‘I’ll be silent as the grave. You can rely on me.’
‘I hope I can. I’ll be in touch.’
She pressed the end call button and wandered down over the patio, past the police-taped cellar opening and away from all the horrible thoughts it called to her mind. This morning, she wanted to be in the weeds, smelling their pungent, milky aroma, feeling the strengthening warmth of the sun on her bare legs and feet.
She was standing among the dandelions and cow parsley, suddenly feeling her lack of breakfast and morning coffee, when a pair of hands landed on her shoulders.
She jumped.
‘I didn’t hear you creeping up on me. Don’t do that. This house isn’t the place for surprises. It’s got too many of its own.’
‘Horrors, more like. Harville House of Horror. Who was that on the phone?’
She leant her head back into his chest.
‘Jason, I need to talk to you.’
Chapter Two
‘WHY WOULD I want to do that? Mingling with a load of poncey bastards who’ll look down on me? Fuck it. No thanks.’
Jenna sighed. This was exactly the reaction she’d been expecting.
‘Why would they look down on you? They’ll see your work. They won’t look down on that, believe me.’
‘Then why do I have to be there at all? Just stick a few paintings up on the wall and put the wedge in my bank account when some twat with more money than sense buys ’em. Everyone’s happy.’
‘No, everyone isn’t happy. Tabitha won’t be happy and the gallery visitors won’t be happy. They want to know the artist.’
‘Do they ’eck. They don’t want to know me. Nobody ever has done, so why would they start now?’
‘Jason.’ Jenna tried to keep the edge of impatience out of her voice. ‘Get that chip off your shoulder and start living your life. You aren’t the feral youth from the estate any more. You are a grown man with an exceptional talent, and the potential to build an international career and reputation. So stop being such a mardy arse.’
He smirked at the local epithet.
‘Mardy arse yerself,’ he said.
‘All I’m asking,’ she said, more calmly, ‘is for you to come down to London and meet Tabitha. No press previews, no champagne receptions, no nothing unless you want it. Just a meeting.’
He tugged at a dandelion root, pulling it clear of the ground. Jenna watched as he gazed contemplatively at its fluffy head then blew on it, sending the seeds afloat on the warm air.
‘I’ve never been to London,’ he said.
‘What, never?’ Jenna knew, of course, that Bledburn had a high proportion of people who had never left the county. Some had never left the town. It still surprised her, though.
‘Never. There was a school trip once, to some gallery. The Tate, I think. But Mum couldn’t afford it.’ He threw the dandelion stalk aside. ‘Apparently Kieran Manning set off the sprinkler system. I wish I’d seen that.’
‘Well, you can go to the Tate. And every gallery in town, if you like. Don’t set off the sprinklers though.’
‘Could do with ’em today.’ He looked up at the sky where the sun was boiling away already, only halfway up to its zenith. ‘OK. I’ll come to London. No guarantees, though. But I’ll listen to what your mate has to say, at least.’
‘That’s all I ask.’
She laid her head on his shoulder and they stood together, held in each other’s arms, swaying gently among the waist-high weeds, until the familiar intrusion of a helicopter sent them back indoors.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Jenna shouted at it from the patio door. ‘The police have all gone. Go and pick on some other Z lister.’
‘You aren’t a Z lister,’ said Jason, laughing and pulling her inside. ‘You’re a lot nearer the beginning of the alphabet, aren’t you?’