Free The Claresby Collection: Twelve Mysteries by Daphne Coleridge Page A

got to wait for one of those private ambulances to collect Floyd. Hopefully its arrival will go relatively unnoticed if everyone is otherwise occupied. How is the fair going? I’m sorry I’ve been so out of it.”

    “Not your fault,” Laura gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek and smoothed his light hair off his forehead. “Anyway, I better go and talk to Jinny – she might want to see Floyd before they come for him. Oh, and I thought I should tell you – Sebastian seems to have disappeared. And he was painting a strange Egyptian scene on his canvas.”

    Rupert, who had been propped up on one elbow in a weary stance, suddenly sat upright at this sudden revelation. “That’s what I didn’t want to hear. Are you sure he is gone? Couldn’t he just have wandered off for a drink?”

    “Maybe, but Samantha and I had a pretty good search for him. Don’t worry too much now. See your friend and when you are free come and find me and we’ll have a good Sebastian-hunt. Oh, and remember that we are presenting prizes at four. I’d really like you to be there if you can.”

    After his wife had left to find Jinny, Rupert took himself down to the kitchen for a cold drink. He wasn’t sure what to think. It had been reassuring to have Keith walk into the green bedroom, pull the curtains and dispel the eerie green light, and examine the body with a practical, professional manner. When Rupert had glanced at the hieroglyphs even they seemed to fade to nothing in the bright daylight. Keith did not seem to see anything to arouse his suspicion above sniffing the air and commenting that artists always seemed to carry about with them the smell of turpentine. And then there was the apparent disappearance of Sebastian. Still lost in thought, Rupert sliced himself some bread and cheese and took a jar of pickles out of the large, walk-in larder. He had just cut a piece of Victoria sponge when he heard voices which he recognised to be those of Delilah and Jinny. Bracing himself, he went out to meet Floyd’s now fully informed widow. He found her dry-eyed but obviously upset, Delilah flustered but comforting.
     
    “He had been warned by the doctor last week about his drinking,” Jinny was saying, “but you could no more ask him to stop drinking that to stop painting: it’s what he lived for!” She gave a sad little laugh at this irony.

    “He lived his life the way he wanted to,” said Delilah.

    “Yes, and he didn’t suffer. I just wish I had been with him last night. I was going to come, but my mother had been in hospital after a minor operation on her knee. I wanted to visit her and spend the evening with my dad. It seemed to make sense to come down here this morning – and I just expected Floyd to turn up; late, disorganised, unapologetic and adorable as ever.”

    Delilah patted her arm.

    “I’d like to see him and say goodbye,” sniffed Jinny. She looked imploringly up at Rupert. “Would you come with me and show me his room?”

    Rupert nodded and rapidly swallowed the rather dry cake crumbs in his mouth. He took Jinny up the stairs, leaving Delilah behind in the kitchen, obviously reluctant either to confront a corpse or to intrude on a private moment.

    It was four o’ clock and prize giving time. There were a greater number of clouds in the sky and a little breeze had picked up, but it was still a beautiful afternoon. The photographer had pictured Sebastian’s lonely, abandoned easel and looked eagerly for those two great artists: Sebastian Fullmarks and Floyd Bailey. So far disappointed, he and an associate had stayed only after hearing rumours that Floyd was dead and Sebastian had fled. The rivalry between the two was well known.

    Laura had been explaining procedures to her friend, Wendy, from Claresby village. “I’m going to hand out the raffle prizes, then Samantha Pearson will announce the prize for a flower arrangement and Conran Hawkes will choose a winning painting from Claresby Art Club. The