Unfinished Portrait (14 page)

‘Not tonight, I'm afraid. Lindsey's meeting her book group, and I'm going to Magda's fashion show at the Clarendon. And tomorrow Linz is off for the weekend, and I'm taking Max to the theatre.'

Catherine nodded. ‘For his birthday. We have something for him, but it looks as though it'll be Saturday before we can deliver it.'

‘Come for lunch,' Rona suggested, opening the front door.

‘Oh, there's no need—'

‘Need doesn't come into it. Linz won't be here, but Max and I would love to see you both.'

‘Well, if you're sure . . .'

‘It's a date,' Rona said firmly.

Lindsey was working at her desk when, after the briefest of taps, the door opened and Jonathan Hurst came into the room.

She looked up, eyeing him uneasily. ‘Yes?' she said.

‘Not the warmest of greetings, my love. Or should that be ex-love?'

‘What do you want, Jonathan? I haven't time to play games.'

‘Hoity-toity!' To her annoyance, he perched on the edge of her desk. ‘Not a game, lovely lady, business with a capital B. Remember, in our more harmonious days, working together with old man Steinbeck?'

‘That extremely complicated will? What of it?'

‘He's fallen out with son number two, and wants to strike him off without the proverbial. And he's asked particularly to see us both, since we drew up the original will.'

‘I can't see that's necessary,' Lindsey objected.

‘It's necessary,' Jonathan said with quiet emphasis, ‘if we're to keep an extremely wealthy client happy.'

Though not relishing the thought of working with him, she accepted there was little she could do.

‘When does he want to see us? My diary's pretty full next week.'

‘Then it shouldn't be a problem; we're to meet tomorrow evening at six, after which he'll take us to dinner at the Clarendon. Now
that's
the kind of client we should cultivate!'

Lindsey flushed with annoyance. ‘You should have checked with me before arranging anything; as it happens, I can't make tomorrow. I'm going away for the weekend.'

He looked at her blankly. ‘Then cancel it,' he said.

‘I'm sorry, I can't do that. I've been working late every night for I don't know how long, but tomorrow I have to leave on time.'

He leaned forward till his face was only inches from hers. ‘I'm not sure you understand, Lindsey. If we don't play ball, he might move all his business elsewhere. You can imagine how popular that would make us.'

‘Then you go, and present my apologies. Say I've been stricken down with yellow fever – anything you like. I can catch up later in the proceedings.'

‘Look,' his tone became more placatory, ‘you need only postpone it for a few hours. Dinner's sure to be over by nine, and—'

‘I can't, Jonathan. We're going sailing, and we have to catch the tide.'

He sat back again, his face flushed with anger. ‘Well, well, you
are
hitting the high spots! Lover-boy picking you up by helicopter?'

‘I'll ring and apologize if you like,' she offered, refusing to rise to the bait, ‘and as I say, I can soon pick up the threads. Tomorrow, though, is out of the question.'

He slid off the desk. ‘I won't forget this, Lindsey,' he said. And the door closed behind him.

The fashion show was being held in the Clarendon's Albany Suite, which, decorated in white and gold, provided a pleasant but understated background designed not to detract from any colour scheme favoured by its patrons. In constant demand for dances, wedding receptions, whist drives, and any other function requiring space, it had its own ante-room, where, this evening, wine and canapés were being served.

The buzz of conversation reached Rona as she made her way towards it, and she paused in the doorway, hoping to see a face she recognized. A waiter materialized beside her with a tray of glasses.

‘Red or white wine, madam?'

‘Oh – red, thank you.'

‘Rona!'

With a sense of relief, she caught sight of Magda, flushed and excited, making her way towards her. They embraced, taking care not to spill their drinks.

‘Quite a turnout,' Rona commented.

‘Yes, isn't it encouraging, when everyone's supposed to be tightening their belts?'

‘Gucci, of course! But remember, it doesn't cost anything to look!'

‘Oh I'm not listening to you! I always get a raft of orders after these shows, and tonight will be no exception.'

