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The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery)

Page 23

by Nicola Slade


  ‘Good for him,’ Sam raised his glass lazily in a toast. ‘They’ll probably be much happier apart. Anything from Nina?’

  ‘There is. She’s done a George and told her husband she’s sick and tired of his philandering and she wants out. I understand she’ll move near her family in Derbyshire so the art group will be minus a Treasurer.’

  ‘They’ll find someone,’ Sam was pleased to see Harriet taking an interest. She had been flat and uncommunicative for the past few days, very unlike her usual self. ‘I’m sorry for Nina but her sour face would curdle milk. Let’s hope she’ll find happiness once the split is finalised.’

  *

  Sunday, a week later

  ‘So we’re not carrying on with this painting lark?’ Sam stretched out his long legs in front of a crackling fire in Harriet’s sitting room. He had spent a satisfying afternoon chopping up the silver birch that had fallen in a recent storm and the logs were now safely stacked in the wood store they shared. The fat cat, Hector, snored comfortably on Sam’s lap while the young, slender cat eyed them both thoughtfully then headed to Harriet’s chair.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Harriet put a glass of Laphroaig for Sam on the small pad-foot Georgian table beside him and sat down nursing her own drink. ‘Move over, cat – this chair is big enough for the two of us.

  ‘No, Sam,’ she added when the cat had clambered on to her lap and gone through the usual palaver of turning round and round to find a comfortable spot. ‘It’s not really us, is it?’ She sipped her whisky reflectively. ‘Besides, some of them might feel a bit uncomfortable, don’t you think? We know too many secrets. Better not, though I’ve assured Fiona that we’ll certainly support them, attend their exhibitions and so forth.’

  She frowned at her glass. ‘I almost forgot. I rang Eve Paget this morning to see how she’s doing. I asked about Linzi’s phone but she just said Hughie found a load of rubbish in the pond when he cleaned it out and got rid of it all, so I left it at that. She’s thrilled because they’ve already got several bookings, along with enquiries about specialist weekends. She did ask if we’d like to attend their launch party, but I declined with thanks. I doubt either of us ever wants to step over that threshold again.’

  He nodded and after a few minutes, said: ‘I know I’m repeating myself but I’m very relieved that you’ve come out of this wretched business undamaged when you think what a state you were in after your previous brush with the law.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I was undamaged, Sam,’ she said quietly, looking at him over her glass. ‘Bruised, and terribly sad, is more like it.’

  There was warm affection in his voice as he changed the subject. ‘Well, moving on, what shall we do next?’ They were beginning to drowse in the firelight. ‘Charlie will be home soon and we’re spending the whole of December in Australia with Chris and family, of course. Which reminds me,’ he looked over at her, ‘I heard from him yesterday and they’ve booked a beach house on the east coast of Tasmania for Christmas week. Should be fun.’

  ‘Mmm, great,’ Harriet purred. ‘It’s nice to let someone else do the organising. As to what else we could do, I heard the other day about a wood-turning holiday in France. How about that, maybe next spring?’

  He shook his head, a teasing twinkle in his eyes. ‘I think not. All those sharp tools? Far too dangerous. Mind you, I like the idea of France but let’s go on a wine appreciation course instead. That way, if the worst comes to the worst and you trip over yet another corpse, we can at least drink ourselves into oblivion.’

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  Principal Characters

  Harriet QuigleyDoing a favour for a friend and regretting it

  Rev Sam HathawayPicasso, he isn’t

  Fiona ChristieSecretary to the Art Group, a splendid organiser

  Jess TyndallPre-Raphaelite fan, but a poor poet

  Nina AllisonArt Group Treasurer, but not a little treasure

  Bonnie MercerLast-minute substitute and wannabe Wise Woman

  Linzi BrayChairman to the Art Group and doesn’t everybody know it

  Tim NichollsLonely lawyer shivering in his shoes

  Donald RamsonThirsty art teacher down on his luck

  Seren LawrenceWidowed osteopath on a quest

  Madeleine DurhamSlave to the Chairman and seeking redemption

  Clare YarrowChampion wet blanket

  George YarrowWhat does he keep in his attic?

  Acknowledgements

  As The Art of Murder is a work of fiction the inhabitants, dead or alive, of Tadema Lodge, are entirely fictitious. I would also like to reassure the members of Brushstrokes Original Art Group that not one of them, past or present, appears in this book!

  My thanks go to Angela Law for her encouragement and for describing art classes she had attended, as well as for reading an early version of this book. Thanks, also, to Janet Drummond-Bayne for helpful suggestions about the lesson content; to Joanne Thomson who also read the first draft; to my brother-in-law, Geoffrey Pimm, who gave me valuable information about vintage cars; and to Keri Thomas who helped with medical details and place names. Any inaccuracies are my fault.

  Particular thanks go to Linda Gruchy who helped me make sense of the plot; to Olivia Barnes, always my first reader; and to Sheryl Burke for her enthusiasm. Thanks, as always, to Linda, Sally Zigmond, Jo Frith and Carol Lucas for their continued support.

  Finally, Morley Slade is always happy to help me work out how to murder people which wasn’t a requirement in the marriage ceremony, but for which I’m always extremely grateful.

 

 

 


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