‘Hello, Abbie. Exams looming?’
She pulled a face. ‘Don’t remind me! I’ve just seen Miss James and Miss Rutherford, and I should be at home revising. But it’s too hot to study, it stews your brains.’
‘In my opinion, exams are a waste of time,’ Primrose said in a bored voice. ‘They don’t prepare you for real life, do they?’
‘Depends what you consider real life, my sweet,’ Jeremy replied.
Though Abbie agreed with Primrose, she played devil’s advocate. ‘It also depends what you want to do; I –’ She broke off. A middle-aged man was approaching them, leading by the hand the girl Theo had met in the park. Oh sugar! she thought. Just when things were going so well!
The couple reached them and the man said breezily, ‘Sorry to butt in; Theo, I’d like you to meet Christine Chase. She works for Darley Smythe, but we’re on neutral ground here.’
Abbie waited for Theo to say they knew each other, but to her surprise he and the girl were shaking hands as though they’d never met.
‘Always delighted to meet the opposition!’ Theo said with his charming smile. ‘How do you do? Can I get you a refill?’ And, putting a hand under the girl’s elbow, he steered her away.
‘Smooth operator, my brother!’ Jeremy remarked, almost by way of apology. ‘What about you, Abbie? What are you drinking?’
‘White wine, please.’ What were they playing at? she wondered. If she could get Theo alone, she’d jolly well ask him.
Monica, glancing towards the door, noticed the Clériots standing there, and as she couldn’t immediately see Justin, made her way over to them.
There was a double entrance to the Gallery, the door that opened off the street giving on to a short passage which ended in a flight of stairs leading to the room above. The Gallery itself was approached through a glass door immediately on the left, and it was here that the two Frenchmen were standing. They greeted her with relief, overwhelmed by so much English being spoken at such volume. In order to make herself heard, Monica gestured them back into the passage, where a welcome breath of air was coming through the open street door.
‘And they say the English climate is cold and wet!’ the senior Clériot marvelled, mopping his brow.
‘We have our moments! Once you’ve recovered your breath we’ll go in search of some wine. There are some very interesting paintings; I think you’ll enjoy looking at them.’
They continued chatting in French, and after a moment or two Monica became aware that someone was hovering behind her. She turned to see Harry’s manager, Tony Reid.
‘Excuse me, madam, may I have a word with these gentlemen?’
She smiled and nodded, then realized with a jolt of surprise that he was waiting for her to leave them. Hiding her embarrassment, she said to the Clériots, ‘I’ll bring you some wine,’ and pushed her way back into the Gallery. What extraordinary behaviour! She’d have a word with Harry about that young man. In any case, whatever could he have to say to the Frenchmen that she might not hear? Perhaps, she thought suddenly, he’d discovered they weren’t on the invitation list? But surely he wouldn’t be so ungracious as to ask them to leave?
Prepared to argue their case, she manoeuvred her way back to the door, but as she reached it they reappeared, looking bewildered.
‘That was most bizarre,’ the younger one told her. ‘It seemed he wished us to go upstairs – I do not know for what reason.’
‘How peculiar. Did you go?’
‘We started to, but then another gentleman approached and said there had been an error.’ And he shrugged eloquently at the ways of the English.
Monica was equally puzzled, but by this time Justin had caught sight of them, and was approaching with glasses of wine. Leaving the Clériots in his care, she went in search of her mother.
At eight o’clock the catering team started serving refreshments, stressing that food and wine were available in the courtyard. People obediently drifted out there, and, able to move more freely, Monica took the chance to study the paintings. A partition had been erected, forming two walkways, and as she moved along she could hear murmured comments from the other side of the screen. Then her attention was caught by a woman speaking softly but volubly in French. Curious, she quickened her step and, coming to the end of the aisle, rounded the partition and looked down the adjacent one. It was the couple who had spoken to them at The Gables. The Entente Cordiale was certainly being observed, she thought, and wondered if they, too, were uninvited guests. Not wanting to become involved in conversation with them, she returned to her own aisle and her perusal of the paintings.
