Paint a Murder Read online

  Inside, a collection of small figurines of white clay, with brightly coloured features, was crammed onto glass shelves. There were a jumble of different tableaux. A man, a woman and two children sat on a checked cloth around a little wicker hamper filled with tiny sausage rolls, fizzy drinks and a pineapple cake. A white dog sat between the children, a yellow and red ball by its side.

  They were utterly delightful, Alice thought, and much more engaging than the paintings. She pulled the phone from her pocket and snapped a few photos.

  “Here we are.” Nicholas returned with a tray of refreshments. “I’ve got some lime cordial, I hope you like lime.” He set the tray down on a coffee table. “Do help yourself. Would you like a biscuit? It’s shortbread.” He gave a shy smile. “Homemade.”

  “I will, thank you.” She bit into the biscuit, putting out a hand to catch the crumbs. “Yum, these are so good.”

  “That’s kind of you. There’s some chocolate-covered ones too, if you’d like.”

  Alice’s stomach rumbled in response; she had skipped breakfast.

  She demolished the biscuit and took a chocolate one too.

  “I was looking at your figurines. They’re gorgeous and so beautifully made. Where did you get them?”

  “Margaret, my wife, made them. She used our conservatory out the back as a workshop. Her paints are still there, just where she left them …” Nicholas looked at the floor.

  “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” Alice reached over and touched his arm. “Your wife was very talented. The figurines have such vitality and the detailing is amazing.” She went back to the cabinet and rested on her haunches. “This picnic scene here, you can almost feel how happy the people are, it looks just like a real family.”

  “It is a real family, it’s us. That’s me and there’s Margaret.” Nicholas crouched down beside her. “And there’s our children, George and Catherine, they would have been about nine and seven. Margaret would pack a picnic and we’d go and sit by the river just along from the cricket pavilion. We’d take our dog too, Tuppence, that’s him there. He was only a puppy when Margaret made this figure. The children would play with Tuppence and Margaret would sketch.”

  Nicholas winced as he wound himself up. “My knees are not what they used to be. Anyway, I’m lucky I had such a wonderful family, and seeing them so full of life and enjoying themselves, it made me burst with pride.” He wiped his eye, brushing away a tear before it fell. “Don’t take any notice of me, I’m a silly old fool.”

  “It sounds like you had a lovely life together. It must be a comfort for you to have those memories.”

  A picture of her absent father and distracted mother blew into Alice’s mind. Her mother had been too busy working or lying down in her bedroom to cook a proper dinner for her and her brother, let alone plan a picnic. Usually, she let the picture linger, desperate to cling onto any memory of her parents. But it also made her sad and she did not need another day of emotions and stress. Not after yesterday. She blinked the image away.

  “So, Margaret made all of these …” Alice swept her arm the width of the cabinet.

  “She did.” There’s my niece, Anna, with her husband, on their wedding day. That’s our Catherine, she was one of the bridesmaids. The girls were given baskets of flowers, but Catherine lost most of hers before she got to the church, that’s why her basket is nearly empty.”

  Nicholas indicated figures at the bottom of the cabinet. “This is George’s graduation from Trinity College.” A young man wearing a black gown and a mortar board was flanked by his beaming and very recognisable father and a pretty, smiling lady wearing a pink hat.

  “This is our family album. Memories of clay.”

  Alice did a quick calculation.

  “These are remarkable, and with the stories attached to them, they’re enchanting. I would love to show some of them as part of the exhibition, they are exactly the sort of original local artwork I was hoping to find. Would you be willing to lend me a few pieces?”

  “But what about the painting? Jenna Farling told me there was only one entry per person and I did particularly want to lend you the painting.”

  “Well, we can always make exceptions and these figures are exceptional. What do you think?”

  Nicholas put his hands in his pockets and stared out the window.

  She could see the figures were precious to him, clearly more important than the painting, and she realised she could not push him.

