‘A policeman? That, I admit, is slightly more intriguing, but I suppose that policemen do have girlfriends.’
‘I don’t trust Cressida Farleigh,’ said Marcia. ‘She’s too good to be true.’
‘Too attractive for your liking is nearer the mark,’ said Guy casually.
‘I caught her going through the files, remember?’ Marcia pointed out.
‘Yes, but she had a genuine reason. She’d had a customer call with a painting that needed cleaning; he did come back, and we’ve done the job.’
Marcia exhaled a long, slow breath. ‘I’m sure there’s something wrong, Guy. Jealousy doesn’t explain the feeling I’ve got about her.’
‘We’ll talk to her about this after the party,’ said Guy. ‘She didn’t see us, did she? If she’s honest about the man she was with then that’s an end to it.’
The following morning Cressida went to work at the gallery feeling very tense. She wondered how long it would be before either Marcia or Guy summoned her to the office and asked her about her dinner date, but as time went by and nothing happened she started to think that perhaps she and Tom had got away with it after all.
Common sense told her that neither of her employers would know Tom was a policeman, and they probably weren’t the least bit interested if she was two-timing Rick. There was also the faint hope that Marcia would remember having seen Tom in the gallery and Cressida’s description of him as an obsessed customer.
Marcia was very agreeable all morning, so much so that Cressida wondered if it was a trap, but deciding this was total paranoia she attempted to relax and by the afternoon was feeling far more comfortable again.
At two o’clock Rick called in, and she was very relieved to see the familiar smile on his face as he approached her. ‘I’d like to make love to you right here, on the desk,’ he whispered, bending his head close to hers.
Cressida grinned. ‘Why don’t you then?’ she suggested.
‘I wouldn’t want to shock Leonora. Sir Peter would never forgive me.’
Cressida felt the familiar buzz of anticipation when undercover work took an unexpected upturn. ‘I didn’t know you knew Sir Peter,’ she said casually.
Rick hesitated. ‘Well, I don’t know him in the same way as Guy knows him; I mean, I’m not a personal friend, but I’ve met him at showings and the occasional dinner party.’
‘Does he collect your work?’ asked Cressida.
Rick laughed. ‘No, I’m not at all his style; he’s far more conventional, except when it comes to choosing wives. Have you met the third Lady Thornton? She’s a knockout.’
‘I haven’t,’ admitted Cressida. ‘All I know about her is that Leonora doesn’t like her.’
‘No women like her!’ laughed Rick. ‘She’s competition with a capital C. Now, before I go and speak to Guy, are you free tomorrow night? Guy and Marcia are holding a party at Marcia’s place in Chelsea and we’re invited.’
‘What kind of a party?’ asked Cressida.
Rick sighed. ‘You always have to dress well for Marcia’s parties so casual gear’s out, but it won’t be a big affair. Usually there are about a dozen guests. We have a meal and then mingle and chat.’
‘Are the guests mostly artists?’
Rick shook his head. ‘No, usually they’re collectors. I’m about the only artist that Guy mixes with socially; I’m his token bohemian!’
‘Sounds nice,’ agreed Cressida.
‘Good, I’ll pick you up just before eight tomorrow evening.
You won’t recognise me – I’ll be in a dinner jacket.’
‘In that case I certainly won’t!’ laughed Cressida.
All the time Rick was in with Guy, Cressida was nervous in case he was being told about her outing the previous evening, but when Rick finally left he gave her a quick wink and she knew that she was safe. Later Polly came in for a couple of hours and Cressida was so pleased to see her back and have someone to talk to again that the rest of the afternoon flew by.
On the Wednesday Guy wasn’t in the gallery and Marcia kept popping in and out, which meant that Cressida and Leonora were kept busy. She took another telephone call from Lady Alice Summers, who sounded very upset that Guy was out and asked for the number of his mobile phone. Cressida didn’t have it, and was startled at the language that was unleashed by the widow when she realised she wouldn’t be able to contact him.
Cressida assumed that problems about the fake paintings were increasing and she began to wonder if it was true that Lady Alice herself was involved. With any luck, she thought to herself, she might see the widow at the party that evening.
