‘Perhaps.’ She nibbled at a piece of fruit cake. ‘I think Peter Wilding might have been one of them too. I hadn’t realized before. It’s only since Roddy died, this strange escape into the past, living the old days in my head. If it’s the man I’m remembering, he doesn’t even look very different. But the summer I believe he was here wasn’t a very happy time for me. I’ve been trying since then to put it out of my mind. Besides, I can’t be sure.’ She seemed to realize she was rambling, looked up and gave a quick, wicked smile. ‘Will you pass all this information on to Jimmy Perez?’
‘Would you rather I didn’t?’
She gave a shrug. ‘Just tell Jimmy I can’t be certain. And Wilding never mentioned having been here. That does seem odd, doesn’t it? When he first started writing to me, telling me how much he enjoyed the paintings, he didn’t bring that up. His letter was very flattering, of course. We all enjoy being flattered. But you’d think he’d say something, wouldn’t you, if he’d been a guest in my house? Something self-deprecating and hopeful.
‘Do you think Jeremy Booth and Peter Wilding were here at the same time?’
There was a long silence before Bella answered.
‘You know, I rather think they were. It was this time of the year. An unusually warm summer. The house was full. Roddy’s parents were still living in Lerwick then, but he came over to see me most weekends and there were a couple of weeks when Alec was away in hospital. I remember swimming with him from the beach here. I taught him to swim. There aren’t many days when it’s warm enough to do that. And at night we had parties on the beach. Bonfires and music. There was usually someone who could play. Too much drink and too much dope. It was long after the sixties, of course, but perhaps we were trying to recreate that sort of sense. The creativity and the freedom. We wanted to believe that we were young.’ She paused. ‘And I was in love, with Lawrence Thomson. I’d been in love with him since I was thirteen. Probably before that. I remember playing kiss-chase with him in the little school in Middleton. All these people who stayed, none of them could match up to him.’
Fran had dozens of questions, but kept them all to herself. Bella shook her head, as if to force herself back to the present.
‘Everyone went, of course,’ she said. ‘As soon as the weather changed and the rain started. They didn’t want to make a life in the real Shetland. They talked about authentic culture, but there was nothing authentic about their experience.’ There was another moment of silence. ‘Even Lawrence went.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any photographs of that time?’
Bella didn’t seem to hear. ‘But I had Roddy,’ she said. ‘He more than made up for losing all the summer hangers-on. And after Alec died and his mother ran away with her oilman, I had him all to myself. Did he make up for losing Lawrence? I’m not sure about that.’
‘Do you have any photographs?’
Again Bella gave the little shake of her head to disperse the images of previous times.
‘I’m sure there are some,’ she said. ‘Roddy was looking at them not very long ago.’
‘Would you mind showing me? If it wouldn’t be too upsetting.’
‘I’m not sure where they are. And I really don’t think I have the energy to look.’
‘I’ll go,’ Fran said, ‘if you tell me where they might be.’ She found herself fascinated by the idea of the summer house party. The long white nights. The artists and actors and writers attracted to Shetland, but more especially to Bella like moths to a very bright candle, and the woman who had no interest in any of them. She wanted Lawrence, her childhood sweetheart, her golden boy. What a brilliant film it would make! she thought. All those beautiful people in this stunning setting.
‘They’re in an old shoebox,’ Bella said. The answer came so quickly that Fran thought she’d wanted the photographs found all the time. She was too lethargic or too sensible of her own importance to look for them. ‘I think they might be in the cupboard in the studio. Do you know where that is?’ She leaned back in her chair and waved her arms to give directions.
Fran enjoyed walking through the house on her own, the glimpse into other rooms through half-open doors. She had, at times like these, a sense of images stolen and saved for future use in her painting.
The photographs were exactly where Bella had said they would be – in a battered shoebox on a shelf in a tall dark-wood cupboard. Fran wondered if she’d been looking at them herself. All the photos were loose and seemed to be in no chronological order. Many were in poor condition, the edges tattered, the corners bent, the print faded and discoloured. She was tempted to sit there, on the floor, and to spread them out until she found a pattern, or people she recognized. But they belonged to Bella and that would have been an intrusion too far.
In the kitchen Bella cleared the table of the teapot and mugs and Aggie Williamson’s fruit cake. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’
Fran would have tipped out the photographs in a heap, fanned them out like playing cards, but Bella kept them in the box and took out one at a time. The first was of Roddy as a child, wrapped in a towel, his face brown from the sun and freckled with sand. Many were of Roddy, and Fran had to hear the story behind each one. At one point Bella started to cry. Fran went up behind her and put her arm around her.
Going back to her place at the table, she stole a look at her watch. Of course she was sympathetic, but she’d have to leave very soon. Cassie was going to play with a friend after school, but still she’d need collecting before teatime. She’d phone Perez about the photographs. This wasn’t really any of her business. She’d have to learn not to meddle in his work, not to ask questions, if they were going to make their relationship work.
Then at the top of the heap in the box there was a picture of a group of adults. They were wearing party clothes. It had been taken in the garden with the house in the background. Everyone looked stiff and formal. Beyond the house a cloudless sky. And all of them held in their hands masks, glorious, elaborate affairs, fastened to a cane. Fran felt suddenly very cold.
The implication of the masks seemed lost on Bella. She left the photo where it was and stared at it.
‘I remember that night,’ she said. ‘It was the evening before most of them went. We held a real dinner party to mark their leaving. I made everyone dress up, set the big table in the dining room. I wanted something special and came up with the idea of the masque. How pretentious I must have seemed! I thought we were so sophisticated. We’re none of us very young there, are we? I remember it as a time when I was young, but that’s not true at all.’
‘Where did you get the masks from?’
‘I hired them from a theatre company. The one which still turns up in Lerwick every year on the boat. I made friends with one of the actors.’
‘How long ago was it?’
Bella stared into space. ‘Fifteen years? Roddy had his sixth birthday the next day. He came here to collect his present and those of us who were left had such hangovers.’
‘Do you know who everyone is?’
Bella lifted out the picture. It was larger than most of the others, which were just snaps, and almost covered the area of the shoebox.
‘This is me. Right in the front. Of course.’ She was wearing a red silk halterneck dress. Her hair was cut very short, almost exactly the same style as she wore today. Fran was reminded of the self-portrait that had caught the attention of Jeremy Booth at the Herring House party.
‘You look lovely.’
‘I made an effort,’ she said. ‘Oh how I made an effort! I’d got it into my head that Lawrence would propose that night.’
‘Is he in the photograph?’
‘No,’ Bella said briefly. ‘I’d invited him to the dinner, but he never appeared.’
‘Isn’t this Peter Wilding?’ Fran turned the photograph round so she was looking directly at it. ‘This man standing beside you.’ He was very dark, handsome in a sulky sort of way.
‘Do you think it is? He’s put on a little weight, if it’s him. I suppose it could be. The shape of the nose is the same.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t recognize him when he turned up to rent the house from you? He hasn’t changed that much.’
‘Don’t you think so? I certainly didn’t know him. I’ve already explained, I had no reason to want to remember
