The Colours of Murder

by Ali Carter

  ‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘It was so kind of you to include me,’ and then catching my breath, not wanting to waste this golden opportunity, I added, ‘Poor, poor Hailey. What a way to go.’

  Archie paused. ‘You have heard, haven’t you?’ his voice was chastened. ‘DCI Reynolds assured me he’d be in touch with you all.’

  ‘Yes, it’s just so sad she died.’

  ‘She was such fun wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Had you known each other long?’

  ‘No, not at all, Charlotte brought her to the party; none of the rest of us had ever met her before.’

  ‘Oh gosh, how awful.’

  ‘Yes, poor Lotty, although she’s much better now she knows there’s nothing any of us could have done.’

  Archie stopped to let me through the gate in front of him.

  ‘Are you rushing off?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have to.’

  ‘Well, if you’ve time why not come back to the Hall for coffee. I’d rather like to discuss you drawing Yin and Yang?’

  ‘Oh, how great! Yes, please. I’ll follow you in my car.’

  ‘Marvellous.’

  Soon after we were on our way Radio 4 cut out to my telephone ringing over the loudspeaker.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi Susie.’ It was Toby. ‘Thanks for the note. I’ve been out for the count. Stayed up far too late reading my book.’

  ‘That’s okay. You’ll never guess what, I’ve just bumped into Archie.’

  ‘In the supermarket?’

  ‘No. I’ll explain later but do you mind if I have a quick cup of coffee? I won’t be long.’

  ‘With him? Are you sure you want to go alone?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, I never said did I? They’ve closed Hailey’s case.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘DCI Reynolds. I spoke to him this morning. He says Hailey died from a very rare type of kidney stones that produced an excessive amount of calcium oxalate.’

  ‘Enough to kill her?’

  ‘Apparently, but I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It’ll be true if they said so.’

  ‘But, Toby, you didn’t think so.’

  ‘I’m not a nephrologist but I can’t honestly believe it from the findings I saw, which makes me think there must have been other tests or another report.’

  ‘What happens if there wasn’t?’

  ‘There must have been.’

  ‘Maybe the medics wanted a quick conclusion?’

  ‘Impossible, the compliance department would have pulled them up.’

  Archie’s Land Rover indicated left.

  ‘Toby I’m going to have to go, I’m sorry, we’re about to arrive at the Hall.’

  ‘Just quickly,’ he said, ‘I was thinking we could go to the beach at some point today, are you keen?’

  ‘I’d love that; I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  I hung up, thrilled at the thought of swimming in the sea. Only last night was I regretting the fact I hadn’t made time for it.

  Archie turned over a brick under the belladonna plant and unlocked his front door. I was half expecting a déjà vu of Daniel standing on the doorstep but he was no longer here. Yin and Yang rushed out, their nails clipping the paving stones as they made for the lawn.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful day,’ said Archie. ‘Let’s sit in the garden, there’s a table over there, I’ll bring the coffee out.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I was a little put out he didn’t want me in the house but I can be oversensitive at times so maybe there was nothing in it. Both his dogs were sniffing and snuffling around me, yet another visitor in a long week of investigative intrusion. And as their excessive curiosity kept them close by, I sat down at the round cast-iron table, and did a very quick sketch of each.

  ‘Can I have a look?’ said Archie laying down a tray.

  ‘It’s only a preliminary drawing.’ I turned the page for him to see. ‘I’ve never noticed it before but a lurcher’s posture almost echoes a racehorse’s.’

  I was hoping Archie was going to continue the point, me having done my very best to introduce racehorses into the conversation but instead he said, ‘I’m sorry we never got to discuss your art properly on Saturday evening.’

  He began pouring a detestable-looking murky brown liquid into two porcelain cups. Poor Archie really must be at a loss without his staff – coffee obviously no longer has instructions on the packet.

  ‘Milk?’ he asked holding up a small elegant jug with, yes, the Norland family crest on it.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘So, Susie, let us say I’d possibly like you to draw Yin and Yang, how would you go about it?’