She dressed carefully for the occasion, settling on a fitted jacket made of cream lace on a coffee background worn over a long coffee-coloured georgette skirt with a fluted hemline. The jacket had short sleeves, a cutaway neckline and fastened with large pearl buttons. Worn with beige and cream strappy sandals, a faux seed pearl bracelet and large pearl earrings, it was very flattering and Cressida felt confident that she would be as well dressed as any woman there. Sue had picked the outfit and as Cressida stood waiting for Rick she knew that once again she had made a good choice.
Rick had been right. It was quite a shock to see him in evening dress and when they kissed Cressida straightened his bow tie. ‘Didn’t you look in the mirror before you left?’ she asked teasingly.
‘It took me so long to tie the thing I didn’t dare put it straight in case it fell apart on me,’ confessed Rick. He looked at Cressida and sighed. ‘You’re far too ravishing to take out. Let’s go upstairs instead.’
Cressida picked up her bag and shook her head. Although her treacherous body wouldn’t have minded, she knew that this was a dinner party she couldn’t afford to miss unless she wanted to lose her job in the police force. ‘Waiting will make it all the better,’ she assured Rick.
‘I wasn’t serious,’ said Rick as they drove towards Chelsea. ‘Guy would kill me if we didn’t turn up.’
‘You’re the guest of honour, are you?’ asked Cressida.
‘Hardly, but he was very anxious that you were there.’
A warning bell sounded in Cressida’s head. ‘Why’s that, do you think?’ she asked.
‘No idea,’ said Rick, pulling into a tiny side street tucked away from the main road and parking outside a mid-Georgian house whose front wall was entirely covered by wisteria. ‘The house will surprise you; it doesn’t look much from the outside but Marcia’s had it extended and it’s pretty spacious inside.’
‘How many floors?’ asked Cressida, glancing up at a dormer window in the roof.
‘Four, I think, including the basement.’
‘You’ve been down in the basement?’ asked Cressida, remembering his drawings.
Rick gripped her tightly by the elbow. ‘Cressida, I’d rather not talk about Guy, Marcia or anything I might or might not have done here with them, OK?’
Cressida was surprised by his reaction. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to pry, I was only interested.’
‘You’re special to me,’ continued Rick. ‘We’ve got something different; I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone before and I don’t want the past to spoil it.’
Startled by his intensity, Cressida could only nod, but his words had created a sense of guilt in her. She liked Rick and loved the sex they had, but she knew that she didn’t feel the same about him as he did about her. Once again she wished that she didn’t have to use him, especially if he was an innocent part of the conspiracy.
‘You’re the last to arrive, as usual,’ said Marcia, opening the front door. Her blonde hair was loose on her shoulders and she was wearing a pink and grey beaded dress modelled on the style of the flappers. Privately, Cressida thought it was a mistake with a bust as large as Marcia’s, but the effect was certainly eye-catching.
‘Sorry,’ said Rick with his most charming smile. ‘You know what I’m like about time.’
‘And you know what Guy’s like,’ said Marcia pointedly. �
�He’s been glancing at his watch for the past half hour. Come on, we’ll go straight through to the dining room. If we don’t eat quickly it will spoil.’
‘Not the most relaxing of hostesses,’ murmured Cressida.
‘She’s on edge because of Guy,’ whispered Rick. ‘He gets very uptight on evenings like these.’
Cressida knew that this was true the moment she saw Guy. His face had the tight, shuttered look that she’d come to recognise as signifying tension, and when he looked across the dining room at Rick his eyes were cold. ‘Couldn’t you tear yourself away from your latest work of art?’ he enquired silkily, his eyes then moving slowly over Cressida so that it was unclear whether he meant Rick’s drawing or Cressida herself.
‘Sorry, Guy, the traffic was dreadful,’ explained Rick, as an awkward silence fell on the room.
‘Never mind, they’re here now,’ said Marcia brightly. ‘Cressida, you’re sitting in between Sir Peter Thornton and Marcus Lloyd. Rick, you’re here, between Lady Bradley and Fliss.’
