight bob, with a fringe that reached the top of her glasses. She was wearing a printed cotton dress, and her bare arms and legs were pale, as though they’d not been exposed to the sun.
Rona turned away. Whoever she was, it was no business of hers.
‘Your little heiress is proving persistent,’ Carla remarked. ‘Following last week’s calls, she’s phoned three times in the last two days. I thought you’d signed her off?’
Dominic looked up from a report, reluctant to be reminded of what he’d hoped had been cleanly and fairly dealt with. ‘I did, over dinner at the Savoy.’
‘It seems she’s not accepted it. Would you care to make it more plain?’
He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘I’d prefer not to have to speak to her.’
‘So I keep on saying you’re unavailable, or out of the country, or in a meeting?’
‘If you would. Eventually, perhaps, she’ll realize I’m being cruel to be kind.’
‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ Carla said darkly.
Jonathan, who’d overridden Lindsey’s refusal to have lunch with him, leaned back in his chair and studied her across the table.
‘You look pretty wiped, I must say.’
‘Thanks; that makes me feel a lot better.’
‘No need to snap, sweetie. So what’s wrong? Were you out with your ex again yesterday?’
Lindsey looked up sharply, and winced as the movement sent a pain through her head. ‘What do you mean, again?’
‘I mean after having dinner with him on Saturday. You’re not going to deny it, are you? My spies are everywhere!’
‘Why should I deny it? You have dinner with your wife every night.’
‘Honey, I’m not making an issue of it. Have dinner with whomever you choose.’
‘Thank you.’ Lindsey took a long draught of mineral water.
‘I’m just trying to find out what’s put you in such a foul mood. It can’t only be the hangover, surely?’
‘For the last time, I have not got a hangover. I simply had a bad night.’
Jonathan shrugged. ‘Have it your way.’ He put a tentative hand over hers. She moved impatiently but did not withdraw it, and, encouraged, he leaned forward and said quietly, ‘I could manage an hour or so this evening, if that would help?’
Lindsey felt an absurd desire to cry. How had she come to make such a wholesale mess of her love life?
‘No, it would not,’ she said.
On the afternoons that Avril played bridge, she arrived home roughly an hour after Sarah. It had become the custom that whoever was last back called to the other to announce their arrival, and this Avril proceeded to do. To her surprise, the response, unusually muted, came from the kitchen, and she pushed open the door to see Sarah standing at the sink with her back to her.
‘I was getting a glass of water,’ she said.
‘Fine. Will you be out this evening?’
The girl still hadn’t turned. ‘No,’ she said baldly.
Avril paused, a little nonplussed. ‘Right,’ she said.
As she hesitated, Sarah, unable any longer to avoid turning, passed her in the doorway with lowered eyes, and went up the stairs. It was obvious she’d been crying.
Slowly Avril followed her and went to change out of her best suit, feeling somewhat at a loss. Had it been one of her daughters, she could have attempted to find out the cause of her distress, perhaps offer some comfort, but she and Sarah hadn’t that kind of relationship, and personal exchanges were kept to a minimum. Yet the girl was clearly unhappy, and away from home.
As she came out on to the landing, she heard muffled sobbing from behind the closed door, and, making up her mind, went to tap on it. The sobs stopped abruptly and there was silence.
‘I don’t want to interfere,’ Avril began, ‘and I’ll go away if you ask me to, but might it help to talk things over?’
A long silence, and Avril, defeated, was turning away, when a choked voice said, ‘I don’t think so.’
Encouraged to have elicited some response, Avril ventured to ask, ‘May I come in?’
Another pause, then, ‘If you like.’
Sarah was sitting at the dressing table, a wad of Kleenex in her hand. Avril sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. When Sarah didn’t speak, she said hesitantly, ‘Is there any way I could help?’
Sarah swivelled round to face her, her eyes red and puffy. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I think this is something I have to weather by myself.’
‘Is it – to do with your young man?’
Fresh tears filled her eyes. ‘We had a row, and it was my fault; but that’s only part of it. It’s not working out at school.’
‘In what way?’
‘The staff don’t like me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure—’
‘I overheard them, when I was in the loo. They think I’m bossy and have a high opinion of myself. And tonight, they’re all going to Polly’s engagement party, but I’m not invited.’
‘That’s rather hard,’ Avril agreed, ‘but there’s not a lot you can do about it. However, if the row with – Clive, is it? – was your fault, you could always try phoning to apologize. That might at least clear up half the problem.’
‘Suppose he doesn’t want to know?’
‘That’s a chance you’ll have to take. If you think he’s worth it.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said in a low voice. ‘He is.’
Avril stood up. ‘Then you do that. As for the staff, go out of your way to be friendly, and they’ll soon come round. It’s almost the end of term, so take in a cake or something, for you all to share.’
She was rewarded by a watery smile. It was hard to reconcile this dejected young woman with the confident and – yes – slightly bossy person Avril was used to. There was indeed a prickliness about her that prevented overtures; perhaps this unhappy experience would persuade her to lower her defences.
