Chapter Fourteen
FOURTEEN
Judith, whose surname turned out to be Winter, had a studio occupying the entire space behind a small terrace house in Chalk Farm. As they entered, an enormous marmalade cat came to meet them, meowing loudly. Daisy stooped to stroke it but it slipped past her and out of the door.
“He’s very much ‘the cat that walked by himself,’” Judith explained. “He’s not mine, though he occasionally condescends to visit. I don’t think he belongs to anyone.”
The room was stone-flagged, the walls whitewashed. Into it were crammed a large central table covered with red-checked American cloth, a workbench, a cupboard, shelves, a sink, and a massive kiln. Judith Winter was a sculptor.
On the bench were several objects ranging from a few inches to a couple of feet in height and width, all draped with random pieces of cloth.
A larger mound sat in the middle of the table.
The shelves bore finished pieces, from beautifully glazed bowls and vases (“My bread and butter,” Judith said ruefully) to small bronzes.
At a glance, Daisy decided to buy a bowl or two, both because she liked them and for the sake of goodwill. She moved on to examine the sculptures, wondering the while how she was going to reintroduce the subject of Teddy Devenish.
Some of the bronzes were abstract, some semi-abstract.
Their outlines were sleek, but a myriad of very fine grooves gave them texture and somehow suggested more complex shapes.
Daisy wanted to stroke them. She didn’t understand them all and didn’t know the proper terms to describe them, but of a few she could say honestly, “They’re beautiful! ”
“My best are in galleries,” said the creator. “At least, the ones the gallery owners think are the best. Will you have a cup of tea? The kettle is just on the boil.”
She had a gas ring by the kiln. Sakari had found a seat on a tall stool by the table and was pouring milk from a bottle into mugs—made by their owner, by the look of them.
“Yes, please.”
“You’ll find another stool under the table. Sorry there isn’t anything more comfortable.” She brought over the full teapot, also apparently her own work. “I hope you don’t mind mugs.”
“Not at all. They’re very attractive, and I love your bowls. I was thinking I might write an article about artists’ studios in London, the ones that don’t mind visits from the public. It would be something a bit different for tourists to do. I’ll have to see if my American editor likes the idea.”
“You’re a journalist, aren’t you? I thought I recognised the name. Is that why you’re interested in Teddy’s death?”
“Oh no, I’m not that sort of journalist, not a reporter. What makes you think I’m interested?”
“It was obvious, back there at the café. You’re not a scandal writer, like Teddy?”
“Good gracious, nothing like that!”
“You didn’t seem that sort. He was a horror.
We didn’t cotton on to it for ages and he was always made welcome because he pretended to admire our work and occasionally bought something expensive.
Then he’d write something nasty in his beastly column—you couldn’t call it scandal.
Horrible, snide remarks, not about us but about our creations.
He went for performers, too, actors, musicians, singers. Even ballet dancers.”
“How mean-spirited!” Sakari exclaimed.
“Of course, in general creative people care far more about what’s said of their work than of themselves. I don’t know that he did much harm. People who appreciate the arts don’t go to gossip columnists for serious criticism.”
“One can’t help wondering what he had against creative people,” Daisy mused.
“Sour grapes,” said Judith succinctly. In response to their questioning looks, she elaborated. “I’ve heard he had aspirations to be a second Lord Berners. He found out he has no talent in any direction.”
“So he takes it out on those of you who do. Not nice. All the same, you say his words broke no bones, which doesn’t sound bad enough to make people actually pleased to hear of his death.”
Judith flushed. “I didn’t mean … I suppose it was rather a brutal thing to say, though I didn’t mean I was glad he’s dead. But if you knew what he did!”
“Tell me.”
“People say, ‘Oh, it’s just a practical joke.’ Until it happens to them.
When it’s your livelihood, it’s about as unfunny as it could be.
I had a commission; they’re few and far between, I can tell you.
A bronze, about thirty inches tall, lots of fiddly bits.
I spent ages on the clay model. It was all but ready to make the mould, just a few last touches, when that bastard came to call.
He wanted me to coach him in walking like a woman for some amateur theatrical affair.
Idiotic, when I’ve got barely room to move in here. ”
“Amateur theatricals?” Sakari forestalled Daisy. “He enjoyed amateur acting?”