With a quick glance at Cressida, Rick took his place at the highly polished light oak table. He’d hoped to be sitting next to Cressida, but Fliss – the constant companion of Marcus Lloyd, hairdresser to the stars – was an acceptable alternative. Young, flirtatious and full of scandalous gossip, she had often enlivened a dull evening for him.
As the meal progressed, Cressida – with the help of Sir Peter – gradually got to know the names of the other guests. She was intrigued to note that the considerable age difference between Sir Peter and his exotic wife was reflected in another of the couples there. Lord George Bradley was in his mid-sixties but his wife Emily was in her early thirties.
She was disappointed that there was no sign of Lady Alice Summers, and somewhat surprised to realise that there was a spare man, Sir Nicholas Rodgers, who looked to be about 60 and was, according to Marcus Lloyd, newly divorced and highly eligible. ‘Tonight must be rather a disappointment to him,’ said Cressida. ‘I can’t see any eligible single women.’
‘Apart from you,’ said Marcus, whose hair was if anything even more carefully styled than Fliss’s.
‘I’m not eligible,’ retorted Cressida. ‘I’m here with Rick.’
‘Are you two an item?’ enquired Marcus.
‘I suppose so, yes.’
He smiled a strange, secretive smile. ‘Then no doubt you know the delights that await us later on. I must say, he’s taken up with a rather different sort of companion. The last time we were at one of these dinners together he brought along an extraordinarily tall and voluptuous redhead. She was the entertainment that evening though. You’re not, are you?’
Cressida frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Marcus opened his mouth to speak but Sir Peter interrupted from her right side. ‘Guy told us you’ve recently started work at the gallery, which presumably means you’re the young lady who has to work with my daughter all day?’
Cressida had no option but to respond to him, and Marcus Lloyd turned to Rose Thornton who, dressed in a royal blue crepe evening dress with side splits and a low neckline, had the attention of every man in the room without making any effort at all.
After coffee and chocolate mints, all the guests moved into the living room which was on the first floor. There they drank liqueurs and chatted, and Cressida noticed a change in the atmosphere. Before it had all seemed very conventional and civilised but now there was an undercurrent of excitement, a tension in the air. And Guy’s mood had changed during the meal, leaving him as relaxed as it was possible for him to be.
Cressida had watched him a lot during the meal. What intrigued her about him was the fact that although he seemed to take part in the general conversation, he actually spent a lot of time watching his guests, rather like an anthropologist watches specimens. They clearly fascinated him, but his fascination was tinged with more than a hint of contempt; a contempt which was quickly disguised whenever he was aware that he too was being watched.
As soon as her brandy glass was empty Cressida felt Rick’s hand on her arm. ‘We’re all going down now,’ he said quietly.
‘Down where?’ asked Cressida.
Guy moved to the other side of her and she felt him slip an arm round her waist. ‘Marcia’s very proud of her renovated basement. She likes her guests to go and admire it. Rather boring if you’re not interested in such things but I find it’s best to humour her. You might find it more interesting than you expect,’ he added.
‘The whole house has been renovated, hasn’t it?’ asked Cressida as the guests moved towards the door.
‘Yes, at considerable cost, but Marcia does have impeccable taste.’
‘It’s a pity she can’t paint, then you wouldn’t need to pay so many artists,’ laughed Cressida.
Guy shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t do at all. Marcia and I won’t always be together, but I’ll always need artists. I think it’s far better not to mix business and pleasure.’
‘You are partners in the gallery,’ pointed out Cressida.
‘True, but I own other galleries elsewhere that Marcia isn’t involved with. I’m not a man to keep all my eggs in one basket.’
No, thought Cressida, I’m sure you’re not, and she remembered the massive Interpol investigation that had so far failed to trap him. He looked at her steadily for a few seconds and then walked away, leaving Rick to escort her down the two flights of stairs to the basement.
‘Unnerving, isn’t he?’ remarked Rick. ‘I never know where I am with him.’
‘I suspect that’s what he enjoys,’ said Cressida. ‘He likes knowing that people are uneasy in his presence. It gives him some kind of ego boost.’
