The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery) Read online

  Fiona lifted her shoulders in a despairing shrug and they left it at that. Talk was desultory at first but as their starters arrived and then their mains, tongues were loosened by alcohol (except at what Harriet inwardly called the temperance end of the table) and the hum of conversation rose. Sam stared in surprise at Harriet’s glass but she shook her head as he made to pour from the bottle of Chablis. ‘Not tonight,’ she murmured with a slight tilt of her head in Donald’s direction. ‘Not fair …’

  ‘Oh, I get you,’ he nodded and turned back to ask Seren about her paintings. ‘I expect you’ve heard that Harriet and I are only here to make up the numbers, but I’m eager to see what the rest of you produce. I’m told Linzi is a successful artist and paints miniatures for dolls’ houses. I know Fiona is the Queen Bee of the village flower club so it’s no surprise that she paints flowers.’

  ‘I didn’t know that about Fiona, but then, I don’t know any of them.’ A frown gathered fleetingly between Seren’s brows but she summoned up a smile as she glanced over at the group secretary. ‘I spotted an ad about the new group and rang on the spur of the moment. She was so friendly I was glad of the chance to join this weekend course. I love to paint landscapes and I’ve kept it up when I could. My daughter’s good, she’s just started a Fine Art degree.’

  ‘The talent must run in the family,’ he said, and wondered why she paused on a breath before giving him another faint smile.’ ‘What about you, Tim?’ Sam spoke across her to include the younger man. ‘We’re talking about what kind of thing everyone likes to paint.’

  ‘You’ll laugh.’ Tim, who had been saddled with Clare Yarrow as a neighbour, looked relieved to be released from her interminable griping. ‘I’m a big science fiction fan so I like to paint other-worldly landscapes – blue grass, orange sky, portraits sometimes, aliens, dragons, that kind of thing.’

  Seren looked interested and Sam was about to ask questions when a young waiter started to clear, ready for the pudding course. In an effort to be helpful Jess Tyndall started piling plates up and passed them along towards the door, urging the others to follow suit.

  Harriet hid a smile when she spotted Fiona’s exasperated face. Jess struck her as a friendly creature but tonight she seemed unusually preoccupied. Those plates are piled too high, Harriet thought with resignation – there!

  To the evident anguish of the young waiter, the plates began to topple, only saved when Bonnie Mercer made a determined effort and held them steady. Several other people leaped up and confusion reigned until order was restored.

  Linzi Bray snapped out a comment that was lost in the ensuing chatter, then subsided into the brooding silence that had overtaken her since the advent of that nasty little note. She was probably exhausted too, by the walk from Tadema Lodge. She drew a small bottle from her handbag and tipped out a couple of white pills, cramming them into her mouth, just as Fiona had described. As Harriet stared thoughtfully at her Nina looked up and laughed.

  ‘Pills, Linzi? You are in a bad way.’ The sneer was audible and Linzi bridled.

  ‘If you must know, it’s a homeopathic remedy for stress,’ she said defensively and glared when Jess waded in.

  ‘You know that kind of thing is nothing but a placebo? Sugar pills for the gullible.’

  Harriet winced but the moment passed and as the noise level rose, she took another look at the Chairman. Linzi’s make-up was immaculate but strain was visible in the shadows under her eyes and a faintly bruised tinge to her skin. Jaundice? Liver? Harriet tried to dredge up some medical knowledge but was defeated and instead tucked into her slice of lemon tart. She wondered whether Saturday would be instructive and entertaining or whether the tension in the group would cause problems, when Bonnie called out from the other end of the table.

  ‘I say, Harriet, we’re discussing star signs and I’ve identified you as an Aries. They’re very strong personalities and you have such a powerful aura.’

  ‘What?’ Harriet blinked, decided that the other woman was actually paying her a backhanded compliment, and put down her spoon with a wry grin. ‘You’re quite wrong, I’m afraid, Bonnie. My birthday’s in January so I’m a Capricorn, sign of world-class heavyweight boxers and megalomaniacs. Much scarier than Aries! What sign are you, Seren?’ She had no particular interest in astrology but it struck her that it was an innocuous topic of conversation that this mis-matched company might enjoy without coming to blows.

  ‘Me?’ Seren sounded flustered at the sudden attention but she coloured and managed a smile. ‘My birthday is the 13th May so I suppose that’s Taurus.’

