“Oh, that sounds intriguing.” You’re trying to sound disinterested, she told herself. Trying too hard.
“How well did you know Holly?”
That was it. That’s why they were back here so soon. They know. The kettle boiled and she poured the water, furrowing her brow as if she was concentrating on the question. Replacing the kettle, she turned towards the detective. “Reasonably well, I guess. We know her parents, you see.”
“Well?”
Jane shrugged. “We’ve had dinner a couple of times. Once here and another at theirs. We were quite the local additions when we first arrived, what with Ken’s name and everything. I think the Sunday Times did a write up of one of his exhibitions last year and that tickled the interest of some of the locals.”
“Right. I see.”
She’s fishing. Be careful. “And of course, Holly has been here to sit.” She made certain the comment would be delivered as casually as possible.
“Babysitting the children?”
Jane shook her head, smiling. “No! Sitting for Ken, as one of his models.” She finished making the tea and crossed the kitchen, passing one of the cups over. Returning for the other, she cupped it in both hands and leaned against the worktop blowing the steam from the top of the liquid. Reading the quizzical look on the detective’s face, she smiled again. “It’s quite above board, you know. Ken is known for his contemporary interpretation of still-life paintings. They are his bestselling pieces to date. You’ve seen Holly. She had a lovely bone structure, perfect for Ken’s style.”
“I see. You didn’t mention that to my officers.”
The friendly, reassuring smile wasn’t there anymore. Now she was picking away at the details, trying to reveal a loose thread to tug on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see it as relevant, I guess.”
“Let us be the judge of what is or isn’t relevant in future, please.”
“I suppose I should have thought of that. I’m sorry. I will in future.” She was angered by this upstart with her frizzy hair and an off the rack blouse. How dare she speak to her like this. Telling herself to keep calm, she sipped at her tea. It was far too hot to drink and burned the tip of her tongue.
“And how did you get on with Holly?”
“Okay, I suppose.” On this, she felt comfortable. They rarely interacted. It was Ken who would feel the awkwardness of such questioning. “As I said, I knew her reasonably well. Well enough to speak to but to be honest, she wasn’t sitting for me.” Her thoughts turned to Ken and his studio. His rules. His choices. Pushing the thoughts aside, it wasn’t the time for her to think of them.
“And the models. How many are we talking?” Jane looked over at her, reading her expression. Why was she asking? What did she think she already know? “Was it a regular event with girls visiting your husband’s studio?”
“Women!” she snapped. Unable to help herself.
“Holly was barely seventeen, wasn’t she?”
The detective was seeking to provoke a response for some reason, negative or otherwise. Jane looked out of the window, towards the studio and nodded. “I believe so. She studies at the local sixth form.”
“Barely a woman, then.” The woman was pointed. Jane’s gaze drifted to her. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, merely looking at each other.
“I’m sorry. Is there a question in there somewhere?” This woman wasn’t going to be a pushover but Jane knew she had to hold her nerve.
“I was just wondering.” The officer stood up, glanced briefly out of the window towards the studio and then back towards her, raising the cup to her lips. “How a wife might feel about her husband spending so much time with other women, particularly young girls?” Jane looked towards the studio. The two men were standing outside, conversing. Ken went back into the studio and Janssen turned and began making his way across the yard towards the house.
“I think you should leave now.”
Tamara put her cup down on the table. “Thank you for the tea.”
Crossing the kitchen and staring out of the window, Jane watched her leave. She met with Janssen outside and he looked briefly in her direction. His phone rang and he answered it whilst walking back to the car. He was talking to someone as he got into the driver’s seat. The conversation continued for a moment before she saw him put the phone down. Looking to his boss, sitting next to him, they conversed briefly and she appeared shocked. Jane could only guess at what that was about. For a moment, she felt a stab of fear in her chest as she thought they might get out of the car and come back inside. The concern subsided when she heard the engine start up.
William appeared from upstairs. She smiled at him, feeling it was half-hearted. “Will the police be coming back again?” He sounded worried, as he was prone to do at times of stress.
“Only if they think we can help them.” The answer was clearly inadequate to the boy but it was the best she could manage. He turned around and stomped back upstairs. He was prone to picking up on the anxiety within the house. He was much like his father in that respect. How much had he heard? Was he listening to the whole of their conversation? She hoped not.
Stepping out into the yard, the police were gone and she trotted over to the studio. Ken appeared carrying a black bin liner, the plastic straining under the weight of broken pottery. He must have read the look on her face for he put the bag down.
“What is it?” he asked, looking concerned.
“What did you tell them about Holly?”
“Nothing! I said I barely knew her.”
A flash of anger shot through her. For a supposedly