Abbie spotted Theo at the far end of the courtyard, filling a plate with a selection of canapés. She went purposefully towards him.
‘Why did you pretend not to know that girl?’ she asked bluntly.
He turned, a startled look on his face, but asked lightly, ‘What girl? What are you talking about, young Abbie?’
‘Christine Chase, or whatever her name was.’
‘But I didn’t know her,’ Theo protested, popping a twist of smoked salmon into her mouth. ‘Whatever made you think I did?’
‘Because I saw you with her in the park,’ Abbie said through the smoked salmon.
Theo looked at her consideringly. ‘Did you, indeed?’
‘Well?’ she prompted.
‘All right. Look, there are reasons, but I can’t go into them here.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you going to school tomorrow?’
‘Just in the morning.’
‘Suppose we have lunch then, and I’ll explain?’
Abbie stared at him, a tide of colour flooding her face. Lunch with Theo – it hardly seemed possible.
‘Is that OK?’
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
‘Good girl. And in the meantime, I’m sure I can depend on you not to say anything. You’ll understand why when I explain.’ He patted her arm. ‘The fair Primrose is waiting for sustenance – I must go. Twelve-thirty at the Maypole?’
She nodded. ‘Right. Thanks,’ and stood looking after him as he disappeared into the throng. Thank goodness she hadn’t stayed at home with her history books, she thought fervently.
‘Tulie darling, how good to see you!’ Eloise slid an arm round the narrow, black-encased shoulders and planted a swift kiss on the highly rouged cheek.
‘Good evening, Mrs Teal.’
‘Have you had something to eat?’
‘No, I haven’t fought my way to the refreshments yet.’
‘Jeremy’ll get you something.’ Eloise signalled to her elder son half-way down the room, and in dumb show made her request known. He nodded and set off for the courtyard.
Miss Tulip said approvingly, ‘I’m glad you chose the lilac for this evening. It’s most becoming.’
‘Thank you; I’m very pleased with it.’ Miss Tulip had played a large part in moulding Eloise’s dress sense, and she remained deeply grateful. ‘I hear you’ve had quite an exciting time lately, with visits from the police?’
Miss Tulip shot her an apprehensive look. ‘It was Miss Monica they came to see.’
‘I know, but upsetting for you just the same.’ Perhaps, Eloise was thinking, that accounted for Tulie’s rather strained expression. ‘Apart from that, is all going well?’
Miss Tulip paused before replying. Was Miss Eloise, as she still privately thought of her, merely making conversation, or was she fishing? And if so, what had put her on the track? Perhaps the policemen’s visits had something to do with her after all.
‘Tulie? Is something wrong?’
Miss Tulip took a wisp of lace handkerchief out of her black clutch bag and patted her mouth. ‘No, my dear, nothing other than the heat.’
‘Yes, it is overpowering. Would you like to sit down?’
‘I spend my life standing, Mrs Teal, as you know. I’m perfectly all right.’
Jeremy was shouldering his way back with a plate piled high with titbits and a glass of wine. Miss Tulip’s eyes softene
d. They’d been such lovely little boys, he and his brother. Many was the time she’d pushed their pram round the town while their mother tried on dresses. He stooped to give her a kiss and she felt herself relax. She was being over-sensitive – there’d been nothing hidden in Mrs Teal's remarks. But the sooner this police business was cleared up, the easier she’d be. Delicately, like a robin at a bird-table, she began to eat.
Hannah was uncomfortably sticky and her new shoes were pinching her feet. She glanced at Gwen, who also looked hot and bothered, spraying hairpins with every movement as strands of hair detached themselves from her French pleat.
‘How about slipping away and relaxing somewhere with a salad and a long cold drink?’
‘Sounds wonderful, if you don’t think Monica would mind.’
‘She might even join us; I’m sure Dilys will.’
