Black Valley (15 page)

Could she have made a mistake? Perhaps so. The last time she’d seen Elinor, they’d gone out to sit by the river, because of the claustrophobia. It was possible that, by the time
she’d got back to the office, she’d neglected to write up the notes – left it until the end of the day, perhaps, and then forgotten. However, it was unlikely. She was meticulous
about cataloguing all her sessions, if only in the briefest of terms. With such a heavy caseload, having up-to-date information on each of the patients, week by week, was crucial to her practice.
Also, it was necessary should any disputes arise.

She cast her mind back to the session, when the two of them had sat by the river. She remembered that Elinor had accused Blake of paying a hired hand to steal the Gwen John painting. Jess
wouldn’t have written this accusation down in so many words, but it was the type of information Blake would have been looking for. Surely that must be why he’d removed the sheet of
paper.

She put the file on her desk, went over to the chair behind it, and sat down. Then she reached for her address book, found a number, and called it.

‘DS Lauren Bonetti.’

‘Hello.’ Jess paused, wondering how to begin. ‘It’s Jessica Mayhew here. We met a while ago. You gave me your direct line.’

‘Oh yes. The Morgan case. Right, I remember. It’s been a while. How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks. Have you got a moment?’ In the background, Jess could hear the sound of people talking.

‘Yup. Hang on.’ DS Bonetti put the phone down. She must have walked over and shut the door to her office, because the noise ceased.

‘Right. How can I help?’

‘Well, I’ve just been going through my case notes on a client I’m rather concerned about, and I’ve found something missing.’

‘Oh yes?’ Bonetti was polite.

Jess paused, aware that the problem didn’t sound pressing. ‘The thing is, I wouldn’t normally worry about it, except that this case is quite sensitive. It involves the family
of Ursula Powell. My client is her daughter, Elinor Powell.’

‘Right.’ Bonetti’s tone changed.

‘Anyway, last night, at four a.m., I noticed that there was a light on in my consulting rooms. The light was turned off again when I arrived here this morning. I think an intruder may have
stolen information from my client files. Confidential information.’

‘I see.’ Bonetti paused. ‘Where exactly were you when you saw this?’

Jess hesitated, realizing that what she was going to say next sounded odd. ‘Staying in a hotel opposite.’

There was a pause, but Bonetti didn’t comment further.

‘Did you call the police?’

‘No.’

‘Was anything else taken?’

‘No.’

‘And you waited till now to report it?’

‘Yes.’ This wasn’t going well, Jess thought. ‘I didn’t really think anything of it until I noticed this missing sheet of paper in my files.’

‘And you’re certain you haven’t mislaid it?’

‘Positive.’

‘Did you check whether anyone in your office came into the building late at night? A cleaner, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ said Jess reluctantly, ‘that’s possible but apparently the cleaners aren’t normally there in the middle of the night.’

Bonetti sighed. ‘Well, I appreciate your calling, but I’m afraid my hands are tied. You should have reported the break-in, if that’s what it was, when you saw it happening last
night. It’s very difficult for us to follow up a theft hours after the event.’

‘I know. I’m sorry about that.’

‘I can send an officer round if you like, to check the place over and give you some advice about security in the future.’

‘Thank you.’ Jess hesitated. She was tempted to report Elinor’s suspicions about Blake, but something told her to wait. Elinor was understandably jealous of Blake, given her
attachment to her twin, and it wasn’t at all clear that her allegation against him had any substance to it.

‘Do get in touch, won’t you, if there’s anything else you’re concerned about.’ Bonetti seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Anything at all.’

‘I will. Thanks for your help.’

‘No problem.’ Bonetti paused. ‘D’you want to take my mobile number? Just in case I’m not here when you call. I’m out and about a lot.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ Jess took the number, feeling somewhat reassured. Bonetti was evidently taking her call seriously, albeit that she hadn’t been able to help in this
instance.

‘Call any time. Day or night. Don’t hesitate.’

‘OK.’

There was a noise, as if a door had opened, and the chatter resumed again.

