by Lily Ashton
“I expect he saw it as his pesky little sister interfering in his love life. But Christian’s a big boy and he’ll get over it. Give it a couple of days, then pop over and see how he is. I’m sure he’ll be glad you did. He’s very fond of you, you know.”
“I suppose.” Alice breathed deep and dug for a smile. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s the exhibition shaping up?”
“Productively. I’ve done some sketches of Renton Hall’s grounds which, by the way, I thoroughly enjoyed strolling around.” Roddy sat back on the floor.
“That’s … What did you do to your leg? That’s a nasty cut.”
Roddy brushed the angry red line on his calf. “I caught something sharp when I was following a blond-haired man through the woods.”
Alice’s felt her stomach knot. “You found him.”
“I thought I did. I was ambling through the woods wondering why there were so many dead trees, when I saw a mop of blond hair amongst the foliage. So I chased him.”
Alice’s mouth dropped open. “You chased him?”
“I did. And then I snagged my leg. While I was extracting myself from the undergrowth, blondie vanished.”
“How very interesting. It has to be the same man who spoke to Nick at the party. I wonder who he is?”
Roddy twirled a strand of beard. “I’ve made it my mission to find out.”
“Let’s hope that’s soon. I feel like we’re treading water.”
Alice looked over Roddy’s shoulder and out to the river. Flashes of the Great Wheaton Rowing Club’s colours dashed by. Droplets slid down the window as grey clouds darkened the landscape. Alice’s own landscape was becoming blurry too.
“Well, look on the bright side,” said Roddy. “It can’t get any worse.”
“Yes, it can. I’m broke.”
Chapter 13
The next morning, Alice boarded a train at Great Wheaton station, her straitened financial situation heavy on her mind. Eleanor’s upfront fee would have covered the cost of this trip to pick up a Carberry painting from Cheryl Horton. With both business and personal bank accounts empty, Alice did not have enough for the fare to London. Asking Joe to lend her money would have been to admit that she could not manage her finances. Instead, she lifted a few notes from the emergency cash supply Joe kept in an empty coffee tin. Now wracked with guilt, she willed herself to come up with a plan to pay back the money before Joe noticed it was missing.
Alice could not invoice Emilio Gambi until the photographs were hung, although she had already paid for the framing. She regretted agreeing to that arrangement – she should have insisted on Emilio paying for the framing in advance.
Emilio was emphatic that the photograph of Nonno in his restaurant in Italy should form the centrepiece of the display in his own eatery. He would not be talked out of it, despite the sorry state of the picture. Alice did not have high hopes for it, but she had left it in the capable hands of Terry the framer to come up with a solution. But now she was having second thoughts. What if he experimented and caused even more damage? If it all went wrong, she would have to pay for it herself. Another financial headache!
The train pulled into King’s Cross. Alice left her anxieties in the carriage and made her way to the underground. She was meeting Cheryl at her office in Soho, but there was an hour to kill before then. She stepped out of the lift at Covent Garden for a spot of pre-meeting shopping; that is, window shopping.
Alice put on sunglasses as she crossed the cobbled piazza. A man seated on an upturned crate strummed a guitar as a woman in a flowy red dress danced. A crowd gathered in a semi-circle around them. Children sat on the edge of Central Market, peering up at a top-hatted man on stilts, who was pulling paper roses from his sleeve.
Alice ambled by the shops underneath the glass-domed roof. Knowing she could not afford to buy anything put a new spin on shopping. She spotted a window filled with the new range of Vans. Nose to the glass, Alice took in this season’s colours and styles; with a full purse she could have bought any pair. Instead, she looked down at the ones she was wearing, black with white soles, and convinced herself they were the most attractive pair. Alice put one in front of the other and headed for Soho.