Monica when approached accepted with alacrity. She was finding the Clériots heavy going and George was increasingly on her mind. She was anxious to phone him to inquire after his mother.
Eloise being quite agreeable to dropping off her mother on the way home, the four friends thankfully escaped from the mêlée and strolled across the road to the wine bar. It too had a courtyard behind it, filled now with people sitting under brightly coloured umbrellas.
While the others found a table, Monica went to make her phone call. But it was Betsy who answered; George was still at the hospital and there was no further news. Monica left an appropriate message, said she’d ring again in the morning, and went out to join the others.
Their orders taken and their drinks served, they settled down to talk over the evening.
‘Buy anything, anybody?’ Gwen inquired.
‘I’ve reserved a couple of prints,’ Monica said. ‘I’ll pop in and have another look at them tomorrow.’
‘I wonder what was going on upstairs?’ Dilys mused, as the waiter set their salads on the table.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I went out into the passage for a breath of air and was pretty smartly escorted back again.’
‘Who by?’ Hannah asked, mindful of Webb’s instructions.
‘One of the officials, I suppose – a young man with longish hair. He was very apologetic and said they had to keep the exit clear, but I could hear voices up above and it sounded as if someone was about to come downstairs. So, being of a curious turn of mind, I hung around near the door, and sure enough a couple appeared from that direction and came into the Gallery. They were talking French.’
Monica frowned. ‘Two men?’
‘No, a man and a woman.’
‘That’s odd,’ she said, and related the episode with Tony Reid and the Clériots.
‘An illicit game of roulette, no doubt,’ suggested Dilys, and there, having no better explanation, they let the matter rest.
When Hannah arrived back at Beechcroft Mansions an hour or so later, she took the lift beyond her own floor and knocked on Webb’s front door. He opened it in shirt-sleeves.
‘Ah, the reveller’s return! How did it go?’
‘Interesting. Can you spare a few minutes?’
‘Do you have to ask?’
She walked through to his living-room. A lamp was lit in one corner, but most of the room was in shadow. Mozart was playing softly on the stereo and Webb’s old leather chair had been pulled over to the wide-open window.
‘I was trying to get some air. Drink?’
‘I’d love a gin and tonic. I’ve been on wine all evening.’
He pulled a chair over for her and she sat down, relaxing into its sagging embrace.
‘Well,’ she began, accepting the glass he handed her, ‘I kept my ears and eyes open as instructed.’
‘And?’
‘And there was something rather puzzling.’ She repeated what both Dilys and Monica had told her about the apparently out-of-bounds area upstairs. ‘The strange thing was that both couples involved were French.’
Webb smiled, thinking of Jackson’s comment about sinister foreigners. Perhaps he’d been nearer the mark than either of them realized.
‘You think the first couple was mistaken for the second?’
‘It rather looks like that.’
Webb tipped his glass, letting the ice clink against the sides. ‘Any idea what they could have been up to?’
‘Not the remotest.’
‘Or if anyone else went up?’
‘No.’
He said reflectively, ‘I know the manager, I’ve chatted to him once or twice. Not Marlow, though. Have you met him?’
‘No, but Monica sometimes speaks of him.’ She paused. ‘Are you wondering what the Whites saw through those upstairs windows?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t mind a look up there. Well done, love, you’ve opened another line of inquiry, and at this stage of the game it’s more than welcome.’
At three minutes to twelve that night, Ethel Latimer finally released her hold on life and slipped peacefully away.
CHAPTER 12
Monica heard the news the next morning; George phoned as she was preparing to leave for work.
‘Oh my dear, I’m so sorry!’ she exclaimed. ‘Were you with her?’
‘Yes; it was very peaceful. I think they knew by the time I arrived that she wasn’t going to pull through.’
‘I should have been there,’ Monica said remorsefully. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, thank you. Everything’s very straightforward.’ It would be; George was nothing if not methodical.
‘May I come round this evening?’
There was a slight pause. Then he said, ‘If you’d like to, I’d be glad to see you.’
