Paint a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  As she spoke, the door opened and a tall slender woman paused in the doorway. She wore a peacock-blue tailored dress and a patterned silk scarf was slung with apparent carelessness around her neck.

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Vivien Taylor. It’s Alice, isn’t it? So nice to meet you.” A sunny smile exposed a dimple in Vivien’s cheek. She shook Alice’s hand, laying a maternal second hand on top. “I understand you’re holding the fort while Jenna’s away. I’m sure you’ll do splendidly.” She indicated a sofa on the other side of the office. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable.”

  Vivien sat down and crossed her shapely legs. Alice sat beside her.

  “Duncan told me all about Jenna’s accident. That poor girl, how dreadful.” Vivien leant close enough to Alice to exude a waft of Chanel No 5.

  “Now, you’ve come about Beach.”

  “Yes, that’s the painting Jenna was promised.”

  Vivien folded her hands in her lap. “This is a bit embarrassing, Alice, but I’m afraid there’s been a tiny mix-up.” Vivien dropped her chin to her chest. “When I told Jenna she could have Beach, I didn’t realise it had already been promised to someone else. Easy mistake to make. You can vouch for that Helen, can’t you?”

  Helen threw the councillor a hostile stare that made Alice wince, though it appeared to pass over Vivien’s head.

  “Unfortunately, it means the painting is no longer available for you. I know that’s a nuisance, I’m really sorry.” Vivien patted Alice’s hand. “However, I do want you to have a piece from the council’s collection for your exhibition, so I sent Peonies over. I realise it’s not what you expected, but I hope you understand.”

  Beach was the centenary exhibition’s star painting, and Alice was not going to face Duncan Jones without it.

  “That is unfortunate, Councillor Taylor …”

  “Call me Vivien, please.”

  “Vivien. But I’m keen to have Beach. Jenna was very excited about it, Duncan too. Actually, I don’t need it right now, the show doesn’t open until September. When do you expect it back?”

  “It’s a sweet suggestion, Alice, but it’s unlikely to be available before the exhibition opening. I can’t apologise enough. I would hate to let you down again, so I think it’s best if you take another piece. And Peonies is a delightful painting. Or, if you prefer, you can pick out something else?” Vivien uncrossed her legs and folded one ankle behind the other. “Monica Streatham looks after the administrative side of the collection, so make an appointment with her for a viewing and you can choose something else. I want you to be happy, Alice.”

  “That’s kind of you, Vivien, but Beach is the painting we want, it’s the best piece in the exhibition.”

  “I can see that you want to follow your boss’ instructions Alice. And believe me, I have tried to find a way around it, but I just can’t see an alternative.” Vivien clutched Alice’s arm. “I hope you can help me out on this Alice, we girls need to stick together.”

  Helen clacked at her keyboard, filling the silence.

  “Where is the painting now, may I ask?”

  Vivien’s lips pursed and a wrinkle broke her smooth brow. “Well, I’m not supposed to tell you, data protection and all that, but because I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself, I will. One of the council’s benefactors has the painting at their office. If it were anyone else, I would ask for it back straight away, but he has been so generous to us over the years and Beach is his favourite painting. He borrows it every year.”

  Finally, Alice felt defeated. “Well, thank you for explaining, though I’m really disappointed not to have this special work. I’ll take up your offer to see the collection though, perhaps I’ll find something similar.”

  She knew it was unlikely, but it would be fun to nose through an art collection that was hidden away most of the time.

  “Of course. Thank you for being so understanding. And to make up for letting you down, I have a surprise. I’m lending a painting from my own collection and I’m holding a kind of unveiling at my house tomorrow. I’ve invited the media too. It’s at twelve o’clock, I hope you’ll be there.” Vivien paused and arched her eyebrows, as if waiting to be congratulated.

  “That sounds … fun.”

