by Lily Ashton
Was Gina a control freak? Or did she just want to hike up her fee?
Alice turned to the paintings that Jeremy had found in the hayloft, now jumbled together in an old chest. Alice picked through them, sneezing as she released a cloud of dust. She held out an oil painting of a wonky yellow bowl. It contained apples a shade of green that apples should never be and a bunch of chipped marbles masquerading as grapes.
The artworks were all old, and some were torn or with damaged frames. Several were just too terrible to consider hanging. But not the Margaret Thomas. A dreamy oil painting of wild flowers in a simple white jug.
“What is a little pearl like you doing in the reject box?”
Alice turned over the image and on the back of the canvas, read the message written in green felt tip.
To Eleanor, Congratulations on your wedding. I wish you and Tom many happy years together. Love Simon N x
Underneath the message was a little sketch of a bride and groom.
Simon N. That must be Simon Newgate surely? Alice ran light fingers around the frame. It was smooth – there was no sign that fittings had ever been attached. The painting had never been hung. Perhaps it was not to Eleanor’s taste. Alice re-examined the image. At the very least it was inoffensive. Surely Eleanor could have found a spot to hang such a pleasing gift?
Or perhaps it was the giver that Eleanor did not like. It seemed that Eleanor’s distrust of Simon went back a long way. When Alice had met Simon, she had sensed an unattractive touch of envy over Nick Carberry’s relationship with Devi. But what man wouldn’t be jealous? Devi was a stunning Bollywood star. It surely wasn’t enough to drive Simon to murder?
Beeps from the radio announced the midday news. Alice gathered up her bag and went downstairs. Eleanor was in the reception area, watching two men as they rolled Magnolia onto the walls.
“Gina thought this area should be clean and plain. I agree, as we’ve got a couple of lovely watercolours of the lake that I’d like to hang here.” Eleanor fiddled with a button on her shirt. “If Gina doesn’t mind, of course.”
Gina strode out of what would soon be the hotel’s dining room, but was for now the stripped-down family drawing room. She finished her call and pointed with her mobile. “Carpets, Eleanor. Something elegant but stainproof where people are eating. Is that so hard to understand?” Gina threw hands in the air and glared.
Eleanor smiled in sympathy. “We’re just heading off to lunch now; you’ll join us won’t you, Gina?”
“I never eat lunch.” Gina put her hands on narrow hips, showing her black-and-white houndstooth Chanel suit to its best advantage.
Eleanor fiddled the button right off her oversized plaid shirt and put it in the pocket of her sludge-coloured cargo trousers.
“But I will stop for an espresso. I’ve brought my own machine,” said Gina. “That is enough. We must work hard if we are to meet the opening date in a few weeks, no?”
The Bull Hotel was one of the oldest buildings in Great Wheaton. A coaching inn during the fifteenth century, it still served fresh, locally produced food for regulars and visitors. The restaurant, housed in what was once the stable block, was packed as usual. But there was no missing Cheryl Horton.
“Over here, Eleanor,” she shouted, waving both arms.
Alice recognised the woman who had so dramatically announced Nick Carberry’s death at the party, as she followed Eleanor to the table by the window. Cheryl rearranged the chairs so they could all see the high street as it humped over the River Nare.
“Sit yourselves down and I’ll get you a drink.” Cheryl took Eleanor’s bag and hung it over the back of her chair.
Cheryl bent forward as she sat down, her low-cut leopard print top struggling to contain her bulging bosom. A thick layer of foundation covered her bony face, her watery blue eyes were rimmed with kohl. There were pink streaks in her blonde hair. “We’re all here. Good. I’m starving.”
Harry passed Alice a menu. Heavy pouches under his eyes protruded from his pale face. He put a hand over his paunch, while his other hand held on to the stem of a wine glass as if he would never let it go.
“First of all, Eleanor,” said Cheryl. “Me and Harry are delighted you’ve asked us to be involved with the refurbishment. I’ve always said Renton Hall would make a lovely hotel, haven’t I, Harry? And I’ve got a few ideas for the décor.”