  To Harriet’s surprise she realised that Seren’s obedient response had caused a ripple of interest. Linzi stared at her and Bonnie, who frowned and then delved in her handbag for a quick flick through a notebook, was clearly struck, while Nina Allison watched everyone with a glint of malice in her eyes. The Yarrow pair glowered in silence, heads ping-ponging from one speaker to another, while Jess had a darkling expression whenever she was forced to look at Linzi. Come to think of it, Jess had been looking grim ever since the art group descended on Tadema Lodge, very different from her former affable self.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ Harriet muttered under her breath, ‘time to interfere again for the common good.’ She hid a smile at her presumption and leaned forward.

  ‘Bonnie, you didn’t tell us what star sign you come under?’

  ‘Oh, I’m Pisces,’ Bonnie said, turning to ask Jess, who shook her head and muttered something inaudible. Linzi, still pale and silent, looked forbidding so Bonnie clearly thought better of speaking to her and leaned instead across the table in Sam’s direction.’What about you, Sam? Or do you feel that astrology is against Christian teaching?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Sam began. ‘Everything in moderation is my motto. It’s a bit of fun as long as you don’t take it too seriously, but I’m not much in favour of the fire and brimstone aspects of religion. Justice, yes, but retribution is a tricky one and we’re at dinner so it’s not an appropriate time or place for a sermon.’ He looked round with an apologetic grin, noting some thoughtful expressions as he did so. To lighten the atmosphere, he added: ‘As for me, I quite fancy the idea of Ophicus, the 13th star sign.’

  Linzi’s voice cut sharply across the reply. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, give it a rest, will you? Everyone knows all that mumbo-jumbo is a load of—’

  Stung by the hurt on Bonnie’s face at this rebuke, Harriet interrupted with a kind but firm: ‘Each to his own, Linzi. We needn’t get too heated about it. Go on, Sam,’ she turned to her cousin and altered her voice to that of Miss Quigley the Headmistress. It carried well, not loud but very clear, as she added, with a laugh: ‘Tell them your real star sign? The one the children always thought was funny.’

  Her interruption had the desired effect and everyone except Linzi looked eagerly towards Sam whose mouth was quirked into a slight smile. ‘Oh, all right, Harriet,’ he feigned modest reluctance, the twinkle deepening in his eyes as he said, ‘I was born under the sign of Pyrex.’

  There was a puzzled silence and he came in with the punch line. ‘I was a test tube baby.’

  To Harriet, even from the other end of the table, Linzi’s self-control looked perilously near breaking point, so she was glad when the rest collapsed in giggles.’It’s an old joke,’ Harriet explained with an approving nod to her cousin. ‘He’s a Leo,’ she threw a crumb to Bonnie who was still looking downcast. ‘His birthday is the 24th of July.’

  Bonnie revived, looking pleased and nodded to Clare, who was clearly feeling neglected, tossing her hair from side to side to the evident annoyance of her neighbours. She sniffed sulkily and announced: ‘Well, I’m a Virgo, in case anyone’s interested.’

  Sam smiled politely but when he heard his cousin Harriet’s murmured: ‘No surprise there,’ and puzzled everyone by snorting with laughter. ‘Something went down the wrong way,’ he said apologetically.

  Mercifully, no-one else had heard so he leaned across the table and asked Clare
about her own artistic style. Clare flicked her hair even more wildly as she told him about her passion for painting landscapes in watercolour, unconscious of the surprise written on her husband’s face at this unblushing lie. She was also unaware of the unfortunate waiter bending to take her plate; he felt the full force of a yard of grey frizz in his face. Harriet manfully concealed a smile at the poor lad’s confusion and then, feeling that further diversionary tactics were called for, she sat up straight and looked down the table, fixing Jess firmly with a minatory gaze.

  ‘Tell us about your paintings, Jess? Fiona says they’re fabulous. They sound just my cup of tea. I’ve always been a fan of the Pre-Raphaelites and I saw a wonderful exhibition in Washington last time I was there. Your pictures are in a similar style, I gather?’

  ‘I like to think I’ve gone away from the well-worn paths and explored some of the less hackneyed themes of the Arthurian legends in my paintings and in my poetry …’ Jess’s expression lightened as she responded to the change of topic and the conversation moved on to drawing and artists.