  Archie’s non-committal approach is one I’m quite used to amongst aristocratic clients. Old families often suggest they’re short on spare cash, keeping their cards close to their chest. I knew Archie would bite in the end, they always do once I let on how lucky I am to be drawing their pet.

  I talked him through my terms of business. ‘I’d come here and spend a happy three hours minimum with your beautiful dogs, taking photographs, sketching and hanging out, getting a feeling for their characters and how they move. I would then get back in touch with you when I’ve finished the drawings.’

  ‘I see, that’s how it works is it, or do you sometimes draw on the spot?’

  ‘I do lots of sketches on the spot but I always finish the final picture at home. It helps not to have the owner looking over my shoulder.’

  ‘I can completely understand that.’ Archie’s deliberately enchanting smile was on full display. ‘Now, you mentioned draw-ings. Does that mean you’d do two separate pictures? I’d much prefer them to be together in one.’

  ‘No, I could definitely draw them together. It would make a really nice picture, Yin being so black and Yang so light.’

  ‘Okay, great. Now, how are we going to portray them?’

  Anyone creative knows the one thing you can’t do is ‘tell’ an artist how you want the picture to be. If it was this easy we’d all be churning out perfect portraits. But, no, we have to wait for the spark – a flick of a tail, a pause of a paw – this then dictates the characterful pose.

  ‘To be completely straightforward,’ I said, ‘I can’t draw truthfully unless I’m left to decide the pose and composition, on the agreement you only pay if you’re happy with the final picture. Absolutely no hard feelings if not.’

  ‘That sounds a good deal to me. Can we agree on it?’

  Oh heck! I couldn’t realistically afford to turn down two dog portraits but I really didn’t want to tie myself into a commission with Archie just yet. First, I wanted to be convinced Hailey wasn’t murdered, and right now, although alone in it, I wasn’t.

  I flicked through my sketchbook as if it doubled up as a diary, giving myself time to figure out how to show willing without committing.

  ‘I’d really love to draw spritely Yin and adorable Yang but I have a lot on my plate at the minute. Would it be at all possible for me to visit you when I return with Mr McCann’s horses, probably in about ten weeks or so?’

  ‘Of course,’ came his welcome reply. ‘Whatever works for you. I’m in no rush.’

  Archie took a final sip of coffee and then, as if it had just popped into his head, which undoubtedly it hadn’t – him being a successful businessman in his own right – he said, ‘I suppose I should ask how much you charge?’

  ‘I have a flat fee per pet, not per drawing. Here,’ I got a card out of my wallet, ‘it’s all on this, travel is charged on top.’

  ‘What a marvellous painting that is,’ he said looking at the front of it and I decided maybe Archie did have taste after all.

  ‘Thank you,’ I smiled. ‘It’s a parasol in Tuscany.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, blue are the hills that are far away.’ He looked up and the intensity in his eyes flushed me with awkwardness. ‘This painting has a calm nature I’ve rarely seen in contemporary
art.’

  Not one bit of me wanted to discuss the personal nature of my work with Archie. I had to divert the conversation but all the topics that came springing into mind were far too bold: Catholicism; his setting off the burglar alarm; how long Daniel had stayed; had he ever heard of these rare kidney stones; his family museum… Yes, his family museum: this was the crux of the knot in my tongue, I knew too much about Archie to ask anything at all.

  I’ve only ever been in this position once before, when I won a competition that led to a day’s drawing in the Royal Collection. In the afternoon, there was a drinks reception and I found myself in a room with the next in line to the throne. Not wanting to miss the opportunity of speaking to him I hovered on the outskirts of the sycophantic crowd, waiting for my moment of introduction. When I eventually got to the front I was absolutely lost for words. I knew so much about this man, whether truth or speculation, and he didn’t know me from Adam. With a glass of champagne in my hand I envied what was in his and found myself asking, ‘Where did you get your cup of tea from?’

  How embarrassing is that!

