The Darkest Hour. Barbara Erskine

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      She was there just before nine. She was still wearing jeans but this time she had on a pretty deep red blouse and her hair was loose on her shoulders. She followed him into the kitchen and sat down obediently at the table while he made coffee.

      ‘I must apologise for not being here on Tuesday,’ he said. ‘As I told you, I work most of the time in London. I left it to Dolly to make you welcome. I hope she wasn’t too ferocious?’ He pushed a mug towards her and sat down on the other side of the small table. His eyes, she noticed, were shrewd and steady as they focused on her face. This time he was dressed informally in jeans and a black T-shirt. The clothes suited him much better, she decided. He looked less intimidating and more approachable.

      ‘I don’t think she entirely trusts me,’ she said ruefully. ‘She kept popping back to check what I was up to. And fair enough. She cares a great deal about Evelyn.’

      ‘She felt that as a writer you should have brought writing materials. It caused some suspicion that you were not laden with notebooks and a quill pen.’ Her gallery was well respected, he had discovered. She had a degree in art history and her husband had been killed in an horrendous car crash nearly four months before.

      She gave a snort of laughter. ‘That never occurred to me. True, but not quite accurate. In there,’ she indicated the tote she had dropped beside her on the floor, ‘I have a laptop. I didn’t get round to taking it out on Tuesday. I had just about sorted out how I was going to start categorising stuff when she said I had to go.’

      ‘She chased you out?’

      ‘Only because she was leaving herself.’ Lucy laughed again. ‘I suspect she thought I was after the family silver. Is that why she sent for you?’

      He shook his head. He liked the way she laughed. Her face mobile, humorous, not classically beautiful like Charlotte, but elegant, her cheekbones emphasised by the way she tucked her hair back behind her ears as though she wasn’t used to wearing it loose. She didn’t look so exhausted and sad today; her eyes were brighter.

      ‘You were at an auction yesterday, I gather.’

      She nodded. ‘Guilty as charged, but I promise I wasn’t fencing stolen goods. I was buying for my gallery.’

      ‘Did you find anything?’

      She nodded. ‘It was hard enough to find time to hunt for stock when Larry was alive. Larry was my husband.’ Her eyes dimmed as he saw the sadness cross her face. ‘Robin doesn’t know enough to be a buyer,’ she went on. ‘Robin Cassell, he is my assistant. He’s looking after the place today so I can come here. Opening on Saturdays is another problem for us but it is often our best day so we have to manage somehow.’

      ‘Ah.’

      ‘No.’ The gurgle of laughter again. ‘Whatever Mrs Davis thinks, I am not here to beg, borrow, buy or steal any of Evelyn’s work. Far from it. The gallery was Larry’s. I am not even sure I want to keep it going.’ She stopped as though surprised by what she had said.

      Mike was still watching her steadily and she was beginning to find it a bit disconcerting. She was talking too much but somehow she couldn’t stop. ‘My dream was to be a writer; a biographer and we both had this interest in Evelyn as a Sussex painter. I abandoned the idea after he died but then the grant came through and I felt I had to honour our dream.’ Her voice faded and she sat staring down into the coffee mug. ‘Maybe I can’t do both. I don’t know.’ She looked up and saw he was still watching her. ‘Sorry. Not your problem.’

      ‘Unless you give up on Evie,’ he said gently.

      ‘I won’t give up on Evie.’ She picked up the mug. ‘Or Ralph.’ The name seemed to hang in the air for a moment longer than necessary.

      She sipped the coffee then glanced at him over the rim of the mug. ‘I don’t suppose either of them haunt this place?’

      It was his turn to laugh. ‘Well, Ralph never came here, so I doubt if he would. But Evie?’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘She has certainly left a strong presence here, let’s put it that way.’

      She looked thoughtful for a moment and he put down his mug. ‘You weren’t being serious?’

      ‘No, of course not,’ she said quickly, ‘but, as you say, she has left a strong presence here. One would have to be very insensitive not to feel it.’

      ‘She loved this place. It feels a bit like a betrayal to be moving her stuff out, if I’m honest.’

      ‘That’s how Mrs Davis feels. But I can understand your fiancée wanting to –’

      ‘She’s not my fiancée,’ he interrupted sharply.

      ‘Sorry. Partner, then. Whatever.’ She changed the subject hurriedly. ‘It is helpful for me to have it all out there, then I can sort through it more easily.’ She hesitated. ‘I gather from Mrs Davis that any diaries there may have been were inherited by your cousin?’

      He frowned. ‘I don’t think Evie kept any diaries.’

      She looked puzzled. ‘I must have misunderstood. No matter. There seem to be a great many letters from her friends. I am sure I can find material there. She was obviously a hoarder!’ She smiled.

      ‘Indeed.’ He stood up suddenly. ‘Shall we go to the studio and take a look?’

      She followed him into the lush garden with its kaleidoscope of flowers, the grass perhaps a little too long now. It showed a trail of damp footprints behind them and she felt her feet grow wet in her sandals. Did he have a gardener, she wondered, or did he do it himself at weekends? She felt a pang of guilt. Their precious little garden behind the gallery was overgrown. It looked unloved. Neither she nor Robin had the time to look after it any more.

      Mike produced a key and opened the door to the studio. He went in and looked round. ‘You seem to have tidied up. Or was that Dolly?’

      ‘Me!’ Lucy moved over to the table. ‘I needed space to work and make notes. There is a tremendous amount of stuff here. Even her clothes.’ She moved over to a couple of large cardboard boxes. ‘Shoes. Hats. Handbags.’

      ‘Ah.’ For a moment he looked uncomfortable. ‘Charlotte may have misunderstood when I said we should put her papers out here. She seems to have brought everything.’

      ‘It’s a small house,’ Lucy said sympathetically. ‘I’m sure you both need the space. I’ll go through it all and then perhaps you can decide what should be kept. For the archive,’ she added hastily, afraid she might have overstepped the mark.

      ‘Good idea.’ He glanced round helplessly. ‘There seems to be an awful lot more stuff than I expected. How on earth are you going to find time to go through everything?’

      ‘With great difficulty if I can only come once or twice a week.’ She glanced up at him frankly.

      He shook his head. ‘I can see that. Perhaps we can find a way of circumventing Dolly’s surveillance.’

      For a moment she was speechless. ‘Does she give the orders round here then?’ she said at last.

      He screwed up his face quizzically. СКАЧАТЬ