‘That’s something Tom’s been keeping to himself,’ Jem said to the others.
‘Probably quite innocent,’ Mel said. ‘A poker school or something.’
‘Strip poker?’ Ella said.
‘Not much joy in that when they see models stripping off for them every other week,’ Jem said. ‘You’d better get back to the studio, Mel. They’re definitely going in. Oh, and Mel.’
‘Yes?’
‘See if you can find out when the next party is.’
Back in the studio, Mel took a tissue and started smearing the charcoal she had so carefully outlined before the break. Jem had been right. At once the picture had a freer look. She rubbed a few of the lines away completely and was pleased to see that they hadn’t been needed. When she stood back, her brain filled in the missing bits.
‘What’s happening here?’ a voice said in her ear.
Tom.
‘I’m trying something different.’
‘It’s good. Go for it, Mel. You can use a rubber to lighten some areas if you want, but add some more charcoal first.’
He moved on.
She was pleased to get approval, but she felt disloyal to Miss Gibbon. All those exercises in perspective must have had some purpose. Her own sense of order had rather welcomed the analytical approach. The idea that there was a golden mean, an aesthetically pleasing formula for designing a picture, had given her something to aspire to. Last year hadn’t been a total waste of time, as the others believed.
If, as now seemed inevitable, she ‘broke out’ and disregarded those principles, she felt a strong urge not to disregard Miss Gibbon herself. The others seemed happy to dismiss her from their minds. They’d never had much respect for her. ‘Almost human,’ Ella had said about the online photo. The knowledge that their former teacher was on the missing persons list didn’t trouble them. Their only concern was whether she’d be traced and get her old job back.
Mel had decided she, at least, would make an effort to find out more.
Now was an opportunity.
Tom was still on her side of the room giving advice to Gail, one of the other A-level girls. He’d have to edge past Mel to return to his own easel because Anastasia had built a barricade with two donkey stools to separate herself from Geraint. No one liked to get close when he was wielding the knife.
‘Tom, mind if I ask something?’
‘Ask away.’
‘When you took over from Miss Gibbon, did you get a chance to talk to her?’
He shook his head. ‘She left suddenly during the summer break.’
‘I was hoping you might have learned what her plans were, like where she was going next. We didn’t give her a goodbye present or thank her for teaching us or anything.’
‘She’s on your conscience?’
‘In a way.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about her. From all I heard, she was rather a private person. She may have decided she needs a break from teaching, a sabbatical. You might laugh at this, but teaching a lively group of students can be really demanding. Doesn’t the school have a forwarding address?’
‘I don’t think so. Miss Gibbon is officially a missing person.’
He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ve seen her picture on the police website.’
‘That’s really disturbing. I hadn’t heard.’ Shaking his head, he moved on.
Out on the lawn, Jem had completed three good pastel drawings of Tom’s MG by mid-afternoon. She didn’t feel like starting another or indeed anything else, so she went for a stroll instead. The grounds weren’t vast or particularly beautiful, but there were some wonderful old trees. She found a kitchen garden at the back and a swimming pool with a tiled surround and two larger than life black and gold masked figures in bronze with spectacular headgear and cassock-like garments.
Across another stretch of lawn she spotted Ferdie with his wheelbarrow emerging from a walled garden. He was coming in her direction, so she waited to speak. He seemed surprised when she gave a friendly, ‘Hi. Is that where you grow the orchids?’
A slow smile of recognition dawned. ‘Didn’t recognise you for a moment.’ He grounded the barrow. ‘Yes, I’d offer to show you round, but they’re in controlled conditions.’
‘Humidity and stuff?’
He smiled. ‘That’s about right. Some of them are extremely delicate. How’s the art coming along, young lady? Going to show me? I’ve been handling compost but I won’t touch.’
She opened her sketchbook and showed the pastel drawings of the MG.
‘Ha, the passion wagon. You’ve caught it perfectly. Tom will approve, I guarantee.’
‘D’you reckon?’ she said. ‘He’ll be like, “You’ve spent too much time getting a likeness when you should have made it more dynamic.”’
‘Like a streak of red to show it doing a ton on the motorway? Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer it just as you’ve drawn it.’
Jem had no thought of calling him old-fashioned. ‘If I’d had my head straight when I got here this morning, I could have drawn those amazing figures near the pool, or their reflections in the water, which would have been even better.’
‘You like them? I’m pleased to hear that.’
‘They’re awesome. They set it off incredibly.’ Without pause she added, ‘Is that where Tom holds his parties?’
‘Someone been telling you about the parties, have they?’ Ferdie said.
‘One of the artists mentioned them as if they’re rather special.’
‘Not all that special, unless I missed something. Just a social get-together for his art friends. In the summer they gather round the pool and he has some loud music going. Or they sometimes hold it by the lake.’
‘You’ve got a lake?’
‘We call it that. Others might describe it as a pond. You should take a stroll down there. It would make a nice picture. Of course in cold weather they use the studio for the parties.’
‘They’re all year round, are they?’
‘Night of the full moon.’
‘Go on.’
He grinned. ‘I kid you not.’
‘Cool. D’you think I might get an invite?’
‘I can’t speak for my son, but I doubt it.’
‘Why? Do they, like, get up to something illegal?’
He laughed. ‘No, no, no. Not on my property. Any nonsense of that sort and I’d ban the lot of them.’
5
Georgina Dallymore, the Assistant Chief Constable in Bath, was unusually tense, gripping the edge of her desk with both hands as if she meant to heave it over and use it as a barricade when the enemy burst in. ‘Shut the door, would you? This is for your ears only.’
Detective Superintendent Peter Diamond, not without tension himself, did as he was told.
‘How is everything in CID?’ Her standard question. It might mean anything.
‘Humming, ma’am, humming.’ His standard response. It meant nothing.
‘Busy, then?’
He nodded. It is always wise to be busy.
‘The jewel robberies?’
‘Taking up a lot of time, yes.’ Far too many of the rich and famous had their homes in and around Bath. A gang of thieves had been at work for eight months depriving them of some of their best items of jewellery. The gang used ladders and vans and they picked locks and neutralised security systems. Nothing remarkable in that. But generally even the top professionals give themselves away when they cash in. The marketing of stolen goods is messy and leaves trails.
‘Are you personally involved in the investigation?’
‘When you say “personally”...’
‘Hands on.’
Careful here, he thought. ‘I’m overseeing it, if that’s what you mean.’