  “Look, there’s no rush. Have a think about it, I’ll call back in a few days and we’ll chat again. How does that sound?”

  Nicholas brightened. “Okay. You’ll take the painting in the meantime though, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Here it is, all packed and ready to go. You will look after it won’t you? It was Margaret’s special painting, she bought it on holiday in Mallorca.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Me and Tommy Norton will look after it for you. We handle valuable paintings all the time, it’ll be safe in our storeroom.”

  Alice was delighted with her discovery. The visit had turned out to be more productive than she could have imagined – potentially a better artwork than the one offered. There was no telling what might turn up when she visited other lenders.

  Alice would get around Jenna’s dismal list of pieces and put her own stamp on the exhibition. It would not please her boss, but if Duncan Jones wanted a high-quality exhibition, sacrifices had to be made!

  Chapter 7

  Back on board Daisy, Alice stood in the shower, reflecting on Joe’s text response.

  ‘Speak later.’

  She had not heard from him since and it was nearly lunchtime. She hoped it was because the Buchanan family was still sleeping off the effects of Uncle Patrick’s party.

  Earlier in the year, Joe had mentioned that he might take up his cousin’s offer to work in his photography business. Joe could commute to Galway and spend some time with his family. Alice worried that he might be taking the opportunity to discuss it.

  Alice longed to speak to him. The shower’s watery rods pounded her shoulders and she twisted her long hair around her finger.

  In the meantime, there was no more news about the dead body, though there would be plenty of people at Vivien Taylor’s unveiling party. She might hear more then.

  Alice dressed in a pink shift dress, rolled her hair into a bun and secured it with a pink scrunchie. She laced up a pair of white Vans, picked up a pair of large, round sunglasses from the kitchen counter and stepped into bright sunlight.

  She walked along Sam’s Lane and almost straight past the dashing gentleman wearing a cream linen suit and crisp white shirt, standing beside Roddy’s barge. His shoulder-length curly hair was neatly combed and brushed off his face.

  “Gosh, you look smart. I didn’t know you even owned a suit.”

  “I don’t. Stanley lent it to me, the shirt and shoes too.” Roddy winked and popped on a white fedora at a rakish angle.

  “You look like an Italian movie star. I bet someone will ask you about your latest film.”

  “Rather that than they ask me about my work. I couldn’t even remember what my last painting was called.”

  “Just make something up, no one will know the difference.”

  “Dear girl, titles of paintings are to artists what lines of Hamlet are to an actor. The audience knows them better than you do, you daren’t get them wrong.”

  They wandered along Sam’s Lane and stopped at the car park, where Alice unlocked her navy blue Defender, its white roof grey from dusty idleness. She got in and opened the passenger door for Roddy.

  “I forgot you have to climb up into this thing,” he said. “Don’t you ever feel the urge to drive a car rather than a tank?”

  “You can stop being rude about my car or I’ll make you walk to Vivien’s,�
�� said Alice. “I love my Defender, he never lets me down.”

  She started up the car and let it run for a while, before driving out and onto River Street.

  “Now, what do you want me to do at this party, other than charm and imbibe?”

  “I’d like you to get some material for the exhibition catalogue, from the lenders. Find out what attracted them to the work and how they came by it. There’s a list of them in my bag there, along with the name of the painting they’re lending.”

  “Okay then, let’s see who you’ve got.” Roddy unfolded the list. “The Lincolns. They’re lending one of their dreary landscapes – only to be expected. The Shorts. No imagination those people, but River at Sunset is a respectable painting. Ah, Lady Esther Graydon,” he said to Alice’s profile. “I’ve never been to her house, I hear it’s lovely, but she, dear girl, has a Picasso. An early one, not one of his best, but a Picasso nonetheless.”

  “And she fobbed us off with a portrait of her grandfather. I’m beginning to wonder whether Jenna put any real effort into this exhibition at all.”

  Alice stopped at the Narebridge road T-junction and let a crocodile of school children cross the road.

