by Lily Ashton
“Good, start with those. Who are we talking about?”
“Well there’s Duncan and Tommy, actually everyone at Gregory’s House as I told them at the team meeting that the drawing had arrived. Vivien herself, of course. Other than that, I don’t know.”
Roddy twirled strands of beard between his fingers. “I think we can discount all of those.”
“There has to be someone else who knew when the drawing would be at the gallery. And it must have come from Vivien. Though other than asking her who she told, I don’t know how we’d find out.”
“Ask her then. When you’re apologising for losing her drawing.”
Alice felt the colour drain from her face.
“Someone from the gallery should speak to her and I’m sure it won’t be Duncan. I suppose as senior curator, it will have to be me. Though the thought of facing Vivien Taylor makes me want to heave.”
“It’s tough at the top!”
Chapter 21
Alice parked the Defender in Vivien Taylor’s driveway, while Walker Hampton watched from the doorstep. During her vomit-inducing journey to Larchmore she had run through what she would say to Vivien. But she had not factored in seeing Walker first. Whether he was a better or a worse prospect was a moot point, but she was thrown by his presence.
She got out the car, shaky legs unsteady on the gravel, and walked around to the passenger side, retrieving an arrangement of flowers.
“Thanks.” Walker raised an eyebrow. “But I would have preferred wine.”
“They’re for Vivien,” said Alice. “To apologise for the disappearance of her drawing.” She was going to say “theft” but it sounded too final.
“You won’t calm Vivien down with flowers. Still, at least you’ve made more effort than your boss. We haven’t heard a thing from him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon,” she said, without conviction.
“Whatever. Vivien’s not here by the way, so you can leave those on the doorstep. I’m just off out too.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I wanted to ask her something – something that might help in tracking the drawing down.” Walker raised both eyebrows this time. “And to apologise, of course.”
“What do you want to know? The police have already been here asking lots of questions. I’m sure they have it in hand.”
“I know they do, but the disappearance happened at our gallery and I feel responsible. And I can help. With our contacts in the art world, we have a reach the police don’t.”
“In that case, you can ask me. I’m just off for a whirl with Greta. Come over and say hello.”
Walker strode across the driveway; Alice followed. He stopped at a timber-framed carport and with an imbecilic grin said, “Just arrived. My new car. What do you think of her?”
A sports car, glistening like a newborn, stood alone on the gravel.
“Please excuse my car ignorance, but what sort is it?”
“Porsche Cayman GTS convertible. Bit of a hybrid between the 911 and the Boxter. Newish car, no real history, but I thought I’d give it a go. I had it sprayed Atlantic Blue – a bit smarter than the original grey. So, do you like her?”
“She’s the nicest Cayman I’ve seen.”
“How kind of you to say so. Though don’t tell the missus, she’ll get jealous!” He patted the car’s bonnet. “I was going to take her out for a drive. Jump in and you can see how she moves.”
Walker opened the passenger door and gestured Alice to get in. He was wearing the same faded jeans he had worn at Vivien’s party, but with a casual caramel shirt and a ridiculously broad smile.
It was the perfect afternoon for driving around pretty country lanes in a flashy sports car, but Alice couldn’t help wondering whether a spin with Vivien’s husband was appropriate in the circumstances. Or in any circumstances.
“Thanks, but I really should get back to work.”
“You’ve just arrived. I’ll put the roof down and we’ll go around the block, won’t take long. Hop in.”
At least she could ask him whether anyone else knew when the drawing was to be delivered to the gallery. Alice had never been in a sports car before, though she had once ridden on the back of Joe’s motorbike. They had just met and she was intrigued enough to want to spend some time with him, otherwise she would never have agreed. She had regretted it the minute they set off. She had struggled to hold on to Joe against a side wind that threatened to turf her off at every bend – added to which it was freezing cold.
But Walker’s car was another matter. The roof folded in on itself and disappeared behind the back seat, and Walker guided the car around the gravel turning circle and down the driveway. The sun warmed Alice’s face. On the road, Walker pressed the accelerator and the car sped away, leaving Alice’s breath behind.
It was too noisy for conversation, so Alice relaxed and enjoyed the ride. Little Cornbury zoomed by and soon they were speeding along the river road towards Narebridge.
Before they reached the town, Walker turned off the road and pulled into the car park of The Shepherdess pub.
“Let’s have a quick drink. It’s a pity not to on such a nice day.”
Walker leapt out and opened Alice’s door. He headed inside the pub, directing Alice to the garden on the river bank, where she sat at a wooden table with a canvas umbrella. On the next table, office-dressed people dipped French fries into pots of ketchup over lunchtime chatter.
Walker appeared with two glasses of white wine. “Here’s to sunny afternoons and good wine.”
“And to Cayman convertibles!”
“You remembered the name.” Walker took off his sunglasses, revealing bright, playful eyes. “I’m impressed.”
