Death at a Country Mansion Page 7

  Floria would know. Her job as an executive’s assistant at the production company included lots of running around pacifying temperamental musicians.

  Sir Ranulph patted his daughter’s hand. “I’m sure none of them are as kind or as pretty as my blond, blue-eyed girl.”

  Floria smiled. “Thank goodness I have you, Papa.”

  “I’d do anything for you, you know that, Floria.”

  She got up and gave him a hug.

  “When is the funeral?” asked Sir Ranulph as they moved to the dining room table. Daisy’s cottage was open-plan, with the dining room almost an extension of the kitchen, separated by a shiny, white bar counter. Daisy loved the layout because when she was in the kitchen preparing food or drinks, she could still talk to her guests in the seating area.

  “It’s a memorial service, Father, and it’ll be on Friday.” Floria glanced at Daisy. “Your DI McGuinness said they’d release the body next week so we can bury her properly.”

  Sir Ranulph cringed. “I can’t bear to think of her like that. Do you know what happened? The police wouldn’t tell me much, other than that she was killed over a stolen painting. The Modigliani, was it?”

  Daisy glanced at Floria. “I’ll fetch the salmon.”

  Floria pulled out his chair and he sat down. Daisy could hear them from the kitchen.

  “It appears Mother interrupted the burglar and he hit her over the head. Then she lost her balance and fell—or was pushed—over the balustrade. She’d been drinking heavily, which wouldn’t have helped.”

  The old man’s voice trembled. “Poor woman. I admit there was no love lost between us at the end, but I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone. Also, Collin must be distraught over the missing Modigliani. He acquired that for Serena, if I remember correctly?”

  Floria didn’t immediately reply. Daisy saved her from having to explain that Collin had gone missing by carrying in the baked salmon surrounded by an assortment of roasted vegetables on a large tray.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Floria jumped up to clear some space. “It looks delicious, Daisy, and perfect for this balmy weather.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She placed the tray on the table and proceeded to dish up.

  “Daisy has hit it off with DI McGuinness,” Floria told her father, a sly grin on her face. “I must admit, he is rather dishy if you like the strong, silent type.”

  Daisy didn’t deny it. “He’s agreed to let me help him.”

  “With the investigation?” Sir Ranulph paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Isn’t that dangerous, Daisy?”

  “No, not at all. I hear things in the salon; my customers talk to me. I promised the inspector that if I heard anything important, I’d feed it back to him, that’s all. I’m not going to go around questioning suspects or anything like that.”

  “I thought that’s exactly what you were doing,” mumbled Floria, her mouth full.

  Daisy shot her a warning glance.

  “Well, just be careful, my dear. There are a lot of crazies out there.”

  Later, when Sir Ranulph was settled with a brandy in the living room, Classic FM playing gently in the background, Daisy asked Floria to help her load the dishwasher.

  Once safely in the kitchen and out of earshot, she asked her friend about Serena’s ex-husbands.

  Floria’s eyes grew wide. “They’re not under suspicion, surely? Father is harmless, as you know, and neither Niall nor Hubert are that hard up.”

  “I suppose Paul has to rule them out.”

  “Paul?” Floria raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re on a first name basis now, are we?”

  Daisy gave her a look and continued. “As I was saying, all three of them knew about the painting and how valuable it was.” All three of their names had been on his whiteboard.

  Floria thought for a moment. “Well, you can tell Paul,” she emphasized the name, “that Niall is on a ranch in Argentina looking at a young filly he thinks has potential, and Hubert is firmly ensconced with his partner, Lucian, at their house in Kent. I can give you their contact numbers. I spoke to both of them yesterday to tell them Mother had died. I thought it better coming from me than the press.”

  “That would be great.” She smiled at her friend. “And how are you holding up? We haven’t had a moment to talk about what happened with James.”

  Floria had been with James for almost a year, and Daisy knew how serious she’d been about him.

  Her friend’s face dropped. “He was really hurtful, Dais. I know he’s ambitious and all, but I was shocked by his callousness.”

  They perched on the kitchen countertop.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “We went to Posticino’s for dinner. James said he had something he wanted to talk to me about. For a minute there I thought he might be proposing.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Silly me, right?”

  Daisy smiled sympathetically.

  “But what he actually wanted to talk about was ending our relationship. Now he’s an MP, he can’t be seen with a party girl like me.” She rolled her eyes. “His words, not mine. He mentioned the photograph in The Star and said publicity like that was bad for his image, and he was under pressure from his political peers to end our relationship.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought I meant more to him than that.”

  Daisy gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry, Flo. He doesn’t deserve you. He should have defended you to his peers, not agreed to break up with you. The man has no backbone.”

  Floria sniffed. “It’s true. He never had any backbone, he hated to offend anyone, particularly his superiors.”

  James was on a fast-track to a high-profile political career, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. Daisy considered herself a good judge of character, and she’d pegged James for a self-centered, brown-nosing egotist the minute she’d met him, but she also knew from personal experience that nothing she said would make Floria feel any better. The heart takes time to mend, and even though James had been far too stuck-up and stuffy for a free spirit like Floria, it still hurt and would for some time.

