Chapter 30
Sometimes karma came good.
Lizzie had been drinking her morning coffee up on the roof terrace, idly planning how she was going to let Nick know she was interested in him. The sunshine was warming her face and limbs. In a while she would head down to the pool for another swim. But in the meantime, she’d had two coffees and a pint of water and her bladder was letting her know it was ready to be relieved.
There was a big spider in the top-floor bathroom. Like, huge. Her mother, terrified of spiders, had always insisted on killing them when Lizzie was growing up, splatting them with a shoe or a book because otherwise they might return with all their marauding friends.
But her mother was five thousand miles away and Lizzie was a grown-up now. Plus, she wasn’t scared of spiders. Gently scooping this one into her left hand, she hopped onto the loo seat and reached up to pull open the small sash window above it.
Having carefully deposited the spider on the windowsill outside, she watched it scuttle away, then paused to admire the scene from this unexpected viewpoint. The high window overlooked Hay Hall, and there was someone standing before the easel at the far end of the kitchen-diner, but it wasn’t Dane Cruse.
He wasn’t dancing around like a lunatic, either. This was the shorter, scruffier guy who worked for Dane and videoed his performances. As Lizzie watched, he put down his palette and removed the canvas from the easel, resting it against a box and replacing it with another that seemed already half painted; even from this distance, Lizzie could make out a background of sky and mountains.
Remembering why she’d come here, she closed the window – run free, sweet spider – and climbed down from the loo seat to use it in the more traditional way.
Lizzie had requested more towels and Nella had asked Maeve to take them over to her. As she left Pine Lodge ten minutes later, Maeve considered what Lizzie had mentioned in passing about Dane Cruse’s scruffy assistant. It had been only mildly interesting to Lizzie. Whereas she, Maeve, now found herself holding two pieces of a puzzle.
What was more, they appeared to fit together.
It was now midday and Dane had passed her in his car a few minutes ago as he was driving out of the complex. Her heart had begun to thud wildly at the thought that he might slow down, lower his window and speak to her . . . maybe even apologise and say he hadn’t meant it.
But that hadn’t happened. He’d merely nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgement, then said something to the woman in the passenger seat beside him. Whose hand had been resting in a proprietorial fashion on his thigh, Maeve had noticed as they’d driven past.
So she was that kind of collector. It figured. Anyway, he was gone now, and so was the woman. And she knew Billy was still there, because from this side of the high fence she could hear the sounds of splashing in the pool. There it was again, splashing and coughing, followed by more coughing.
Maeve frowned and adjusted the heavy basket of cleaning implements on her arm. It wasn’t stalking to let herself into the grounds; she worked here, after all. But all the same, she lifted the latch on the gate quietly and kept to the narrow paved pathway, avoiding the gravel that would crunch under her feet.
And there he was, alone in the pool, attempting a few strokes of panicky doggy-paddle before slowly sinking beneath the water.
As she watched, he disappeared from view, then put his feet down and pushed back up to the surface, gasping and spluttering as he shook his head and swore in frustration.
‘OK, stop .’ Hurrying over to the pool, Maeve raised her voice and her free arm to catch his attention. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t do this.’
Billy blinked and peered at her through the curtain of hair currently plastered over his face. ‘What? I’m fine. Just . . . having a swim.’
‘Except you aren’t, are you?’ Reaching the edge of the pool, she glared down at him. ‘You weren’t swimming, you were sinking. You were trying to teach yourself how to swim, and it’s not something you should ever do on your own.’
He said gruffly, ‘It’s not that deep.’
‘It doesn’t need to be. I was walking past when I heard you choking. I used to go to school with a boy who drowned in a pool that was only a few feet deep.’ She shook her head at him. ‘You should always have someone with you.’
‘What do you want, anyway?’ Visibly uncomfortable with her intervention, he changed the subject. ‘If you’ve come to see Dane, he isn’t here.’
‘I know. And I wouldn’t want to see him anyway.’
‘You were all over him yesterday. And this morning. Until . . .’
‘Yes, you can say it.’ Maeve felt the muscles in her throat tense up. ‘Until he dumped me. I’m sure he told you, and I bet you both had a good laugh about it at my expense.’
‘He laughed. I didn’t. It’s what he does all the time.’ Billy pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘He likes laughing at other people.’
Maeve mentally added another piece to the puzzle. ‘Is that why you’re trying to learn to swim?’
It came out as a mumble. ‘He was taking the mick out of me.’
Of course he was. ‘And how long before they’re back?’
‘Not for hours. They’ve gone into Cirencester.’
She shrugged. ‘OK. Well, if you want, I can sit here and keep an eye on you.’
‘Like a childminder?’
‘I was thinking more like a lifeguard. Or,’ said Maeve, ‘I could teach you to swim.’
‘So now you’re an expert?’
‘My dad taught me. I bet I can help you.’
He shot her a suspicious look. ‘Why would you want to?’
‘Hello? Maybe so you don’t drown? And also to stop your boss making fun of you.’
‘Go on, then.’ He didn’t sound as if he had much faith in her. ‘I suppose you can give it a try.’
‘Let me shoot home and grab a swimsuit.’ Maeve gestured for him to climb out of the pool. ‘And make sure you stay out of there, you hear me?’ She gave him a stern look. ‘Until I get back.’
Two hours later, breaking the surface for the hundredth time, Billy emerged shaking back his hair and out of breath. ‘Am I nearly there? It feels like I am. Move further away and let me try again.’
‘Just once more. But slow your breathing down and remember to relax.’ Maeve took several more steps back in the water, because he no longer needed the psychological help of her hand lightly supporting his chest. ‘Remember, start with the starfish and don’t bend your body. Keep your head level and your legs out . . . good, that’s it. Now, fingers together and use your hands to really push the water away . . . Well done. Bit further, go on . . . That’s perfect, hooray!’ She clapped her hands and backed out of the way as Billy passed her and made it to the side of the pool.
