A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) (23 page)

The crowd around Jon was looking at a small table on which was the “work of art”. From where I was standing, it looked like a blob of some soft, blue substance, pressed into the surface of the table. There was even an imprint of the artist’s thumb showing on the surface of the blob.

“This is a prime example of abstract expressionism focusing on the juxtaposition of the permanent and impermanent,” said Jon. “The blue adhesive draws the eye and suggests an exploration of the transgender politics of the 20th century.”

Mabel pushed her spectacles up her nose and leaned over to look at the blob.

“I don’t know,” she said loudly, her booming voice carrying across the gallery. “Looks like a bit of Blu-Tack stuck on a table, to me.”

“Or gum,” said Ethel eagerly. “When I used to work at the library, the children used to leave gum stuck on the underside of the tables. Most annoying! And it looked exactly like that.”

There were gasps of horror and outrage from the crowd and Jon looked annoyed.

“That, madam, is a priceless piece of contemporary art,” he said haughtily.

Mabel looked at him in astonishment. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe there was something stuck on it and it got knocked off. You know how sometimes you use Blu-Tack to keep things in place,” Florence suggested helpfully. She looked at the floor around the table. “Maybe it’s fallen down around here?”

Jon’s face was getting redder. “I assure you, madam, that there are no pieces missing from this work of art. This
is
the entire piece. Its very simplicity denotes the power of the artist’s vision.”

Glenda turned aside and said to the other Old Biddies, in a loud whisper, “I think the artist needs to check his vision. Do you think he knows about the two-for-one offer at Specsavers? I got a great deal on my bifocals there.”

Jon made a strangled sound in his throat and Cassie hastily stepped in.

“Have you ladies got a drink yet?” she said. “Why don’t you go over to the bar? There’s a waitress making up cocktails for people.”

As the Old Biddies trundled off, I saw Jon unclench his jaw.

Cassie patted his arm soothingly. “They mean well,” she said. “Once you get to know them better, you’ll see.”

“I’m not sure I want to get to know them better,” said Jon. Then he took a deep breath and looked down at Cassie indulgently. “But this is your night, Cassie, and I’m not going to let anything spoil it.”

Cassie looked wistfully at the price tag stuck under the piece of Blu-Tack. “If only my pieces could be worth that much someday.”

Jon smiled at her. “Everything in good time.”

I stiffened, catching my breath. I stared at Jon Kelsey. Suddenly I was hearing that furtive whisper from the garden again:

“Relax… everything in good time.”

Was it Jon I had overheard in the garden? But who had he been talking to? And what had they been talking about? It had sounded like they were plotting something… but what?

The door to the gallery was suddenly flung open by a late arrival to the party. A young woman tottered in, heavily made-up and expensively dressed in a flamboyant pink cocktail dress, jewels sparkling at her neck and ears. She had the kind of arrogant confidence often seen in those born into privilege and used to the best, which gave her a superficial maturity. In fact, she was probably about the same age as the waitress behind the bar, although she looked older with her make-up and sophisticated clothing. There was something vaguely familiar about her—as if I might have met her before—but I couldn’t quite place her.

She cast her eyes around the room and her gaze stopped on Jon. A small smile curled the corners of her mouth. Tossing her sleek blonde hair over her shoulder, she sashayed across the gallery towards him. She was unsteady on her feet, stumbling a few times as she came towards us, and several people around her reached out instinctively to catch her. I wondered suddenly if she was slightly drunk. I glanced at Cassie’s boyfriend. He had stiffened, his face expressionless and his eyes watchful as she approached us.

“Jon…” She cooed, reaching a hand out to his lapel as she drew near.

“Miss Waltham,” he said, neatly side-stepping so that her hand fell short of its target.

She gave a bitter laugh. “Why so formal, Jon? Are you afraid of letting everyone know how close we really are?” Her voice was slurred and heavy.

Jon glanced at the guests around him who were all watching avidly and took a step towards her, saying in a lowered tone, “Miss Waltham… Sarah… Why don’t we go into my office? We can have more privacy there…” He tried to put a hand under her elbow.

She shook him off roughly. “Why? I don’t want privacy. I’m here for the party. Though I must say, you never invited me…” She pouted at him. “But never mind… I’m here now…” She giggled, then stumbled sideways. Jon caught her just in time.

“You’re drunk,” he said accusingly.

She tossed her head. “No, I’m not. Not unless you’re talking about drunk on love…?” She giggled again.