  “I thought it would generate a bit of drama and give you some advance publicity for the exhibition.” Vivien lifted her hand, but Alice moved her own away just in time. “I’ve invited some friends along and we’ll have a drink to celebrate. It’s the least I can do, to make up for welching on my promise to you and Jenna.”

  “It’s good of you to go to all that trouble. By the way, what is the piece you’re lending? It wasn’t named on the list.”

  “When I met Jenna I hadn’t decided which one to lend and now it’s going to be a surprise! You’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Vivien stood up and ironed out a couple of creases in her dress. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Alice, thank you for coming over. Now you’ll have to excuse me as I’ve got another meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she disappeared.

  Alice stared after her. She wasn’t sure what just happened, but she was clear on one thing – she did not have Beach.

  “So, that’s sorted then.” Helen carried on typing, her eyes glued to her screen. “You can remember the way out, can’t you?”

  As she walked home, Alice played over the conversation with Vivien. The explanation for the missing painting seemed plausible enough – it could have been a genuine mistake. But if this generous benefactor borrowed Beach every year, surely Vivien would have remembered that when she promised it to Jenna? And who was this mysterious benefactor anyway?

  Now that the painting was unavailable, the letter Alice had received from ‘JM’ took on a whole new significance. Alice was dying to know what JM had to say about Beach. What could be so special about the painting that people were fighting over it?

  Chapter 3

  A fragile river breeze played with Alice’s hair as she turned onto Sam’s Lane. She tracked the path beside the River Nare, her long legs taking her swiftly past a line of barges. Great Wheaton’s small water-based community may have embraced an alternative way of living, but they had conventional methods of paying the rent, so the barges were deserted this morning.

  Except for one.

  “Roddy Rafferty!” she yelled to a man lying, open-mouthed, on a faded sun lounger. “Did you go to sleep with a lit cigarette in your hand again?”

  Alice crossed over the gangway to Roddy’s battered barge and jumped down to the peeling deck. He opened his eyes and swung his legs around to the side. Taking off a frayed straw hat, he threw it onto a director’s chair nearby.

  “I wasn’t asleep.” Charcoal eyes twinkled above an impish smile. “I just had my eyes closed.” Roddy threw his cigarette into the river.

  “Anyway, what are you doing home, it’s still morning? You didn’t get fired, did you?” Roddy prised his stocky frame off the lounger and put his hands on his hips, stretching his back. His paint-splattered t-shirt rose up, exposing more midriff than necessary. A mop of unruly curly hair and a bushy beard stuck out at odd angles, framing his sunburnt face with a grey halo.

  “Actually, I got promoted.” She stuck out her chin and raised a smug eyebrow. “To senior curator.”

  “Dear girl, that’s marvellous. Did you push the other girl down the stairs?”

  “Bad joke – she actually did fall down the stairs!” Alice lifted a hand against the sun. “So, I’m only filling in until she’s back. But I still get to be top curator for a while.”

  “And you thought you’d impress your new boss by skiving off down here!”

  “I’ve only come back to get changed into something cooler. I’m baked.”

  “It’s a scorcher okay, even the paint is melting.” He indicated a canvas propped against an easel at the other sid
e of the deck.

  “Hey, you didn’t tell me you were painting again.”

  “I don’t have to tell you everything I do, Miss Haydon.” Roddy’s velvet voice boomed through the air.

  “I’m a bit surprised, that’s all. Though I’m delighted you’ve started a new piece. Is it going well?”

  “It’s a decent start,” he said cheerfully, though without conviction.

  Alice took in the pencil outline of a river and fields beyond, overlaid here and there with broad brushstrokes of green and blue. A few drips streaked the canvas.

  “A landscape! And quite figurative. What happened to the abstracts?”

  “I’m all out of ideas, so I thought I’d borrow someone else’s – nature’s.”

  Alice rested a finger on her lip. The painting was barely there, though the pencil sketch was sound.

  “I see you’ve moved the big willow to the right, it works well there, I like it.”

  “Well even Mother Nature can’t escape improvement! And thanks, I’m pleased you like it.” Roddy grinned as he tugged at his beard.