This time he was triumphant, his pink-rimmed eyes shining as he turned to her. ‘I did it! I can swim .’
Well, kind of, and just for a few metres. It was splashy and messy, but a whole lot better than sinking like an anchor. He was definitely on his way.
‘See? What did I tell you? I’m a genius teacher.’ She grinned at him. ‘But we should stop now. That’s enough for one day. And I could do with a drink.’
Inside the house, wrapped in a navy towel, Maeve perched on a high stool while Billy made her a mug of tea.
‘Thanks.’ She indicated the line of canvases in various stages of completion propped up against the French windows. ‘They’re very good. He sells loads, doesn’t he?’
‘He does.’ Billy shrugged and pulled out the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. ‘Mainly to women.’
‘You work for him,’ she ventured, ‘but you don’t seem to like him.’
‘You don’t always have to like someone to work with them.’ Another dismissive shrug. ‘It’s a job.’
Maeve paused, blew on the hot tea, then put it down. ‘And it doesn’t bother you at all that you create the paintings but he takes all the glory?’
Slowly Billy’s gaze met hers. Even more slowly he said, ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘Hey, it’s OK. I’m not going to tell anyone else.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I’m not into blackmail either. I’m just interested.’
His spine stiffened. ‘Does Dane know you know?’
‘He hasn’t a clue. And he won’t find out from me. It was the way you reacted when I caught you down here yesterday morning. And the paint on three of the canvases was still wet the next time I came downstairs, even though Dane hadn’t been near them all night. Acrylics don’t dry that slowly.’
‘Well done, Jessica Fletcher.’
‘I used to love that show. And you really don’t have to worry. Unlike your boss, I’m a nice person. Also, a pretty smart one.’ She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I started going through the online videos last night. Once you know, it’s easy enough to work out what’s going on. You start the paintings off yourself, then he dances around the canvas adding splashes of colour here and there but never actually creating any figures himself. And nobody wants to watch a whole painting from start to finish, so you edit different clips together – each video’s only a couple of minutes long. Then boom, done, put it up for sale and move on to the next one.’
‘It works,’ said Billy. ‘He’s a showman. Everyone loves him. If they knew I was the artist, they wouldn’t be interested. I’m too ugly. Too boring.’
‘What? Billy, don’t say that!’
‘It’s the truth. I’m not stupid.’ With a trace of bitterness, he muttered, ‘Even if he likes to tell me I am.’
Maeve’s heart went out to him. ‘So how did it happen, this whole arrangement?’
‘He saw my work two and a half years ago. I’d taken a stall at an outdoor Christmas market, trying to sell a few paintings, but it was a disaster. It rained non-stop and no one was interested. He came by as I was packing up at the end of the day, and we got chatting. He flattered me, told me he liked my style, took one of my cards and said he might have a business opportunity for me. Then he called me a week later, just as I’d given up hope, and told me he had a proposition to make, if I thought I’d be interested.’ Billy sighed and recrossed his legs at the ankle. ‘We met up again and he told me his plan. He’d seen someone on Instagram – a Japanese guy who was a real artist and who’d created this whole rock-star persona. But Dane wasn’t an artist, so he needed someone like me. And it wasn’t what I’d always dreamed of, obviously. But I was flattered, so I said yes.’
‘And you’ve been working for him ever since.’ It was a question most people probably wouldn’t come out with, but Maeve asked it anyway. ‘How much does he pay you?’
Billy snorted. ‘Not much.’
‘Ballpark.’
‘Well, he takes care of travel expenses. Hotels, flights, food. After that, it’s per canvas.’
Maeve had followed Dane’s career closely enough to know how much his paintings sold for. They were way, way outside her league. She pointed to the canvas currently fixed to the easel at the other end of the room. ‘What would he give you for that one?’
He grimaced. ‘You don’t want to know.’
‘I really do.’
‘Forty.’
Tea slopped out of the mug in her hand. ‘Forty! Forty quid ? Oh my God, are you serious?’
‘I know, I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m an idiot.’
‘So am I. At least you weren’t stupid enough to sleep with him. Unless . . .?’
This time Billy gave a huff of laughter. ‘No, at least I haven’t done that.’
‘Seriously, though. You should be getting so much more. That is such a rip-off. It’s slave labour.’
‘I hate working for him.’ The resentment was spilling out now. ‘He told me once he doesn’t even like having to look at me.’
Maeve was outraged. ‘Billy, this is diabolical. He’s a terrible human being.’
‘I’m lonely.’ He shrugged. ‘And fed up. Sometimes I wonder how I’ve stuck it out for so long.’
‘Have you never tried to sell any of your work since? Online, I mean.’
‘No point. Who’d want it?’
‘But you don’t know until you try. I follow loads of artists on Instagram. Some of them, I have no idea what they look like, because all I see is the paintings they’ve uploaded. If I love their work, that’s what counts.’
He frowned. ‘Is this why you came here today? To say all this and cause trouble for Dane? To get your own back?’
‘I came here because I thought you were in trouble in the pool,’ Maeve reminded him. ‘And I had no idea you were this unhappy working for him. I just hate seeing people being treated badly, that’s all.’ She finished her tea, then pulled her polo shirt and shorts on over her still-damp swimming costume. ‘But I’m not your mum. Whatever you decide is completely up to you. Makes no difference to me.’
As Maeve left work at four to make her way home, she saw a car slow to a halt outside the Cedars. She’d made a Herculean effort to get the property ready for the new guests by midday; now it looked as if they’d finally turned up.