‘I'm sure you're right.' Rona's eyes were raking the chattering crowd. ‘Has your pal Crispin arrived?'

‘Yes indeed, accompanied by the promised jet set. Come and meet him.'

She took Rona's arm and they wove their way between groups, several times being waylaid by people touching Magda's arm with questions or comments.

‘There they are, over by that pillar,' she said, and Rona, glancing in the direction indicated, stopped suddenly, frowning.

Magda glanced at her. ‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing, really. I . . . just had the feeling I've seen him before. Quite recently.'

‘Well, that's no surprise! He's always in the news.'

‘Yes, of course.' Rona allowed herself to be led over to the group, and Magda tapped the only man among them on the shoulder.

He turned with a smile.

‘Crispin, may I introduce—'

‘Oh, but we've already met!' he said, taking Rona's hand.

Magda, disconcerted, looked from one to another. ‘Really? Rona was just saying—'

‘That would have been my sister,' Rona interrupted smoothly. ‘At the Dorchester? My
twin
sister,' she added, as he continued to look bewildered.

‘Well, as I was saying,' Magda continued, ‘this is Rona Parish, a very good friend of mine. Crispin Ryder.'

‘My sincere apologies,' he said with a mock bow. ‘I'm delighted to meet you, Rona Parish. But you and your sister should come with a health warning! Now, may I in turn introduce my friends?'

All six were glamorous women, beautifully dressed, in their thirties or forties, and, interestingly, they all wore wedding rings. No wonder Magda was keen to get them on her books.

Someone claimed Magda's attention and she turned away, but Crispin drew Rona into their conversation, dispelling any awkwardness, and she was grateful. Lindsey had been right about the charm; he had it in spades. Over six feet – a fact not apparent from photographs – he was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, an athletic build. His face was faintly tanned, and there were lines round his eyes as though they were perpetually narrowed against some foreign sun. She sensed a certain recklessness in his manner, as though he were careless of what others thought, but perhaps that was a product of her imagination, in the light of what she already knew about him.

A bell sounded and a loud male voice requested that everyone make their way to the other room; the fashion show would start in five minutes. Rona, not wishing to intrude any longer on their party, excused herself with a smile and went ahead of them into the main room, where, to her relief, she was immediately hailed by two friends.

‘Rona! We saw you across the room, but couldn't get to you! Come and join us!'

She followed them between the lacquered chairs and into the third row from the front, where they took their seats.

‘A husband-free zone!' Rona remarked with a smile. ‘Max is working, but what have you done with yours?'

‘It's hardly their scene,' Hilary Grant replied, ‘so we're having a girls' night out. We've booked a table at the Bacchus afterwards – might as well make the most of it!'

‘Come and join us,' Georgia Kingston added. ‘You've no one to hurry home for, have you?'

‘Well, Lindsey's staying with us while her flat's being renovated, but she's out this evening, and said she wouldn't be back till eleven. So yes, I'd love to.'

Minutes later, the lights over the catwalk came on, the buzz of conversation ceased, and Magda appeared, to enthusiastic applause.

From then on there was an anticipatory silence, broken only by murmurs of appreciation and the odd burst of applause, as one model after another appeared, dressed in a succession of attractive outfits, progressing from leisure wear to smart casual, evening dresses to nightwear, and ending, as always, with a selection of stunning wedding gowns.

‘Does she really stock all these?' Georgia whispered to Rona.

‘She has eight boutiques, don't forget,' Rona replied. ‘If she doesn't actually stock them, she can certainly get hold of them, and there's a very quick turnover.'

‘I bet. I really covet that tweed trouser-suit.'

Rona didn't see Crispin again – nor Magda, who was surrounded by a crowd as they made their way out. She'd phone her in the morning. They emerged on to Guild Street, shivering in the change of temperature, and crossed Alban Road into Market Street, the location of both the Bacchus Wine Bar and the local theatre.

