The Gallery

by Fredrica Alleyn

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Fredrica Alleyn

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Police officer Cressida Farleigh is called in to investigate a mysterious art fraud at a gallery specialising in modern erotic works. The gallery’s owner is under suspicion, but is also a charming and powerfully attractive man who throws the young woman’s powers of detection into confusion. Her long time detective boyfriend is soon getting jealous, but Cressida is also in the process of seducing a young artist of erotic images. As she finds herself drawn into a mesh of power games and personal discovery, the crimes continue and the case becomes ever more complex.

  About the Author

  Fredrica Alleyn is the pseudonym of an author who also writes crime and horror fiction. She lives in Lincoln.

  Also by Fredrica Alleyn:

  The Bracelet

  Cassandra’s Conflict

  Cassandra’s Chateau

  Deborah’s Discovery

  Dark Obsession

  Dramatic Affairs

  Fiona’s Fate

  The Gallery

  Fredrica Alleyn

  Chapter One

  CRESSIDA FARLEIGH LAY with her head against her lover’s chest and tried to glance at the bedside clock without him noticing. It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed herself – she had. As usual the sex had been highly satisfying, but she had to be up early the next morning for a special meeting and wanted to get back to her own home for a proper night’s sleep.

  Tom clearly sensed that she was restless and tightened his right arm across her back. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Cressida sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I’ve got to get home.’

  ‘Why? Honestly, Cressida, I don’t understand you. We both live alone, we’re single and answerable to no one but ourselves, so why is it that you’re always dashing off after we’ve made love?’

  ‘It’s the job,’ retorted Cressida, slipping free and swinging her feet to the floor. ‘We both keep such ghastly hours that we need our sleep, and we never sleep when we’re together!’

  ‘I don’t think the job’s got anything to do with it,’ he muttered, watching her put on her policewoman’s uniform and feeling himself stir again at the sight of her long legs in the black stockings. ‘I think you’re afraid of emotional commitment.’

  Cressida smiled at him. ‘So you’re becoming a psychiatrist now, are you? I think I prefer you as a detective sergeant – far less intrusive.’ Bending down she kissed him on the corner of his mouth. ‘I had a lovely time. Think of me tomorrow morning.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Of course I will. Hang on, let me put on a robe and I’ll show you out.’

  ‘There’s no need. After two and a half years I think I know the way!’ laughed Cressida. At the bedroom door she hesitated. ‘You really don’t know what this meeting is about, do you, Tom? As it’s CID I thought you might have some idea.’

  Propped up on one elbow, Tom tried to keep his face expressionless as he shook his head. ‘No, honestly, I haven’t a clue, but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. If you were in trouble someone would definitely have told me!’

  ‘I’ll let you know what it was about as soon as I leave,’ Cressida promised him. ‘You’re off tomorrow, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tom, feeling incredibly guilty because he wouldn’t be off at all. He would be at the meeting, a meeting that his department had been planning for the past week, only he was sworn to secrecy and it was more than his job was worth to tell Cressida anything about it before she was interviewed by the top brass.

  ‘Sleep well,’ murmured Cressida, then she was gone and he heard the front door close quietly behind her. Turning on his side, he stared at the brown and cream striped curtains that covered his bedroom windows. He’d known Cressida for three years and been going out with her for over two, but she still maintained an emotional distance that drove him to distraction. She said that she loved him, and he knew that she was totally faithful, but at the back of his mind there was always the fear that what she felt wasn’t really love at all and one day she might realise this.

  If he was totally honest with himself, it wasn’t an all-consuming passion either, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. She was responsive and he seemed to satisfy her, but he’d never yet seen her totally lose control of herself in the throes of sexual excitement. Considering what lay ahead of her after tomorrow’s meeting, he found this more than a little worrying. His only consolation was the possibility that Cressida wasn’t capable of anything more than she gave him, in which case he had nothing to fear.

  Totally unaware that Tom was in any way concerned about her or their relationship, Cressida arrived at her tiny terraced house in west London, gave her long-haired grey cat Muffin some food and then went straight up to bed where she fell asleep immediately. Unlike her lover, she never spent much time analysing herself or their relationship. As far as she was concerned they suited each other, and being in the same line of work they both understood the stresses and strains the days could bring.

  If anyone had asked Cressida that night if she was happy she would have said yes, completely happy. And this was the reason she’d been chosen for the meeting the following day. It was simply unfortunate that everyone, including Cressida, was wrong.

  At 10.30 the next morning, Cressida – wearing a straight, dark blue skirt that ended on the knee and a cream long-sleeved tunic top because she’d been ordered to appear out of uniform – was ushered into the chief superintendent’s office.

  She was surprised at the number of people sitting round the oval-shaped table. Most of them were unfamiliar to her, but when she saw Tom sitting there her eyes widened in astonishment and he looked away, clearly embarrassed at having lied to her the night before.

  ‘Sit down, WPC Farleigh,’ said a tall, bald-headed man who Cressida assumed must be in charge of the meeting. ‘I’m sorry we’ve had to keep you totally in the dark about all this, but we’re engaged in an extremely tricky undercover operation and we need your help.’