Alice was buzzed into a building with a bright green door and found Cheryl waiting for her at the top of a steep flight of steps. Behind her was the open door to a photographer’s studio. Two lights on tripods beamed down on a blue-haired woman lying on a polished wooden floor. A young man fiddled with a white screen behind her, while the photographer appeared to be clicking through the model’s previous shots.
Cheryl led Alice around the studio and into a small room with one tiny window. Boxes were stacked high against a wall; shots of women in swimwear were taped to another. A computer screen with post-it notes stuck down one side filled a tiny desk in the corner.
“Excuse the mess, there’s not much room.” Cheryl moved an armful of bikinis from a director’s chair. “But Katie’s a friend and as she takes my photos, she doesn’t charge much for the office.”
Alice picked up a catalogue, a photo of a smiling Cheryl wearing a one-shouldered orange swimsuit on the cover. “So, you design the collection and model the clothes yourself?”
“Yes. As I always tell people, I’m a one-woman show.” Cheryl crossed a toned, tanned leg over the other.
Alice flicked through the glossy pages. Cheryl paddling in the sea, draped alluringly on a diving board and swinging off ropes on a yacht. Keeping those washboard abs must be a full-time job!
“We shot that collection in Antigua, which was fab. That’s the great thing about this job, I get to choose the locations.”
There were no prices in the catalogue, so Alice had to ask.
“The bikinis average around a hundred and twenty pounds, the one-pieces are a bit more.”
Alice gulped. “I suppose that’s the going rate for designer swimwear …”
“Believe it or not, I’m undercutting the competition at those prices. But the shoots are expensive and you can’t skimp on those.”
In the harsh overhead light and with her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, Cheryl looked all of her forty-four years. Wrinkles creased her forehead and a deep frown line cut down between her eyes. Her pale skin was blotched and listless. But beneath her unbuttoned shirt, there was no denying she had a very good bosom.
“Well, you’re close to the heart of the rag trade here, so there’s plenty of outlets to sell your lines.”
“But every man and his dog are flogging their ranges. I’m not going to lie Alice, it’s tough out there. I haven’t got a taker for my winter collection yet.”
“Katie!” a man yelled from the studio. “Here a minute.”
Cheryl smiled. “It does get a bit noisy here sometimes. Let’s go to the café next door, we can talk properly there.”
“I’ll take Eleanor’s painting with me now, otherwise I’ll forget it,” said Alice.
Cheryl had borrowed the piece from Renton Hall to use as a prop for one of her shoots and Eleanor has asked Alice to collect it for her.
“Did you use the painting?”
“Absolutely. Me and Katie put together a living room set here in the studio and I needed something for the wall. The pics are here somewhere.” Cheryl rummaged around her desk and produced sheets of proofs. Cheryl dressed in floaty maxi dresses, sprawled on a sofa, or leaning against a bookcase watching television.
“I thought I’d branch out, so I designed a line of evening dresses. Originally, I was going to sell them as part of my cruise collection. In the end I thought they’d work as anytime dresses, so I was going for a homely setting in the promotional literature. But now I’ve seen the shots, I’m not sure …” Cheryl gave a wry smile and tossed the proofs on the desk. “Back to the swimming pool, I think.”
Cheryl ordered coffee and cinnamon rolls and the tw
o women sat on wooden benches beside the window.
“This is my favourite seat. I can see the world walk by,” said Cheryl. “It gets a bit lonely in the office at times.”
Alice bit into the sticky bun, delighted at its soft, chewy texture and generous proportions.
“How’s things at Renton Hall?” said Cheryl.
“I’m working my way through the attic, though it’s a much bigger inventory than I anticipated. When I say there’s stuff everywhere, I mean literally everywhere.”
“That’s what Harry said. He and Nick used to hide up there as children, so he’s pulled out every drawer and opened every box in his time.”
“I may need to call on his memory if I run out of time.”
Cheryl walked fingers around her bun, but it remained untouched. “And what about the interior decorator? I get the impression that Eleanor is terrified of her.”