  It would be a pity, she thought, if it ended up on the rubbish pile with all the other paintings he’d started. But a landscape? She wasn’t sure how that would turn out.

  “Well, good luck with the rest of it. Can’t stand here nattering, I need to get on.”

  “Pop over when you’re free and we’ll have a celebratory drink. I’ve got a nice bottle of red below.”

  “You’re on.” Alice waved as she headed back over the gangway and towards Daisy Dawn, the next barge along. Not for the first time, she was struck by the contrast between Roddy’s midden and Daisy, resplendent and pristine.

  She saw it as soon as she stepped onto the deck. The familiar black rucksack, plonked by the side of the saloon hatch, a navy blue helmet with a white stripe perched on top.

  “Crapola!” Alice threw hands to her mouth and looked up to the sky.

  She tiptoed down the companionway and into the saloon, where she found Joe Buchanan sitting on her sofa, reading a magazine.

  “Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you so early. Did Duncan give you the day off after all?” Joe smiled and rubbed his cheek, reddening the scar that ran temple to chin. He put the magazine down and bounced over to her, putting both hands on her shoulders. “That’s grand. Grab your bag, we need to make a move now or we’ll miss the flight.”

  Alice’s throat cramped and she struggled to swallow.

  “Is something wrong?” He ran a soft finger down her nose. “Don’t look so worried, we can stick to the original plan. Anyway, it’ll cause a stink if you change your flight now.”

  She tore her eyes away from him, from the open face and the kind smile.

  “I can’t come with you, Joe, I’m so sorry.” It came out before Alice could stop it. “I got promoted this morning to senior curator.” The words flew out in a torrent, as arms flapped. “I can’t go away, not on the same day, I’ve got so much to do.”

  Joe’s hands dropped from her shoulders. He pulled his body up to its full height and glared down at her, his blue eyes darkening. “We’ll only be away one night; you can get the early morning flight and still be here for starting time. And there’s internet in Galway you know, you can still get your emails.” His melodious Irish voice had a hardness that surprised her.

  Tears gathered. Cheeks burned. She turned away. “I have to stay, Joe. I’m sorry.”

  “Damn it, Alice!” Joe’s voice echoed around the saloon. “You promised Patrick you’d be there for his birthday. You promised me. And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  She half-turned towards him.

  “You’re always complaining about your job.” He was almost shouting. “How they treat you so badly. But now you’re telling me you’d rather do something for them, than be with me. I—”

  Joe’s cheeks cherried. He stared at her, fists clenched. Then he thundered across the saloon, took the steps in two bounds and disappeared through the hatch door. The barge shuddered as he slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 4

  When Alice arrived at The Coffee Pot, Livvie Manners was wiping chocolate splashes off a white wall.

  “Hey, you look frazzled. There’s some iced water on the counter. Help yourself.”

  Alice poured a large glass, dragged a bar stool underneath an air conditioning vent and bathed in its icy blast.

  Livvie threw a cleaning rag under the counter and wiped her hands on a paper towel. “So, how’s that gorgeous man of yours?”

  “Busy.” Alice squirmed as Joe’s angry face floated into her head. She should send him an apology text, but she was struggling to come up with the handful of words to say what needed to be said.

  “Hey, isn’t it Uncle Patrick’s party tonight? So, you should be in Galway now.”

  Alice related her row with Joe. “I messed up big this time, Livvie. But what do I do now? Joe and I have never fought like this.” She folded her arms on the counter and dropped her forehead onto them.

  “Get down on your knees and beg his forgiveness, is what you should do, Alice Haydon. That was bad, letting him down at the last minute like that. And for what? It’s just a job you know. But Joe …” She flicked a long black plait over her shoulder. “Well, you don’t find men like him every day, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Ouch. Don’t hold back, will you?”