She opened up a piece of paper and gave it to Eleanor. “This is a design for the main bedroom. It’s the biggest room with the best view, so it needs special attention. You won’t have to worry about standards,” – Cheryl patted Eleanor’s hand – “I only want the best and I warn you, I’ll push everyone hard. But as Cher would say, ‘I’m only difficult if you’re an idiot.’” Cheryl laughed loud enough to bring disapproving glances from a couple on the next table.
Eleanor smiled at the couple. “Thank you, Cheryl, but we already have an interior decorator. And Nick and I have agreed the design and colour scheme.”
“We’re here to support you, Eleanor,” said Harry. “We want to see the project completed the way you and Nick planned. It will be Nick’s legacy.”
“Thank you, Harry, that’s a lovely way of seeing it.”
A waiter brought drinks and took their food order.
“Talking about Nick,” said Harry. “How’s the police investigation going? DI Salisbury came to see us yesterday, asking questions about our statements. Any idea what that’s about?”
Eleanor opened her mouth to answer, but Alice jumped in first.
“DI Salisbury is very thorough. I expect he wanted to clarify something. At this early stage, he’s just gathering information.”
“But it was the second time he’d questioned me.”
Alice scanned Harry’s face. Nathan must have had a good reason to question Harry a second time.
“As I say, I’m sure he just wanted to check something.”
Bowls of chilled melon soup were presented. Alice picked up her spoon and tucked in.
Harry said: “I’d have thought the police would be concentrating on Simon Newgate. He’s got to be the prime suspect, hasn’t he? He’s always been jealous of Nick and he runs that agency as if he already owned all of it.”
“It was Nick’s idea to stay in London and let Simon look after the main agency out here,” said Eleanor. “It suited them both.”
“I’m surprised you’re sticking up for Newgate,” said Harry. “Especially after the Jamaican invoices episode.”
Alice’s spoon stopped in mid-air. Was this the reason for Eleanor’s poor opinion of Simon?
“That all got sorted Harry, didn’t it?” Cheryl shot Alice a hard stare. “Just a misunderstanding. That sort of thing happens in all companies.”
Alice sensed Eleanor stiffen. The Hortons’ attention turned to their soup. It seemed a good time to take a comfort break.
The cloakrooms were on the other side of the hotel, so Alice trod across creaking boards and into the bar. A blackened, double-fronted stone fireplace was the room’s most attractive feature, though a basket of pine cones did not have the same effect as wintry orange flames. A couple of older men with rowing club ties and double whiskies, sat on deep leather armchairs on either side of the hearth.
Alice was admiring a new addition to the bar’s collection of etchings when she heard a familiar laugh. She peered around the fireplace and saw Christian and Devi tucked into the far corner. Heads close together and talking in whispers, they did not notice her. What was Christian doing, flirting with Devi in such a public place, so soon after her boyfriend’s unexplained demise? Alice stepped forward, hand outstretched ready to tap Christian’s shoulder. On second thoughts, Christian’s love life was none of her business. She retraced her steps and used the first-floor bathroom instead.
When she returned to the table, the others were tucking into lasagna. A portion at her
place was already cooling.
“I forgot to say congratulations, Harry,” said Eleanor. “Cheryl told me that you were made partner.”
“They should have done it years ago.” Cheryl stroked Harry’s cheek. “I kept telling Harry to push himself forward more. Promotions don’t happen by themselves.”
Harry blushed, his red cheeks turning a shade redder.
“Thought they’d get to me eventually,” he said.
“But you’re forty-three! Two of the partners are in their twenties.”
“Still,” said Eleanor, “not everyone gets that far, so well done, Harry. I suppose more responsibility will keep you in the office longer. Do you really think you’ll have time to help with the hotel?”
“Absolutely. Renton Hall is a priority for me, Eleanor. Of course, I won’t be able to be on site all the time. But I’m at the end of a phone and I expect you to call me whenever you want to.”