Alice returned his easy smile.
“Now, if you want to carry on apologising for losing Vivien’s drawing, I’m ready and waiting!”
“I don’t know what I can say, other than I’m really sorry. The gallery was locked and alarmed, it’s a mystery to us how the drawing could have disappeared.”
“Perhaps it was an inside job, that’s usually the story behind these thefts. Not that I suspect you of course, and Jones wouldn’t have the guts to do it.”
A pang shot through her chest. Her palms and forehead began to sweat.
“You look hot.” Walker took off his watch and rubbed pale skin underneath. “Do you want to sit inside? It’s cooler in there.”
“No, I’m fine. Actually” – she paused, gathering the words – “I wanted to ask you about the drawing, whether you have any idea who might have stolen it. It’s odd that it was taken from the gallery and not from your house.” She rubbed the pad of her finger with her thumb. “Vivien insisted that details about its delivery to the gallery were kept confidential, but somebody must have known when it was going to be there, as it disappeared shortly afterwards. Perhaps Vivien inadvertently told someone else the delivery time. Is that possible, and if so do you have any idea who?”
“No, I don’t. Though Julian knew of course.”
“Julian de Havilland?”
“Yes, he had dinner with us the night before the party and Vivien mentioned the delivery then. I remember them discussing when would be the best time.”
Julian de Havilland again. The man was everywhere.
“Well, that’s one man who’s not making himself popular, what with his plan for the shopping centre. I’ve yet to meet anyone who supports it.”
“You can count me with them too, it’s going to look hideous. I’ve seen an artist’s impression and it looks like an old Soviet prison block. I don’t know what he was thinking of.”
“Perhaps you should sign the petition against it.”
“I already have. You should too, seeing as there’ll be a commercial gallery on the site.”
“I didn’t know that. Still, that’s not really a comp
etitor as we don’t sell art. I don’t suppose Vivien is pleased about your opposition, seeing as it’s her own council’s proposal.”
“The project will go ahead whatever I think. Besides, Jason Marley was a friend of mine and Vivien always knew I would support him.” Walker looked over the river. “Not sure what will happen to the group now that he’s gone. He’d put so much into it.”
Alice stopped her glass mid-air.
“How well did you know Jason?”
“We grew up together. His family were tenants on my father’s land. Jason and I were the same age and we both hated school.” Walker’s face lit up and he moved his glass to one side, allowing room for his constant hand gestures. “When we met, I’d just been expelled from my second school and Jason had bunked out of his. We spent the afternoon fishing in this river, up near Narebridge, and the next day we went hunting for rabbits in the woods. Those were the days.”
Alice gazed into her wine.
“I think that Jason sent me a letter just before he died. It was signed ‘JM’. As you knew him so well, do you think you could tell if it’s his handwriting?”
“Probably. He was fond of writing letters. I’ve still got a few at home, but those are signed ‘Socks’.” Walker winked. “Don’t ask!”
Alice took the letter out of her bag and handed it to Walker. “Did he write that?”
Walker’s face clouded. “Yes, that’s definitely his writing. But why did he want to speak to you about a beach?”
“It’s complicated!” Alice smiled. “I didn’t know you were from around here. Where did you live?”
“The Hamptons used to own everything you can see around us and our house was that one over there. But it was sold years ago, along with most of the estate.”
“Is Larchmore part of the estate?”
“No, that belongs to Vivien. My family fell on hard times, which is to say, my uncle gambled the family fortune away. When my father died there was hardly anything left and I’ve had to live on my wits ever since.”
To Alice, the poor-boy-made-good backstory sounded suspiciously like the preamble to a pick-up line.
“I was surprised to see you with that old lush Rafferty the other day. Doesn’t seem your type.”
Et, voilà!
“He’s helping me with the exhibition. But he’s also doing a piece specially to submit.”
She immediately regretted saying that out loud. Roddy would be furious.
“A new work by Roddy Rafferty, now that is a coup. I’d love to see it. Would it be possible to get a sneak preview?”
“I’m not sure.” Alice avoided his eyes. “We’re not telling anyone about it yet – it’s a surprise. You’d need to keep it to yourself.”
“You bet. I wouldn’t want anyone else getting their hands on that painting first.”
“You’ve bought Roddy’s work before, I believe.”
“I have indeed, good stuff they were too, back in the day. I wish I’d hung on to them, they’d be worth a lot more now. Still, who would have known that terrible accident was coming. Threw his career off course for years.”
Walker drained his drink and forced a smile.
“Time to head back.”
Chapter 22
Walker pulled up in front of the carport and killed the engine. There was no other car around – Vivien wasn’t back.
Alice let herself out before Walker got to the door.
“That’s a big garage for only two cars,” she said.
“We’ve got other cars. The BMW’s having a prang repaired. I’ve also got a Defender like yours, which I’ve lent to one of our neighbours.”