Ten minutes later, there was a tap on the sitting room door and Sarah came in, looking decidedly brighter. ‘I took your advice,’ she said, ‘and smoothed things over with Clive. We’re meeting at eight thirty, and going for a drink.’
‘Well done,’ Avril said heartily.
Sarah hesitated a moment, then walked quickly over, bent down, and kissed Avril’s cheek.
‘Thank you!’ she said, and hurried from the room.
Avril sat for a moment staring at the closed door. Then, with a little smile of satisfaction, she returned to her newspaper.
‘By the way,’ Max said on the phone that evening, ‘I met our neighbour as I was leaving the house this morning. Seemed a pleasant enough chap. He was asking about the various estate agents; they haven’t exactly been inundated with details.’
‘What are they looking for?’
‘Detached house, not too large, in a pleasant area; with a bit of a garden. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, one would think.’
‘Might price be the problem? Property’s pretty expensive round here.’
‘Not a question I could ask.’
Rona, losing interest, remarked, ‘I’m going to have one of those French quiches for supper. It looks and smells delicious.’
‘Well, don’t scoff the lot before Wednesday! I’m looking forward to sampling the cheeses.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty left. I hope these markets become a regular event.’
‘Did you tell Lindsey about it?’
Rona frowned. ‘Actually, I’ve not spoken to her. I thought she’d be on the phone first thing with a blow-by-blow account, but there’s been a deathly silence. In view of what Gavin said, I’m a bit concerned.’
‘Why didn’t you ring her?’
‘She doesn’t like discussing personal things at work.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t worry,’ Max said briskly. ‘She’s old enough to take care of herself.’
‘She should b
e home by now, though. I think I’ll give her a ring.’
‘Let’s face it, if lover-boy has ditched her, it mightn’t be such a bad thing.’
But Rona, aware of her sister’s vulnerability, wasn’t so sure.
‘Yes, thanks. It was – very pleasant.’
Pleasant? Lindsey had spent a day in France with the man of her dreams, and that was all she could say? Driven by an equal measure of curiosity and concern into making the call, this wasn’t what Rona had expected.
‘You don’t sound exactly carried away,’ she probed.
‘Oh, Ro, for God’s sake! I enjoyed it, right? But I’ve had a diabolical headache all day, and because of that I mishandled an important interview, and risk losing a prospective client. I’m not exactly on top of the world.’
‘I was expecting you to phone, that’s all, but if you don’t want to talk about it, fine.’ Rona, feeling snubbed, was about to let it go; but, remembering Gavin’s warning, she added incautiously, ‘He was OK with you, wasn’t he? Dominic?’
‘Look,’ Lindsey said, in a voice laden with patience, ‘we had a picnic lunch – “a loaf of bread, a flask of wine”-type thing – after which we explored Mont St Michel, had dinner in a fabulous chateau, and travelled home by private plane. I’d say that was pretty much OK, wouldn’t you?’
‘That’s all I wanted to know,’ Rona said mildly. She didn’t dare ask how the evening with Hugh had gone.
Four
Tuesday morning, and Rona was feeling unsettled. It was always the same when she was between jobs, this sense that she should be doing something, but there was nothing to do. In the field of writing, that is. She could give the house an extra clean, take Gus for a long walk, write some letters she’d been putting off, but none of these tasks appealed. The sooner she met Julian Willow and was able to start work, the better.
She glanced dispiritedly at the papers on her desk, brightening as her gaze alighted on a book token, a birthday present from a friend. She decided to go into town and choose a book, then spend a lazy afternoon in the garden reading it.
Gus, asleep on the doormat, looked up expectantly as she came downstairs.
‘Yes, we’re going out,’ she told him, ‘but only into town. We’ll have a proper walk later, when it’s cooled down a bit.’
Registering only the word ‘walk’, he wagged his tail and waited for his lead to be clipped on. Rona slipped the token into her bag and let them out of the house, mentally running through the reviews in last Sunday’s papers, and already anticipating the pleasure of browsing.
They’d gone only a few yards when a voice behind them called, ‘Hello!’ and Rona turned to see a young woman hurrying after them. Her first thought was that she must have dropped something; then, as recognition came, wasn’t this . . .?
‘We haven’t met,’ said the newcomer, holding out her hand, ‘though I’ve seen you coming and going. I’m Louise Franks.’
Rona, slightly bewildered, took her hand. ‘Rona Parish. So – you’re Mr and Mrs Franks’ daughter?’
‘That’s right.’ Seeing Rona’s puzzlement, she added, ‘Is that a problem?’
Rona collected herself. ‘I’m sorry. No, of course not; it’s only that when I met your parents last week, they didn’t mention you, and I’d assumed there were just the two of them.’
It was illogical to be surprised, Rona told herself; after all, what more natural explanation for her being in the garden? What was surprising was that it hadn’t occurred to her; perhaps because Mr and Mrs Franks had seemed so – self-contained, presenting a united and somehow exclusive front.
‘Are you going into the town?’ Louise Franks was continuing.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Would you mind very much if I came with you? I haven’t been out yet, and don’t know my way around. Or would I be in the way?’
Though aware this would disrupt her browsing, Rona had little option but to agree. ‘I’m only going to the book shop, but you’re welcome to join me.’