  “I suppose it’s better I found out now than years down the line.” At least Floria was thinking rationally.

  “You’re absolutely right. You wouldn’t want to be tied to a man like that. I always thought he had a nasty streak.”

  “You did, I know, but you were always too polite to tell me. I think I sensed it myself, if I’m honest, but I was in denial. He was such a catch.”

  “You’re more of a catch,” Daisy said loyally, and she meant it. Floria was well-connected, came from a wealthy family, had an excellent education and was a vivacious, fun-loving person to boot. What man wouldn’t want to be with a girl like that?

  “Thanks, honey. I know he wasn’t right for me, but I can’t help feeling sad it’s all over. Coming to terms with Mother’s death, finding out about my sisters—it’s all been so overwhelming. It’s at times like this when I need a strong shoulder to cry on.” A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

  “You have me and your father,” Daisy said, climbing off the countertop and starting to load the dirty plates into the dishwasher. “And soon you’ll have your three sisters too. You don’t need stuffy, old James. He didn’t have very good shoulders anyway.”

  Floria laughed despite her tears. “No, they were nowhere near broad enough, not like your police detective.” The laughter died in her throat. “James hasn’t even called to commiserate. He must have heard by now; it’s been all over the news. He’s probably thanking his lucky stars he dumped me before Mother’s death hit the media.”

  “In that case, very good riddance,” muttered Daisy, slotting the last of the plates into the dishwasher.

  “I know, I keep telling myself that, but it still hurts.”

  “Of course it does. These things take time to get over. It took me months to get over Tim.”

  “Tim was different. He just up and left. Apart from th
e heartbreak, you had the added worry of not knowing what had become of him. You were beside yourself. At least I know James is still alive and kicking, even if it is in the House of Commons.”

  Daisy bit her lip. Why had she brought up Tim? Even after two years, talking about him still made her uncomfortable. She knew it shouldn’t; it had been so long ago. If she was honest, she put it down to the humiliation of being abandoned. Not only had it destroyed her self-confidence, but she’d been embarrassed that he’d left her high and dry without so much as a goodbye. Worse still, the whole village knew about it. If there was one thing she hated more than being dumped, it was being pitied. So she’d pasted a smile on her face and continued like nothing had happened.

  “Oh, it was ending anyway,” she’d said to customers who’d commiserated with her.

  “We’d grown apart” was her standard response to people who stopped her in the street to say how sorry they were. Truth be told, none of those things were true. The evening before Tim had left, they’d gone for a stroll along the river, held hands and kissed under the weeping willows. That night they’d made love and he’d been as tender and loving as ever. Looking back, perhaps even more so than usual. She’d had absolutely no inkling that he was going to walk out of her life the very next day.

  Still, it had happened, and she, who prided herself on being a good judge of character, hadn’t seen it coming. She flushed, the shame still getting the better of her. “It’s true, but it was obvious he wanted out. He’d packed his stuff and taken the car. It’s not like he was kidnapped or anything. It just took a while for the reality to sink in.”

  “Still, a nasty way to leave someone. Even a letter or a text would have been better. Celebs break up via text message all the time. It’s quite the done thing nowadays.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She didn’t want to talk about Tim anymore. The pain had subsided and most people had forgotten about him, but she’d have to live with the private humiliation for the rest of her life.

  Floria was saying, “I know it sounds strange, but I’m grateful that I have Mother’s memorial to arrange. It will be a welcome distraction.”

  Daisy knew what she meant. Floria loved organizing events, particularly parties, and was exceptionally good at it. Every detail was taken care of from the invitations and venue to the catering and decorations. She had organized every one of Serena’s garden parties for as far back as Daisy could remember, and there must have been over a hundred guests at the last one.

  A memorial service was a different affair, but given Serena’s popularity and massive fan base, Floria would have her work cut out for her; but if nothing else, it would take her mind off James.

  Chapter Nine

  “I was thinking about Collin,” Daisy said to Floria, who arrived at Ooh La La with a tray of lattes from Costa Coffee in Esher. The team fell on them in ecstasy.

  “You mean where he’s hiding?” Floria asked.

  “He’s probably shacked up with his air stewardess,” remarked Krish with foam on his upper lip. Asa gestured for him to wipe it off.

  “Who would know who she is?” asked Daisy thoughtfully. “Who would he tell? If we could track her down, we might be able to locate him.”

  “Unless he’s left the country,” interjected Penny.

  “Brompton Court is still out of bounds or we could search his study for clues.” Floria raised her eyebrows over her coffee. “He might have a calendar or diary stashed away.”

  “Perhaps we still can.” Daisy tapped her middle finger against her cup. “And there’s also his office at the gallery.”

  “Oh, his assistant, Bronwyn, takes care of everything. She practically runs the place.”

  At Daisy’s pursed lips she added, “But I’m sure I could convince her to let us look around.”

  “I’m going to need you guys to hold down the fort this afternoon,” Daisy told her team, all of whom nodded earnestly. “While we do a bit of snooping. Are you up for it, Flo?”