Alice shuffled on the driveway, moving the gravel beneath her blue Vans.
“If you’ve got time, I’ll show you some of my own paintings.” Walker flicked a speck of dust from the car’s bonnet.
Alice hesitated. She should head on really, but the opportunity to see Walker’s studio was irresistible. She nodded, following him along a path that took them past the carport and through a spinney.
The path tracked up through the trees and opened into a clearing at the top of a hillock, where a lonely whitewashed summerhouse stood, encircled with a covered veranda.
Walker unlocked the door, revealing a deceptively large, open studio, flooded with light from tall windows on every side. A couple of easels held paintings at different stages of progress. A selection of palettes, an electric kettle and a collection of dirty rags made up the usual artist’s paraphernalia. Not many studios, however, had a smart shower room and kitchen like the ones she found through a door at the end. Or a gun cupboard!
“Those are my father’s rifles. Vivien won’t have guns in the house. That Remington there?” Walker pointed to one of the four rifles in the glass-fronted cupboard. “That’s the one that Marley and I used to hunt rabbits.”
“Did the rabbit population tremble with fear when they saw you and your Remington coming?”
“You better believe it. I’m a crack shot.”
On the other side of the studio, a deep wooden shelf cut the wall into two halves. A line of racks along the bottom, similar to the storage units in Gregory’s House, held a few framed canvases, though from the edges of the paintings Alice could see that most of the pieces were unfinished.
Walker thrust out both arms. “Welcome to my hideaway. It’s quiet and relaxing and the views are great for painting. But best of all, as you can’t see the studio from the house, nobody knows I’m here.”
Alice looked through the windows at the panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. There was no getting away from it – this was a magical spot.
Walker rummaged through the racks and pulled out a few canvases.
“Most of my work features the immediate surroundings.” He pointed east, across the river. “I did this series of paintings last year, the same scene through each of the seasons.”
He lay four canvases in a neat row across the table. The series began with a snow-covered landscape, which burst into greening spring in the second canvas. A languid, hazy summer scene followed and finally autumn, with lush burgundy leaves and bushes heavy with berries. Alice examined the canvases, taking in the small details. There was a single bird, appropriate to the season, in a corner of each picture.
She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“These compositions are thoughtful and interesting, Walker. They’re good. I really like them.”
“That’s sweet of you, though I’d give anything to be able to paint really well.” Walker sighed and Alice gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. As she did so, Walker’s face moved closer and his eyes anchored on hers. Alice felt his breath on her cheek.
She flinched, turning her head away and instinctively raising her hand so that it occupied the space between them. Not only was he old enough to be her father, but—
“Yeow!” A high-pitched squeal made them both jump.
Saved by the bell …
“What on earth was that?” Alice looked around her.
“It sounded like an animal in pain. I think it’s coming from down there.” Walker went to one end of the storage unit and began rifled through canvases.
“You start at the other end, I’m sure it’s somewhere here.”
Alice began moving canvases. They had been placed at the front, leaving an empty space behind – ample room for a small animal to hunker down, hidden from view.
“Meow.” The sound was softer this time, but it was close by, so Alice pulled out all the paintings in the next rack, and at the back of the unit she found a marmalade kitten, its green eyes staring out at her.
Alice pulled the kitten out and held it into her chest.
“Here’s the culprit. Must have been there all night. It’s so tiny!” She stroked the top of its head. “I wonder where it came from.
”
“There are loads of cats around here. They sleep outside on the veranda. I feed them sometimes, so they’ve probably told all their friends there’s free food here.”
The kitten looked at Alice with big, soulful eyes.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Well I hope the little blighter hasn’t damaged any of my work.”
Walker examined his canvases, while Alice played with the kitten. He took out a framed painting, propping it up against a table leg.
“Damaged?”
“No, it’s fine. It shouldn’t be here, it belongs in the house.” Walker picked up the painting, tucking it under his arm. “We should go.”
Outside, Walker led Alice around the veranda to the back of the studio.
“You can put the kitten down here, this is where the adults tend to hang out.”
Alice crouched down and the kitten jumped out of her arms. It steadied itself on the wooden decking and, finding its feet, leapt off the side, scampering towards the woods. They watched it until it disappeared under the foliage.
“The views up here are spectacular. No wonder you like it so much.”
“There’s always something interesting going on; I never get bored of looking at the river.”
Alice followed the decking around the studio. They were just a few minutes out of Great Wheaton, but concrete gave way to plants and trees that looked as if they went on forever. The Narebridge road they had driven along earlier was just below. Alice followed the line of tarmac as it swept around the bend, disappearing underneath an elderly chestnut tree, its branches stretching across the road.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Walker, and showing me your paintings. They’re very impressive.”
“You’re being kind, but I’ll take the compliment.”
“Have you thought about putting a piece in the centenary exhibition? I’d love to have more original work from local artists.”