  Livvie meant Joe or the job. It hardly seemed a fair choice. Joe left her all the time, travelling across the world for work. He was a war photographer when they first met and he would be away for weeks at a time. She accepted that went with the job. It was only recently, after he had given up war reporting, that she saw him for more than a few days at a time. She felt sure that he would have done the same thing in her position. But that did not stop the acrobats in her stomach.

  “And what about you and Steve? You work long hours here, how would he feel if you missed out on a family party?”

  “Steve is so absent-minded he wouldn’t notice if I had two heads. Remember the time we stopped at a garage for petrol and while I was in the shop he got in the car and drove off without me?”

  Alice laughed. “Okay, I get it. And that wasn’t even my first row today, I’d already had a spat with the council.” She repeated the episode with Vivien Taylor at the town hall.

  “So, why don’t you just take the flower painting she offered?”

  “Jenna picked out Beach because it’s an exciting painting and she planned the exhibition around it. When she comes back and finds that I haven’t got her showstopper, she’ll think I’m completely useless. I’m not blowing my promotion on day one by taking the understudy instead of the star.”

  Alice lifted up a plastic cake cover and helped herself to a chocolate brownie. “Put this on my tab, Livvie.” She bit into the crumbly square and closed her eyes, rolling the gooey, fudgy sumptuousness around her mouth. She opened her eyes to find Livvie staring at her.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much better. You know, it was that dead man in the river. Gave me the evil eye and brought me bad luck all day.”

  “You didn’t see his eye, he was floating face down. And don’t be disrespectful.”

  “Point taken, I apologise.” She swallowed the last piece of brownie. “Who was he, anyway? You hear everything.”

  “I don’t know, he hasn’t been identified apparently.” Livvie wiped crumbs off the wooden counter top. “But back to you, what are you going to do about your missing painting?”

  “I’ll find out who has it, then I’ll ring them up and get them to bring it back.”

  “Good luck with that, I’ve been arguing with the council for years. If it’s not business rates or hygiene conditions, it’s some other petty regulation they get heavy about. I’ve yet to meet anyone at Town Hall I would trust to run a bath.” Livvi
e reached beneath the counter and pulled out a bunch of papers.

  “I completed their tortuous tender process for a catering contract – at their invitation I might add – and this is my letter of rejection. I run the most successful café in town, with the highest Trip Advisor rating, but I’m not good enough for them.” Livvie’s dark eyes flashed as she tossed the letter into a bin.

  “Hey, I think you nearly lost your cool there, Miss Manners!”

  “I’m sorry, but the words Great, Wheaton and District Council are enough to bring me out in blue spots. And the new shopping centre they’re going to build on Dunn Road will be full of cafés – that’s even more competition.”

  “What can you do? Join the protest group and leaflet everyone in town? I saw them out this morning.”

  “Why not? I’ve already signed the petition. I catered for a meeting of theirs yesterday and caught some of the conversation, but next time I’m going as a fully fledged member.”

  “Well, I hope you enjoy it.” Alice picked up her bag from the floor. “I’d better get going. Duncan agreed that I could work from Daisy most of the time. Makes sense as I’ve got all Jenna’s work as well as my own and I’ll be free from office distractions.”

  “Now, if you want something for dinner, I’ve got one piece of spinach quiche left.”

  “I’ll have it, thanks. And a portion of potato salad please, if you can spare it.”

  Livvie packed up the food, handing it to Alice in a paper carrier bag. “Hey, stay cool now. And apologise to that man.”

  Alice walked through the café, turning right at the end of the courtyard and following Sam’s Lane along the river. A team of rowers powered through the water, sending ripples across the surface and ducks scurrying for the reeds. Caught in the sway, an aluminium boat rocked, stretching its occupant’s fishing line across the swell.

  At the end of the path, Alice came to a wooden fence marking the corner of Farrell’s field, where half a dozen ponies swished tails and chewed grass. The farmer ran riding stables and often turned out the ponies in the riverside paddock. At her whistle, a black and white skewbald pony pricked up its ears, trotted over and took a Polo from her flat palm.