“Don’t you worry.” Cheryl laid an arm across Eleanor’s shoulder. “You can count on the Hortons. We’re always here for you.”
Eleanor reached into her bag for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “You’re all being so kind. I didn’t know how I was going to cope without Nick; I thought I’d have to abandon the project. So thank you for your support.” She turned to Alice. “You too, Alice. What you’re doing for the family is really important to me.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Alice glanced at her watch. “I wonder how far Gina’s team have got while we’ve been away?”
“We should go back and check on them,” said Eleanor. “Gina is determined to meet the opening date, but she is so … determined.”
“I should hope so,” said Cheryl. “That’s what she’s being paid for.”
“First things first.” Harry threw his napkin on the table. “Nick’s killer has got to be caught. I want to see that deplorable Simon Newgate behind bars.”
Chapter 8
A lone rower powered through the water as Eleanor drove along the river road. Harry and Cheryl chatted in the back seat. A cool breeze blew across Alice’s face. She closed her eyes and turned towards the open window.
Cheryl had insisted on paying the bill for lunch. She had also urged Alice to visit her at her office in London. They should be friends, Cheryl had declared with such authority, that Alice accepted their friendship as a foregone conclusion. But it was Harry’s repeated assertions that Simon Newgate was Nick’s killer that occupied Alice’s mind. Harry was so sure of it. Neither Harry nor Eleanor appeared to have even entertained the idea that there could be another suspect. And those Jamaican invoices? There were no Jamaican clients on the Carberry & Newgate Advertising website.
As Eleanor pulled up outside Renton Hall, two tradesmen were carrying a roll of carpet out through the entrance. Eleanor got out of the car and, still holding onto the door, shouted across the gravelled car park. “Where did that come from? All the carpets earmarked to be replaced have already been taken away.”
One of the men dropped his end of the roll inside a van and walked over. “Miss Salvini told us to get rid of it. She said there’ll be a new carpet for the library.”
“There most certainly will not.” Eleanor slammed the car door and marched into the house.
Alice gathered her bag and by the time she got inside, Eleanor had collared the designer.
“Gina, I thought I’d made it clear to you that the library carpet was staying. We only had it fitted last year. And it still looks new.”
Gina wound a finger around a long chain necklace. “Tsk. New or not, it does not fit the ambience I am trying to create. That green, so dark and depressing, it was like walking through a forest in a storm. The window here is small, so we have to create light with our design. A pale carpet, Eleanor, will fool the eye into thinking it is a joyous spring morning.”
Alice snorted louder than she intended. Whether she was too far away for the women to hear or they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice, neither gave her the disaproving stare she expected.
“I hear what you say.” Eleanor clasped her hands in front of her chest. “But we haven’t budgeted for another carpet.”
“Quite so. But we fiddle, no? The total price will be the same in the end.”
Eleanor dropped her hands by her side. “Oh! Good. Well in that case, carry on. But next time, please consult me first before you make any changes to the plan.”
Gina turned towards Alice and clapped her hands. “Alice, now is a good time for us to talk. Come into the library please?”
Drooping clouds and a small window contributed to the library’s gloom, though the bare, pale floorboards made the room seem bigger. Whilst Gina may have made a dramatic move, she was right about the carpet.
“So, we’ll create here a welcoming space for guests to read or relax beside the fire with logs. None of those old men’s leather chairs. So uncomfortable. And those titchy round tables with skinny legs? Tsk, you couldn’t rock a cat on one of those. That’s how you say, no?”
Alice smiled. “I know what you mean.”
“We need a special painting to go above the fireplace. Something colourful I think, but not too bright. Not too big, but not too small. There must be action, but not an abstract. Interesting but not too detailed. My dealer with find something.”
Good luck with that, Mister Dealer!
