A Shroud for Delilah (DCI Webb Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

The other necessities were readily to hand, though her search for trays took several minutes, involving the fruitless opening of several cupboards. She even looked under the stairs, but all that was revealed was a carpet sweeper, some cleaning equipment, and a crash helmet, evidently belonging to Lana’s dead brother. Kate was on the point of calling upstairs when she discovered the trays neatly slotted in a space behind the door.

She laid them as attractively as possible and cast a critical eye over the plates: crisp fish, creamed potatoes, parsley sauce. It was the best she could do with the ingredients to hand.

By the time she returned upstairs Lana had woken her father and propped him up in bed. He greeted Kate with a smile. ‘Lana tells me how kind you’re being. We’re most grateful. Without Lana here our little world grinds to a halt, Mrs Romilly. Not,’ he added with a rueful smile, ‘that mine revolves all that quickly at the best of times. You know, I resolved when I took permanently to my bed that I’d take the chance to enrich my mind: read all the classics I’d never had time for, and so on. But to my chagrin all I seem to do is sleep — a quite unbelievable amount. I’m ashamed sometimes, when Lana wakes me for a meal and I find how many hours have been wasted.’

The three of them lunched together in Mr Truscott’s room, Kate on a bedroom chair, Lana on a stool. Most of the talk was of Josh, who had made an impression on the old man. ‘Such a bright boy,’ he said more than once. ‘He reminds me of my son at the same age.’

Kate was relieved that both invalids finished their meal, Lana eating daintily in a succession of small, quick forkfuls like one of the birds at her seed tray, her father more slowly as though the effort tired him, the knife and fork heavy in his hands.

After the meal, brushing away their protests, she washed up and cleared away, freshened both bedrooms, and gave the rooms downstairs a quick dust. Before she left, she inquired if there were any provisions they needed. ‘I can easily call at the village shop and slip back with something.’

‘No, no, I’ll be better tomorrow,’ Lana assured her.

‘Don’t come to work till Monday, will you, or you’ll make yourself ill again.’

‘We’ll see, but in the meantime we won’t starve.’ She flushed. ‘That sounds ungracious. It’s very, very kind of you to put yourself out like this, Mrs — Kate. We do appreciate it and Father so enjoyed meeting you. He doesn’t see many people.’

Kate nearly pointed out that if his daughter weren’t so set against visitors he would see more, but she wisely kept silent. Lana was obviously devoted to the old man and did her best for him according to her lights. Her reserve was by now so much a part of her, she was no doubt incapable of overcoming it.

***

That evening, relaxed in front of a log fire, for it had turned cool, Kate related her thoughts to Paul and Madge. ‘She misses so much, that’s the tragedy, and so does her father. If only she could relax and be more forthcoming, people would meet her halfway, but they think she’s standoffish. It’s a shame, because really she’s just painfully shy.’

‘Molly didn’t put it so kindly,’ Madge remembered with a smile. ‘She referred to her as a repressed spinster!’

‘Well, she’s certainly carrying a torch for Richard. It’s touching, really. She blushes like a schoolgirl every time he appears.’

‘All dream stuff,’ Paul said with male scepticism. ‘In the unlikely event of his making a pass at her, she’d probably have hysterics. A knight errant is only acceptable as long as he stays safely on his charger.’

***

Whether because of Kate’s advice or her own weakness, Lana did not appear again that week and Kate was extremely busy. There were last-minute arrangements about the exhibition, correspondence to deal with, and the shop itself to be attended. Fortunately both partners were in evidence and Martin helped out with the customers while Richard instructed Kate in the mysteries of the filing cabinet.

On the Saturday morning, Josh came downstairs to await collection by his father, sitting contentedly drawing at the other side of the desk.

‘Have you the list of paintings handy?’ Richard asked Kate. ‘I want to check how many Daniel Plumb’s submitting this year. He’s always a big draw.’

‘I think it’s here.’ Kate leafed through the papers on Lana’s desk.

‘That’s it. Good.’ He bent over her, his finger running down the sheet of paper, and she watched its progress. It was stubby and covered with pale hair, the nail short and rounded. She was aware of the singularly antiseptic smell of him, composed of carbolic soap with a faint underlying hint of tobacco. Kate guessed there would be no after-shave in his bathroom cabinet. It occurred to her quite suddenly that it was unlikely he had been celibate during the two years since his divorce, and with a slight sense of shock discovered that she found him attractive. It was the first time she had stood outside the confines of her allegiance to Michael, and the sensation was not comfortable.