  ‘Perhaps we could have a group outing,’ Fiona suggested. ‘Visit some galleries, or … I know … are there any other opera buffs like Jess and me? There’s an exhibition of costumes next month. We could make sketches.’

  Undercover of the murmur of interest, Sam whispered to Harriet in affectionate admiration: ‘Well done, Hat, for getting them off a tricky subject. I hadn’t realised what a dragon you could be – you’re the image of Granny Hathaway!’

  ‘Shh!’ she hissed. ‘I wish people would try not to be unpleasant but we can’t discuss it here.’ Her eyes flickered involuntarily towards Linzi whose delicately arched brows furrowed her forehead as she sat in a thundery silence.

  I wonder if she’s a drunk? Harriet tested her theory and thought it had legs. It could explain all kinds of things: the jaundiced look and possible liver problems; the fantasy fairy-tales; the paranoia; even staggering and falling into the river. As Harriet observed her discreetly, Linzi snapped her fingers and spoke to the waiter who reappeared with another bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. None of the other diners was offered a glass; it was clearly all for Linzi. Harriet watched as Linzi gulped down her drink and poured another at once. ‘If she’s ill she shouldn’t be mixing alcohol and pills, though maybe she’s just terrified out of her wits,’ she thought.

  Half an hour later the tricky little altercation about horoscopes appeared to be a thing of the past and Linzi, though drinking steadily, had not said another word, so Harriet discarded her headmistress’s hat and relaxed. The effect of Sam’s impromptu diversion into justice had been interesting and she thought that Linzi in particular, already looking pretty grim, had been more shaken by it than the rest. Not for the first time, although she would never admit it to him, she realised that Sam was a far nicer person than she was herself. ‘I’m all in favour of a spot of vengeance,’ she sighed, ‘as long as it can be achieved without too much harm: a valuable lesson learned. I suppose he’s right though; isn’t that justice rather than revenge.’

  She kept an eye on Donald and was pleased to see that he’d struck up a diffident conversation with Madeleine.

  ‘I’d like to see these sweaters you make,’ she heard him say. ‘My mother was a great hand at knitting Fair Isle patterns and your designs sound fascinating. What are you working on at the moment?’

  ‘I’m experimenting,’ she told him, her pale face flushed with pleasure. ‘Don’t laugh, I know it sounds daft but I’m trying an abstract landscape based on fields and stone walls and sheep. I love it,’ she confided, made bold by his interest. ‘It’s quite a new departure for me.’

  No need to worry about those two for the time being, Harriet told herself, aware that she was being ridiculous. These people were adults and it was no business of hers to defuse arguments or promote friendships, so she sipped her coffee in peace.

  A ping rang out, loud at the quieter end of the table.

  Sam looked startled as everyone turned to stare in his direction. ‘What the …? Oh, right.’ He pulled out the phone. ‘Oops, sorry, folks, forgot to turn it off,’ he said. ‘Better just check my messages in case … Oh! Oh my God,’ he turned to Harriet, his eyes alight with excitement. ‘It’s from Charlie. She’s pregnant and coming back here to live.’

  With a murmur of apology he untangled his long legs from his seat in the far corner and took his phone outside.

  ‘Charlie? Is that his girlfriend?’ Linzi leaned forward and called out to Harriet, her voice slurring a little. ‘They’re all the same, these holier-than-though people.’ Taking no notice of Harriet’s angry intake of breath, she went on: ‘Why do people make such a fuss about babies? They ruin your figure.’

  Harriet was suddenly very pale as she stood up. ‘Charlie is Sam’s daughter,’ she said coldly. ‘She’s been in Hong Kong for the past two years and Sam misses her very much. This will be her first baby.’

  Not trusting herself to say any more, she left the room abruptly, heading for the Ladies’. She bumped into Sam as he came back into the room. ‘Great news,’ she managed to say. ‘Back in a minute.’

  Inside the cloakroom, Harriet blundered into Bonnie who gulped and rushed into a cubicle.

  ‘Oh, goodness, I do beg your pardon,’ Harriet slipped into a neighbouring cubicle where she put down the wooden seat and sat, breathing deeply. Stupid to be so upset by a casual remark. After a few minutes she blew her nose and wiped her eyes and listened. The door hadn’t opened and closed again so presumably Bonnie was still there. Oh well, no point hanging round in the loo.

