Face in the Frame

by Heather Atkinson

  “They said they’ll see you.”

  “They did?” he replied, equally stunned.

  “You’re to go right in and I’ve to fetch tea and cakes, as if I don’t have enough to do. Second door on the left,” she muttered before walking away.

  He followed her directions and was confronted by another solid oak door, which he slowly pushed open to reveal a large room, made dark by the oak-panelling covering every wall. The room was just as cramped as the hallway, full of more trophies, furniture and tasteless ornaments, giving Brodie the impression the Thornes were hoarders on a massive scale. In the vast bay window was a four poster bed complete with curtains, which absorbed most of the light struggling to get into the room.

  At the centre of it all was a vast armchair set before a blaring television. Piles of newspapers surrounded the base of the chair, in which sat an immense woman with ash blond hair the same colour as Lucas’s cropped close to her head. The fleshy folds that composed her arms rested on the chair, spilling over the sides. Her face strangely enough was quite attractive, soft and round with pretty green eyes and a little heart-shaped mouth. Brodie focused his attention on that pleasant face and off the rest of her body spilling over the chair, her massive ankles poking out from beneath the plain black dress she wore.

  Her husband however was very slender, just like his son with limp light brown hair, a thin sallow face and dull brown eyes. Together they resembled a comedy seaside postcard.

  “Mr MacBride,” said the man, extending his hand to him.

  At last, someone had got his name right. “Mr Thorne.”

  “Please, call me Derek. This is my wife, Brenda. We’re both very excited to have a private detective in our home. We just love them all - Poirot, Magnum, Sherlock Holmes. It’s thrilling to finally meet a real live one.”

  “Yeah, alright,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a few questions if you wouldn’t mind?” Derek’s enthusiasm was creeping him out. He would have preferred hostility, shouts to get out and never darken their door again. That was what he was used to.

  “We wouldn’t mind at all. Take a seat,” said Brenda, waving a pudgy hand towards the couch.

  “Thanks,” said Brodie, sinking into it, feeling the cushions envelop him. It felt like he was sitting on Brenda.

  “So, what do you want to know?” said Brenda. “Has someone in the town done something bad? I bet it’s that Mrs Fanning, I always thought she was a funny sort with her bobble hats and nasty little dog. Or is it Mr Johnson with his photography hobby? I’ve seen him lurking in trees.”

  “It’s to do with your son.”

  Their smiles simultaneously dropped.

  “What’s the silly little sod done now?” demanded Brenda, her folds wobbling with indignation.

  “Nothing. I’m working on his behalf.”

  She screwed up her pretty face. “Doing what?”

  Brodie had already decided to use Oliver’s excuse. “There are some unscrupulous people wanting to steal the secrets of his work and I’m trying to stop them.”

  “What people?” said Brenda.

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that but Lucas has given me leave to ask you a few questions.”

  “It’s not us,” she shrieked. “What interest would we have in finding out his dirty little secrets?”

  Brodie thought this a very interesting turn of phrase. “Does he have a lot of secrets?” he said, thinking this pair would probably love to have a good bitch about their only child.

  “Probably. He always was a shifty little bastard,” said Brenda. “Since he was a little boy he’s always been quiet, too quiet. I never knew what he was thinking. He’s a freak.”

  “In my experience most parents don’t know what their weans are thinking.”

  “Do you have children Mr MacBride?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then how would you know?”

  “I’m talking from experience in my line of work.”

  She stared at him hard before throwing both hands into the air. “There’s probably no one trying to steal his secrets. It’s all in his imagination, he’s always been dramatic. If he’s not the centre of attention he’s not happy.”

  Brodie considered how at odds this was with what Cass had said about his shyness and how he loathed his fame. “That’s not how he comes across.”

  Brenda’s smile was wide and shark-like and full of decaying teeth. “He enjoys playing Mr Modest but secretly he laps it all up. Does he still go around with that stupid cane?”

  “Aye,” Brodie just managed to say before Brenda continued, clearly enjoying herself.

  “Ridiculous. I told him to ditch it, everyone will think he’s a shirt lifter but would he listen? No. The only one he listens to is that stupid little gnome Oliver who -according to Lucas - is the font of all knowledge.”

  “He’s a wee prick,” said Brodie, spotting a chance to get her onside.

  It worked because she beamed. “You’ve got that right. If you ask me there’s something weird about their relationship.”

  “How?”

  “Oliver fawns over Lucas like he’s the next Messiah but Oliver seems to call the shots. I can’t puzzle it out. Lucas could get rid of him but he keeps him hanging around like an annoying puppy dog. I’m quite sure Oliver’s in love with him.”

  “I think you’re right there.” Brodie glanced around the room at the stuffed animal heads, all of which seemed to be staring at him. “Who’s the hunter?” he said, nodding at a large tiger’s head on the wall behind Brenda’s throne. He liked to change topics suddenly like this, it helped disorient his subjects, making it easier to wheedle information out of them.