Gina led Alice through the rest of the house, arms thrusting left and right. Colour schemes, furniture, accessories and more new carpets. Fragrant soaps for the bathrooms, padded hangers for the wardrobes, superfast broadband; no detail was too small for Gina.
Alice ran her hand around the porcelain sink in the main bedroom’s en-suite bathroom. She turned on the tap. Eleanor had mentioned that there had been problems with the water pressure, but a clear flow of liquid gushed out at Alice’s touch.
“And Alice, when will you finish the filing?”
Alice gripped her fingers around the tap. She glared at Gina’s back, as the designer fiddled with a sash window’s lock. “Filing?”
“The family paintings. You are filing them, no?”
Alice shoulders relaxed. “Oh, you mean cataloguing? Yes, I’m doing an inventory of the artworks in the house. It’ll probably take a couple of weeks to produce the final report.” Alice craned her neck past Gina and peered out of the window. “Eleanor asked me to look at a crate of ceramics she found in Jeremy’s snug, so I’m going to head up there before it starts tipping down.”
Gina spun around, eyes wide. “The gardener’s house is falling down?”
Alice laughed. “No, I mean it’s going to rain.”
Gina turned back to the window. “Tsk, this English!”
Alice jogged over the bridge and along the side of the paddock. She dived into Jeremy’s snug just as the clouds broke and rain pelted down. Shaking drops off her arms, Alice flicked the light switch by the door and picked her way to the room at the back of the building.
Used by Jeremy as a storeroom, shelves were stacked with weed killer, coils of wire and trays of bulbs. In an organiser along one wall, tiny drawers held nails, screws, bolts and hinges, different sizes and a range of colours, marked with neat red labels. Alice found two boxes on a handmade work table in the centre of the room.
Both Eleanor’s parents, she gathered, had been keen on ceramics. Mary Carberry had taken some of her favourite pieces with her to Scotland, but the rest of the collection was now wrapped in newspaper awaiting its fate. Eleanor did not share her parents’ passion for ceramics, but she wanted Alice to see the pieces. Though whether Alice would get any of her recommendations passed the fiery Italian was another matter.
Alice unwrapped a delicate art deco-style vase with a red mephisto design. It was interesting in a kitsch way, but it would not go with the sophisticated design Gina was going for. Next was a smudgy grey skull, with yellowing teeth and a peacock blue
bandana around its forehead. Alice shivered and unwrapped another piece.
She held up a thin clay bowl. From a stumpy base the size of a bottle top, misty sage-coloured sides morphed into dove grey, billowing wide and ending in a perfect circle. Grey splodges speckled the outside and the inside was a dusky cream. This one was definately worth a fight with Gina.
Alice inspected the remaining items and found a couple of other pieces she liked. She re-wrapped them and placed them in one of the boxes. They would go back to the house with her, but first she wanted to have a nose around the hayloft. There was some fine furniture up there and Alice now had time to examine them properly before Jeremy took them to auction.
Alice climbed the outside steps. The stone treads were slippery from the recent downpour and she clung onto the steel railing. Black clouds clung to tall treetops and occasional raindrops slid off leaves, dropping to the floor of the wood. A pair of squirrels chased each other along the path, where only a few days earlier Nick Carberry had lain dead.
Crack! Alice jumped. Just a branch creaking. But she had bashed her shin on the edge of the step. The door was slightly ajar. Alice hesitated. She looked over her shoulder but there was nobody around. Placing her palm in the middle of the door, Alice eased it open.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She walked one hand along the inside wall, but failed to find a switch. Pulling the door fully open brought more light to the front of the loft; enough for Alice to make out the wardrobe she had seen before. One step further inside, she grabbed a sideboard for support and eased across the floor.
Mould spores filled Alice’s nostrils and she sneezed. Reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief, she caught herself in a dressing table mirror. Alice fingered the ornate metal border around the oval glass. She crouched down, as if sitting on a stool, and tipped the mirror so she could see her face and shoulders. As she fiddled, what looked like the tread of a boot appeared at the bottom of the glass.