Page 12 of Old Girls Behaving Badly

‘Morning, can I make you some coffee?’

I jumped at the unexpected sound of another person and turned to see a young man of less than thirty in chef whites with a sharp knife clutched in his fist. My eyes went straight to the weapon, then his followed a second later and he smirked before placing it back on the counter next to the mushrooms he was slicing, seemingly in silence. It looked less threatening there in the setting it was to be used for.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That probably looked a bit menacing.’ He wiped his hand on the tea towel tucked into his pocket and held it out to me. ‘I’m Harry. Are you with the bride or groom?’

‘I’m companion to Dorothy, the groom’s grandmother, and a coffee would be lovely, thank you,’ I said, shaking his hand.

I could see him assessing me with a cool stare, no doubt wondering why Dorothy would employ a woman as old as me for a companion. I could see that same thought flickering in Leonard’s eyes at dinner the night before. The truth was that I was perfectly fit for my age and other than an occasional grumble in my lower back, I was just as capable as I had been when I was sixty; well, almost. I stepped back and took another look around the room.

‘This is a great space to cook in. Have you been here long?’ I asked, suddenly feeling that small talk was needed and perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few innocuous questions.

‘Just a year,’ he said, and began to make me a coffee from the large chrome device on the counter by the window.

I glanced out, up the bank of grass to a wooden fence and on to the roofs of greenhouses in the distance. The view was nothing like the other side of the house with its beautiful parterre garden, but that was how these grand houses were designed in the 1700s. Stunning views from the upper floors for the residents and their many guests, and functional downstairs for the staff. I could see stone steps leading up from the kitchen door and, to the side at the bottom of a bank of grass, a small plastic table and chairs tucked away near some bins, a plant pot on top overflowing with cigarette ends.

Harry handed me the coffee and I took it gratefully, declining his offer of sugar.

‘Mr Price has quite the collection upstairs, doesn’t he,’ I prompted, as Harry returned to preparing breakfast. ‘Nice to see an old house chock-full of artwork. Are you interested in art?’

‘Not particularly. I mean, I like what I like and I really like those paintings in the entrance hall. Great colours and not all dingy like some of the other stuff he’s got.’

‘I suppose such an avid collector would be bringing things into the house all the time. I guess you see a lot of comings and goings?’ I asked and then began furiously sipping at my drink as Harry gave me a sidelong glance.

‘What?’ he said, clearly surprised.

‘Oh, I just wondered about Mr Price’s art collection, that was all.’

‘Right,’ he said, halfway between looking uncomfortable and bemused. ‘Did you say you were a companion?’

‘Yes,’ I said quickly, wishing I hadn’t asked such a ridiculous question and that I’d just made some harmless comment about the weather instead.

‘Well, it’s not my thing really,’ he said, and dismissed me with his back as he continued with his task.

‘Thanks so much for the coffee. Shall I take some up for Mrs Reed?’ I asked, my fingers trembling around my cup.

‘No need – tea’s already gone up,’ he said.

He must have done that in near silence too, because I hadn’t heard anything since I’d been awake.

‘I’ll let you get on, then,’ I said and, spying a large bowl of fruit, I asked him if I could take a banana. He told me to help myself in a quiet, dismissive voice and I quickly left the room. At the doorway, I glanced back to see his head turned and that cool stare on me. I offered a smile, which wasn’t returned.

So much for slipping around unnoticed. The first person I’d talked to and I’d rendered myself as a bit of a noticeable idiot. I wasn’t going to be able to do this. I was completely out of any sort of comfort zone. I probably wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be solving a mystery. My marriage was over, my house was being sold from under me and I was about to embark on a solitary life, no doubt until I died. As if on cue, that grumble began in my lower back.

I made my way back up the stone steps and onto the carpeted stairs to find Dorothy. I had helped her back to her room last night and was pleased to see she’d been given a wonderful bedroom with some of the best views. You could just see the folly where we’d had our conversation, and then beyond a wall covered in a vibrant Virginia creeper there was a sort of temple at the end of a long expanse of lawn, flanked by huge rhododendron bushes in a riot of purple. Her room was on the corner of the house, like mine and through her second window you could see all the way to the end of the driveway and onto the fields of cattle beyond. It seemed odd to think that the man responsible for the death of her husband could have offered her such lovely accommodation. Maybe Dorothy was entirely wrong about the whole thing, or perhaps Leonard had a large guilt complex.

I knocked on the door and left my coffee cup and fruit on the windowsill at the end of the long landing, catching sight of a gardener on a ride-on mower, cutting the grass on the stretch of lawn down by the lake. Dorothy called out for me to go in. The words were lined up on my tongue; I wouldn’t be able to help her and I had to be as honest as possible. I might be well versed in identifying a particular piece of art for a collection and know where it would have been found originally in that home, how best to look after it for generations to come and which major collectors would give their right arm to own it, or certainly I would have done many years ago, but this here was a possible crime and I surely couldn’t and shouldn’t get involved. Besides that, Dorothy hadn’t been at all honest with me and I felt a little annoyed at the deception. The promise of a permanent position was slipping away.

‘Gina, good morning,’ Dorothy said from an armchair by her window. She was just sipping from a cup and looked animated. When she put the cup down on the table, next to her newspaper, her smile was broad. ‘I have to say that for the first time in a year I feel hopeful. You being here is like balm on a wound, a real tonic and I’m very grateful. I know you said you needed the day to think about it and I respect that, but I would urge you to take a good look at Leonard and you’ll see what sort of man he is, what he’s capable of.’

I leaned against the door frame and folded my arms, the words I had practised in my head now dying on my lips.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ I asked, thinking that regardless of a missing painting, I’d quite like to be paid for the week.

‘If you wouldn’t mind solving this damn crossword for me, I’d be delighted,’ she said.

By eleven-thirty the whole group were collected on that same stretch of lawn and I could see why it was necessary for it to have had a fresh cut. Leonard was rummaging through a huge wooden box and pulling out mallets and balls. He was organising a game of croquet.

Dorothy was sitting on a chair under a small gazebo and I walked over to join her. Assuming it was unlikely that Dorothy would be playing I would have the perfect excuse to sit it out also.