On the dot of seven thirty, she heard Burton’s car outside. She cast a quick glance round the room and tossed a magazine onto the sofa as the entry phone buzzed.
When she let Burton in, Tiger hurled himself, barking, at the door, and Lorraine grabbed his collar and yelled at him. ‘It’s okay, Tiger, stop it. Good boy... Tiger?
Burton wore an old pair of torn jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, and concealed his shyness by making a fuss of Tiger. ‘Hello there... Who’s a good house-dog, then, eh? Hello, good boy, good boy.’
Tiger allowed Burton to ruffle his ears, then tried to squeeze between his legs to get out of the half-open door.
‘Wait!’ Lorraine yelled, but Burton grabbed his collar.
‘It’s all right, I’ve got him. He seems pretty eager to go.’
Lorraine agreed, saying that she had only just arrived home, and he was used to his routine. ‘I just throw on a track suit and we run.’
Burton looked at her, flushing. ‘Well, you look lovely, that colour suits you.’
‘Oh, thanks. I’ll get my keys.’
He clipped Tiger’s lead on, and went ahead of her down the stairs to the street. He hadn’t had a chance to notice how she had cleaned the apartment: all he had been looking at was her, and he liked what he saw — but, then, he had thought the same when he’d first met her.
They used her jeep to drive the short distance to Santa Monica beach. Burton drove, and Lorraine liked the way he asked if she’d like him to drive, not too pushy, easy and relaxed. She tossed him the car keys, and as he got in he pushed the seat back to accommodate the length of his legs. Tiger was stationed in the back seat, his head almost resting on Burton’s shoulder. She liked the way Jake had checked the gear shift and made sure he knew where everything was before they drove off. Out of his working clothes he looked younger, and she noticed he was well built, and had strong, tanned arms. He asked if she had any special route or if he should just take her the way he knew. She said she’d leave it to him, but started to direct him down the avenue anyway. He laughed, and didn’t seem to care that Tiger was drooling on his shoulder. When they stopped at lights he tilted his head to one side to run it against the big dog’s muzzle, and Tiger licked his face in reply.
He was relaxed, at ease, and as he drove, Lorraine was able to sneak glances at his profile. He was, as Decker had said, a very handsome man, and seemed even more so this evening than when she had first seen him. He was not exactly drop-dead gorgeous, but he had strong features: his nose was aquiline, and he had high cheekbones, and a deep cleft in his chin. His eyes were deep-set, and although she knew they could be cold and unfriendly, now they were teasing.
He knew she was scrutinizing him, but didn’t mind. He would have been a bit suspicious of someone who pushed their way into his life, and would have been sure, as he presumed she was, that the walk with the dog was just a pretext.
‘So, this was unexpected,’ she said.
‘Don’t you trust me? Do you think I have some ulterior motive?’
‘Possibly,’ she said lightly.
He half turned towards her, then back to concentrate on driving. ‘I used to have a dog, I told you. I like... taking walks, and I prefer some company, not all the time, but occasionally.’
Lorraine stared out of the window. It had been so long since she had had company, and not just for walking Tiger. ‘Yes, me too,’ she said softly.
Kendall arranged the frames, not obviously, but stacked at the side of a long trestle table, draped a length of muslin over them and soaked it in white spirit. She poured a trail of the liquid across the bare floorboards, which were splattered with paint and spirit spilt over a period of years. She brought more finished canvases out of their slats in the storage area, again not making an obvious bonfire but resting them against the walls, leaving space for air to circulate under them to feed the flames. She worked for almost an hour, sweating with the effort, and soaking rags from the bins in yet more spirit. Then she carried out more old canvases and laid them along the walls of the short passage between the workshop and the gallery, to encourage the fire to spread into the gallery itself. She was still drunk but so intent on what she was doing that she wasn’t aware of it.
At seven thirty she entered the gallery, turned on all the lights, and opened all the doors. She made four phone calls arranging for artists to meet her the next morning, opened her desk diary and entered the appointments, plus notes of possible sales — all to create the impression that she had no financial problems and had been planning normal business for the next day. She spread more papers and anything that would catch light quickly on the floor, and started to make her way back to the workshop. Half-way there, she crossed to the big gates to look out — then swore. Heading towards her was Greg.
‘Hi — that you, Kendall?’ he called, and she opened the gate. ‘You got any fresh coffee? It’s just that I’m stock-taking, and I’ve run out and can’t be bothered to go to the store.’
‘Sure, come on in. I’m working late myself — I’ve just got a new artist and I’m planning the show for him, so I’m moving things around to make space.’
She kept calm, walked into the little kitchen area in the warehouse with Greg, and passed him a half-used packet of coffee.
‘So, business is good, is it?’ he asked.
‘Yep, well, I hope it’ll be even better. I am always looking for new talent. You know — eye-catching stuff She smiled, wanting to get rid of him, but then realized he would make a good witness, and elaborated on her new deals, even gestured towards the warehouse. ‘You can see it’s kind of cluttered in here, so I’ve got plenty to keep me busy this evening.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the coffee — I’ll repay you in kind tomorrow, okay?’
‘Oh, it’s on the house.’
He thanked her again. She smelt of alcohol, and he was sure she was tipsy. She didn’t offer him a drink, though, and he hadn’t really wanted the coffee — he’d wanted a chat with Eric, from whom he scored a variety of recreational chemicals.
Kendall watched him leave, and not until he was back inside his shop did she return to the warehouse.
The beach was almost deserted, and Lorraine and Burton had walked a fair distance. Tiger was having the time of his life running after sticks, chasing stray dogs, hurling backwards and forwards, and barking and diving around them.
‘He’s a great dog,’ Burton said, throwing a stick as far as he could.
‘I never thought I’d get so attached to him, but he kind of grows on you.’
They walked side by side, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Burton caught her hand. The touch of his, warm and strong, made her heart pound, and she curled her fingers tightly around it, trying to calculate just how long it had been since someone, anyone, had taken her hand and walked with her the way they were walking now.
‘So, Mrs Page, do you want to start first, or shall I?’ he said casually.
‘Start with what?’
‘Well, I want to know about you... I want to know you.’
‘Ah, well, that might take more than a walk on the beach, Lieutenant Burton.’
‘But it’s a start,’ he said, and released her hand to pick up the stick Tiger had dropped at his feet. After he had thrown it again, he didn’t take her hand, but rested his arm loosely around her shoulders.
‘I’m forty-five years of age, and I’ve been married once, to my childhood sweetheart. I was nineteen and it lasted four years. I joined the army and she and I grew apart, she left me, and married another childhood friend — my best buddy, as a matter of fact, and they live very happily in Seattle, two kids...’