Her phone rang sharply and suddenly. Jenna, who still had it in her hand, dropped it, and had to fish it out from under the brake pedal.
Parker’s name was flashing on the screen.
Jenna took the mother of all deep breaths, put the phone to her ear and pressed the button.
‘Parker, where are you?’
‘Where are you?’ cried Parker. ‘Where did you go?’
‘It doesn’t matter – I called you just now but you didn’t pick up …’
‘No, I’m at the hospital. They don’t let you use your phone. I came outside to get some air and saw you’d called, thank God.’
‘You’re at the hospital? Is everyone OK?’
The pocket of silence between the question and the answer was momentary, minuscule, but it was the longest microsecond of Jenna’s life.
‘Oh, they’re going to be fine. Smoke inhalation. They’re being treated. But the fire was mostly in the front part of the house and it would have taken a little while to get down those stairs. If they’d been in there much longer the fumes would’ve killed them though, the nurse told me.’
‘You say “them” – Deano wasn’t alone down there?’
Parker sounded quite chirpy, as if the fear had turned to exhilaration.
‘Oh my God, no, the weirdest thing. Your Jason was with him, and your PA, that girl, I forget her name …’
‘Kayley. They were with Deano?’
‘Yeah, in some basement or cellar or whatever.’
‘So Harville meant to kill them? He meant for them to burn?’
‘I guess. He didn’t show up to explain it all though.’
‘I’ve seen him since. The police have got him.’
‘Oh well, that’s a relief. You know, I’m against capital punishment, but that’s one guy I wouldn’t mind seeing on Death Row.’
‘So you’re all at the hospital? Bledburn A&E?’
‘We’re in the emergency room. Well, I’m outside it now, but you get what I mean.’ She laughed, the kind of high-pitched laugh Jenna recognised as being a step away from hysteria.
‘It’s going to be all right, Parker,’ said Jenna. ‘Everything is finally going to be all right.’
She ended the call and turned to Greg.
‘I need a few moments to get rid of this wobble in my hands,’ she said. ‘Do you think you could drive us to the hospital? Fuck the insurance. I’m good for it.’
Chapter Fifteen
THE WINDOWS WERE blank and boarded and every room was blackened and stinking – except the attic rooms, which had escaped the ravages of the fire and remained intact.
It was to these attic rooms that Jenna, in silver satin evening wear, led a group of journalists and art critics, three weeks after the blaze. They stepped inside the door and marvelled at the stunning murals covering the space from floor to ceiling, still as vibrant as ever, having miraculously escaped any trace of smoke damage.
‘So you see,’ said Jenna. ‘Jason’s portfolio might have been destroyed by the fire – but this lives on. And so does his talent. I am confident that he will build up another body of work, better than the first, and you will all be invited to the private view when it’s ready to show.’
The critics and experts busied themselves photographing the walls while Jenna stood back in the doorway, watching them and smiling.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d better go back to the party,’ she said. ‘Do be careful on the way down. I shouldn’t really have let you up here, but the back stairs are still perfectly safe. As long as you don’t mind losing the banister halfway down.’