‘It also attracts the women,’ said Rick. ‘Your predecessor nearly killed herself trying to get him to notice her, but she wasn’t his type.’
Poor Sue, thought Cressida. The trouble was, it seemed she herself might be Guy’s type, but she wasn’t certain how well she’d handle things if he actually made a move on her. She was attracted, but at the same time afraid.
At the bottom of the stairs everyone waited for Marcia to open the basement door. She turned and gave her guests a dazzling smile. ‘Here you are. I hope you enjoy the evening’s entertainment. It’s really been designed with Rick in mind, because he claims he’s lacking in inspiration!’
‘Or was, until he met you,’ Guy whispered in Cressida’s ear. She ignored him, linked hands with Rick, and moved into the basement.
She was expecting a dark room, but instead it was so bright that she almost took a step back as the light hit her. All the walls, originally old red bricks, had been plastered and then painted a shining white with a hint of blue. Large spotlights were dotted around the walls, which were stark except for at the far end of the room, where strange African fertility symbols had been hung, symbols that were menacing in their rich sexuality. It was a large room but had been fully carpeted, unlike the rest of the house where Marcia had chosen rich rugs to complement the beautiful wooden flooring.
Because Cressida and Rick were the last guests to enter the room, it took Cressida a few moments to work out why the other guests were all gathering on the opposite side of the room. However, when the group parted to make way for Guy, she had her first glimpse of what she swiftly understood to be the evening’s entertainment that Marcus Lloyd had spoken to her about earlier.
The mid-section of the opposite wall had been draped with black and white silk material that shimmered beneath the beam from a spotlight. Standing against the backdrop, her fine-boned body twisted into a strange shape by the judicious use of metal fastenings fixed through the silk into the wall, was a tall blonde with grey eyes and very fair hair, slicked back off her face revealing high cheekbones and a generous mouth.
The woman, who didn’t look to be much more than 22 or 23 to Cressida, was wearing a strange black silk dress. It fell to her ankles, but at the right-hand side of her body, which was totally exposed to the watching guests, the dress was slit to beneat
h her bust, revealing every inch of silky flesh from ankle to hip.
The material had fallen in such a way that the area between her legs was covered, although it was clear that the slightest movement would mean that she was to be totally exposed. The dress was backless with a deep plunging neckline that barely covered the lower half of her breasts, and had a cross-over back.
Because her left arm and leg were fastened to the wall with the left leg drawn up, her left thigh was also on display, and while the left arm was fastened below her waist her right wrist had been handcuffed above shoulder height. Round her neck there was a thin loose-fitting strip of leather that prevented her from moving her head more than a few inches.
Next to Cressida, Rick drew in a deep breath and when she looked at him she saw that he was staring at the young woman with a look of desperate hunger. ‘Is she one of your models?’ whispered Cressida.
Rick shook his head. ‘No,’ he whispered back. ‘I’ve never used her, but I know who she is. She’s –’
At that moment Guy walked up to the fastened woman and ran his hand with soft deliberation along the sensitive skin beneath her tightly upheld right arm. Cressida could feel the caress herself, felt her skin tense and tingle as his fingers moved so slowly and intimately over the other woman’s flesh. Her belly felt swollen and hot.
‘I’m sure most of you here tonight remember Lady Alice Summers,’ he said politely. ‘Poor Alice was telling me the other day that all of her friends have deserted her since Michael died. I knew this wasn’t true and thought that it would be a nice idea to throw a little party for her so that you can all show her she isn’t forgotten.’
Cressida couldn’t believe that this was the woman whose cut-glass vowels had sworn so succinctly down the phone at her earlier in the day. She wondered what it must be like to stand there on display for people who’d known her as the wife of an important public figure and listen to Guy’s words. The humiliation must be unbearable, but there was a terrible fascination about it that was arousing her with frightening speed.
‘Nicholas,’ continued Guy, looking at the recently divorced man with a thin smile on his face. ‘I know you were always close to Lord Michael and his wife. Perhaps you’d care to come forward and move her dress a little to one side. I think that after ignoring her for so long most of you would like to see more of her now that you’re here.’
The Gallery Page 14