“Gina’s a bit scary. I’ve looked up her previous projects and she’s worked for celebrities and even royalty. I’m sure the hotel will be fabulous when it’s finished.”
“Let’s hope no more dead bodies turn up, then. All this bad publicity will kill the hotel before it opens.”
Cheryl’s phone buzzed. She checked the caller, then put the phone on silent. As she did so, Alice pondered a question that had been on her mind all morning. The Jamaican invoices that Harry had referred to in The Bull – Alice could not see how they had anything to do with Nick Carberry’s death, but she had to know for sure. So she asked Cheryl about them.
“I’m not sure exactly,” said Cheryl. “Some irregularity with the accounting, something like that. I don’t know the details.”
“Perhaps I should ask Harry as it was he who mentioned it.”
“No!” Cheryl gripped Alice’s arm. “Please don’t.” She let go and gave a half-smile. “Sorry. I just meant that you shouldn’t pester Harry, he has enough to worry about. And any mention of the agency would only upset him.”
Alice watched a mother drag a crying child into the next booth. But at the corner of her eye she caught Cheryl blowing out a breath.
“So where are you going for your next shoot?” said Alice. “Somewhere exotic?”
“If only. The way my finances are at the moment, I’m not sure I can afford another shoot just now.”
“I know the feeling. It’s my first foray into running my own business and keeping on top of my finances is a permanent worry.”
“And it doesn’t get any easier. I’ve had my business for seven years and it’s even harder now than it was at the beginning.”
“Oh dear, that’s not very encouraging.”
“Sorry, but don’t let me put you off. You’re probably better at keeping track of what you spend, I’m just hopeless with money. Honestly, I don’t know where it goes.”
“What about Harry? Does he help at all?”
“God no, he’s not interested in the swimwear business. Which is just as well as he’d freak out if he knew how much money I’d borrowed.”
Like Alice, Cheryl had not turned to her partner to bail her company out. But by trying to prove she could be successful on her own, perhaps Cheryl had allowed her business to pay the price.
“So, it’s all down to Renton Hall now,” said Cheryl. “If the hotel doesn’t make money, I’m stuffed.”
“I didn’t realise you had a stake in the project. I thought the Hall belonged to Eleanor and Nick.”
“Oh, I don’t have a share. I mean, not directly. It’s Harry – he does.”
“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. I was sure Eleanor said that her mother gave up her own interest in the house and passed it to her children.”
“Well, that’s true. But now that Nick’s dead, his share will be passed on. Nick always said that he’d make sure Harry was looked after if anything should happen to him. Harry will inherit Nick’s share of Renton Hall.”
Alice stared at Cheryl’s uplifted chin. The revelation that she would be in the money again had taken years off Cheryl. Now the image of her toned body in skimpy, neon bikinis was not such a stretch.
“Harry’s not interested in the decorating part, he’s left all that to Eleanor. But I’ve got a few design ideas of my own, which are just what the old building needs. And I intend to give that Gina a piece of my mind.”
Chapter 14
Alice was pleased to have Daisy to herself. She needed to take stock. Picking a cough candy out of her sweet jar, Alice grabbed a box of push pins. She sat cross-legged on the beanbag and wedged the edge of her incident board underneath it while she added new information. Alongside the pictures of Simon Newgate and Harry Horton she pinned one of Cheryl. As she would indirectly benefit from Nick’s death, Cheryl had to be a suspect. And that made three. Nick’s business partner, his cousin and his cousin’s wife.
Had Nick ever suspected that he was surrounded by so many people with a credible motive to get rid of him? Alice was just about to pin up another picture when Roddy opened the hatch door.
“You don’t mind me joining you do you? I need a break.”
“Of course not, come on in.”
“I’m delighted to announce that I’ve finished one of my landscapes. I sat on my deck in the sunshine and whipped up a watercolour.” Roddy put his hands on his hips. “And it’s not half bad.”