‘I'll be back here tomorrow,' Rona said. ‘It's Max's birthday, and I'm taking him to
An Inspector Calls
.'

‘Oh dear – does that mean the Bacchus two nights running?' The wine bar was popular with theatregoers, both before and after shows.

‘No, actually, I've booked a theatre supper at Serendipity.'

‘Oh, very posh!'

An extra chair was brought to their table, and they studied the menu, still discussing the fashion show.

‘Anything you were tempted by, Hills?'

‘That gorgeous cocktail dress – the one in bronze velvet. I'll certainly be speaking to Magda about that. It'd be great for Christmas.'

Georgia groaned. ‘Don't talk about Christmas, for heaven's sake! We still have to survive Hallow E'en and Bonfire Night! What about you, Rona?'

‘I loved them all, though I spent most of my time wondering what Crispin's crowd would go for.'

‘Crispin's . . .?'

‘Crispin Ryder. He brought half a dozen lovelies with him.'

Both her friends were staring at her. ‘Crispin
Ryder
was there? At the show?'

‘Yes; Magda introduced me to him.'

‘Why didn't we see him?'

‘Well, it's hardly surprising, among that crowd.'

‘And you spoke to him? What was he like?'

‘Suave, good-looking, licensed to thrill!' Rona laughed at their round eyes. ‘No, actually, he was charming.'

‘Do you believe all those stories about him?'

‘Depends which stories. There's probably a germ of truth. He's related to Dominic Frayne.'

‘Lindsey's Dominic? I never knew that.'

‘I don't think he broadcasts it,' Rona said dryly.

Their attention was diverted by the arrival of the waiter, but later that night, as she prepared for bed, Rona remembered Hilary's question.
Did
she believe the stories about Crispin, having met him? And, despite his charm, she realized, with almost a premonitory tremor, that she probably did.

At breakfast, she reported on the evening to Lindsey.

‘He mistook me for you,' she said.

‘I must have made an impression, then,' Lindsey said complacently. ‘Was he with the Grayson girl?'

‘No, six glamorous married ladies, designed to boost Magda's sales.'

‘Wonder how many of them he's sleeping with!' Lindsey mused. ‘Probably all six! What did you think of him?'

‘Actually, he was very nice to me.'

‘I bet!'

‘Look, just because Dominic doesn't like him—'

‘Seriously, Ro, he's bad news. Take my word for it. Attractive, certainly, but lethal.'

‘That's a bit strong, isn't it? Plenty of other people break speed limits, take drugs and the rest.'

‘Don't say you haven't been warned.'

Rona shrugged. ‘What time are you leaving this evening?'

‘Six fifteen. The car's collecting me first, as Dominic's meeting won't finish till half past.' She gave a twisted smile. ‘I had a spat about it yesterday with Jonathan; just as well I'd the book group to go to; I was seething, and you weren't here to calm me down.'

‘What was his problem?'

‘A wealthy client wanted to see us this evening and take us to dinner afterwards. I said I couldn't make it, and he launched into a tirade, asking if Dominic was picking me up by helicopter!'

Rona laughed. ‘A chauffeur-driven Daimler comes pretty close!'

‘Don't you start!' Lindsey glanced at her watch and pushed her chair back. ‘Look, I must go, or I'll be in everyone else's bad books, too. See you.'

And she was gone, her high heels clattering up the stairs. Rona, with a bemused shake of her head, poured herself another coffee.

EIGHT

L
indsey leaned back against the luxurious leather and breathed a sigh of relief. She'd managed to avoid Jonathan all day – possibly because he was avoiding her – but she couldn't help wondering how the meeting with Mr Steinbeck was going. She wouldn't put it past Jonathan to make some snide remark about her. Still, she had two whole days away from the office, and determined to put all thought of it out of her mind.

She turned to Dominic beside her. ‘Well, it's Friday now, so what's this surprise you wouldn't tell me about?'

‘You'll know soon enough,' he said, then, forestalling her indignant movement, he laughed. ‘All right, all right! Just that we'll have company on board.'