She brushes away my concern, saying the only thing for it is to rest in a dark room for a few hours. ‘Would you mind walking over to the gallery in the arcade and asking Kathryn for the books?’ she says.
‘The books?’ I frown at her, imagining lugging home a bagful of paperbacks.
‘The accounts,’ she clarifies. ‘I haven’t looked at them for such a long time. I worry that Kathryn isn’t being honest with me.’
My ears prick up and I mentally file away this titbit of information to give to Courtney later. ‘In what way?’
She waves a wrinkled hand in my direction. Nearly all her fingers are encircled with jewels. ‘I think the gallery isn’t performing as well as she tries to make me believe. It was her father’s baby. And I’ve been busy with the arts foundation so haven’t kept on top of it.’
I know from Courtney that Kathryn is adopted, although Elspeth has never told me so. I wonder if she was close to her father. I was never particularly close to mine: when I was nine and Arlo was fourteen he ran off with another woman from the commune and started a new family somewhere else, never bothering to keep in touch.
I assure her I’ll go to the gallery, even though I don’t relish the thought of having to interact with Kathryn, and fetch what she needs. ‘You rest now,’ I say, patting her liver-spotted hands, which are clutched together in her lap. I leave her alone in the dark room and head downstairs, grabbing my jacket and making my way out of the front door.
It’s a beautiful early-April morning and the sun is shining, which heightens the green of the trees and the pink of the blossom scattered on the pavements. I amble towards the gallery, deliberately taking my time, enjoying the freedom of being without Elspeth, even stopping to buy a takeaway latte from one of the cafés I pass. The mood on the streets is jovial, as though everyone appreciates the beauty of the weather after the cold winter we’ve just emerged from. Strangers smile at each other or nod a hello. I bend over to stroke a brown shaggy-haired poodle cross – I’m informed by the proud owner that it’s a Schnoodle. I want to skip. I feel happy despite everything. It’s amazing how a little sunshine can brighten your mood.
And then I realize I’m being followed.
A man with bright blond hair, wearing a mustard ski jacket, has been shadowing me from Elspeth’s house. At first I didn’t take much notice of him, but when I saw that he stopped when I stroked the dog, and hovered around a bin pretending to be on his phone while I was getting my coffee, it hit me that he was trailing me. I actually want to laugh at him. Stealthy he isn’t.
I stop at the edge of the kerb to cross the street, wondering what he’ll do next, but he forces his way through the throng of people behind me so that he’s standing by my side. He’s tall and very angular.
‘I need to speak to you,’ he says, staring straight ahead, like a spy in an old film.
I turn to him. ‘Are you talking to me?’
He meets my gaze. He has intense eyes and a crease between his brows that seems permanent, as though he’s constantly annoyed. I don’t like the look of him. ‘Yes.’
‘Who the fuck are you? And why are you following me?’
He physically reels backwards. I continue across the road and down the street, and hear the thud of his boots as he runs to catch up.
‘I’m sorry,’ he calls after me. ‘I didn’t mean to come across as creepy. I just wanted to get your attention. You see, I couldn’t come to the house and … please …’ he sounds breathless ‘… can you stop a minute?’
I stop so abruptly that a woman with a pram almost crashes into me. She moves around me, tutting loudly. I fold my arms. He stands facing me, his face red and sweaty. He doesn’t look well. ‘Are you okay?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve had the flu. Look …’ he stands up straighter and extends a hand ‘… I’m Peter.’
Peter? The name rings a bell and then it clicks. ‘The brother of Matilde?’
‘No. Jemima. She died. She worked for Elspeth too.’
I hold up a hand. ‘I know who she is.’
‘I was in touch with Una and then I heard she died, too, in an accident. So when I got some time off work I knew I had to come down. Because it’s weird, don’t you think? And then I hovered around the McKenzies’ house and saw you coming out. At first I thought you were Una and there’d been some mistake but …’ he points to my face with a sad smile ‘… the nose ring.’
I remember what Courtney had told me about Una arranging to meet Peter on the bridge the night she died. ‘Una’s friend said Una thought she was meeting you that night.’
The groove between his eyebrows deepens. ‘The police said something about that. But it wasn’t me. I was working and the police took my phone and analysed it.’
I stare at him sceptically. I wonder if he has an alibi. And he could have used a burner phone. Isn’t that what they’re called on those TV crime dramas?
He hangs his head. ‘I feel awful about it. Una rang me a few times and left messages, but work was crazy and I was on long shifts and never got the chance to call her back.’
I’m conscious of the time ticking by and Elspeth waking to find I’ve not returned with the books. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m working.’
‘Can you meet me tonight after work?’
I pull an apologetic face. ‘I’m sort of on call twenty-four/seven.’
‘What?’ He looks shocked. ‘I don’t remember Jemima having that arrangement.’
I shrug. ‘She pays amazingly well for what I do. And I need the money. But I get two days off a week. I could meet you on Saturday.’
‘I’m not sure … I’ve driven all this way.’
‘Then contact Courtney. She was Una’s best friend. She knows more about it all than I do.’ I take my mobile out of my bag and reel off Courtney’s number. Peter taps it into his phone. ‘I’d better go. And … I’m really sorry. About Jemima. And Una.’
I leave him standing in the middle of the street and head towards the art gallery.
Kathryn isn’t there when I arrive and I’m greeted by a voluptuous girl with long hair piled on top of her head and bright red lipstick. She introduces herself as Daisy.