The time arranged, Monica replaced the phone thoughtfully. The news had come as a surprise; although illogically in the circumstances, she hadn’t expected Mrs Latimer to die. Now, for the first time, she would meet George without the ever-present shadow of his mother. Unless, that is, her influence persisted.
At the Marlow home breakfast had been subdued, though Abbie, hugging her secret to herself, did not appear to notice. ‘I’ll be home about two-thirty,’ she said with studied carelessness as she left for school.
Claudia looked up dully. ‘I was expecting you for lunch.’
‘Not today. See you later.’ And she was gone. As the front door slammed behind her, Claudia, without previous thought, heard herself say, ‘How long has Eloise been your mistress?’
She saw the shock on Harry’s face but it brought no satisfaction.
‘Claudia! Is that what you think?’
‘It’s what I know.’
‘But that’s ludicrous! Whatever –’
‘You met on Monday evening – you can’t deny it.’
Staring at her, he made no attempt to. She slammed her hand on the table. ‘If I hadn’t been such a fool, I’d have realized years ago. I suppose it’s been going on all our married life?’
He was still staring helplessly at her, his face white, and she burst out, ‘Haven’t you ever loved me?’
That galvanized him and he reached across the table, seizing both her hands. ‘Darling, I’ve always loved you! I still do.’
‘You’ve an odd way of showing it,’ she said, pulling her hands free. ‘Does Justin know?’
‘Know what?’ he blustered, but his eyes fell under her accusing gaze.
‘Let’s stop playing games, Harry. I should have realized Eloise would still consider you her property. But she’s always been so friendly. How could she do it?’ She put her head in her hands.
After a long, pulsing silence, Harry said, ‘She’s fond of you. We never intended to hurt either you or Justin.’
‘It’s simply that we don’t fulfil your needs? Oh well, fair enough.’ The bitterness in her voice cut into him.
‘Darling, please don’t talk like that. What we’ve done is wrong – God, I know that – but if it had ever occurred to me you’d find out, I’d never have gone on with it, I swear it.’
‘It was
all right as long as I didn’t know?’
He said miserably, ‘That’s not what I meant. I can’t expect you to understand, but Eloise got into my blood a long time ago. I was never really sure of her, though. I think she only agreed to marry me because it was romantic to be engaged while she was still at school.’
‘And then she met Justin,’ Claudia said flatly.
‘Yes.’
Twisting the knife, she added, ‘Well, go on. When did it start up again?’
His eyes fell. ‘When I met you. She was jealous, and I, fool that I was, was flattered. I thought I’d lost her, and it suddenly seemed that I hadn’t.’
‘I’m surprised you bothered to marry me, then.’
‘Claudia, I fell in love with you, and I’ve never stopped loving you. You must believe that.’
‘And no doubt she’s equally devoted to Justin.’ It seemed incredible they were having this conversation, and suddenly she’d had enough of it. ‘You’d better go,’ she said, ‘it’s time to open the Gallery.’
‘But I can’t just leave you. I want you to –’
‘Please go, Harry. You’ve said enough.’
He stood up reluctantly, looking down at her bent head.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Abbie –’
‘Yes, Abbie!’ she broke in furiously. ‘You never considered her in all this, but no doubt you’ll expect me to.’
He lifted his hand and let it fall. Then he turned and left the room. Claudia went on sitting there for several minutes. Then, drawing a deep breath, she stood up and started to clear the table.
It was not Harry’s day; he arrived at the Gallery to find Webb and Jackson already waiting for him. He’d seen the taller man here before, talking to Tony quite knowledgeably about the paintings, and did not at first realize they were detectives.
‘Yes, gentlemen; can I help you?’
The warrant card was produced and he felt in his stomach the cold sensation that even innocent people experience in such circumstances.
‘I hope so, Mr Marlow,’ Webb said pleasantly. He glanced at the long screens dividing the length of the Gallery, and the paintings hung on both sides of them. ‘An exhibition on, I see.’
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