That’s true. Kathryn never bothers getting too friendly with the gardeners. There’s no point as the same one never lasts longer than a few months. Elspeth always finds some fault in them.
‘I’m Kathryn, Elspeth’s daughter, but I expect you know that.’
He raises his eyebrows, suggesting she’s right. ‘I’m from the agency,’ he says. ‘Not much work to be had this time of year for a gardener.’ He has a kind face, with a quick-to-smile mouth and striking eyes. He reminds her of someone. ‘So I was wondering if you had other work you might need doing? In your own home maybe. I’m good at all kinds of handiwork.’
Kathryn has the urge to laugh in his face, this boy who is young enough to be her son. He has made the same mistake numerous others have in the past. The mother is rich, so therefore the daughter must be too. ‘Sorry to burst your bubble but I can’t afford a gardener, even though I’d love one,’ she says stiffly, hoisting her bag further up her shoulder. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get on. My mother is expecting me.’
He looks crestfallen but tries to hide it by dipping his chin and staring at his feet. Without another word he stands aside, and she feels a pang of guilt for being so abrupt. It’s hardly his fault. He’s just trying to make a living. She flashes him an apologetic smile as she walks briskly past him. And then she stops, and turns to him. ‘But I have friends who might need someone. I’ll ask around.’
Relief floods his face and he expresses his thanks before heading towards the house. She feels better for doing a good deed even though she doesn’t think any of her friends will be in need of a gardener. She wishes she could afford to employ Lewis. There’s a set of shelves in the spare bedroom that Ed has been promising to put up for months now. She knows he’ll never get around to doing it.
She strides towards the salon but stops when she reaches a bin. She retrieves the necklace from her coat pocket, and then, glancing around to make sure nobody is watching, she deposits it in the bin, before quickly walking on.
When Kathryn arrives at the salon her mother is finished, her hair set into her preferred chignon and sprayed with so much lacquer that even if there was a gale-force wind a hair wouldn’t fly out of place. She’s sitting in the waiting area wearing her favourite purple Chanel coat and chatting to another customer, an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair, who looks to be in her thirties. ‘Ah, there she is,’ Elspeth says, to the woman, as Kathryn comes blustering in, a gush of cold air in her wake. ‘This is Beatrice. She designs jewellery. I was just telling her about the arts foundation.’ She turns her attention back to the woman. ‘I have a shop if you ever want somewhere to showcase your work,’ she says, rummaging in her bag and conjuring up a business card. ‘We’re always looking for new talent.’
Kathryn has to resist rolling her eyes. Can’t her mother go anywhere without promising the world to any pretty young thing?
Beatrice takes the card with thanks. A hairdresser with a black blunt bob bustles over and whisks her away before she can say anything more.
‘Isn’t she a bit old for you?’ Kathryn mutters, when they’re out of earshot.
‘What, dear?’ Elspeth says, gathering up her things. ‘And you’re late.’
‘I’m really not. You’re finished early.’
Elspeth stands up, assessing Kathryn through narrow, critical eyes. ‘Don’t you want to make an appointment for yourself? You could do with a haircut.’
Kathryn touches her hair self-consciously. Ed prefers it longer and it’s now skimming her shoulders. ‘I like it this length.’
Elspeth purses her lips but doesn’t agree. Instead she holds out her arm for Kathryn to take. ‘Can we go home now, please? I’ve got lots to sort out today.’
Kathryn doesn’t ask her mother exactly what she has to sort out. She has people running every aspect of her business so that she doesn’t have to worry about anything. Elspeth takes her monthly dividends, gives the accounts a cursory glance once in a blue moon and leaves the running of the art gallery to Kathryn. She has gardeners, a cleaner and a cook. And now Una. Her mother is cosseted in every aspect of her life and always has been. People seem to do whatever she asks of them. Including lie.
There is a police car outside her mother’s house when they return home. At first Kathryn doesn’t think anything of it. This is Bristol, after all. Just last week there was a disturbance outside the local pub and the police had had to be called. Her mother might live in one of the most desirable roads in the city but it isn’t crime free.
The sky has clouded over and it has just started to drizzle. All Kathryn can think about is getting her mother into the house and putting the kettle on. She hopes Aggie has left out something warm and nourishing for lunch. Elspeth is walking painfully and unnecessarily slowly, talking all the while about Patricia, her friend who lives in the next street whose husband recently died, and how she can’t bear this weather and is looking forward to spring.
As they let themselves through the front gate Elspeth is still wittering on but Kathryn isn’t listening. Instead she’s focused on the two plain-clothed police officers getting out of the car – a young man and an older woman. Her heart speeds up as they come towards them, the woman officer holding up a badge. Despite the cold, sweat breaks out under her armpits.
‘Are you Elspeth McKenzie?’ asks the woman, ignoring Kathryn and directing her question to her mother.
Elspeth, who has been completely oblivious to their presence until now, stops with her gloved hand on the gate. ‘Yes. Can I help you?’
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Christine Holdsworth and this is Detective Constable Joe Phillips,’ says the woman, tucking her badge back inside her coat. She has red curly hair that is as short as a boy’s and getting frizzy in the rain. ‘May we come in and ask you a few questions?’
‘What is this about?’ Kathryn asks, fear making her sound more clipped than she intends.
‘We just want to ask you a few questions about a girl you employed here at the end of last year.’
Elspeth frowns. ‘Do you mean Jemima Freeman?’
‘Yes,’ says DS Holdsworth.
Elspeth stands up straighter. ‘What about her?’
Two teenage girls are walking down the street, laughing and talking over each other. They look so carefree, thinks Kathryn, with nothing to worry about apart from boys and shopping. Right now, she wishes she was one of them.
‘We’d rather not say standing here in the street, if you don’t mind,’ says the other officer, DC Phillips. He doesn’t look much older than Jacob. He’s tall and skinny with a mop of fair floppy hair and a large Adam’s apple.
Elspeth pushes open the gate. Kathryn and the police follow. Her mother has suddenly forgotten she needs to walk slowly and is racing along the path to the front door. Nobody speaks until Elspeth has unlocked it and they troop through the hall and down the stairs into the kitchen.
Aggie is at the sink, up to her elbows in water, soaking vegetables. She opens her mouth to speak when she sees Kathryn and Elspeth, but closes it again when she notices they aren’t alone. She moves away from the sink, wiping her wet hands on her apron, one eyebrow arched.