‘Good morning.’

All three of them looked up to see Michael himself standing in the doorway. Richard straightened slowly and for a moment the two men’s gaze held. Then Josh slid off his chair.

‘Look what I’ve drawn, Daddy.’

‘That’s very good,’ Michael said, but his eyes were on Kate. Almost, she wondered, as if he’d read her mind in that moment before she was aware of his presence. ‘I’ll bring him back at six,’ he added abruptly, and it was only when he and Josh had gone that Kate realized she hadn’t spoken a word to him. She looked up at Richard, to find his eyes consideringly on her.

‘Should I have been tactful and left you alone? It happened so quickly.’

‘The time for tact has passed,’ she replied.

‘Oh?’

‘We’ve decided on a trial separation, to see how things go.’

‘I see.’ Apparently losing interest, he glanced down again at the list of paintings. ‘By the way, it occurred to me that Wednesday evening might be disturbing for Josh. Would it be an idea for him to spend the night with your friend?’

‘Perhaps it would, yes. He could go to school with Tim the next morning. Thank you for thinking of it.’

Kate wondered uneasily if Michael would again expect a meal when he returned Josh that evening. Did this, like the pub lunch, come within the confines of civilized behaviour? She hoped not but allowed enough food to cover the eventuality. However, when at six o’clock the doorbell rang and she went downstairs, it was to see Josh’s face peering through the glass. He was alone. As Kate opened the door a car engine started up and Michael, who had waited till she admitted the child, drove away with a briefly raised hand.

‘I wondered if Daddy would be staying for supper,’ she said as they went back upstairs.

‘He’s going out with friends.’

Plural? Kate wondered, or was that for Josh’s benefit? But Michael had warned her that for the moment they were free agents.

CHAPTER 9

On the Monday, Lana was back at her desk, her habitual pallor giving no indication of the extent of her recovery. But she assured everyone she was completely well again, apologized for her absence, and promptly buried herself in the pile of work which Kate had not had time to go through.

During Tuesday, the paintings for the exhibition began to arrive. The storeroom had been tidied to receive them and Kate, Richard, and Lana worked continuously, numbering the frames, stacking them against the wall, and checking them on the list. Kate was interested to see Sylvia Dane’s exhibits, and to her surprise found they were brilliant. She had the true artist’s ability to look beyond the planes of the face, the veiled wariness of the eyes, to a deeper understanding of the personality beneath, ignoring, sometimes ruthlessly, the inept façade the sitter had erected to preserve his privacy. If these were not portraits to appeal to the vain and self-satisfied, nor were they uncompromisingly ‘warts and all.’ For combined with their truthfulness an abrasive kindliness showed through as though, having stripped away the surface pretence, the artist was saying, ‘There’s no need to hide. You can face yourself now.’

Kate walked along the row of pictures studying each one: a young man, sensitive, touchingly unsure of himself; a child, laughing out of the frame; an old man, lined and weathered with the toll of the years; a dreaming girl. She felt embarrassed to meet the painted eyes while their inner beings were thus exposed to view.

‘Fantastic, aren’t they?’ Richard commented. ‘You feel you know the sitter personally. She’s one of the country’s leading portrait painters but the society crowd daren’t go near her!’

Kate understood what he meant.

That afternoon, Constable Timms put in another appearance. ‘We’d be grateful, sir, if you’d keep an eye open while this exhibition’s on. There have been antique knockers in the area from time to time, and this could tie in with our inquiries.’

‘We’ll keep our eyes peeled,’ Martin promised, ‘but we expect a crowd and it won’t be easy to spot strangers.’

When they closed on Wednesday, they had two hours in which to set up everything, and Kate at last appreciated the work Richard and Lana had done, deciding in advance where each painting should be placed.

‘It’s going to be a fine evening,’ Martin said with satisfaction. ‘We can start setting up things in the courtyard.’ Between them they wiped the wrought-iron tables and pushed them back against the walls. There was enough space for some dozen canvases outside.

‘Doesn’t the gallery along the road resent the competition?’ Kate asked.

‘Not at all.’ Richard stood back to study the effect. ‘It’s
quid
pro
quo
. Anything that stimulates an interest in art can only benefit them. People often go straight on from here.’

By six-thirty everything was ready. The men went home to change and Kate returned to the flat. It seemed quiet without Josh. She bathed quickly and washed her hair, then selected a demure long-sleeved dress in rose lace which she had worn to Press Club dinners with Michael.