  “Would you mind writing that down please? The bit about the Picasso. There’s a pen in the glove box.”

  “Who’s next? Ah, Sean Cummings. He’s as rich as Croesus, but he’s the sort of man who wears baseball caps in public! I had dinner at his house, which is full of appalling paintings. The dining room was covered with gaudy burgundy wallpaper, there were long velvet curtains at the windows and a huge chandelier with tassels dangled over the table. I felt as if I was eating in a bordello!”

  “Perfect! That’s exactly the sort of story I’m looking for. I knew you were just the man for this job.”

  “I fear I’ve set the bar too high already!” Roddy laughed. “OK, I shall drag a bunch of entertaining stories out of these lenders. By the way, there is going to be food at Vivien’s isn’t there? I didn’t have any breakfast.”

  “I’m sure there’ll be food and champagne. But you, sir, are working, so a little restraint if you don’t mind.”

  “I think I can manage a little restraint!”

  “Good. Right, we’re here.”

  Larchdale lay in the middle of lush farmland, tucked away at the bottom of a dusty, pot-holed dirt road. The Defender snaked along the track until it broadened out into a tear-drop shingle driveway. A substantial, ivy-covered house stood at the far end.

  A man in khaki shorts and matching shirt directed Alice to a paddock on the left. She pulled up at the end of a row.

  She followed Roddy around the side of the house to the back and onto a large patio. A wide, sloping lawn ran down to the River Nare, and beyond, a patchwork of coloured fields ran to the horizon. To the east lay a small village with a massive church, the colours from its stained-glass windows dancing in the sunlight.

  Guests engaged in mellow conversation and sipped glasses filled with bubbles. Alice edged between delicate petunias bursting from terracotta pots and mouthed greetings to people she knew and a couple she did not.

  Vivien waved from across the paving, hastening over to join her. “I saw you looking at the view, it’s glorious, isn’t it? It was this beautiful scene that sold me the house.”

  “Yes, it’s stunning. As is the house.”

  “Thank you. The house and its grounds were wrecks when I bought them. It’s taken a lot of work to get everything looking this way, but I’m very pleased with how the old girl turned out.” Vivien beamed, as if she were describing a daughter rather than a house.

  “Anyway, welcome. I’m delighted you could be here, Alice. You too, Roddy. We—”

  “Roddy!” The bellow came from a squat, plump lady careering towards them, wearing a smart, if snug, peach-coloured suit. She flung an arm around Roddy’s neck and pushed her reddened, sweaty face into his, kissing him on both cheeks. “Roddy, how marvellous to see you, it’s been ages. You look wonderful.”

  “Marjorie, my dear, what a lovely surprise. How the devil are you?”

  “Getting older and more decrepit, bits keep seizing up. But I can still quaff a good bottle of red, so I can’t complain.”

  “I didn’t realise you two knew each other.” Vivien’s rounded vowels flattened as she glanced between Roddy and Marjorie.

  “Roddy and I go back decades. We bump into each other every few years and keep promising to meet up properly, but it never happens.”

  “This time, we’ll make an arrangement and stick to it.” Roddy pointed between Marjorie and Vivien. “And how do you two know each other? Through your interest in art or your council work?”

  “Both,” said Marjorie. “We meet now and again at charity fundraisers. The last time we met, I sold Vivien a marvellous painting. I must show it to you, Roddy, it’s in her study.”

  “Roddy has very discerning taste, Marjorie. I doubt a professional artist like him would be impressed with that little painting.” Vivien tossed Roddy a teasing grin.

  “Don’t I know it. But I think you’ll find this one interesting, Roddy.”

  Vivien rolled her bottom lip. “Oh dear! And I had hoped that people would be talking about my special artwork today. That’s why we’re here after all. I won’t apologise for hogging the limelight to promote the centenary exhibition.”