‘Right, then, Dr Mayhew.’ Bonetti raised her voice again, adopting her usual cheerful tone. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

Jess put the phone down and picked up the notes. Then she got up, went over to the filing cabinet, and stashed them away. She was annoyed with herself. Why hadn’t she called the police
right away last night, when she saw the light on? Bonetti obviously couldn’t do much about the situation now. However, she mused, on the plus side, Bonetti had given the distinct impression
that she was still investigating the Ursula Powell murder – perhaps without her superiors’ approval, judging by the way she’d lowered her voice when discussing it. So she’d
be keeping an eye on Blake’s movements, with any luck. And perhaps that would help to provide some protection for Elinor, wherever she might be.

That Saturday Jess and Mari met at a fashionable tea house in an elegant residential area on the east side of Cardiff, where Mari lived. The place overlooked a pretty Victorian
park with a stream running through it. The cherry trees in the park had recently burst into blossom, and there were daisies and buttercups in the grass, but the weather was still so cold that the
spring scene had a somewhat surreal air, like a film set. The park was deserted, but the tea house was full of people, the windows steaming up as they chatted to each other.

Mari was wearing a tight forties-style dress in a purple pansy print, with a crochet shrug over the top. As ever, she looked stunning. Jess was dressed more soberly, but no less formally, in a
grey wool skirt and cardigan, with the collar of a white lace blouse showing underneath. From time to time the pair of them liked to don their best afternoon outfits and sally forth for proper tea
and in-depth conversation in town – as, no doubt, their grandmothers had done centuries before them.

They ordered their teas, and while they waited for them to come, discussed Mari’s part in the play. Rehearsals were going well, and she’d recently taken up again with an old flame,
an actor who was playing the central role. It wasn’t a great love affair, but she was enjoying his company, both in the theatre and outside. As ever, she was full of amusing anecdotes about
the director and the rest of the cast, poking fun at them with sly observations that were sharp but not unkind.

The teas arrived. Each was served in an individual pot, along with a small bowl for drinking out of, and an egg timer, so that you could brew the tea for exactly the right amount of time, as
instructed by the waiter. The ritual was fun, rather than pernickety, and they both enjoyed it. Jess had chosen Jasmine Pearl, her favourite – little buds of green tea that unfurled as they
heated up, releasing their scent – while Mari had gone for White Peony.

The waiter left, and they resumed their conversation.

‘So how’s your new beau?’ Mari said. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘He’s not my beau. He’s just . . .’

Mari tilted her head to one side and looked at her quizzically.

‘Well, I’m not sure what he is.’ Jess nodded at Mari’s pot of tea. ‘Hadn’t you better pour yours out?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’ Mari picked up her pot and began to pour. ‘I want to know all about him.’

‘Well, there’s not much to tell. As you know—’

‘You shagged him.’

‘Really, Mari.’ Jess rolled her eyes. ‘That’s such a crude expression.’

‘All right, then. He did the merengue with your inner goddess. With some salsa moves.’

Jess laughed. She glanced at the egg timer, saw that her tea was ready to pour out, and did so. Then she picked up her cup and inhaled the aroma. It was delicious, perfumed yet with a sour,
pungent note. She breathed out again, and felt herself beginning to relax.

‘We did make love, yes.’ She lowered her cup and took a sip of tea, feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘It was . . . well, thoroughly enjoyable. For both of us, I think.’

‘Good. So you like him?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Jess couldn’t help smiling as she spoke. ‘He’s interested in my work, and I’m interested in his. We had proper discussions about psychotherapy,
and art, and stuff. I never did that with Bob. I didn’t realize it mattered before, having so much in common. But it does. To me, anyway.’

Mari smiled back. ‘And after the discussions?’

‘It was great. The sex was easy. Natural. He was very affectionate, too. In fact, I’ve been feeling high ever since, like a teenage girl having her first romance. Daydreaming about
him, whenever I get a moment to myself. I’d completely forgotten how that felt.’

Mari reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Well, I’m really happy for you, Jess. You certainly deserve it, after everything you’ve been through.’ She paused. ‘So when
are you going to see him again?’

‘Soon, I think. He’s very keen. He’s been texting me two or three times a day.’ Jess put down her cup. ‘I’ve never been wooed by text before. When Bob and I
were courting it was all windy telephone boxes, or messages on the answerphone, and you couldn’t leave anything too passionate on that, in case your flatmate heard it.’