  ‘By “we” do you mean CID?’ asked Cressida as she sat down.

  ‘Yes. Detective Sergeant Penfold here knows all about it, but even he wasn’t allowed to breathe a word to you until we’d had our say.’

  ‘I see,’ said Cressida, glancing at the hapless Tom. ‘Well, he certainly obeyed orders.’

  A man sitting to the right of the bald-headed man leant forward slightly. ‘How much do you know about art, WPC Farleigh?’

  Cressida blinked in surprise. ‘Art? Not a lot. I know a Picasso from a Monet, but that’s about all. It isn’t a particular interest of mine.’

  ‘Pity,’ murmured the man, sitting back in his chair again.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said the bald man firmly. ‘WPC Farleigh’s an intelligent young woman. She can learn all she needs to know in ten days or so I’m sure. I think,’ he added as he saw the bemused look on Cressida’s face, ‘that we’d better start at the beginning.

  ‘First of all, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Williams and I’m from the fraud squad. We’re very interested in an art gallery that opened about ten months ago in Elgin Crescent in west London. It’s called Room With a View. Do you know it?’

  Cressida shook her head, totally bewildered by the entire conversation.

  ‘No
, well, you wouldn’t have any reason to, but the fact of the matter is it’s vital that we get someone inside the gallery who can report back to us. We’ve made a start – WPC Hinds here has been working there as a junior assistant-cum-receptionist for the past three months – but it hasn’t worked out the way we hoped so we’re pulling her out and you’ve been chosen to take her place.’

  Cressida looked across at WPC Hinds. She was young and small, with curly blonde hair, and she had a cheeky smile that she flashed at Cressida. She and Cressida could not have been more dissimilar, which made the choice totally bizarre.

  ‘I don’t know anything about being a receptionist,’ she pointed out. ‘Neither do I look at all like WPC Hinds.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Detective Chief Inspector Williams with obvious satisfaction. ‘That’s why we’ve chosen you. Susan here was chosen because we thought she looked right for what we wanted her to do, but now it seems that we were wrong. This time we’re going for someone who’s the opposite of Susan, and the general feeling in the station was that you and Susan have nothing at all in common!’

  Cressida, who was now more confused than when the conversation began, felt that this was probably not a compliment. Susan Hinds was clearly very attractive, sexy and lively, which Cressida felt reflected badly on her own rating on the scale of sexuality and feminine charm.

  ‘What was it that you wanted WPC Hinds to do?’ she asked quietly.

  One or two of the high-ranking officers sitting round the table averted their eyes and Tom turned a delicate shade of pink. Detective Chief Inspector Williams, however, had no qualms about telling her.

  ‘We wanted her to get very close to the owner of the gallery. His name’s Guy Cronje and women seem to fall for him if he so much as glances in their direction. Naturally we don’t really want you to fall for him, but we want him to believe that you have.’

  ‘How do I achieve that?’ queried Cressida, looking over at Tom, who still refused to meet her eyes.

  Detective Chief Inspector Williams cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out to you. You’re a woman of the world, a good policewoman and in a steady relationship with Detective Sergeant Penfold here. You know how many beans make five!’ There was some nervous laughter round the table.

  ‘The thing is, Cressida,’ said her usual boss, Inspector Cross, ‘those of us who know you well appreciate that you’re not the kind of girl to do anything silly. One of the reasons you’re so good at your job is that you don’t get involved emotionally. People trust you, and they sense that you care when they’re in trouble, but you always keep this barrier around you and that’s what counted most strongly in your favour. Let’s face it, Tom here wouldn’t be pleased if you got carried away by Guy Cronje’s charms and really fell for him, would he?’

  ‘I imagine not,’ said Cressida dryly, thinking that Tom was going to have a lot of explaining to do when they were next together. She also thought that her chief’s summary of her made her sound rather aloof, which wasn’t very pleasant. However, she knew that she had to sit there and listen to whatever they had to say and then go out and do the job because if she turned it down it would always go against her, and Cressida was ambitious.

  ‘Well?’ asked Detective Chief Inspector Williams. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘I still don’t understand what it is that I’m expected to do, apart from pretend to fall for the owner of this gallery. What’s he done wrong?’

  ‘Inspector Cross will fill you in on all that later. What I need to know is, are you willing to take on the job? WPC Hinds here will help you in a crash course on art, and she’ll recommend you as her replacement when the interviewing starts. You’ll have to do your bit, but they’ve no reason to suspect Sue’s motives. She never blew her cover or anything of that nature – it simply didn’t work out. You’d have to dress better than you have today, of course, but again WPC Hinds can give you some tips.’

  ‘How kind,’ muttered Cressida through gritted teeth.

  ‘Inspector Cross agrees that you’re perfect for the job, so do we have your agreement?’ persisted the detective chief inspector.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Cressida. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand what I’m going to be doing at the gallery, apart from pretending to be an artistic receptionist.’