  The attentive waitress rushed off at his request and as we waited for her return the Prince spoke to me about my career with genuine interest, taking the time to engage and be supportive, something I’ll never forget.

  Now, as I forced down one final sip of filthy coffee I drew attention to the family crest on the saucer.

  ‘Yes, that boar would frighten off the riff-raff,’ said Archie. ‘I’ve always wished my family would do away with the rose so as his head would have more space but it’s bad luck to tamper with one’s crest so we’re stuck with this curly confusion.’

  ‘Is the rose a symbol of England?’

  ‘Ah ha! My father would tell you that but in fact there’s more to it.’ Archie gave an insinuating chuckle, gosh he was in a good mood, and I put it down to relief from the kidney stones verdict. He went on, ‘According to the oral history that’s come down through my ancestors Henry VIII took a shine to my great, great, great, great,’ I smiled as Archie spelt it out, ‘great, great, great, great, grandmamma and allusions to this are weaved into our family’s crest.’ With excitement he pushed the tray to one side. ‘If you look here,’ he pointed at the centrepiece of the table, ‘it’s seen better days but this is the Norland coat of arms.’

  ‘Oh yes, look at that,’ I exclaimed, as if seeing it for the first time.

  ‘The red rose can be a symbol of love and desire and the acacia leaves stand for eternal and affectionate remembrance.’ He pointed at the different elements, explaining them with a fluency that obviously comes with the title.

  ‘No one actually knows,’ he said, lifting his head, smiling at me, ‘if my grandmamma in question was a mistress to the King. But, I like to think she was, although my father won’t hear any mention of it.’

  With a sudden burst of daring confidence, I asked him when his family reverted back to Catholicism.

  ‘With me,’ he answered proudly. ‘Although I didn’t instigate it. When my dear mama gave birth, she longed for her little boy, me, to be christened a Catholic. She got her way with my father by saying it would be our family’s way of revenging the infidelity in the past.’

  ‘And your father agreed?’

  ‘Let’s just say my father likes to please my mother so he didn’t stand in her way.’

  Wow, Archie’s mother had it easy.

  ‘Probably like you,’ he said, ‘I was making up today for having missed Mass on Sunday.’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled at him, us having found an isolated patch of common ground.

  ‘More coffee?’ he held up the cafetière.

  ‘No, thank you. One cup’s enough for me. By the way, I bumped into Primrose and Stanley at Ingle races on Monday.’

  ‘How amusing. I used to watch my horse race there.’

  ‘Did you co-own it with Victoria Ramsbottom’s husband?’

  ‘I did indeed. It makes me sad to think about it. Poor Vicky is really suffering. I didn’t realise quite how much until she rang yesterday to apologise for leaving early on Saturday night.’

  ‘Did something upset her?’

  ‘She found a photograph of her husband and awash with emotion she borrowed it to copy. Didn’t want to have to explain in front of you all so she rushed off home. It’s no wonder the pudding was forgotten.’

  ‘How incredibly sad,’ I said, longing to believe this really was why she left early.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Archie. ‘Having been friendly with her husband I feel protective of Vicky, alone and in need of income, which is why I employed her to cook at the weekend. I’m hoping the Geralds might jump on the bandwagon and give her future work.’

  ‘Stanley and Primrose have recently moved near here, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yes, I’m so lucky one of my oldest friends came to live so close. I’m very fond of Primrose. Our families have known each other a long time.’

  Archie’s words made me wonder if he’d have liked to marry her. And if so, why didn’t he? Surely Primrose — my friend Snoberina – would have wanted to marry the Honourable Archibald Barnabas Cooke Wellingham rather than Stanley Gerald, the second son of a family who have a first name as a surname.

  ‘What was her maiden name?’

  ‘de Bynninge,’ he said and with a terrible combination of self-congratulation and surprise I let the word ‘Seriously?!’ shoot out of my mouth.

  ‘Yes. Why?’ Archie challenged. ‘Do you know them?’