Mari grinned. ‘I know, I remember. This is much more fun, isn’t it? There’s something so erotic about these intimate words of love winging in on the ether, especially when they
come in while you’re shopping in the supermarket.’

‘Or in a meeting.’

‘Or in the bath.’

‘Or having a conversation with the plumber about drains.’

They laughed.

‘I sometimes get cold feet, though.’ Jess was serious again. ‘I mean, I don’t really know him at all. He may not turn out to be suitable.’

‘Suitable for what? You’re not going to marry him, are you? Just take him as your lover.’ Mari pronounced the word ‘lover’ with a theatrical flourish.

There was a lull in the conversation. They both stirred their teas and looked out through the window at the pink cherry blossom under the leaden grey sky in the park.

‘So when’s the next date, then?’

‘He wants us to go away together next weekend.’

‘Well, why not?’ Mari waved an airy hand. ‘You could go to Paris, or Barcelona. Fly straight from Cardiff, or Bristol.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Jess was taken aback. ‘I wouldn’t want to go too far afield, not at this stage.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Maybe I could take
him somewhere in Wales. He’d like that, I think.’

‘Make a change from London, even if the weather is dire.’

‘Is there anywhere you could recommend?’

‘Romantic, you mean?’

‘Mmm. Or unusual, historical in some way.’

Mari thought about it. ‘Yes, there is, actually. Years ago, I went to this extraordinary place called T
ŵ
r Tal. The Tall Tower. It’s perched up on a windy hillside, overlooking a
valley known as Cwm Du.’

Cwm Du. Jess recognized the name. It was the place where

Elinor had gone camping.

‘Twelfth century. Spectacular views.’ Mari sipped her tea, a look of relish on her face as she began her story. ‘At one time it became a meeting point for various bohemian
artists who lived round there, including Augustus John.’

Jess was intrigued. Perhaps Elinor had gone up there because of the family connection.

‘He and his pals, Jacob Epstein and Eric Gill, had this mad idea. They wanted to make it the headquarters of a religion celebrating sexuality.’ Mari raised an eyebrow.

‘Wasn’t there a biography of Gill a while back, claiming that he was a sexual monster?’

‘That’s right. It all came out years after he died. No one was safe, apparently. His sister. His children. His dog.’ Mari grimaced. ‘I often think of that when I go up to
the BBC and see his sculptures festooned all over Broadcasting House.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, nothing ever came of the religion. They all fell out with each other, and went their separate
ways, which was probably just as well. But after that, the tower became the headquarters of this tantric sex cult. I went up there once with a boyfriend, Iestyn.’ Mari’s eyes
didn’t exactly mist over, but there was a dreamy look in them. ‘It was a bit of a disaster, though. The place was shabby, freezing cold, and there were these terrible sessions on body
movement, which consisted mostly of horrible old men touching up the women.’ She shivered dramatically. ‘In the end, the whole thing folded, which was no surprise, and then the place
was bought up and converted into a hotel. A friend of mine went up there the other day. He said it was fabulous. Rather old-fashioned, in a quirky kind of way, but very atmospheric.’

Jess thought for a moment. It sounded like the kind of place Dresler would find fascinating. And while they were there, she reflected, she might give Elinor a call, just to see if she was all
right.

‘Thanks, Mari.’ She finished her cup of tea, picked up the teapot, and began to pour another. ‘I’ll check it out. Sounds as though it might be just the place.’

At that point, the waiter came over with an ornate cake stand loaded with scones and slices of cake. He put it down on the table, along with plates, knives and napkins.

Jess looked surprised. ‘Did you order this, Mari?’

Mari nodded a little sheepishly. ‘Yes. It’s on me. I thought we deserved a bit of a treat.’

‘What for?’

‘Oh, just getting to the end of the week.’ She picked up a hefty slice of Victoria sponge and began to eat.

‘Well, thanks.’ Jess hesitated, then chose a scone. ‘Although I shouldn’t really. After all, I’ve got my new beau to think of.’

‘Just work it off in bed.’ Mari spoke with her mouth full. ‘Ten minutes’ foreplay, fifteen for the main event, works off eighty-eight calories. Double that if you do it
twice. I read it on the Internet.’