Authors: Dilys Xavier
Rhianna bit her lip. “Well, it certainly wasn’t Marcus. His wreath was very distinctive. Oh, I don’t know. It seems a bit far-fetched, doesn’t it? I think I’ll stick with your theory about someone trying to wind me up.”
They sat in companionable silence, staring out at the bleak February afternoon and the deserted street.
Suddenly Fiona sprang to her feet. “Great we’ve got a customer!”
*
Rhianna had virtually dismissed the incident when the letter arrived. The woman claiming to be her grandmother had withheld her phone number and Rhianna was the only
Delroy
listed in the directory.
Letitia Delroy’s handwriting bore an uncanny resemblance to Rhianna’s father, Joe’s.
Rhianna read and re-read the letter. It was concise and to the point. Mrs Delroy was very keen to set up a meeting.
“
I
could
arrange
for
Mrs
Blackett
,
at
the
post
office
,
to
put
you
up
for
a
day
or
two
.
I
enclose
her
phone
number
.
I’ve
told
her
to
expect
a
call
from
a
young
woman
called
Rhianna
Soames
,
who
was
the
daughter
of
a
friend
of
mine
.
I
think
it
would
make
sense
to
keep
the
real
reason
for
your
visit
between
ourselves
for
the
time
being
,
don’t
you
?”
Perhaps
you
could
bring
some
identity
with
you
.
Your
birth
certificate
would
be
good
and
a
photograph
of
your
parents
.
Also
,
if
you
happen
to
have
come
across
a
painting
entitled
,
The
Woman
in
Blue
,
amongst
your
father’s
possessions
,
I
would
dearly
like
a
photograph
of
that
.”
*
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Fiona said, studying at the letter. “Of course, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it – this painting. Have you the remotest idea what she’s talking about?”
Rhianna frowned. “Well, yes actually. There is a picture fitting that description in the attic, but I’m sure it isn’t worth anything – Dad would have said, wouldn’t he? The frame might be worth a few pounds though.”
Fiona handed back the letter. “Well, there’s nothing to stop you going down to that place - wherever it is - is there? I mean the gallery’s so quiet at the moment it could practically run itself and we’ve already discussed closing for a month or two and just running the business online. Why don’t you suss it out - otherwise, you’ll always be wondering what it’s all about.”
Rhianna got cold feet for a moment. “Will you come with me, Fi?” she asked.
Fiona shook her head. “No, Rhia this is your thing, not mine and, besides, one of us needs to keep an eye on things here. Anyway, where exactly does this woman live? What’s her address?”
“She hasn’t given me one. Just the one for the post office. It’s in a village called Brookhurst in Kent.”
“Sounds like a set-up to me. You have to admit it’s weird. Would you like me to look this place up on the internet?”
“Yes, please, Fi, that would be brilliant. Somehow, I just can’t bring myself to do it.”
Rhianna slipped out to the post office. When she came back, it was to discover there was a customer in the gallery. She registered two things about him; first that he was extremely good-looking, probably mid-thirties, with a mop of rich chestnut hair and a finely chiselled profile and, second, that he was looking intently at their computer.
“Hallo, can I help you?” she asked coolly.
Startled, he looked up and she found herself gazing into a pair of eyes that were like chips of jade. She swallowed, finding his intense stare un-nerving.
“Sorry. I’m afraid I’m something of a computer bod. It’s my line of business along with dabbling in painting, as I was explaining to your colleague just now.”
“I see – well please feel free to take a look around. Is there something in particular we can help you with?”
“Oh, actually, I was just passing and thought I’d take a look – never could resist a gallery. I love the colours of those paintings. They’re very vibrant.”
“Yes, that’s a collection from a local artist, Matt Collins. He’s extremely talented. We try to support as many as we can. Are you a collector?”
He shook his head. “Regretfully, no. I’m afraid I don’t have the space, but I sometimes buy for other people. You don’t have any portraits?”
“Not at the moment, no, but we try to change our exhibitions on a regular basis so it’s worth dropping by, although we’ve only just finished assembling this one.”
To Rhianna’s relief, Fiona reappeared at that moment, clutching a couple of catalogues and some postcards which she handed to the man.
“So what do you two do? Is any of your work exhibited here?”
Fiona pointed to her sculptures. “Those are mine. Rhianna is very versatile - as you can see from the postcards. At present, she just has those photographs of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee at the far end.”
Rhianna pushed back a strand of honey-blonde hair, uncomfortably aware that the man’s attention was focussed on her.
“I’m inclined to work from photographs - land and seascapes - mainly watercolours and oils. Sometimes, I do pastel drawings - mostly of animals or children.”
His green eyes were full of interest. “Very impressive.” He crossed to the display of photographs. “Wow! These are amazing.”
“And what about you?” she asked curiously.
He was still studying her photographs. “Oh, as I’ve said, I try my hand at painting, but it’s mainly a hobby.”
Shortly afterwards, the visitor departed.
“Fi, you really ought to be more careful. He was looking at our computer.”
Fiona raised her eyebrows. “So where’s the harm in that? It’s his line of business – computers. He told me so. Drop dead gorgeous, wasn’t he?”
Rhianna pursed her lips. “If you say so. Can’t say I noticed.”
Fiona laughed. “You’re a hopeless case, don’t you know that? How could you have helped noticing that physique? He must have been at least six foot tall and in really good shape. Bet he works out.”
Rhianna shrugged. “I’m not the slightest bit interested. Have a heart, Fi! I’m just getting over one broken relationship and - so far as I’m concerned - men are a lost cause…Anyway, whatever would Dave say?”