  “Err, no,” said Derek with a wry smile. “We’re not exactly the type to go on safari, we like our creature comforts too much, don’t we Mother?”

  “Yes we do,” she smiled pleasantly. “Too much. So we pay other people to bring our trophies back for us.”

  “Trophies?” said Brodie with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t one for tree hugging but he actually liked animals. They didn’t have the same capacity to piss him off as people did and he didn’t like to see their remains plastered on some idiot’s wall, shot by another idiot who would piss his pants and run a mile from a tiger if he didn’t have a high powered rifle in his hands. Fucking cowards.

  “These are beautiful animals and this way their beauty is preserved,” continued Brenda.

  Personally Brodie would like five minutes with the creep who’d decapitated them. He’d preserve them into oblivion. Did they seriously think this was a better fate than ending their days running free on the Serengeti, or wherever the hell tigers ran free.

  He shifted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It was a warm day and this old house was stuffy and stale. Plus wherever he looked he was confronted by dead, glassy eyes. He couldn’t wait to escape.

  As he looked back at the tiger he was struck by something. “Have long have you had the heids?” he said.

  “We began collecting years ago, just after our engagement,” announced Brenda.

  “So Lucas grew up with these around him?”

  “He did,” replied Derek.

  They both frowned when his eyes continued to flick around the room, settling on each severed head in turn. Brodie counted twenty nine heads in this room alone. Then there were all those in the hallway and no doubt hundreds more scattered about the house.

  “Is something wrong?” said Derek. “Hello?” he added when Brodie continued to stare.

  He snapped himself out of it. “Nothing. Well thanks for everything but I must be going,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “But you’ve not had your tea and cake yet,” said Brenda. “Go and see where that stupid girl is Derek.”

  “Of course Mother,” he replied, obediently leaving the room.

  “I don’t want to intrude any longer,” began Brodie.

  “I absolutely insist you stay and enjoy our tea and cake,” barked Brenda, not used to be
ing disobeyed. “I’d love to hear the details of your most interesting cases.”

  Brodie hesitated. He thought if he didn’t get out soon he’d throw up from the heat and the smell but if he did leave it would make him look suspicious, they might phone their son and that could open a whole can of worms. Plus if he stayed he might get more information on Lucas.

  He forced a smile and sat back down. “No problem hen, I’ve got plenty of those.”

  “Wonderful,” she smiled. The door opened and her smile broadened when Derek walked in followed by the surly girl carrying a tray. “At last. Where have you been?”

  “Sorry, but this tray’s heavy and the kitchen’s a long way,” grumbled the girl, dumping the tray on a small table set up beside Brenda’s chair, the only free surface in the room. She looked around at them all. “Who’s for éclairs?”

  Brodie groaned inwardly.

  CHAPTER 16

  Brodie left Thorne Manor feeling sick. He’d been forced to eat two éclairs at Brenda’s insistence. That combined with the staleness and the heads had worked a serious trauma on his stomach, but it hadn’t been in vain. Brenda and Derek had been happy to regale him with stories from Lucas’s childhood, odd stories about the weird things he’d drawn, which had involved blood and death. He’d also had three pet cats, all of which had mysteriously died in gruesome ways. Lucas had always denied doing anything to them and they’d never been able to prove he was responsible, despite their suspicions. He’d been a strange, quiet child - which Brodie was fully able to believe - kept himself to himself but he was capable of tantrums on an epic scale if he didn’t like something. By all accounts he had a temper but a temper didn’t make someone a murderer. Brodie himself had a temper but he’d never killed anyone. However, unlike Lucas, he hadn’t done weird things to animals or drawn freaky pictures.

  After talking to Brenda and Derek he was more convinced than ever that Lucas was a murdering bastard. But then again it was clear they did hate him, no doubt resenting his fame and fortune, so the investigator in him told him they were biased and he needed a more neutral point of view. He looked down at the pretty town of Edenbridge and smiled. Lucas had grown up here, no doubt there would be some local residents eager to disclose juicy stories about their most illustrious son.

  “Oooh Lucas Thorne? I know him, such a lovely boy,” cooed the matronly woman who ran the chocolate shop in the town. “So polite and well-mannered, which is amazing considering the family he’s from. They’re awful people.” Panic jumped into her eyes. “You won’t tell them I said that, will you? Brenda orders a lot from us. She’s not pleasant about it but she keeps this shop going.”

  “I won’t say a word,” he said with a conspiratorial wink.

  “Thank you,” she smiled with relief.

  “Where did Brenda and Derek get all their money from?”

  “Well, the local rumour mill likes to make out that they’re criminals but they inherited it from Brenda’s grandfather. He lived the life of a hermit out in the country and left behind millions, to everyone’s surprise.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know, disappointing eh? Everyone would like there to be more to it because they’re so unpopular but it’s all legitimate and above board.”

  “So Lucas isn’t like his parents?” he said, trying not to sound downcast.

  “Not at all, he’s a lovely boy and even though he’s rich and famous now he’s never too high and mighty not to visit us. He always pops in to say hello. He even put my face in his exhibition.”

