supposed to be handling the sales. I don't know how much trade he's doing.'
Jessica's way of introducing Barnaby, as he was called, was to wave the plate of canapes and speak their two names. Then she moved away. Barnaby, seated behind a table with an account book in front of him, was a tired-looking man of about forty-five with tinted brown hair and one of those dark blue suits with a broad white pinstripe that are worn by MPs on the far right of the Tory party. At his side, in charge of the cashbox, was A.J., of all people, and the two appeared relaxed with each other. She'd taken it as likely that AJ. was Jessica's secret lover. Maybe he was; if so, he was putting on a fine show of innocence, or Barnaby was astonishingly tolerant.
'Shirley-Ann and I met last week,' AJ. informed Barnaby. 'She set me straight on my leisure reading. No more graphic novels. I'm under orders to read the American female private eye from now on.'
'I didn't say anything of the sort,' Shirley-Ann protested.
Barnaby's eyes slipped away to another part of the room, absenting him from the conversation.
She drew him back in. 'How's it going? Have you sold any?'
He nodded. 'Three so far.'
'Nothing of mine,' said A.J., so egocentric that he was unaware whether anyone else really cared. 'The only things that sell these days are insipid pen and ink drawings of the Royal Crescent.'
'Three. Is that good?' Shirley-Ann asked Barnaby.
He gave a shrug.
AJ. answered for him. 'The commission from three won't cover the cost of the party, but Barnaby doesn't mind. He isn't in this for the profit.'
Barnaby became slightly more animated. 'I'm not in it at all. It's Jessica's show, not mine.'
'Your money, pal,' said A.J.
The husband flapped his hand dismissively.
AJ. was determined to make his point. 'I'm an old friend of these two, so I can say this. Without Barnaby there would have been no party tonight. The wretched artists of Bath would be deprived of all this. The whole point is that he isn't all that interested in art. He does it because he likes Jess to be happy. Isn't that terrific?'
Shirley-Ann said that it was. She hadn't detected a trace of sarcasm or irony in A.J.'s tribute. She was confused now. They truly were like old friends, and she was going to have to revise her theory about them. Her admiration for Jessica soared. It isn't unusual for a brilliant and beautiful woman to win the devotion of two men, but it takes exceptional talent to keep them on friendly terms with each other.
Someone from the press butted in, wanting to be introduced to one of the artists, allowing Shirley-Ann the opportunity to smile politely and move away. She took a glass of buck's fizz from a waitress and headed for the side of the room that wasn't being dominated by Rupert. Possibly she would find someone else she knew, though she doubted if it would be another of the Bloodhounds. Who was missing? Only Polly and Miss Chilmark. The frost between Jessica and Polly, though unexplained, was apparent. And Miss C, poor old duck, with her potential for apoplexy at the sight of Rupert, would be more of a liability than an asset.
She got into an amusing conversation with two sparky women who had gatecrashed. Neither knew anything about art. They were looking for two hunky men to invite them to a pub, or, better still, a restaurant, when the party was over. They weren't sure about Rupert. He was probably good for the invitation, they estimated, but not good for much else except brilliant conversation. And he didn't seem to have a friend. The girl talk might have continued for some time longer if Jessica hadn't appeared suddenly at Shirley-Ann's side. Her vivacious expression of minutes before was supplanted by a look of stark anger.
'Did you see it when you arrived?' she demanded of Shirley-Ann.
'Did I see what?'
'Outside, on the window. Come and look.'
Jessica practically scythed a way through her guests to the door, with Shirley-Ann following apprehensively. Outside, in Northumberland Place, Barnaby and AJ. stood together examining the Walsingham Gallery window.
'What do you think?' demanded Jessica. 'What scumbag could have done this to me?'
Shirley-Ann looked.
Someone had been busy with a spray can, writing a message in large, crude, white letters across the main window:
SHE DID FOR SID
There was a moment while Shirley-Ann absorbed the meaning of what was written. Then she said, 'That's horrible.' She was truly appalled and outraged on Jessica's behalf. 'What kind of person does a thing like this?'
'A rat, not a person,' said Jessica. 'A stinking rat. To think that all my guests must have seen it when they arrived. And I, in all innocence, was greeting them inside. Barnaby, I'm nauseated.'
'We'll clean it off,' said AJ.
'I didn't notice it as I came in,' said Shirley-Ann. 'And nobody was talking about it. I think this must have been done after the party started.'
'With the lighting as it is, you don't notice it from inside,' said Barnaby, quick to chime in with the reassurance. 'I couldn't tell you when it was done.'
AJ. rubbed at one of the letters with his fingertip.
'Don't do that,' said Jessica.
He said, 'I'm just seeing if it's still wet.'
'We don't want your fingerprints on it if we call the police.'
'Is that what you want to do-call the police?' asked Barnaby. 'Is that wise?'
'What do you mean-is it wise?'
'Jess, my dear, it's a rotten thing somebody has done, but it's hardly a serious matter in the eyes of the law.'
'It's vile,' said Jessica.
'Yes, it is, but you're not going to get much redress. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if they took more interest in what's written here than in catching the bastard. It will bring you more grief than satisfaction. My advice is to rub the window clean and forget about this.'
'Look,' said A.J., 'why don't you go back to your guests and leave this to me? I can clean it up before anyone else sees it.'
She said through gritted teeth, 'I want to know who did this. Someone must have seen.'
'Not necessarily,' said Barnaby. 'It wouldn't take more than a few seconds with one of those cans. The writing is rough. It's obviously been done in haste.'
Jessica turned to Shirley-Ann. 'What's your opinion?'
A difficult one. 'If it were me,' she said after a moment's consideration, 'I think I'd rather it was cleaned off now. It's going to ruin the party if you call the police. And it's bound to get in the papers.'
Jessica sighed. 'I can't win. All right. Rub it off.'
Chapter Twenty-three
Julie was keen for some human contact after her long session with the Police National Computer. 'Ready to demonstrate your sleuthing skills, Mr. Diamond? Let's match you against the PNC. Which one of the Bloodhounds has a police record?'
'Only one?'
'That's all.'
'The fellow with the mean-streets dog. Rupert Darby.'
She shrugged and smiled. 'You could have saved me nearly two hours of eye strain. Two prison terms, of six months and eighteen months, for obtaining money by deception. Seven fines for drunkenness and one for indecency.'
'When was this?' Diamond asked.
'The indecency?'
'No, the bird.'
'In 1977 and 1983.'