“So he said. Don’t ask me, I’ve never had time for that sort of thing.”
“Displacement,” said Sakari profoundly. “Having failed to become a second Lord Berners, he played at acting, pretending—and perhaps convincing himself—that his ambition was never serious.”
“At any rate, he minced about, declaiming some sort of rubbish and making sweeping gestures, until he managed to knock my model to the floor. Of course it was wrecked. I could have killed him! I really might have if I’d done it right away, on the spur of the moment.
” She looked down at her clenched fists and carefully opened them.
“You can’t kill anyone with a wooden scraper. ”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?” Daisy asked.
“Dead certain. He claimed it was, of course, and apologised, but the look on his face…” Words failed her. “Even so, I might have thought I was mistaken if I’d been the only one.”
“He made a habit of such ‘accidents’?”
“Never quite the same thing. He bought coals for Mon—for a friend of mine, saying her room was far too cold to write in, and then used a manuscript to start the fire. That was really bad, but there was petty stuff, too: arranging a meeting at an address that didn’t exist, for instance, or making an appointment to buy something and sending a note hours later to say he’d bought something else instead. ”
“But didn’t—”
“I’d rather drop the subject, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry I spoke like that about Teddy, but I can’t pretend I shall be sorry never to see him again. More tea? I can easily boil some more water.”
“No, thanks.”
“No, thank you,” said Sakari. “We ought to be going, Daisy.”
“Yes, but I would like to buy some bowls. They are for sale?” Daisy slipped down from the stool and stepped over to the shelves.
Judith brightened. “Oh yes. One must eat. Which, in particular?”
“The blue with lavender swirls and the green with yellow. They’d make lovely fruit bowls.”
The transaction concluded, Judith asked, “If you’re not a reporter, what is your interest in Teddy?”
“His sister is a friend of mine,” Daisy told her disingenuously. “She’s coming down from Yorkshire, and I’ll be seeing her later today.”
“You’re not going to tell her what I’ve said about him!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I shouldn’t have spouted off. I talk too much. It’s one of the perils of spending a good deal of time alone. I even talk to the cat when he pops in.”
Daisy and Sakari took their leave, Daisy carrying her bowls, well wrapped in newspaper and stuffed into a sturdy brown paper bag. Kesin was waiting for them. He relieved Daisy of the package, nodding gravely when she warned him it was fragile, and handed them into the big car.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Sakari, sinking back on the seat. “I have not the figure to perch on a stool. That was interesting, was it not? I am sorry my friend was so badly treated by the corpse. I cannot believe she was responsible for his transition to the next world.”
“It does seem unlikely.” Daisy frowned. “I can’t see her plotting revenge, and she wouldn’t have joined Teddy in his prank just for fun after what he did.”
“The murder must have been plotted, must it not? Anyone who hated him enough to kill him would not wish to support him in such a childish exploit.”
“True, unless he did or said something unforgivable when they were already in the ladies’.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure Teddy could think of something really insulting if he put his mind to it.”
“Why should he do such a thing?”
“On a whim. He doesn’t appear to have needed a reason for being unpleasant. Or he planned it for a time when the murderer was extremely unlikely to resort to fisticuffs in retaliation. It’s all pure speculation.”
“No, Daisy, it is theorising. To return to facts, shall you tell Alec all that you have discovered?”
“It’ll be difficult to pretend I didn’t hope for results from going to the Café Royal, when he knows Lucy told me Teddy frequented the artistic set.
But he never told me not to, just not to go to nightclubs.
All the same, I’m going to offer the information to DI Mackinnon, if possible, not Alec.
You never know, perhaps he’ll be able to investigate further without telling Alec where it comes from. ”
Sakari laughed. “You may be lucky.”
“I’ve been lucky so far, in meeting people with a grudge against Teddy.
Which reminds me, did you notice the two men who came in together shortly before we left the café?
They looked like foreigners. Not as foreign as you, darling, except that you’re British and they looked like Russians. Or Ukrainians. Eastern Europe, anyway.”
“I didn’t notice them. Why?”
“Because they had the same paper as was on our table, and they were frightfully excited about the front page, where the news and picture of Teddy were. I told you, Lucy said he was involved with some Russians.”
“Daisy, you will not go looking for these Russians? It is not a good idea.”
“Why not? I’ve done very well so far.”