Jude flashed a grin at her, and was rewarded by a professional smile in return. “I am Martina,” the woman said. Her English was immaculate, but still flavoured with an accent from somewhere in central Europe.
“Martina of Martin & Martina?”
“Yes, Martina Rutherford. My husband and I run the chain.”
“Congratulations. It seems to be doing very well.”
“Yes, we have put a lot of work into the business and I am glad to say it is now paying off. We are opening a new salon in Folkestone soon.”
“Moving all the way along the South Coast.”
“We hope in time to go north to some of the big towns nearer London.”
“And then throughout the whole country?”
She took the question at face value. “Why not? Our standards are higher than most of the opposition. We are very successful.”
“It certainly looks that way.” Jude knew she must take advantage of the situation into which she had so serendipitously arrived. She had come hoping to find out more about Martin & Martina, and here she was being offered one half of the partnership on a plate. “This is my first time in one of your salons,” she began cautiously.
“I know. I have not seen you before.”
“Do you remember all the clients in all the branches?”
“Pretty well. I move around a lot, but we have our main office here.”
“Previously I’ve had my hair done at Connie’s Clip Joint in Fethering.”
“Ah.” Clearly Martina knew the name, but she responded without a flicker of any other intonation.
“Presumably you heard about the dreadful thing that happened there?”
“Of course.” The phone interrupted them. Martina answered with practised charm, booking someone in for highlights the following Wednesday. When she’d ended the call, she looked across at the row of stylists. “Kelly-Jane has nearly finished. She will be able to look after you soon.”
“Thank you. So, the death at Connie’s Clip Joint…”
“Yes.” Martina was too much of a professional to change the subject when a client was talking, but she seemed to have little interest in what had happened at the Fethering salon. No doubt, being so close, the event had already been the subject of a lot of gossip amongst her clients, and she was sick of it.
“I gather that the girl who died had worked here…”
“Yes. Very briefly.”
“Oh?” It was the lightest of interrogatives, but it asked for an explanation.
Martina shrugged. “Not everyone is suited to this business. It takes a special kind of personality to be a hairdresser, a special attitude. A lot of young girls start without having really thought about what the job entails.”
“But in the case of Kyra Bartos – ”
“Ah, here is Kelly-Jane.” A lanky girl in her late twenties, with jet black hair rising in little spikes over her head, came across with a welcoming smile. “This is your client. Jude, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Nice to see you, Jude. Come with me. We’ll get your hair washed first.”
As she moved across to the chair, Jude was aware of the shrewd scrutiny of Martina’s blue eyes following her. She wondered if there was anything sinister in the interest, or was it just another manifestation of the woman’s control-freak personality?
Jude might have known there would be no problem having another haircut so soon. There is nothing stylists like better than running fingers disdainfully through someone’s hair and asking, “Who on earth did this?” And after she’d had her hair washed by a junior, that was exactly what Kelly-Jane did.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Bit of a salvage job, is it? I can tell it’s only been cut a couple of days ago. Normally I wouldn’t mention how badly someone’s hair’s been cut,” the girl lied, “but since you’ve come in here so quickly after, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know already.” The stylist trailed despairing fingers through the blonde tresses. “Dear, oh dear. Now do tell me where this was done.”
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t.” Although she’d already mentioned the salon to Martina, Jude had too much loyalty to betray Connie to Kelly-Jane. Besides, she knew that there had been nothing wrong with the haircut she’d got in Fethering. But it was a point of honour amongst all stylists to disparage everything that had been done to a client before she had the good fortune to find them.
“Oh well.” Kelly-Jane didn’t pursue the matter. She perhaps thought it better for the perpetrator of the previous haircut to remain anonymous. She didn’t want to intrude on private grief. Lifting Jude’s hair out to the sides and letting it drop, she said, “So…what are we going to do with it? You know, you’d look smashing with it really short.”
Why is it everyone wants me to have short hair? Jude wondered. Could it be that stylists, like everyone else, like to see a positive effect for their efforts? Yes, there must be some kind of satisfaction in making a total transformation, completely changing the appearance of your client. But Jude, having rejected the ‘short’ option with Connie, wasn’t about to grant the honour to Kelly-Jane. Besides, she thought mischievously, since having my hair cut seems to be my main means of investigation in this case, I’d better proceed slowly, an inch at a time.
“No, thanks,” she said easily. “I’d just like it tidied up, you know, maybe about an inch shorter all round.”
Kelly-Jane gave a token sigh – she was clearly used to clients not knowing what was best for them – but didn’t press the point. Instead, she started combing Jude’s hair preparatory to the cutting. “Haven’t seen you here before. Your first time at a Martin & Martina?”
“Yes.”
“Oh well, now you’ve found us, you’ll never change. It sounds like boasting, but it’s not boasting if something’s true. Martin & Martinas are by a long way the best salons on the South Coast. You’ll never want to go anywhere else.”
Jude wasn’t convinced. Guilty for the badmouthing Connie’s skills had just received, she felt defensive. A new sense of loyalty developed within her. In future she’d regard Connie’s Clip Joint as her regular hairdresser’s.
“It’s all down to the training, you see. All the staff at Martin & Martina salons are intensively trained. Martin – he’s the boss – is very hands-on.”
So I’ve heard, thought Jude wryly. But now his name had come up, she wasn’t going to waste the cue. “So he’s a good person to work for?”
“Oh yes. None of the staff ever want to leave, and if that’s not the measure of a good boss, I’d like to know what is.”
Kyra Bartos had wanted to leave. For a moment Jude wondered whether Connie’s account of the circumstances of that departure had been entirely accurate, or had it been embroidered by the venom of a spurned wife?
“And do you actually see a lot of Martin?”
“Oh yes. As I said, he’s very hands-on. Goes round all the branches, but his office is here, so we probably get to see more of him than the others.”
“Is he in today?”
“Always here on a Saturday, yes. I’m surprised he hasn’t put in an appearance yet.”
Good, thought Jude. And I’ve already met Martina. So my investment in a second haircut won’t be completely wasted. At the very least I should get to know what Martin Rutherford looks like.
She pretended ignorance for her next question. “And are he and Martina actually married? Or are they just partners whose names give a nice unisex feeling to the salons?”
“Oh no, they’re married. Very much so. I don’t think Martin ever does anything Martina doesn’t know about.” The warmth with which Kelly-Jane had spoken of Martin Rutherford did not extend to his second wife.
Given that kind of monitoring, thought Jude, Martin must be very discreet in his approaches to the salon’s juniors. Maybe Connie had overdone her description of his behaviour, making out her husband was worse than he actually was. Now she thought about it, there had been something false and prepared about what she’d said.