The next few hours passed quickly. The shop was crowded by an eager, appreciative throng, all exclaiming at the paintings, studying their catalogues, and gratefully accepting the glasses of wine which Kate offered them. Was there a murderer among them? She dismissed the idea as absurd.

Martin was in the courtyard with Nella, who, in purple dress and emerald scarf, was more exotic than any of the artists. For the most part, the latter were men with beards and little women in hats, but when Kate tried to match artist with picture, she was continually surprised. A large, clumsy-looking man had executed an exquisite floral painting, an elderly lady a strident jungle scene.

Someone touched her arm and she turned to see Sylvia Dane, flushed and animated, a grey-haired man at her side.

‘Good evening, Kate. This seems a very successful gathering. May I introduce my husband, Henry?’

He came forward, quiet, bespectacled, with a gentle smile. ‘How do you do, Mrs Romilly. I believe I’ve the pleasure of taking your son for mathematics.’

‘I’m glad it’s a pleasure!’ Kate smiled, and turned to Sylvia. ‘Madge was right, your portraits are wonderful. That one of the old man particularly.’

‘Oh yes, old Mr Bennett.’ Sylvia looked pleased.

‘How many sittings do you need for something like that?’

‘It’s pretty flexible, really. Many of the people I paint can’t spare the time to sit around for hours on end. I’ve developed the technique of making lots of lightning sketches from all angles, catching fleeting expressions and so on. Then I decide on the position of the sitter, sketch that, and beaver away by myself, with just occasional “refresher” studies. It works particularly well with children, who won’t sit still anyway.’

Darkness fell, a breeze sprang up, and they moved back indoors. Several paintings already bore a satisfying red dot denoting a sale. Everyone seemed well pleased with the evening, and by nine-thirty all the guests had gone.

Kate collected the empty glasses.

‘Put them back in their box,’ Martin told her. ‘We’ll take them home and wash them in the machine. Now, who’s hungry?’

‘We always go for a meal after the view,’ Richard explained. ‘Another reason for proposing Josh’s absence! The usual choice is The Duck Press on the Heatherton Road. Do you know it?’

Kate shook her head.

‘I’ll bring the car round,’ Richard added, ‘while the rest of you lock up.’

The drive took only twenty minutes. The restaurant was a cleverly converted barn, made up of a series of low-beamed rooms leading off one another. There was an air of quiet, unobtrusive luxury and Kate settled back to enjoy herself. It was a long time since she’d been out for dinner.

‘Choose what you like, it’s all on expenses,’ Martin told her. ‘We’ve earned it, after all the work we’ve put in. Except Nella, of course. She’s just along for the ride.’

‘Lana deserves this more than I do,’ Kate remarked. ‘She was saying she’s been working towards the exhibition for the last six months.’

‘Can you imagine Lana in this setting?’ Richard asked with a short laugh. And, looking at the dim lights, the suave, silent waiters and thick napery, Kate thought back to the impersonal house at Littlemarsh and felt a touch of sadness.

‘What’s the latest on the murders, Kate?’ Martin asked suddenly.

‘How on earth should Kate know?’ Nella demanded.

‘Didn’t I tell you, her husband’s editor of the local rag. He has a cosy relationship with the fuzz.’

Nella gave a mock shudder. ‘All I can say is, I’m glad I’m not divorced. I should hate to have my lipstick on a mirror.’

Richard poured out the wine. ‘Thousands of women are divorced these days. It could just be coincidence.’

‘But the word “Delilah,”’ Martin protested. ‘Surely that implies censure, accusation? I’d say the police should be looking for a deserted husband out for revenge.’ There was a brittle silence, then he gave a nervous laugh. ‘Present company excepted, of course! Sorry, Richard.’

Richard did not, as Kate expected, laugh the remark off. He gave no indication of having heard it, and a moment later Martin went on, ‘I’m probably way off-beam. It’s just how it struck me, that’s all.’

Kate had noticed before that Martin, the junior partner, was sometimes less than at ease in Richard’s company, and wondered what had brought them together.

Nella, of course, had no reservations and as always spoke frankly. ‘But if it was a deserted husband, wouldn’t he rape the victims before killing them? Or does he get his kicks in other ways? The lipstick could be a phallic symbol, I suppose.’

Richard said caustically, ‘You’re very quiet, Kate. No interesting theories to put forward?’

‘I’m afraid not. I enjoy murder between the pages of a book, but these are a bit too close to home.’

‘Of course, your husband knew Number One, didn’t he?’ Martin cut in. ‘I suppose it follows he could also know the murderer.’

