The Blue Virgin (17 page)

Chapter Forty

“There is no way, unless you have unusual self-control, of disguising the expression on your face when you first meet a dwarf.”

—
C. J. Koch,
The Year of Living Dangerously

10:30 AM

Nora watched the introductions carefully, her eye on May Rogan. Was it at all possible May was the kind of woman who could hire a hit man? She certainly showed no affection toward Val, and Val reciprocated her coldness. May was polite toward Janet but couldn’t quite control the aura of aristocracy she projected like an expensive perfume. By contrast, her daughter Louisa was still as charming and frank as Nora remembered. The girl hugged Val and Nora and shook hands with Simon. When introduced to Janet, she said, “I’m very sorry for your loss,” in a manner that was dignified and graceful beyond her years.

  After they read the menus and placed their orders, Nora started the conversation off with a story about the smooth pickup of the Volvo that morning. Then she sat back and admired the colleges’ coats of arms displayed around the room. The old-world air of the Randolph reminded her of New York’s Plaza Hotel, she thought, as Val stiffly thanked her stepmother for procuring Jeff Nichols.

  “Darling, I simply called Harvey and he took care of everything,” May said imperiously.

  “Harvey was our father’s partner,” Val explained. “I’m actually surprised you and Lou came up.” She smiled pointedly at her sister. “But I’m always happy to see you.”

  Louisa’s eyes lit up while May struggled visibly to control her displeasure. As their coffee and tea arrived, an awkward silence fell across the table. Val caught Nora’s eye and rolled hers in May’s direction. The message was clear: “Help me get some conversation going with the bitch.”

  “I thought you’d be interested to know I’ve turned up something useful in the search for Bryn’s killer, May.” Nora
described her conversation with Althea Isaacs while she watched May’s reaction. “So there’s a chance of finding the real killer now.”

  May sniffed, but Val was excited. “I’m so fortunate to have such caring friends, aren’t I?”

  “Absolutely.” Louisa grinned at her sister. “Where did Bryn live?”

  “On Magdalen Road, in a lovely Georgian building,” Val explained.

  May sipped her tea politely. Nora wondered just how far Val’s stepmother would be prepared to go to upset Val. She showed little reaction to the news that Val might be off the hook, but then, maybe implicating Val had never been a part of May’s plan. Val had color in her face for the first time since Bryn’s murder, her excitement at the possibility of finding the murderer palpable.

  “Today I’m going to talk to Miles Belcher, Bryn’s boss, to see if he can add anything we don’t already know,” Nora added.

  May nodded, but it was obvious she thought little of Nora’s amateur efforts. She certainly showed no sign of worry that Nora might trace the murder back to her. Maybe May was no more than what she appeared to be—a selfish stepmother who had difficulty accepting her stepdaughter.

  Their meals were served, toast and scones buttered, omelets eaten. Conversation again ground to a halt. Val lightly kicked Nora under the table.

  “So—,” Nora said, mentally casting around for another topic. “Mae is a lovely name. And you have the same blonde hair as Mae West. I always enjoyed her old movies, she just exuded sensuousness.” Nora realized this was not the compliment she intended when May answered frostily.

  “It’s M-A-Y, as in merry month of—. My birthday is the first of May.” May unsuccessfully tried to withhold a glare of annoyance.

  “Of course,” Nora agreed, biting her lip to keep from grimacing. Was there no way to figure out this exasperating woman? This was going to be a challenging brunch. She couldn’t even look at Val or Simon.

  “When will the funeral be?” May asked, to everyone’s surprise.

  “You’re going to the funeral?” Val asked. “I’m not sure I want you there.”

  Lou’s face fell, but it was obvious Val’s remark was directed at May.

  Nora held her breath, fearing the argument she had been dreading all morning was about to break out between Val and May. But to her surprise, May answered graciously. “Of course. We both came here to support you.”

  How clever of May to roll Lou into that one, Nora saw. Now Val was stuck with her. Beside Val, Janet squirmed in her seat. And how awful for her, Nora thought. It’s
her
daughter’s funeral they’re arguing over. But Janet rose to the occasion.

  “I’m planning the funeral for Sunday, May, and of course you and Louisa are invited to say goodbye to Bryn.” Janet deftly closed the subject. “Those paintings are by Sir Osbert Lancaster, May,” Janet said. “They were commissioned for Meerbohm’s
Zuleika Dobson
, quite the satire on Oxford life. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Oh, you’ve been here before then?” May frowned, clearly surprised the country woman would know the city’s most elite hotel.