Fiona grinned as she thought about her current boyfriend.
“Oh, Dave’s not the jealous type. Besides, he knows we’re solid. Now, let’s have a brain-storming session to see if we can come up with some brilliant ideas for some more workshops.”
*
Letitia Delroy picked up the phone and listened intently as Lawrence told her about his recent trip to the gallery.
“So, what conclusion did you come to, Laurie?”
“She’ll do,” he told her. “You’ll like her.”
He had no intention of telling Letitia of the impact Rhianna had made on him. He had a sudden vision of her slim, well-proportioned figure, hair like spun gold and expressive, deep-blue eyes - like sapphires, he’d decided.
Letitia let out a sigh of relief. “And what’s this gallery like?”
“I’ve told you, Tish. It’s in a cottage in the high street – two rooms knocked into one. Quite small, but adequate. Both girls have an eye for display and their website is pretty good too.”
Letitia smoothed her white hair nervously. “And did you, er, see any sign of the portrait?”
“I’m afraid not. There were no portraits there at all - just some rather colourful landscapes by a local artist and a few animal sculptures, oh and some superb local photographs that Rhianna had taken of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations.”
“Well, perhaps Joe sold it. You didn’t ask?”
He laughed. “No, Tish, I didn’t ask. How could I, without explaining my real purpose for being there? You’ll just have to be patient.”
“Do you think she’ll come to see me?” Letitia asked now.
“Look, don’t get your hopes up,” he told her. “I’ve sussed things out like you’ve asked me to. Rhianna Delroy is a young woman who knows her own mind. I could tell that from our very brief acquaintance. Other than that, I can’t say. We’re just going to have to wait and see.”
Letitia sighed. “Well, thank you for everything, Laurie. It would be wonderful if she came.”
“Yes, I hope she does,” Lawrence told her sincerely. “Look, keep me informed. Let me know what’s happening, won’t you? If she does decide to visit you, then I’ll make a point of being there too. I’d like to see what transpires.”
And he’d like to get to know Rhianna Delroy better. He had had his own reasons for that.
*
Fiona rang Rhianna that evening. “Rhia I’ve looked up the Brookhurst Post Office. It’s all perfectly bona fide. You’ve nothing to worry about in that respect. And, listen, to this. I’ve also had a go at looking up
Delroy
. It seems that your grandfather
was
born in Kent. Reginald Delroy married a Letitia Horton and they had one son, Joseph, who must have been your father.
“Spooky, isn’t it, to find you’ve got a grandmother after all this time when you thought she was dead – it’s like a voice from the grave! Exciting though!”
That wasn’t the word Rhianna would have used for it. She felt a little shiver run down her spine. What was she going to do now? She had two options - to ignore the situation or suss it out. If she did nothing it would always be at the back of her mind and, one day, she would wish she’d done something about it.
On an impulse, she decided to ring Mrs Blackett the following morning. She seemed to be a perfectly normal lady who had been expecting Rhianna’s call.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you on Thursday,” she told her.
Rhianna could only hope she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
*
It was a slow journey to Brookhurst because several of the roads were poorly signposted. The twisting lanes were so narrow that there was no room to manoeuvre. She was stuck behind a tractor for what seemed like an eternity.
The only reason she could come up with for making this madcap journey was curiosity and an overriding desire to get away for a while and shake off all remaining memories of Marcus.
As Fiona had said, it was time to move on. Rhianna intended to recharge her batteries, and throw herself into the business; there would definitely be no place for men in her life from now on!
A couple of times she lost her way and had to double back along lanes no wider than tracks. The shadows were lengthening. Just as she was beginning to think she would never find the village, she went through a wooded area and suddenly, over the rise of a hill, she spotted some ragstone houses nestling down below and smoke spiralling into the grey sky. Signs of habitation at last!
A van suddenly shot out of a side turning and hurtled towards her. She swerved, narrowly avoiding it. Shaken, she saw the sign post read,
Brookhurst
2
miles
. The natives round here aren’t very friendly, she decided. She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally reached Brookhurst. She parked near to the post office and, walking back the short distance rattled the handle. The sign read
OPEN
- but it was shut. She frowned. It was only about four thirty. Now what? A woman crossed the road towards her.
“Is she closed? That’s odd; I was in there a little while ago. My daughter-in-law works in the shop.”
“I’m supposed to be staying with Mrs Blackett,” Rhianna told her.
“Oh, yes you’ve come to see Mrs Delroy, haven’t you? Mavis said. I’m Irene Blake, by the way.”
Irene peered through the post office window. “Oh dear Lord! I think that’s Mavis lying on the floor. Quick! Let’s see if we can get in round the back.”
Filled with a dreadful premonition, Rhianna followed Irene along a narrow passageway that led to the back of the shop. Her suspicions were confirmed. The gate was hanging off its hinges and the backdoor was open.
A muffled sound, accompanied by a bumping noise, came from the kitchen. Lizzie was tied to a chair, a scarf bound tightly round her mouth.
“Lizzie. Oh, my dear girl what have they done to you?”
Rhianna went to the aid of Mavis Blackett who was lying half behind the counter. She bent over her, trying to remember her first aid.
“Mrs Blackett’s unconscious – think she’s been hit over the head,” she called out and, whipping out her mobile, phoned for the police and an ambulance.
Much later, after the ambulance had taken Mavis Blackett and Lizzie to the hospital with a policeman and Irene Blake following behind, Rhianna gratefully accepted the cup of tea offered her by the remaining police-woman.