  “Of course, how inconsiderate of me,” said Marjorie. “I’m dying to see which piece in your fabulous collection you’re unveiling.” She turned to Alice. “And who are you, my dear? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Allow me.” Roddy grasped Alice’s arm. “My dear friend Marjorie Cavendish, please meet my dear friend and neighbour Alice Haydon.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” Alice shook Marjorie’s clammy hand.

  “It’s lovely to meet you too, dear. Now, don’t tell me you live on one of those gloomy barge thingies like Roddy?”

  “Alice lives in a nice new and clean barge thingy,” said Roddy. “Even you would approve!”

  Vivien signalled to a waiter carrying a tray of drinks.

  “You’ll have a glass of champagne, won’t you?” she said, handing Alice a glass. “I’ll do the unveiling in about half an hour and in the meantime, please make yourselves at home. There’s plenty more champagne, or soft drinks if you prefer, and a buffet table in the dining room.” She headed off, spreading bonhomie amongst her other guests.

  Marjorie and Roddy meandered towards the house, presumably in search of a quiet corner for a catch-up. Left alone, Alice took the opportunity to look over Vivien’s famed art collection. She found a large sitting room with high ceilings and mustard-coloured walls. Above a wooden mantelpiece hung a portrait of a thin, severe woman dressed in black, with a white ruffle collar. Her skin was chalky and the whites around her cold, dark eyes were tinged with yellow. It was hard to tell whether the woman had been alive or dead when it was painted.

  “Miserable cow, isn’t she.” Alice jumped at the gravelly voice, which came from a man tucked into the corner of the room, nursing a plaster-encased leg. “No accounting for taste is there?”

  “She is a bit stern.” Alice shuffled towards the open door, fortuitously situated between the miserable cow and the incapacitated man.

  “Still, the little bird watercolours over there are easier on the emotions. But don’t let me detain you. I expect you’ve got some friends inside.” He thumbed towards the door.

  “Thanks,” Alice mumbled before slipping into the hall, where she found Claudia Rowan, the arts writer for the local newspaper.

  “Hello Alice, I was just talking to Finn about you.” Claudia threw a multi-braceleted arm at the good-looking man beside her. “About our plans to promote the exhibition for you and Vivien. We’ve got a big spread planned for next week’s issue and Finn’s going to take pictures to go with it. He could take some for you too if you li
ke.”

  “What sort of shots do you want me to take?”

  Alice couldn’t miss the American accent.

  “That’s really good of you, Finn. Could you take some pictures of Vivien with her painting and then the painting by itself, please? Also, some shots of the house and grounds, seeing as we’re here. Is that alright?”

  “Yeah, that’s cool. I’m enjoying shooting this wonderful house and all the art. The grounds too.”

  “Are you interested in art?”

  “All I know is what I learnt when I covered an art theft case at the Old Bailey a few years ago – does that count?”

  “Well I’m guessing it sparked an interest.” Alice laughed.

  “I’ve done some kayaking up this way, so I’ve been by the house before. I’ll get some shots outside now while there are still people out there.”

  Finn picked up a camera bag from the table beside him and headed towards the sitting room.

  “Well Claudia, I like Finn – he looks … athletic! Where did you meet him?”

  “Ex-California junior tennis champ!” Claudia stuck out her chin. “We met at a friend’s party ages ago, but he was travelling so much I hardly saw him. Until recently that is, when he moved up here to be near his mother. She owns Ellie’s in the high street.”

  “I love that shop. I bought this dress there.” Alice waited while Vivien passed by them. “Originally, I thought this event was a bit over the top. But it’s drumming up interest in the exhibition, judging from the people here.”

  “And what a crowd. All the movers and shakers in our little town have turned out. Not that they would dream of ignoring Vivien’s summons!” Claudia’s green eyes shone. “No doubt they’ll be suitably appreciative of Vivien Taylor’s selfless generosity to the community.” She roared with laughter, turning the heads of a couple nearby. “What will you do if you don’t like her painting? Shove it in a corner somewhere?”