  “My, yes,” Janet smiled. “My parents would babysit so my friends and I could have an occasional weekend in Oxford. Tony Blair used to drink here when he was at Oxford, you know, but we’d come to the bar hoping for a glimpse of Colin Dexter, or at least John Thaw if he was in town playing Morse. We all thought he was terribly sexy. Thaw, I mean, not Tony Blair. It’s too early now, but if you stop by later there will be a delightful trio playing at lunch—a trumpet, saxophone, and of all things, a banjo.” Janet smiled prettily.

  Nora watched May force a thin smile on her face. Janet had bested May Rogan. Val caught Nora’s eye this time, each woman thinking this brunch was definitely not going according to May Rogan’s plan.

*

Nora pointed to a poster indicating that parking facilities at the Randolph would cease the following month. “We got here just in time,” she said, pointing out the poster to Simon, as they waited for the Volvo to be brought around. “What did you think of Val’s family?” In the bright sunlight Simon’s blue eyes looked bleached out. Nora watched him formulate his answer.

  “I thought Louisa was very charming and her mother … less so,” he finished diplomatically. “Now that the ice is broken, I wonder how that crew will get on in there.”

  “It was interesting that May with a Y invited Val and Janet up to her rooms to discuss the funeral plans,” Nora said. “Although I don’t know if that was to be helpful or nosey.”

  “Are you kidding?” Simon snorted. “That was all about showing off her suite at the Randolph and trying to influence the arrangements to her liking.”

  “I guess so, but it didn’t seem to affect Janet at all.”

  “That’s because Janet sees right through someone like May. She won’t have a problem fending off May’s suggestions—it is
her
daughter being buried, after all. I think she went along to protect Val a bit longer.”

  “Simon … ” Nora hesitated. “Do you think there’s any chance May Rogan is behind all this?”

  “You mean Bryn’s murder?”

  Nora nodded.

  Simon took a moment, considering the suggestion. “It hardly seems likely she would insist on attending Bryn’s funeral if that were the case.”

  “I guess so.” Nora sighed. Would she ever find the real murderer and clear Val? She looked at Simon as the Volvo wagon in a color the dealer called Nautic Blue was brought around. “You can be quite perceptive at times, Mr. Ramsey.”

  “Call it ESP,” he said as he helped her into the car. As they pulled out after a break in the traffic, he put one hand up to his forehead. “For instance, right now I can feel you’re deciding the quickest route to Miles Belcher’s studio.

Chapter Forty-One

“We didn’t know we were an odd family.”

—
Caroline Bridgwood,
Trespasses

1:30 PM

May Rogan massaged her left temple as she waited for Louisa to emerge from the dressing room. In the stylish High Street shop across from Carfax Tower, the boutique boasted a full-length beadboard door that provided the customer with complete privacy—no small cubicle with a skimpy, worn drape here. A three-way mirror inside ensured that shoppers would not have to emerge clothed in an unsuitable garment.

  The morning had not gone at all according to May’s plans; thoughts of that horrid brunch filled her with distaste. The headache that ensued would only be assuaged by a bout of heavy shopping.

  First Val had shown up with her friend, the writer Nora Tierney, who’d gotten herself pregnant without a husband—and who had the gall to compare May to Mae West. For some reason the woman kept eyeing her suspiciously throughout the brunch, although May had no idea why. She hardly knew her! Nora had a rather good-looking young man in tow, Simon Something, who was supposed to be an artist of some fame. May knew Val certainly wasn’t interested in the chap, but she wondered if he was the father of Nora’s child. He hadn’t reacted to any of May’s usual flirting gambits, so she decided that he, too, was probably gay.

  Then to her immense disappointment, Janet Wallace was not quite the country tweedie she had been expecting, and her plans for displaying her own superiority had fizzled.

  Things had not improved when she had invited Val and Janet up to her suite to discuss funeral plans. May had suggested a regal High Mass at one of the college’s distinguished chapels. Janet made it quite clear “her Bronwyn” was having a simple funeral service in the parish church she’d attended as a child and would be buried alongside her grandparents in the family plot in Chipping Norton.

  “Of course, if Val would like to have a memorial service for Bryn here in town, I would love to attend,” Janet had said.

  May pictured her elegant leather heels sinking into the mud in some quaint country churchyard. Hence, the shopping trip for different shoes for her to wear with her navy suit, perhaps a broader court heel in soft navy kidskin. But first, a dress for Louisa.

  May’s mood improved rapidly when Louisa appeared, pirouetting in front of her. The lilac silk dress she wore complemented her blonde hair nicely, and May decided the color would enhance her own navy suit as they stood side by side in the graveyard.