‘Thank you.’ Louise bent to pat Gus, who was patiently waiting for his walk to resume. ‘I’d love to have a dog,’ she said a little wistfully.
‘Perhaps when you get settled?’ Rona suggested, as they began walking again.
‘Settled?’
‘In your new home. You’re only temporarily next door, aren’t you?’
‘Oh, I see. Yes.’
There was a rather taut silence, and to break it, Rona asked, ‘Haven’t you been well?’
Again, it seemed she’d said the wrong thing, because Louise spun to face her, her thick hair swinging across her face. ‘Why do you say that?’ she demanded.
‘You – said you’d not been out.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Louise repeated, but she didn’t answer the question.
The flare of tension subsided, and Rona drew a cautious breath. Conversation with her new neighbour was proving unexpectedly difficult. In the hope of avoiding further awkwardness, she decided to act as guide.
‘As you see, we’ve now turned into Fullers Walk. It leads to the main shopping area, Guild Street, which runs across the top of the road, where you can see the traffic. You’ll find most things there, but there are also out-of-town supermarkets within easy driving distance.’
She’d no idea if the Franks had a car; none of the houses in Lightbourne Avenue boasted a garage, but she knew that a rented one in Charlton Road went with the house.
Louise made no comment, though as they passed Dean’s Crescent on the other side of the road, she roused herself to ask, ‘Where does that lead?’
‘It curves round and comes out at the east end of Guild Street. There’s a good Italian restaurant along there, and some antique shops, if you’re interested in that kind of thing?’
The inflection in her voice indicated a question, but Louise didn’t reply. This, Rona decided, was like wading through treacle. The only facts her companion had vouchsafed were that she’d not been out before – though she’d avoided giving a reason – and that she’d like to have a dog. If all her opening gambits fell on stony ground, how would she survive the next half-hour?
Guild Street was, as always, crowded, and Louise kept close by her side as they started along it. Once inside Waterstone’s, however, she seemed to relax, and to Rona’s relief, moved away, leaving her free to browse and not, in fact, rejoining her until, having made her choice, she was queuing at the checkout.
‘Not found anything yourself?’ she asked.
Smilingly Louise shook her head.
‘This is the latest by one of my favourite authors. Have you read him?’
A hesitation. Then, ‘I’m – not sure.’
Rona flipped the book open to display the backlist. ‘Any of these titles ring a bell?’
But Louise had turned away. Resignedly, Rona handed over her token and, back on the pavement, freed Gus from the post to which he’d been tied.
They’d started back towards Fullers Walk and her ordeal seemed nearly over, when Louise said suddenly, ‘Let me buy you a coffee. To thank you for letting me tag along. I know I’m not the easiest person to be with.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ Rona lied gallantly. ‘It’s been good to meet you, but I really—’
‘Please! I don’t know when I’ll have the chance again. My parents don’t like my going out alone.’
Rona stared at her. After a moment, she said lamely, ‘You’re here now.’
‘Only because I disobeyed them.’
It seemed an odd word for an adult to use.
‘Father had a dental appointment,’ Louise continued, ‘a root filling – and as he couldn’t drive home after the anaesthetic, Mother had to go with him. They wanted to take me, but I refused; so I was given strict instructions not to leave the house.’
Rona frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Will you come for coffee?’
As luck would have it, they’d reached the iron staircase leading to the Gallery, an
d since Gus, following his familiar routine, had already started up it, Rona felt further protest would be useless.
‘Then thank you. There’s a café up these stairs.’
Luckily, there was a table free. Gus settled himself beneath it, they gave their order, and, seated opposite her, Rona was, for the first time, able to take a proper look at her companion. At a guess, she was in her early thirties, give or take a few years either way. The dark, bobbed hair with its heavy fringe she’d seen from the study window, but now Louise had removed her sunglasses, her eyes were revealed as a vivid blue, a striking contrast to the blackness of brows and lashes. Today, she was wearing an open-necked cheesecloth shirt and designer jeans. There were no rings on her fingers, but she wore a thick silver bangle on her left wrist.
Seemingly unaware of the scrutiny, Louise folded her hands on the table and looked at Rona expectantly. ‘Now – tell me all about you!’
‘There’s not much to tell,’ Rona fenced.
‘Well, for a start, you’re a journalist, aren’t you? I saw one of your articles in a magazine.’
‘I do some freelance work, yes.’ There was a silence. Louise obviously expected more, so she added, ‘And my husband’s an artist.’
‘Ah, so he is your husband? We wondered, as you have different surnames.’
Rona said a little stiffly, ‘I kept my own because I use it professionally.’
‘So what kind of things do you write about?’
She was chatty enough now she was asking the questions, Rona thought crossly. ‘Whatever might be of interest,’ she prevaricated.
‘The one I read was about some local firm. It must have needed a lot of research.’
‘Most of my work does.’
Louise looked at her thoughtfully from under thick black lashes. ‘You must enjoy it.’
‘Yes, I do. I like tracing threads backwards and seeing where they lead. It can be quite challenging.’
Next Door to Murder Page 5