  She took a deep breath and went out to the washbasin. She could hear gasping sobs and a despairing gabble of words: ‘Dreadful bloody woman, how could she say that?’

  Oh, Lord. Harriet felt too tired to think straight but habit and duty were strong.

  ‘Bonnie? It’s Harriet, can I help?’

  There was a startled silence and slowly the door opened.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  Harriet nodded, patted her on the shoulder then went to the basin to wash her hands. ‘Can I do anything?’ she asked gently.

  ‘N-no.’ The answer was muffled. ‘It’s just … well, I was never able to have children and to hear that woman speak so callously … it made me … it upset me. Some of us don’t get a choice.’ A watery smile acknowledged the brief squeeze Harriet gave her shoulders. ‘What about you? I can see she upset you too.’

  ‘Me?’ Harriet was tempted to brush it aside but Bonnie was still quivering and here they were, both shaken out of the norm after all, sharing confidences in a moment of surprising intensity. ‘Sam’s wife, Avril, was my dearest friend, ever since we met as 11-year-olds in our brand new school uniform; she and Sam actually met through me in the holidays one year. Everyone was amazed that during her fight with cancer nobody ever saw Avril cry about it, not even Sam. It was something everyone remarked on and it was typical of her. She was a great believer in stoicism and carrying on as usual in the face of adversity.

  ‘She did cry, though, just the once, when we were alone.’ Harriet scrubbed at her eyes and gave an almighty sniff. ‘It was when her son Christopher’s first baby, William, was born. She was so thrilled but it broke her heart that she wouldn’t see him grow up, nor any of the other grandchildren that might come along. I remember her sobbing that she couldn’t bear not to be with Charlie when she had a baby because a girl needs her mum so much. She made me promise to—’

  The tears were flowing again and it was Bonnie’s turn to do the comforting. ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Harriet straightened up and turned on the cold tap. ‘I think Linzi’s drunk, Bonnie, just let it go. We’d better join the rest. I don’t want Sam worried, not when he’s so thrilled about the baby. And we don’t want any fuss.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Bonnie suggested. ‘If necessary, I’ll say I dropped an earring and you and I have been crawling round on the floor, looking for it. If any
one says we look a bit weepy, just say we banged our heads together by accident, which made our eyes water.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Harriet was amused and blew her nose briskly. ‘If there’s any further comment …’ she gave Bonnie another friendly pat on the shoulder and grinned ‘… I’ll go into full-on headmistress mode and terrify them.’

  *

  Sam was inclined to celebrate his news with champagne but Harriet persuaded him against it, judging that their present company was divided, with several of them not drinking for one reason or another. At the other end of the scale Linzi, still largely silent, had a whisky in front of her as did Nina and Jess Tyndall, while Sam and Tim were distinctly silly and giggly over a couple of glasses of Laphroaig. Bonnie looked calmer as she sat nursing a coffee, while Seren was thoughtful. The Yarrows, Clare and George, sat with pursed lips and disapproving stares, he with a beer and she with a small glass of sherry.

  Stuck beside George, Fiona made an effort and asked about his hobbies and Harriet watched in sympathy as he launched into a lecture about his models and about the original planes. ‘I bet you thought the Spit was the first all-metal aircraft?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Oh, no, it was the Messerschmitt; the Germans missed a trick there,’ he chortled. ‘If they’d deployed them in battle we’d all be speaking German now, ja?’

  Fiona’s eyes met Harriet’s across the table as George burst into hearty laughter at his own joke. He had already informed Fiona, in her friend’s hearing, that he had a very good sense of humour. He carried on with his cataloguing.

  ‘I could do with a large whisky,’ Harriet sighed as she tuned him out. ‘I’ve had less fraught evenings but I’d better refrain, it would be cruel to glug it down in front of these two. Still it’s good to see Sam enjoying himself and Tim looks as though he hasn’t let his hair down in years.’

  Fiona caught Harriet’s eye and stood up. ‘We’ve all had a great meal,’ she announced, ‘but we’ve a full schedule tomorrow so I vote we move.’ She slid a glance at Linzi while everyone rummaged in bags and wallets, one or two inevitably checking their mobiles as the waiter produced his card machine along with their individual bills.