Then at the top of the heap in the box there was a picture of a group of adults. They were wearing party clothes. It had been taken in the garden with the house in the background. Everyone looked stiff and formal. Beyond the house a cloudless sky. And all of them held in their hands masks, glorious, elaborate affairs, fastened to a cane. Fran felt suddenly very cold.
The implication of the masks seemed lost on Bella. She left the photo where it was and stared at it.
‘I remember that night,’ she said. ‘It was the evening before most of them went. We held a real dinner party to mark their leaving. I made everyone dress up, set the big table in the dining room. I wanted something special and came up with the idea of the masque. How pretentious I must have seemed! I thought we were so sophisticated. We’re none of us very young there, are we? I remember it as a time when I was young, but that’s not true at all.’
‘Where did you get the masks from?’
‘I hired them from a theatre company. The one which still turns up in Lerwick every year on the boat. I made friends with one of the actors.’
‘How long ago was it?’
Bella stared into space. ‘Fifteen years? Roddy had his sixth birthday the next day. He came here to collect his present and those of us who were left had such hangovers.’
‘Do you know who everyone is?’
Bella lifted out the picture. It was larger than most of the others, which were just snaps, and almost covered the area of the shoebox.
‘This is me. Right in the front. Of course.’ She was wearing a red silk halterneck dress. Her hair was cut very short, almost exactly the same style as she wore today. Fran was reminded of the self-portrait that had caught the attention of Jeremy Booth at the Herring House party.
‘You look lovely.’
‘I made an effort,’ she said. ‘Oh how I made an effort! I’d got it into my head that Lawrence would propose that night.’
‘Is he in the photograph?’
‘No,’ Bella said briefly. ‘I’d invited him to the dinner, but he never appeared.’
‘Isn’t this Peter Wilding?’ Fran turned the photograph round so she was looking directly at it. ‘This man standing beside you.’ He was very dark, handsome in a sulky sort of way.
‘Do you think it is? He’s put on a little weight, if it’s him. I suppose it could be. The shape of the nose is the same.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t recognize him when he turned up to rent the house from you? He hasn’t changed that much.’
‘Don’t you think so? I certainly didn’t know him. I’ve already explained, I had no reason to want to remember that summer. Besides, there was no need to go back to the past. I had a future through Roddy.’
Fran thought that Bella had put too much on to the boy – the responsibility for all her happiness. ‘Is Jeremy Booth there?’
Bella swung the picture back. ‘It’s difficult to tell, isn’t it? I only saw him briefly at the Herring House the other night. Where is it? I wondered if this could be him.’
‘Where?’
‘Here. I thought the long face, rather narrow nose. He has more hair here, of course. It’s unfashionably long, even for the time. And he has a beard. Very much the bohemian.’
‘And you really don’t remember anything about him? Not even the name?’
‘I don’t think he can have been here for very long. Perhaps not more than a few days. That happened. People came for a while and then moved on. I spent quite a lot of my time in Glasgow, visiting lecturer at the art school. I’d get pissed at parties and invite people to stay.’
She leaned back in her chair with her eyes half closed. Fran thought she was reliving that summer in her mind.
‘I think perhaps he was the magician,’ she said. ‘He put on a magic show for Roddy, who was completely entranced. It seemed such a kind thing to do. I rather fancy he was my actor. He told me he was in love with me.’ As if this was of no consequence at all, a common occurrence. She paused. ‘He was given to practical jokes, I remember, and not always in good taste. The flyers cancelling the party would have been just his style. A way of getting his own back. But why wait all this time? Surely he didn’t come to Shetland just to upset me.’ There was a note of satisfaction in her voice. She liked the idea that she had haunted him for years.
‘Did anything happen that time they were all here at the Manse?’ Fran asked. ‘Something that could have triggered this violence so many years later?’
‘No,’ Bella said. ‘The night that photograph was taken was an anticlimax. We dressed up and ate dinner. The next morning I was left with a hangover and a pile of dirty dishes. No drama. Nothing.’
‘Can I have the photo to show Jimmy?’
‘Why not?’
She sounded very tired, as if nothing really mattered any more.
Chapter Thirty-six
Taylor had been at his desk since eight and was finding it impossible to concentrate. He’d been restless even as a child, could see now that he must have driven his father to distraction with his fidgeting and his demands for attention. His father had been a foreman in the docks and used to a bit of respect. Taylor hadn’t been prepared to make the effort.
Since the trip to the Wirral, he’d been thinking more about his family. He should have been in touch with them, at least let them know he was safe and well. Everyone thought Jeremy Booth had been a selfish bastard, walking out on his wife and baby. Maybe they were saying the same things about Roy Taylor. You’d have thought he could pick up the phone and let his mother know he wasn’t dead. This case had too many resonances with his own life. It seemed Lawrence Thomson had just walked out too. Because he was bored, or being pressured to take on the commitment of a wife and family. Perhaps he just needed the space to make his own decisions and live his own life.
Taylor left the building and went out into the street. He needed exercise and fresh air and a decent cup of coffee. Another huge cruise ship was sliding into the mouth of the harbour, blocking out the view of Bressay, dominating the town. Taylor thought cruising was like his idea of hell. Being shut up on a boat with a load of people whose company you hadn’t chosen, having to be pleasant to them, never being able to escape. Like a family, he thought. And he thought that though he hadn’t spoken to his relatives for years he had never really escaped them either. Resentment against his father bubbled inside him, fuelling his ambition, pushing people away.
He walked down the lane into the Peerie Café. He’d come here with Perez when he was last in Shetland. They’d drunk coffee and discussed the case, united against a general assumption that the murderer had already been found. He missed the easy relationship they’d had then. He seemed to remember laughter. They’d been more like friends than rivals. Why did Perez irritate more now than he had on the earlier visit? Was it because he’d taken up with Fran Hunter? Was Taylor jealous because he had a woman? An attractive woman.
There were two middle-aged women in the queue ahead of him – English tourists in walking gear. He tried to curb his impatience as they dithered about whether it would be terribly wicked to have cream with their scones. He was tempted to turn round and walk out, but the smell of the coffee held him.