by Jenny Lane
“Hallo, can I help you?” she asked coolly.
Startled, he looked up and she found herself gazing into a pair of eyes that were like chips of jade. She swallowed, finding his intense stare un-nerving.
“Sorry. I’m afraid I’m something of a computer bod. It’s my line of business along with dabbling in painting, as I was explaining to your colleague just now.”
“I see – well please feel free to take a look around. Is there something in particular we can help you with?”
“Oh, actually, I was just passing and thought I’d take a look – never could resist a gallery. I love the colours of those paintings. They’re very vibrant.”
“Yes, that’s a collection from a local artist, Matt Collins. He’s extremely talented. We try to support as many as we can. Are you a collector?”
He shook his head. “Regretfully, no. I’m afraid I don’t have the space, but I sometimes buy for other people. You don’t have any portraits?”
“Not at the moment, no, but we try to change our exhibitions on a regular basis so it’s worth dropping by, although we’ve only just finished assembling this one.”
To Rhianna’s relief, Fiona reappeared at that moment, clutching a couple of catalogues and some postcards which she handed to the man.
“So what do you two do? Is any of your work exhibited here?”
Fiona pointed to her sculptures. “Those are mine. Rhianna is very versatile - as you can see from the postcards. At present, she just has those photographs of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee at the far end.”
Rhianna pushed back a strand of honey-blonde hair, uncomfortably aware that the man’s attention was focussed on her.
“I’m inclined to work from photographs - land and seascapes - mainly watercolours and oils. Sometimes, I do pastel drawings - mostly of animals or children.”
His green eyes were full of interest. “Very impressive.” He crossed to the display of photographs. “Wow! These are amazing.”
“And what about you?” she asked curiously.
He was still studying her photographs. “Oh, as I’ve said, I try my hand at painting, but it’s mainly a hobby.”
Shortly afterwards, the visitor departed.
“Fi, you really ought to be more careful. He was looking at our computer.”
Fiona raised her eyebrows. “So where’s the harm in that? It’s his line of business – computers. He told me so. Drop dead gorgeous, wasn’t he?”
Rhianna pursed her lips. “If you say so. Can’t say I noticed.”
Fiona laughed. “You’re a hopeless case, don’t you know that? How could you have helped noticing that physique? He must have been at least six foot tall and in really good shape. Bet he works out.”
Rhianna shrugged. “I’m not the slightest bit interested. Have a heart, Fi! I’m just getting over one broken relationship and - so far as I’m concerned - men are a lost cause…Anyway, whatever would Dave say?”
Fiona grinned as she thought about her current boyfriend.
“Oh, Dave’s not the jealous type. Besides, he knows we’re solid. Now, let’s have a brain-storming session to see if we can come up with some brilliant ideas for some more workshops.”
*
Letitia Delroy picked up the phone and listened intently as Lawrence told her about his recent trip to the gallery.
“So, what conclusion did you come to, Laurie?”
“She’ll do,” he told her. “You’ll like her.”
He had no intention of telling Letitia of the impact Rhianna had made on him. He had a sudden vision of her slim, well-proportioned figure, hair like spun gold and expressive, deep-blue eyes - like sapphires, he’d decided.
Letitia let out a sigh of relief. “And what’s this gallery like?”
“I’ve told you, Tish. It’s in a cottage in the high street – two rooms knocked into one. Quite small, but adequate. Both girls have an eye for display and their website is pretty good too.”
Letitia smoothed her white hair nervously. “And did you, er, see any sign of the portrait?”
“I’m afraid not. There were no portraits there at all - just some rather colourful landscapes by a local artist and a few animal sculptures, oh and some superb local photographs that Rhianna had taken of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations.”
“Well, perhaps Joe sold it. You didn’t ask?”
He laughed. “No, Tish, I didn’t ask. How could I, without explaining my real purpose for being there? You’ll just have to be patient.”
“Do you think she’ll come to see me?” Letitia asked now.
“Look, don’t get your hopes up,” he told her. “I’ve sussed things out like you’ve asked me to. Rhianna Delroy is a young woman who knows her own mind. I could tell that from our very brief acquaintance. Other than that, I can’t say. We’re just going to have to wait and see.”
Letitia sighed. “Well, thank you for everything, Laurie. It would be wonderful if she came.”
“Yes, I hope she does,” Lawrence told her sincerely. “Look, keep me informed. Let me know what’s happening, won’t you? If she does decide to visit you, then I’ll make a point of being there too. I’d like to see what transpires.”
And he’d like to get to know Rhianna Delroy better. He had had his own reasons for that.
*
Fiona rang Rhianna that evening. “Rhia I’ve looked up the Brookhurst Post Office. It’s all perfectly bona fide. You’ve nothing to worry about in that respect. And, listen, to this. I’ve also had a go at looking up Delroy. It seems that your grandfather was born in Kent. Reginald Delroy married a Letitia Horton and they had one son, Joseph, who must have been your father.
“Spooky, isn’t it, to find you’ve got a grandmother after all this time when you thought she was dead – it’s like a voice from the grave! Exciting though!”
That wasn’t the word Rhianna would have used for it. She felt a little shiver run down her spine. What was she going to do now? She had two options - to ignore the situation or suss it out. If she did nothing it would always be at the back of her mind and, one day, she would wish she’d done something about it.
On an impulse, she decided to ring Mrs Blackett the following morning. She seemed to be a perfectly normal lady who had been expecting Rhianna’s call.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you on Thursday,” she told her.
Rhianna could only hope she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
*
It was a slow journey to Brookhurst because several of the roads were poorly signposted. The twisting lanes were so narrow that there was no room to manoeuvre. She was stuck behind a tractor for what seemed like an eternity.