‘Or
be
the murderer!’ Nella said, and grinned broadly. ‘And
I
didn’t mean
that
, either!’

With an uncomfortable glance at Richard, Martin changed the subject and there was no more talk of murder.

Martin and Nella spent the return journey entwined on the back seat of the car.

‘Love’s young dream!’ Richard said cynically in a low voice. ‘We could tell them a thing or two, couldn’t we?’

Kate didn’t reply but tears stung her eyes as memories rushed back of happier days: the expression on Michael’s face when he first saw Josh, the bunches of flowers which had not been forthcoming for a very long time. Were Martin and Nella right to keep an escape clause in their relationship? Would they really, when the time came, be able to leave each other without a backward glance? Or would this early freedom condition them for a more permanent relationship in the future, more securely based than either Richard’s marriage or her own?

The car stopped but Richard made no attempt to get out. ‘Good night, Kate,’ he said.

She struggled with the door handle and, averting her eyes from the back seat, climbed out of the car.

‘Night, Kate,’ echoed Nella indistinctly, and there was a corresponding grunt from Martin.

They had driven away before her key found the lock.

***

‘How did the view go?’ Lana inquired the next morning. ‘I see quite a few of the paintings are sold.’

‘Everyone seemed pleased with it.’

Richard came in and dropped a small cellophane packet on Lana’s desk. ‘For Cinderella who couldn’t come to the ball.’

‘Oh, Mr Mowbray!’ The deep flush again as Lana caught up the packet with trembling hands. It contained a rose, golden yellow, and a quick spray by the florist had resulted in a picturesque dewdrop nestling on its petals. Almost too perfect, Kate thought, and hated herself for her cynicism.

‘Oh, thank you!’ Lana was gushing. ‘What a kind thought! It’s beautiful!’

‘I’m glad you like it. We thought of you last night, didn’t we, Kate? We toasted absent friends.’

Kate felt he was involving her in some secret joke at Lana’s expense. Yet it was kind of him to buy the flower. Why couldn’t she accept that, instead of suspecting that he enjoyed fuelling Lana’s devotion?

Michael phoned that evening. ‘Kate, I’m tied up on Saturday. Could we make it Sunday this week?’

‘Provided Josh is at the Minster by five o’clock.’

‘Ah — that creates a problem. I was going to suggest you brought him up here. There’s a model car exhibition which I’m sure he’d enjoy. Could he get special dispensation, do you think?’

Typical Michael, confident of bending the rules to his purpose. When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘Unless I hear from you, I’ll assume it’s OK. Eleven o’clock at the house?’

‘Very well.’

Josh, who was eating his supper, broke into her thoughts. ‘I had a note for you yesterday and I should have taken it back today. Mr Peters was cross.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. What was it about?’

‘A concert at school tomorrow. Auntie Madge is going and she said I can stay with Tim and Uncle Paul if you want to go.’

Madge herself phoned a few minutes later. ‘I meant to mention the concert when I brought Josh back, but it slipped my mind. It’s the older boys, of course, and some of them are quite brilliant. Paul’s sorry to miss it but he has some homework to correct and it will save getting a babysitter. Since the next day’s Saturday, I thought you mightn’t mind Josh staying up a bit later than usual.’

So it was that Kate had her second evening out in the course of three days. The school was an impressive building fronting on Broad Street. It had been built in its present form towards the middle of the last century and its carved wooden panels and marble floors spoke of a more pretentious age. The hall where the concert took place was galleried, with a stage at one end. Madge and Kate took their places on the wooden chairs. There was a hum of conversation and rustling of programmes.

‘If Josh shows any aptitude for an instrument,’ Madge remarked, ‘he couldn’t be in a better place. They have outside teachers who come in to coach, famous names among them. As a result, the standard is extremely high.’

She was right. Kate hadn’t known what to expect of the evening but she was unprepared for the effortless mastery the boys displayed over the intricacies of sonata and fugue, the sensitive violin-playing and the
élan
of the percussion. Having attended from a sense of duty, she was surprised at the extent of her enjoyment.

She and Madge walked home through a cool evening with a hint of mist. ‘Autumn is well and truly here,’ Madge said ruefully. ‘Next stop, fireworks and Christmas!’

The light was on in the dining room and as they walked up the path they could see Paul seated at the table with exercise books spread around him. He came to the door to let them in.

‘Are you stopping for coffee, Kate?’

‘No, thanks, I’ll go straight home. It’s late enough for Josh, and I’m sure Madge wants to get Tim to bed.’