He smiled back. ‘And you feel that about Lynch?’
‘Let’s just say that he’s not very generous about acknowledging other people’s contribution to his work.’
‘But you’ve never thought of leaving? Of finding another job?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I love it. Especially the work with the kids. It’s a real challenge. I learn something every day. I can handle having a boss who’s so insecure about his own abilities that he has to put everyone else down.’
Is that how Hunter feels? Ramsay wondered suddenly. That he does all the work while I take the credit? That I’m so insecure that I’m always putting him down?
‘Did Lynch have a special relationship with any of the girls in the group?’
‘Gabby, you mean. No, I don’t think so. He admired her talent, of course, but he kept his distance from all the kids.’
‘How did she come to be living here?’ he asked.
‘She asked if we’d put her up,’ Prue said simply. ‘ She said that things weren’t working out at home and she wanted to move out.’
‘Was there a row? A specific incident which led to her leaving?’
‘She wouldn’t say, but I think there must have been. Before that I had the impression that she was happy enough. The Pastons gave her more freedom than she was allowed here. There must have been some upset, I think, to make her decide to move so suddenly.’
‘Why did you decide to take her on?’ he asked. ‘ It was quite a responsibility to provide a home for a teenage girl.’
‘I felt sorry for her, I suppose,’ Prue said. ‘It can’t have been much fun living with two single women, one of them quite elderly. But it wasn’t only that. She was good for Anna. Anna was always solitary and withdrawn, even as a small child. She found it hard to make friends. It was a worry. I didn’t know how to handle it. I even thought of getting professional help but that seemed an over-reaction. I suggested that she came to the Youth Theatre when I started working there because I thought performing would give her confidence, but it was meeting Gabby that made the real difference. Gabby made her laugh. They became real friends. That’s why I’m so worried about how Anna will cope with her death.’
‘Gabby told one of her schoolfriends that she had been invited out to lunch yesterday, to the Holly Tree in Martin’s Dene. You’ve no idea who might have made the invitation?’
‘No,’ Prue said. ‘ None. And she didn’t mention it to me. Perhaps for some reason she thought I wouldn’t approve.’
‘Tell me about Gabby,’ he said. ‘What was she like?’
‘She was an extrovert,’ Prue said. ‘Lively, fun, an instinctive actress.’ She paused.
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I suppose I’ve got a superstitious feeling that it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead. Besides, I can’t quite put it into words.’
‘Try.’
‘She had no sense of morality,’ Prue said. ‘ I don’t mean that she was wicked. On a personal level she could be immensely kind, generous. But she didn’t have an intellectual’-she groped for the right word-‘ an abstract perception of right or wrong. She wouldn’t hurt anyone deliberately but if she wanted something badly enough she would go for it without considering the consequences. She had no code of behaviour to live by.’ She paused again. ‘I’m not explaining very well. And perhaps most young people are like that.’
‘Is that why she didn’t bother with her family?’ he said. ‘ Because she couldn’t see the point? Because she had no idea of duty or responsibility?’
‘Yes,’ she said, pleased that he had understood. ‘ Yes, I think that’s a good example of what I mean.’
She looked over his shoulder to the kitchen clock on the wall.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘If you want to look at Gabby’s things would you mind doing it now before Anna comes home? I really don’t want her upset.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘ Of course.’ He stood up, wondering if she was bored by his presence. Perhaps she just wanted to be rid of him.
Away from the kitchen the house was cold, and smelled a little damp. Ramsay supposed that the job in the Arts Centre paid peanuts. Prue led him up two flights of stairs to a room in the attic with a sloping roof and a small bay window. It was a big room, the width of the house. There was a sofa, a heavy old desk marked with ink stains, shelves full of teenage clutter. The single bed, in one corner, was almost hidden by cushions.
‘It was Anna’s playroom,’ Prue said. ‘Then as she got older I turned it into a sitting room for her. I thought it would be somewhere she could bring her friends, play her music without disturbing me, but until she met Gabby there were no friends to bring.’
‘Anna didn’t mind Gabby taking it over?’ Ramsay asked carefully. Giving up the room was hardly a motive for murder and he did not want to offend Prue.
‘Not at all. And Gabby didn’t take it over. Anna was always welcome here. Lots of the things are hers.’ She looked around at the clothes piled on a chair, the desk spread with tapes and magazines. ‘I suppose I should sort it all out,’ she said helplessly.
‘Not yet,’ he said more sharply than he had intended. ‘If you don’t mind. I’d prefer not to have anything touched until we’ve checked it.’
‘Yes,’ she said. She was shocked as if a guest had committed some rudeness. ‘ Of course. I expect you’d rather I left you to it…’ And he heard her leather slippers flapping on the wooden stairs as she disappeared to the ground floor.
It was hard to know where to start. Every surface was covered and many of the objects could have belonged to Anna. There were the remnants of childhood-soft toys, a bookshelf full of Arthur Ransomes, coloured felt-tip pens which must long ago have dried up. But, Ramsay thought, Gabby Paston had been a private person. She had given nothing of herself away. Still no one knew what she had really thought or felt. A girl like that wouldn’t have left anything personal around where Anna might read it.
He began with the desk. There were files with Gabby’s name written on in a decorative script holding essays on a variety of subjects. The comments on the bottom were encouraging but the marks were hardly impressive. There was a pile of text books which looked as if they might once have belonged to Prue and had hardly been opened. There were birthday cards, post cards from friends, pop magazines. There was a typewritten script entitled The Adventures of Abigail Keene with the main character’s words marked in orange highlighter. He looked at each item and set it aside on the bed. He piled the cassette tapes together and moved them on to the bed. Many had lost their plastic cases and the scribbled identifying labels meant nothing to him. He supposed that ‘Bald Mice’ was a group and it was while he glanced at the others, trying to find another, even more outrageous name, that he came across the Teach Yourself Spanish tape. Why, he wondered, did Gabby want to learn Spanish? Was it some romantic idea of recovering her roots?
By now the top of the desk was clear except for a swirling pattern of dust and Ramsay turned his attention to the desk drawers. He was afraid that the top one was locked but it was just stuck and when he lifted it and pulled at the same time it came out altogether. Ramsay set it beside him on the bed. It contained a diary, two sheets of paper, an envelope, and a building society passbook. This must be all that Gabby needed to keep from prying eyes.
The diary was small, of the size to fit in a handbag, and there were none of the teenage outpourings which Ramsay might have expected. In it Gabby noted her appointments, rehearsal times, the dates when essays were due to be handed in. The only inclusion of any interest was an E which appeared at approximately fortnightly intervals. Beside it was a time, usually different. Was E for Ellen, Gabby’s aunt? Ramsay wondered. If so, why the secrecy. Unsatisfied, he moved to the other items in the drawer.