  “Try keeping me away.” Floria’s eyes sparkled.

  “Don’t worry about a thing.” Krish took an overexcited gulp of his coffee and yelped as it burned his tongue. “We’ve got it all under control.”

  * * *

  Brompton Court stood silent and golden against a backdrop of cloudless blue sky. Daisy drove up the winding driveway past the mellow woods at the bottom of the garden, past the beautifully landscaped lawns, the duck pond and the stone nymph fountain, before finally coming to a stop outside the house. It was only when they got close that the police tape across the front entrance became visible.

  “It still takes my breath away,” murmured Floria, staring up at the symmetrical façade with its four pillars on the portico shimmering in the afternoon sun.

  “It is spectacular,” Daisy agreed. Built on a hill, the mansion offered stunning views in all directions, but from outside at ground level, looking up, it was majestic.

  A young, uniformed police officer who’d been stationed outside the property approached them. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This property is off-limits.”

  “I’m Dame Serena Levanté’s daughter and I live here.” Floria was stretching the truth, although Daisy supposed it had been true at one point. “I’ve got to fetch a few personal items. I didn’t pack properly after the incident. I was too upset.”

  The police officer looked dubious. “I’m under strict orders not to let anyone in.”

  “Does that include immediate family?” She flashed her cobalt-blue eyes at him, almost the same color as the sky, and Daisy saw him wilt.

  They were in.

  Floria gave him a grateful smile and pulled out her key. “I promise we won’t be long.”

  “And we won’t disturb anything,” Daisy added, slipping in after her friend.

  “That was very well done,” she whispered as they side-skirted the place where Serena had died, marked by a yellow placard, and inched their way up the grand staircase.

  Serena’s portrait smiled down enigmatically on them as they crossed the landing. Daisy stopped beneath it and stared up. “You know who killed you, don’t you?” she whispered.

  “She took that secret with her to the grave,” Floria replied, suppressing a shiver. “But then, she was good at that.”

  Collin’s study was at the end of a passageway on the west side of the house. It was a spacious room, luxuriously decorated with wood paneling and built-in shelves filled with books on art and design. The floor was carpeted and partially covered by a Persian rug. Collin’s work desk was antique—probably Victorian—upon which lay an open diary, a letter opener with a solid silver handle and a small pile of unopened mail.

  Daisy, who’d never been in the study before, paused to admire the view from behind the French doors that led out to a small balcony. She could see the emerald-green lawns undulating down to the woods, the pond, complete with ducks swimming in it and the stone water nymph that insisted on spurting merrily despite the ominous events that had occurred under her very nose.

  Floria, her back to Daisy, gazed in the opposite direction at an empty space on the wall behind the desk. “That’s where the Modigliani was.”

  Daisy whipped around. The wallpaper was darker where the painting had hung. Before the Modigliani, there had no doubt been another priceless work of art in its place.

  “Collin will be devastated,” Floria whispered, touching the space where it should have been.

  “Unless he took it.” Daisy approached the desk. “Let’s look for anything that might give us a clue as to who he was seeing, although I tend to agree with you: If he was having an affair, he would want to keep it from Serena, in which case we may have more luck at the gallery.”

  “It’s worth checking anyway,” said Floria. “I’ll take the drawers on the right, you take the left.”

  So, together they searched through what was mostly bills and invoices, although they did find the provenances belonging to some of the more valuable paintings Serena and Collin kept in the mansi
on, covered in protective plastic sleeves. Daisy recognized the custodian documentation for the Stubbs, the little Pissarro and, of course, the missing Modigliani.

  Next, she picked up a worn, leather-bound notebook and flicked through it. “I’ve found a notebook detailing what looks like potential sellers.” Her eyes widened. “This is a treasure trove of information. It contains the details of all his contacts from all over Europe. I know a few art dealers who would give their eyeteeth to get their hands on this. I’m surprised it’s not under lock and key.”

  Floria tutted. “There’s a pile here too, going back donkey’s years. These should really be in a safe.”

  “Anything that could indicate where he’s been meeting his mystery woman?” Daisy asked, carefully setting the notebook back in the drawer where she’d found it.

  “Nothing on my side.” Floria closed the last drawer and sighed. “It was a long shot.”

  “There’s a receipt here from Liberty,” remarked Daisy, taking it out of a folder filled with similar receipts. “The perfumery. Now that is interesting.”

  “What did he buy?”

  “Christian Dior Hypnotic Poison.”

  “So it is a gift for his lover, but it doesn’t tell us any more about her other than she’s got expensive taste.” Floria sat in the leather armchair in front of the desk and fiddled with the letter opener. “I wonder who she is.”

  “Bernadette, apparently.” Daisy perched on the desk. The forensic team had already dusted the place for fingerprints, so she didn’t think there’d be any harm in them having a poke around. “Didn’t Violeta say Collin met her on a flight to Paris?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Floria confirmed.

  Daisy bit her lip thoughtfully. “So can we assume she’s French? Bernadette is a French name.”

  “That would explain why nobody has located him,” said Floria. “If he’s hiding out in France, he might not even be aware Mother is dead.”