The only reason she could come up with for making this madcap journey was curiosity and an overriding desire to get away for a while and shake off all remaining memories of Marcus.
As Fiona had said, it was time to move on. Rhianna intended to recharge her batteries, and throw herself into the business; there would definitely be no place for men in her life from now on!
A couple of times she lost her way and had to double back along lanes no wider than tracks. The shadows were lengthening. Just as she was beginning to think she would never find the village, she went through a wooded area and suddenly, over the rise of a hill, she spotted some ragstone houses nestling down below and smoke spiralling into the grey sky. Signs of habitation at last!
A van suddenly shot out of a side turning and hurtled towards her. She swerved, narrowly avoiding it. Shaken, she saw the sign post read, Brookhurst 2 miles. The natives round here aren’t very friendly, she decided. She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally reached Brookhurst. She parked near to the post office and, walking back the short distance rattled the handle. The sign read OPEN - but it was shut. She frowned. It was only about four thirty. Now what? A woman crossed the road towards her.
“Is she closed? That’s odd; I was in there a little while ago. My daughter-in-law works in the shop.”
/> “I’m supposed to be staying with Mrs Blackett,” Rhianna told her.
“Oh, yes you’ve come to see Mrs Delroy, haven’t you? Mavis said. I’m Irene Blake, by the way.”
Irene peered through the post office window. “Oh dear Lord! I think that’s Mavis lying on the floor. Quick! Let’s see if we can get in round the back.”
Filled with a dreadful premonition, Rhianna followed Irene along a narrow passageway that led to the back of the shop. Her suspicions were confirmed. The gate was hanging off its hinges and the backdoor was open.
A muffled sound, accompanied by a bumping noise, came from the kitchen. Lizzie was tied to a chair, a scarf bound tightly round her mouth.
“Lizzie. Oh, my dear girl what have they done to you?”
Rhianna went to the aid of Mavis Blackett who was lying half behind the counter. She bent over her, trying to remember her first aid.
“Mrs Blackett’s unconscious – think she’s been hit over the head,” she called out and, whipping out her mobile, phoned for the police and an ambulance.
Much later, after the ambulance had taken Mavis Blackett and Lizzie to the hospital with a policeman and Irene Blake following behind, Rhianna gratefully accepted the cup of tea offered her by the remaining police-woman.
“So tell me about this white van you saw at the crossroads. Take your time.”
Rhianna explained all over again what happened.
“I’m supposed to be staying here tonight,” she said anxiously. “It’s getting a bit late to go home now. Besides, I’ve arranged to see Mrs Delroy. She’s elderly so I can’t expect her to accommodate me.”
“Well, let’s see if the proprietor of the White Unicorn can put you up.”
As Rhianna followed the policewoman into the bar of the pub, she was uncomfortably aware that all eyes were turned on her as everyone waited to hear what had happened. Fortunately, the policewoman explained briefly adding, “this young lady had arranged to stay with Mrs Blackett but, of course, that’s out of the question now. Is it possible for you to put her up?”
Was it her imagination or did the proprietor’s expression change when the policewoman mentioned Mrs Delroy?
He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Well, I’d best have a word with the missus. We don’t usually have guests during the winter months, but I reckon we could make an exception in the circumstances.”
“Friend of Mrs Delroy’s, are you Miss?” enquired a portly, red-faced man sitting on a bar stool.
“No, my parents were. Actually we’ve never met.”
“I see – well, I expect she’ll be glad of a bit of company. She’s rather housebound these days. Doesn’t get out much at all.” He turned to the police woman. “Wasn’t there an incident up at Wisteria Lodge, last week?”
“There was a bit of a problem, yes, but I’m not at liberty to divulge any details.”
Rhianna wondered what exactly she’d got herself into. Brookhurst wasn’t turning out to be quite the idyllic, peaceful spot she’d imagined. She’d stay the one night, visit Mrs Blackett at the hospital and see Letitia Delroy as arranged and then consider going home.
“I think I’ll pay Mrs Delroy a visit whilst I’m in the area. Want to come with me?” the policewoman asked Rhianna.
“Oh, I - um - actually, I think it might be best if I left it until tomorrow morning.”
The policewoman nodded. “Well, we can at least speak with her on the phone.”
“Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have her number. She didn’t give it to me - only Mrs Blackett’s.”
She received some strange glances and supposed it did sound odd.
The proprietor found the number and everyone listened as the police-woman explained briefly what had happened.
“Now, I’m coming up to see you in a few minutes, Mrs Delroy. I’ve got a young lady here who’s called Rhianna Soames – says you’re expecting her. You are? That’s fine.” She passed the phone to Rhianna.
“Hello, Mrs Delroy, it’s Rhianna. I’m absolutely fine, thank you. I’m going to be staying at the White Unicorn. How about I come to see you tomorrow morning around eleven thirty?”
Once the policewoman had gone, Rhianna found herself the centre of attention. “So tell us your version of events,” the man on the bar stool invited. “It sounded pretty nasty to me. Was she coshed over the ‘ead?”
Rhianna decided not to go into details. “She did have a head wound, yes. Anyway, she’s in safe hands now and Lizzie Blake has got her mother-in-law with her, so everything’s been taken care of.”
Presently, when Rhianna moved her car into the pub car park she discovered there was a police cordon outside the post office.
“Crime scene now,” Ron the proprietor said dourly. “Nothing much happens here and then we get two incidents in the space of a week.”
“We’re not safe in our beds no more,” the man on the bar stool commented cryptically looking up from his beer.
Ron handed Rhianna a drink. “Here get that down you, lass. You look as if you could do with it. It’s on the house. Unfortunate introduction to your stay in Brookhurst. Hope the experience won’t put you off. Don’t know what the world’s coming to!”