Page 46 of A Curious Ending

‘Oh great!’ Lara said, remembering Kate’s comment about Dr Patil barking like a butcher’s dog.

Abby recommenced detailing their plan of action. ‘So, that is agreed then. You will try and start conversations about the flowers, the secret room and Lady Porter’s past and possibly, if the setting is right, speak to Dr Patil about blackmail?’

‘So, not much then,’ Lara countered, with some asperity.

‘Exactly,’ Abby replied smoothly.

Lara gave up. She had been given her instructions. Something else came to mind and reaching for her iPad she started an online search.

Abby sat quietly (eyes carefully averted from the worst mess in the room) and waited. When Lara paused, she raised enquiring eyebrows.

‘I suddenly remembered that envelope with Miss E Abbott’s name on it. I’ve tried looking for her. But nothing. The address is now part of a shopping centre, it looks like the street was demolished some time ago.’

‘Have you googleyed Lady Porter’s maiden name, Elizabeth Brown?’ Abby asked.

Lara nodded, hiding her smile. ‘Nothing. Well, actually the opposite. Brown is such a common name, as is Elizabeth, so there are hundreds of mentions, probably thousands, but nothing that jumps out at me. I’ll keep looking.’

Lara put down her iPad and added another log to the wood burner, pulling her cardigan more cosily around her. She saw that Abby was studying her. She returned her gaze questioningly.

‘I have to confess,’ Abby mused, ‘I was rather disconcerted when I first discovered you were a florist,’ she crossed her legs neatly at the ankle (she had discarded the apron but was still dressed in pepper red). ‘In my day a woman who worked at Covent Garden as a “florist” often had a very different type of occupation altogether.’

Lara glared at her unable to believe her ears. ‘You thought I was a prostitute?!’

‘I believe they prefer the term “courtesan”. And no, not really. Especially once I had seen the way you dress.’ Abby smoothed her dress, her head inclined to one side. ‘I do like the pink cardigan you are wearing though. It really is a beautiful colour on you.’

Lara would have none of it. ‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ she exclaimed, wishing the words un-said as soon as she had uttered them. She knew very well she had stopped making any sort of effort with her clothes months ago. Apart from the odd scarf, the dusty pink cardigan was the first thing without holes in that she had worn in ages. She was about to say that Julian had liked her clothes, but she realised this was not true. He had just seemed keen to get her out of them as quickly as possible. Abby raised an eloquent eyebrow, as if she could read Lara’s thoughts. ‘Joe doesn’t seem to mind how I dress,’ Lara said defensively, ‘and anyway, the only thing that matters is if I like my clothes.’

‘I myself hold to that view, absolutely,’ Abby said. ‘But do you like the way you dress?’

Lara all but growled and left the room to get herself a cup of coffee. Or maybe, she thought, she needed to open one of the bottles of wine her dad had sent her.

When she returned carrying a glass of red wine, she remembered an email she had received that morning from her school friend, Fiona, who was now a curator at the V&A museum. Keen to change the subject she sat down and reached once more for her iPad. ‘I had a response about the paintings that Dr Patil has inherited,’ she told Abby. ‘Fiona showed the list to their art team.’

‘Was there anything of particular value or interest?’ Abby enquired eagerly.

Lara pursed her lips. ‘Not really. Most are Dutch, minor artists, but some nice interior scenes, which Fiona did say always sell well. But for hundreds rather than thousands of pounds.’

Abby nodded.

‘There is only one that she wanted to know more about. It is described in the will as three musicians, a man and two women, around a harpsichord. Early Dutch, estimate 1660s, artist unknown. She did say the team would like to get a look at that one.’

Abby looked thoughtful, but when Lara pressed her, would say no more.

Lara thought, not for the first time, that her Kindred Spirit could be extremely annoying. She was sure Abby knew something about the painting. She had been about to share with Abby what she had hidden in the basket that was tucked down beside her chair – for in some ways this related to her friend Fiona too. Instead, she sat back in her chair nursing her glass of wine in silence.

Abby meanwhile tucked her feet under her and after glancing at the basket she looked with some significance at Lara’s book that was on the floor by her chair. Lara got the hint, and giving in, she picked up Far from the Madding Crowd and started reading aloud from where they had left off the night before.

Chapter 23

The town theatre had a discreet frontage with modest pillars either side of a square façade, an early example of a building by a now famous Art Deco designer. Everything about the building was neat, elegant and symmetrical and Lara thought Hercule Poirot would have approved of it.

Tonight, the kiosk that was set in the centre of the entrance was lit up in preparation for a 1940s vignette that was to be part of the Centenary celebrations – different decades being brought to life around the theatre by volunteers. Two girls in braided usherette uniforms with their hair swept up into rolls, unpacked boxes of commemorative programmes in readiness for the evening. Lara recognised one of the girls as a friend of Becky and she waved as she passed on her way into the theatre.

The foyer was panelled in walnut wood, interspersed with mirrors. It had a cream and gold tiled floor and was lit by a cluster of teardrop lamps that hung from a carved ceiling. Lara looked for signs to the Dress Circle Bar where she had arranged to meet Sarah. She had decided to wear a simple black dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a pencil skirt. She hoped that Sarah would think it appropriate. She had worn flat black pumps as she imagined she would be standing for some time, and her feet were already aching from a day in the shop.

As she reached the top of the stairs she saw Sarah coming towards her. She looked magnificent. She could have stepped straight out of a Manet painting of Parisian barmaids from the 1880s. Her natural curves were accentuated by the corseted waist of her bodice and her hair was tied up with curls cascading over one shoulder. Beside her stood Abby looking the picture of respectability in a parlour maid’s uniform. She bobbed a curtsey to Lara.

On the other side of Sarah was Kate. She, however, looked absolutely furious. ‘We only have to wear fancy dress,’ she barked at Lara.