  ‘No, well, once you’ve signed the secrecy agreement you’ll get full details,’ said Williams, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll leave all that to your chief and WPC Hinds here. The fraud squad’s a busy place, I’m afraid, and I’ve spent long enough here already. Good luck, WPC Farleigh. Having seen you I’m sure you’ll handle the detective side of it very well. I just hope that Guy Cronje –’ He pulled himself up abruptly. ‘Sorry, I was thinking aloud there. Once you’re safely ensconced in the gallery you’ll report directly to me on a number you’ll be given by Inspector Cross. Good luck. I hope to hear you’ve been taken on very soon.’

  Cressida stood up as he left the room and watched as most of the other people who’d been sitting round the table left with him. When the door finally closed only Inspector Cross, Tom and WPC Susan Hinds remained in the room with her.

  ‘Confused?’ asked Inspector Cross with his familiar smile.

  ‘Very,’ said Cressida, who was also feeling rather annoyed.

  ‘I’m not surprised, but when God visits you have to let him take charge! Now sign the secrecy agreement and then Susan here is going to take you off for the rest of the day and fill you in on the details. No doubt you’ll spend the entire evening discussing it all with Tom, and tomorrow morning you can come and see me with any questions that are still unanswered. But once you’ve got the job at the gallery you’ll be on your own. Poor Tom will have to take a back seat for a time, but he knows this, isn’t that right, Tom?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Tom in a muted voice.

  Susan Hinds touched Cressida on the arm. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll lunch at the Italian place round the corner and I’ll explain everything. Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I wish I’d done better, but you can’t make a man like short bubbly blondes if his taste runs more to tall enigmatic brunettes, can you?’

  As Cressida got to the door, Tom moved to her side. ‘I’ll call round tonight, at eight,’ he said urgently. ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t tell you about any of this but I’d have lost my job.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Cressida calmly, and logically she did, but somewhere deep inside her she couldn’t help feeling that he’d let her down.

  As both Cressida and Sue were officially off duty, they were able to drink plenty of the rough red Italian house wine with their pasta, so by the time they were halfway through their meal Cressida was feeling very relaxed about the whole operation.

  ‘Let me make sure I’ve got this right,’ she said, dipping her spoon into a delicious strawberry ice cream. ‘When Lord Michael Summers died in a car crash recently, the people who came in to check the value of his estate discovered that two of the paintings from his collection, a Rembrandt and a Monet, were forgeries, yes?’

  ‘The real point is,’ said Sue, ‘that when Lord Summers inherited the title on the death of his father, those paintings were the real thing. At some stage during his time as a peer of the realm they were replaced by copies.’

  Cressida nodded. ‘And his widow, Lady Alice, is saying that her husband used to visit the gallery this Guy Cronje owns and buy works done by new artists?’

  Susan nodded. ‘That’s what she says, and there are records at the gallery of purchases by the late lamented Lord Summers.’

  ‘But the fraud squad think that Guy Cronje and his partner … what’s her name?’

  ‘Marcia Neville.’

  ‘I must remember that. OK, so they think Guy and Marcia somehow managed to swap two incredibly valuable paintings from the estate’s collection for two copies. I can’t imagine how it would be done, though, can you?’

  Sue shrugged. ‘Well, there are ways. For o
ne thing, Guy and Marcia were socially friendly with Lord and Lady Summers and used to go to their house. It’s possible that Lady Alice, who’s only thirty and had a husband of sixty-nine, might have taken a shine to Guy and helped him, in return for favours – and a share of the money, no doubt.’

  ‘It’s all rather nebulous, isn’t it?’ queried Cressida. ‘I mean, why this urgent need for us to get someone inside the gallery? Two paintings missing from one estate is hardly earth shattering. Bad for the Summers family if the news gets out, but not large-scale crime.’

  Sue grinned. ‘You didn’t listen to me properly – it must be this potent cheap plonk! This kind of thing has been happening all over Europe in recent years, and every time Guy Cronje was an associate of the deceased owner. Interpol have had their eye on him for over three years. Naturally now it’s happened here we’d like to be the ones to catch him.’

  ‘You said you were pulled out because Guy didn’t fancy you,’ said Cressida slowly. ‘I take it he’s meant to fancy me?’

  Sue nodded. ‘He certainly is! I had to give the top brass an Identikit picture of his kind of woman, and they came up with you! To be honest, I don’t think it’s going to work this way because he and Marcia are very close and by all accounts he can have any other woman he wants too. Why should he start a fling with a lowly assistant at his own gallery?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ agreed Cressida. ‘Well, I don’t mind. In fact, the sooner I’m pulled out the happier I’ll be.’

  ‘I enjoyed myself there!’ laughed Sue. ‘I didn’t manage to get close to Guy, but there were other compensations, I can tell you. Some of the artists are fantastic lovers.’

  Cressida stared at her. ‘You mean you actually slept with them?’

  ‘No, but we had fantastic sex! Come on, Cressida, what do you think men and women do when they fancy each other? Hold hands in the back row of the cinema? If Guy does get interested in you, I don’t think you’re expected to act like a timorous virgin – that’s not his scene at all.’