  “He did?” he said flatly, his heart sinking further.

  “Yep and I’m not the only one. He based a lot of his faces on people from this village, faces from the past.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “Well he’s very secretive about his process, jealous rivals and all that, but he took a cast of my face. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Oh,” sighed Brodie.

  She frowned at him. “You sound disappointed. Hoping for something more exotic than that?”

  Yeah, I was hoping he’d tried to cut your face off. “Aye, I think so.”

  “Everyone does but it’s as simple as that. It just goes to show how talented Lucas is.”

  “You got a wee crush on him hen?” he said with his most charming smile.

  She blushed. “Doesn’t everyone? If you really want to learn about Lucas you should talk to Shelley who works in the newsagents across the road. She could tell you more. Apparently she and Lucas got quite close.”

  “Thanks,” he said, buying some chocolates on his way out, just to be polite before jogging across the road to the newsagents.

  He walked into a shop that was empty of people apart from a striking-looking woman behind the counter. At first all that was visible of her was long jet black hair, so long it rested on the countertop as she perused a magazine. At the sound of the door opening she looked up to reveal eyes the colour of the chocolates he held surrounded by thick black eye make-up. Her lips were black too, as were her nails and clothes. To his surprise she smiled.

  “Well hello. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she said sultrily.

  “That’s because I haven’t been here before,” he replied, responding to her flirtatious manner. She was a looker and there was something about all the black that he was finding very sexy.

  “Hmmm, a mysterious stranger,” she said, straightening up, giving him a flash of toned white midriff as her t-shirt and jeans briefly parted ways. “Intriguing.”

  “I’m actually after some information.”

  Her smile fell. “Not another sodding reporter. We’ve been inundated with you bastards since Lucas got famous, trying to dig up dirt on him. Well you can bugger off, I’m sick of the lot of you.”

  “Woah,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m not a reporter.”

  “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m after directions.”

  Her lips twitched. “Well don’t I feel like a prize prat.”

  Casually he leaned against the counter. “So who’s this Lucas?”

  “You’ve come to Edenbridge and you don’t know?”

  “I’m just driving through.”

  “From Scotland?”

  “Aye, Glasgow.”

  “I’ve always loved the Scottish accent,” she purred, leaning against the counter, so there was just inches between them. “It’s so sexy.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he grinned.

  “Are you in a hurry to get out of Edenbridge or would you like to stick around for a coffee?”

  “I’m in no rush but aren’t you working?”

  With her eyes fixed on him she walked backwards to a door leading into another room and called, “Sam, I’m finishing for the day.”

  “Alright,” a deep voice called back from the depths.

  “Ready to go?” she smiled at Brodie.

  “It’s that easy?”

  “Sam’s a good boss, he doesn’t mind me coming and going as I please.”

  “Sounds like a fucking fantastic boss,” he said, making her grin.

  Cass lay in Lucas’s arms, practically purring with pleasure as he ran his fingers through her hair. They were closeted away together in the small bedroom in his penthouse and she hadn’t felt so happy in years.

  “I can’t believe I let you go,” he said, kissing her bare shoulder. “I was a complete idiot.”

  “Yes you were,” she replied with a languid smile.

  “I’m not letting you go again.”

  “Good. Go a bit lower.”

  He kissed her breasts and she released a soft moan, sliding her hands up and down his bare back.

  “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said.

  “Oh yes. A bit to the left,” she said, biting her lip as the pleasure intensified.

  “So assertive,” he smiled into her skin. “But I need your full attention for this,” he said, sitting up.

  “Aw
ww, I was enjoying that.”

  “It won’t take a minute.”

  “Fine,” she said, pushing herself upright, making no move to hide her nakedness, she felt that comfortable with him.

  “I have to return to London soon.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, heart sinking.

  “This between us is too good to give up, which is why I want you to come with me.”

  There was a beat of silence before she said, “to London?”

  “Yes. I want you to live with me down south.”

  “You want me to live with you?” she repeated incredulously.

  “Yes,” he smiled, taking her hands in his own. “I love you Cass. I know we’ve not been together very long but I think we have a really good chance at a future together and I want to try.”

  Cass couldn’t speak. In the past the furthest she’d got with a man was being allowed to keep her toothbrush at his place.

  “Please speak, you’re making me nervous,” he said when she just continued to stare at him.

  “I don’t know what to say. You’ve kind of sprung this on me.”

  “Don’t you want to see me again when I return to London?” he said, looking hurt.

  “Yes I do. I just assumed you wouldn’t want to see me.”

  “Even after I said I love you?”

  “Yes…no…oh I don’t know. To be honest, I was trying not to think about it.”

  “You don’t want me to go?”

  “No. You could stay in Glasgow.”

  “I can’t I’m afraid. My base is in London, all my contacts.”

  “You’re an artist, surely all you need is a studio?”

  “Not many people know this but I do have my fingers in other pies.”

  “Such as?”