  Having dropped myself in it I saw no reason to stop, ‘No, but, the de Bynninges are in business with your family, aren’t they?’

  ‘They have been for years but not any more.’ Archie promptly stood up and, giving me no choice in the matter, he instructed, ‘Come and see a statue I’ve recently bought? It’s down here, in the rose garden.’

  He’d left the table and was off. No great speed at that. Archie’s legs were struggling with the aftermath of Saturday’s spurt of exercise.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked as I ducked under the arched arbour into a circular courtyard with an enormous, and I mean enormous, bronze hare in pride of place.

  How I hadn’t seen this animal protruding above the hedgerows on my tour with Daniel I do not know, but now, here it was in full view, heads above everything else. It had legs akimbo, one arm on a hip and the other rigidly protruding with phallic connotations.

  This was the most skin-creepingly unattractive, anthropomorphic leporid sculpture I’d ever seen. And having learnt the hard way in life that a difference of opinion with most people is taken as a personal criticism, I knew, when Archie asked, ‘What do you think?’, it was in fact a rhetorical question. All I had to do was agree. But, I find it impossible not to say what I’m thinking or at least not do injustice to what I’m thinking.

  So, no matter how bad it was I decided to crack a joke in reply, ‘Where’s he off to?’

  Archie laughed. ‘I like that! He’s headed for the hills.’

  And as we turned back the way we’d come I avoided pointing out that Norfolk has no hills.

  ‘Do you own a greenhouse?’ I asked.

  ‘Not here, Susie. You sound just like Daniel. He’s always nagging at me to get one. He thinks it’s more likely I’d get permission to grow the seeds he wants to bring back from China.’

  ‘Why is Daniel so keen on plants?’

  ‘He’s bonkers about Chinese medicine and consequently a right botany bore.’ Archie’s feet attempted to speed up. ‘I’m afraid Susie, I must be getting on but it’s been lovely to see you.’

  ‘Thank you for asking me to draw your dogs. It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, I’m pleased you’d like to.’

  Archie pulled open with a squeak the small decorative gate into the yard and told me how glad he was that we’d bumped into each other. ‘I’m particularly pleased,’ he said, ‘I’ve had the opportunity to apologise for the very sad death at the weekend and all the investigation
fuss you’ve been wrapped up in. I’m so sorry.’

  We’ve been wrapped up in because of you, is what I thought. Archie the man in the stripy pyjamas who’d wasted everyone’s time by not having the decency to admit straightaway that Hailey was dead. I wasn’t willing to accept his apology and grasped the moment to ask, ‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance as soon as you realised Hailey was dead?’

  Crisp and clear Archie replied, ‘I set off the alarm to get help as soon as possible without any of my visitors being held accountable.’

  And there it was, the first glimpse I’d had of Archibald the Chief Executive Officer, the authoritative tone in his voice, seeing me on my way. And as I sailed down his drive, I wondered to myself why the thought that one of us would’ve been held accountable had ever crossed his mind.

  Toby looked up from the bench outside Lucy’s as he heard my car arrive.

  ‘Where on earth did you bump into Archibald Wellingham?’ he said snapping his book shut and jumping up.

  ‘I went to Mass,’ I said, no longer holding back now I was here to witness his reaction.

  ‘You’re as bad as my mother. She’s forever going to Mass. You’d think she had a stream of sins.’

  Phew, Toby hadn’t winced at the mention of religion and even better, he didn’t crack a bad joke about Catholics. I don’t have strong views on what others believe or whether they believe at all but I would find it difficult to be with someone who belittled my faith. It’s something I’m private about, but it is important to me.

  ‘What on earth was a Wellingham doing in a Catholic church?’

  ‘Great isn’t it? First Catholic heir since the sixteenth century. Archie’s mother is a Catholic.’

  ‘That’s so funny and absolutely typical of you to have bumped into him in such highly unlikely circumstances.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Hey, what’s that book you’re reading?’

  ‘Do you know it? It’s excellent.’

  Toby handed it to me but I’d never seen or heard of it before.