  “Lovely, darling,” she told her daughter with true affection. “Wrap it up!” May’s favorite three-word mantra eased part of her headache away.

*

Louisa loved the scroop of the silk as it rustled about her but was even more pleased that the very first dress she’d tried on would suffice so well, giving her the opportunity to initiate her own plans earlier than she’d hoped. She almost hugged herself with delight as she changed back into her jeans, plotting her opening gambit.

  “Now that’s done, we can tour the Bodleian Library,” Louisa enthused as she rejoined her mother. “And then the Sheldonian Theatre, and a long lovely browse through Blackwell Bookshop … ”

  “More books?” her mother sighed, rubbing her temples. “But shouldn’t we look for shoes to go with your dress? And I need shoes, too; my heels will simply not do for the countryside muck.”

  “I brought my black pumps with the chunky heel; they’re almost new, Mum. And besides, it will give us more time for the Bodleian tour. The line is probably quite long by now.” Louisa smiled happily as her mother’s eyes glazed over. She threw in the clincher. “Unless,” she said as though the thought had just occurred to her, “you wanted to look for those shoes and maybe a new scarf for your suit. I could go on and do the tour and the bookshop alone and meet up with you for tea.” As her mother hesitated, the shopkeeper unwittingly came to Lou’s aid.

  “We’ve just gotten a new scarf shipment from America, Ralph Lauren, and of course we have the Harvey Nichols … ”

  Like waving a carrot in front of a donkey, Louisa thought, feeling a glimmer of shame at manipulating her mother so easily. She closed with the finishing touch. “I know! Let’s meet at that place Janet was describing, The Old Parsonage, say around 4?” Janet had described the building and her meal in glowing detail and mentioned how much she looked forward to going there for High Tea at some future date.

  May seemed ready to leap at the chance to outdo Janet Wallace when a wave of motherly protection swept over her. “Are you certain it’s safe for you to go traipsing all over Oxford by yourself?” May asked doubtfully.

  At this perceived slight to her town, the shopkeeper drew herself up to her full height. “All of those destinations are close to each other, and it really is a safe town, Madam.”

  Louisa was already pulling the strap of her small backpack over one shoulder. “Right then. See you at The Old Parsonage at 4 for tea. And don’t worry about me; I’ve got the map Val gave me.” She fluttered the pocket-sized folding street map Val had given her at breakfast. Waving goodbye, the girl added: “Have fun shopping.”

  Lou paused on the street to consult her map, looking back to be certain her mother’s attention was engaged. May and the shopkeeper already had their heads bent over trays holding scarves in a rainbow of colors. The girl slipped away, swallowed up by the throngs on the street. Instead of heading through town toward the Bodleian, she consulted her map and turned left down the High Street, toward the Plain and Magdalen Road.

*

Davey Haskitt walked back from work, slowly making his way down the Cowley Road. He barely registering the slim blonde girl he was forced to walk around as she studied a map. Christ, he hated going back home without the presence of Bryn Wallace. Living in the basement literally under her had given him a sense of being protected by the enfolding wings of an angel. Those dark brown eyes had looked at him with compassion.  Her smile could keep him happy for days. Despite what that detective thought, he hadn’t stalked her. He’d never shown up at the studio where she worked, for instance. Just watching her movements coming and going kept his inner turmoil at peace, as though he were a part of her days. He missed her more than he thought possible—it was a physical ache—and he was seriously considering looking for another bedsit. But then his tenuous connection to Bryn would be broken entirely.

  Beside, the high cost of renting and low availability of housing in the area made a move difficult. If he left the neighborhood, he might not be able to walk to work, either. But surely other people moved house all the time.

  Reaching Magdalen Road, he crossed over toward The Inner Bookshop and picked up a copy of the local rental listings from the free paper stand out front. Waiting to cross the road, he recognized the short, annoyed man he’d jostled on the sidewalk last week. Short Man stood in front of the shop, talking earnestly to a tall, floppy-haired man who had his back to Davey. He couldn’t hear their low conversation as he crossed the road, but it seemed the taller man was trying to get away from the shorter one, without much success.

  Even as he let himself into his flat, Davey kept an eye on the two men. The taller man broke away and tried to cross the street, only to be stopped smartly at the kerb by a speeding Mini flashing by, followed by three noisy motorcyclists. Probably a lover’s quarrel, he thought, wondering why people were so fond of public displays of anger. Davey would never share his pain and discomfort with the entire world, he decided, as he entered his cool, darkened warren and threw himself across the bed.