“Wonderful! You must be relieved to have a finished piece under your belt.”
“I am. I’d forgotten that when I pulled exhibitions together before, I always had a few paintings to start off with. But doing an entire show from scratch is playing havoc with my nerves.” Roddy flopped onto the sofa, hands behind his head.
“It’s exciting too,” said Alice. “The gallery usually puts on a good opening. The press will be there and lots of guests and you’ll have to make a speech. You must be looking forward to it.”
“I thought I was passed all that razzmatazz, but I do get a few flutters whenever I think of it. How are things at the Hall?”
“Trying!
“Your life can’t always be as exciting as mine, Alice! Still, you’re getting paid to do the inventory, which should keep your business going.”
“Except it’s not. Eleanor is a slow payer, or more accurately, a no-payer. And I’ve had to fork out for Emilio’s framing work, so I’ve got a cashflow problem.”
“No money, eh? That’s clients for you. But Eleanor’s a decent sort, she’ll pay up soon I’m sure. So, apart from your money issues, are you enjoying running your own company?”
“I’m loving it. Not having a boss telling me what to do is heaven. And being able to work from Daisy is a special bonus.”
“You don’t miss your colleagues? It can get a bit lonely working by yourself.”
“I haven’t had time to be lonely. Apart from the work, there’s the strange case of Nick Carberry to occupy us.”
Roddy looked at the incident board. “Another suspect I see. Do you think one of them is a stronger suspect than the others?”
“Not really. To be honest, they all have similar motives: money and jealousy. They all knew Nick well and had easy access to him at the party.”
“I haven’t heard any news from the police, so I’m assuming that means they don’t have a prime suspect either.”
“Apparently not, though I’m going to the station soon to give a statement. Which I should have done by now. Anyway, I’ll find out more then. Frankly, I’m stumped on this case and a killer on the loose at Renton Hall in starting to freak me out. Especially since you told me about the mystery blond in the woods. Have you found out anything more on that?”
“I tried my most reliable source first, and—”
“Stanley?”
“Stanley. He knew Eleanor’s father George, and he reminded me that I had met him myself. Stanley and I were at The Bull one evening and George came in for a quick
drink. We chatted for a bit, then someone suggested we play cards, so we spent the rest of the evening playing poker.”
“I didn’t know you played.”
“I don’t. Unfortunately, George did. Very well. Which is how he ended up with one of my paintings. I lost all the cash I had on me, and in a rash moment I bet my most expensive piece on what I thought was a good hand.”
Alice snorted. “That’s hilarious. But wait a minute, I haven’t seen it at the Hall. And I don’t mean to give you a big head, but that would be one of the better pieces.”
Roddy twirled a strand of grey beard. “George did say the painting wasn’t to his wife’s taste when he picked it up from my studio. I’m not convinced it was to his own taste either. He probably sold it on.”
“Well, it doesn’t help us with the case.”
“No. Though I do remember George talking about his own father’s artistic endeavours. He particularly liked Wilfred’s work. Though he didn’t seem fond of the man himself.”
“Really? And yet Eleanor seems to worship Wilfred.”
“George was his son and I did detect some rivalry between the two of them. Or rather that George felt he could never do anything to please his father. But he also said that Wilfred wasn’t the saint people thought he was.”
“Did he say why?”
“We were sampling the establishment’s good wines and this was later on in the evening … But, he said something like, ‘Wilfred could be paid to keep his mouth shut.’ Or, ‘Wilfred kept secrets for cash.’ The exact words won’t come now but I remember being struck with George’s disdain for his father, even at the time.”
“Well, that’s helpful background.”
Roddy went over to Alice’s board and picked up a photograph from the floor. “A dog? If you’re suggesting that a canine is amongst the suspects, then we’re in serious trouble!”
“Not a suspect, but a possible motive. Nick Carberry was killed over a dog. Or so Sarah Evans seems to think.”