"Well, I don't understand it," the older woman was saying. "How'd you turn what I told you into a blooming photograph of someone with the initials M.K.?"
"Just luck, Flossie. He's a bit of a playboy, this creep. If you're interested, the photograph was faxed through to us from The Tattler. You got done over by one of society's best. His dad's a multimillionaire."
Flossie shook her head. "It makes you wonder what the world's coming to. What's he doing trawling Salisbury for cheap old tarts like me if he can afford the high-class ones in London?"
Blake couldn't answer that.
THE STUDIO, PIMLICO, LONDON-1:00 P.M.
Dean Jarrett was effusively helpful. "Well, of course, dear," he told Fraser, ladling out the charm while sussing him coolly from the corner of his eye. He thought this policeman looked less of a homophobe than most; might even, if the friendly smile was anything to go by, be tolerably sympathetic towards Jinx and her bizarre entourage at the studio. Certainly, he had taken Angelica's pink hair in his stride and appeared unfazed by Dean's flirting. "I can give you a blow-by-blow account of everything Jinx did from Tuesday the thirty-first until Friday the third. But after that, it's a complete no-no, I'm afraid. She was at Hell Hall the next week, and we didn't hear a dicky bird out of her-didn't expect to, of course, because she was on her hols-and then she did a vanishing trick on us. Angelica phoned and phoned on the Monday, when she was supposed to be here, and all she got was Jinx's answering machine."
"That would be the thirteenth of June?"
"It would. And then, on the Tuesday, we heard the awful news that the poor mite was unconscious in hospital somewhere. I suppose you've seen her. Is she all right?"
His face contorted itself into a moue of concern, and Fraser nodded reassuringly, even if he did find the moue less than sincere. "She seems fine, a bit hazy about what happened, but otherwise very alert and very composed."
"Isn't she amazing!" said Dean. "Quite my most favorite lady."
"Yet you haven't been to see her," said Fraser dispassionately, "or not as far as we know. Is there some reason for that?"
The moue vanished abruptly. "Yes, well, unlike the Josh Hennesseys and Simon Harrises of this world, who both tell me they've inflicted themselves on her, I prefer to wait for an invitation. Imagine the awfulness of feeling like death and having well-meaning friends impose themselves on you. Jinx is a very private person. Half the time I think she's completely ignorant of how much we all adore her; the other half I retreat into my little shell because I'm afraid the truth is we bore her rigid." He sighed. "In any case I didn't know where she was for ages. Her brute of a father wouldn't tell me."
"Still, I'm surprised she wasn't worried about the studio."
Dean gave a squeak of distress. "How crushing you are, Sergeant. Don't you feel the poor darling has rather more pressing concerns at the moment than leaving her business in the hands of the second-best photographer in London?"
Fraser's lips twitched. "What did you think of Leo?"
"He was absolutely dire. A real leech, but could Jinx see it? You know what the trouble is, she's blinkered when it comes to a pretty face. Falls for the outside, and forgets that what's underneath is more important. It's her father's fault. He looks like an old vulture and he's always been so damn distant with her that she assumes a pretty face means a pretty personality." He rolled his eyes to heaven. "I hate to say it, because he's a very rude man, but I actually think Adam Kingsley is probably worth ten Leo Walladers. If the number of phone calls he's made checking up on me and Angelica is anything to go by, he cares about Jinx a great deal more than she's ever given him credit for. My God, if we'd thought about letting things slide, which we haven't, he'd have been round here tearing our innards out."
Fraser grinned. "You've met him then?"
"I was introduced the first time he paid one of his terrifying visits," said Dean with a shudder, "as was Angie. But as I'm gay and she's black, it was hardly the social event of the century, washed his hands afterwards in case he'd caught something. On all subsequent visits, he has grunted rudely in our direction and swept through to talk to Jinxy in private."
"Why are his visits terrifying?"
"Because he insists on bringing his tame gorilla with him." Dean rolled his eyes again. "Says he's the chauffeur, but since when did chauffeurs need fifty-four-inch chests? The man is there to make mincemeat of anyone who dares say boo to the boss."
"That's not so unusual these days, you know. A bodyguard-cum-chauffeur. Most millionaires have them. You said Mr. Kingsley's distant, but would you also say he's fond of Jinx?"
"Yes, in a brooding sort of way. He never touches her, just sits and stares at her as though she were a piece of Dresden china. I get the feeling he can't really believe she's his. I mean he's common as muck, after all, and she's such a lady, and the only other two children he had are A-one arseholes." He thought for a moment. " 'Fond' isn't the right word. I think he idolizes her."
"How does she feel about that?"
"Loathes it, but then you have to understand that he's not idolizing Jinx, he's idolizing the person he thinks she is. I mean, you'd have to be mentally deficient to see Jinx as Dresden china. A piece of good solid Staffordshire pottery that bounces when you drop it and retains its integrity through a thousand washes, that's a better analogy."
"Why doesn't Jinx put him straight?"
"She's tried, dear, but there's none so blind as those who will not see. She was going to marry Leo Wallader, for God's sake. What better demonstration could there be of flawed judgment and appalling taste? Not that her father could see it, of course. Leo had blue blood in his veins, so he must have been a cut above the rest of us."
Fraser smiled. "Tell me about Tuesday, May the thirty-first," he invited.
"That was a very busy day. We had a teenage band here all morning who thought they were the bee's-knees. Their record company wanted some publicity shots, and it was like drawing blood from a stone to get them to do anything other than simper into the lens." He thought for a moment. "Okay, in the afternoon we did some location work round Charing Cross station for a television company. Atmospheric stills for a documentary' on homelessness. We clocked off about six, because Jinx wanted to get home in reasonably good time."
"Did she say why?"
He shook his silver head. "But she was in a brilliant mood all day, and when I asked her if we could thank Leo for it, she said: 'In one respect, I suppose you can.' So I said: 'Don't tell me, darling, he's finally come up trumps in the rogering department.' And she said: 'Don't be absurd, Dean, Leo would need to be facedown on a mirror to do that.' And I thought, thank God, she's finally seen the light-but for once I was far too tactful to say it."
Fraser grinned again. "Wednesday, June the first," he prompted.
"Let me think now. All right. I spent the morning developing and printing contact sheets. There was some undeveloped film, left over from the previous week, and the two projects from the previous day. Jinx caught up on a mound of paperwork in order to clear it before she went on holiday. Wednesday afternoons are always reserved for portrait work, and I think we had five or six families that day. Then we grabbed supper at about half-six, before going back to Charing Cross to finish the location work there. They wanted twilight and nighttime shots as well, so we didn't knock off that day until about ten-thirty."