Jon glanced at Cassie, whose face was beginning to look stony. Once again, he attempted to move the young woman away. “Look, Sarah, why don’t we go into my office and talk there? If you are unhappy about the service you’ve received…”

“Unhappy?” She gave a shrill laugh. “Oh no, the service was very good. Very good indeed.” She leered suddenly at Cassie. “Is he giving you the full service too?” She laughed and wagged her finger in Cassie’s face. “I hope you know what you’re getting into… the great Jon Kelsey—everyone thinks he’s so wonderful, so charming, so brilliant… and nobody realises what a bastard he is!”

There were gasps from the crowd and I saw Jon flush angrily. Cassie looked like she didn’t know what to say. I felt terribly sorry for my friend and the sordid scene she was facing.

“Miss Waltham, if you do not behave yourself, I’m afraid I’ll be obliged to call the police and have you removed from the premises,” said Jon through clenched teeth. “I will not have you threatening and harassing my other clients.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Client? Is that what you call her?” She laughed again. Then, as Jon took a threatening step towards her, she raised her hands defensively. “Fine! Fine! I am going to get a cocktail and enjoy myself.”

“I don’t think you should have any more drinks,” said Jon quickly. He looked across the gallery and caught the waitress’s eye behind the bar, giving his head a sharp shake. Raising his voice, he called across the room, “Miss Waltham can have a cup of tea, if she likes, but no alcohol.”

“Fine!” Sarah snarled. “I knew you’d find some way to spoil it for me!”

Turning, she staggered across the room towards the bar. People parted like the Red Sea around her, their reactions ranging from open curiosity and speculative whispers to a polite blind eye and pretended nonchalance.

Jon turned back to Cassie and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Who is she?” Cassie demanded.

Jon compressed his lips into a thin line. “Sarah Waltham is a customer who came into my London gallery. She told me she wanted to get something for her father’s birthday and I tried to assist her in her selection, but I very quickly realised that what she was really interested in was a date with me. She was very pushy and I thought maybe if I was pleasant to her and took her out once for a meal, then she would be satisfied. You know, show her that we could be friends but nothing more. Unfortunately, it backfired on me badly,” he said ruefully. “It just made her even more delusional. After that dinner, she seemed to think that we were a couple and she began calling herself my girlfriend. She started showing up at the gallery every day, following me home, even waiting outside my apartment in London to catch me when I came out… and when I made it obvious that I had no interest in her romantically, she became spiteful and vindictive. She came into the gallery and made scenes, scaring the other customers away.”

Cassie’s eyes flashed. “What a cow.”

Jon sighed. “I thought that my coming up to Oxford to set up a new branch of the gallery here might help things—you know, take a break from London and hopefully she might cool off. I didn’t realise that she was actually a resident of Oxford and had been going down to London regularly to see me there! Talk about out of the frying pan, into the fire! I’d hoped that maybe she wouldn’t find out about me being here but…” Jon glanced across the gallery, then back at Cassie. “I guess she must have found out tonight.”

“Can’t the police do anything?” I spoke up.

Jon shook his head. “Unless she tries to do me bodily harm, there’s no law against her coming into my gallery and hanging around there. I just keep hoping that if I continue ignoring her, eventually she’ll give up and go away.” He reached out and caught Cassie’s hand. “I’m sorry she ruined your evening, Cassie.”

Cassie gave his hand a squeeze. “Oh, no, it’s not ruined at all! This is the best night of my life!” She reached up and kissed him. He slid his arms around her and they became locked in each other’s embrace.

Ugh. Gag.

I turned my eyes uncomfortably away and caught sight of the girl, Sarah, across the room. She was standing by the bar, watching Cassie and Jon with a deep scowl on her face. She turned and snapped something at the waitress behind the bar, who gave her a look filled with so much hatred that even I felt it from across the room.

Sarah leaned over the bar counter and said something that made the waitress flush an angry red. Then Sarah stood back and crossed her arms smugly as the waitress poured hot water from a kettle into a teacup, dunked a teabag in it a few times, poured a dollop of milk into the cup, added a spoon of sugar, and stirred it with bad grace. Finally she shoved the teacup and saucer across the bar.

I wondered if Sarah should have even been allowed a cup of tea—giving her liquid of any kind, especially hot liquid, seemed a bad idea. She was already swaying visibly and seemed to have trouble coordinating her movements as she reached for the tea. I could see several people holding their breaths as she picked up the saucer and began wandering back across the room. Next to me, Jon released Cassie and frowned as he watched Sarah as well—no doubt thinking of the disaster if she stumbled and spilled that hot tea on any of the priceless works of art around her.

She paused halfway down the room and stopped in front of one of Cassie’s pieces. “So this is your new protégé, eh?” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Jon and curling her lips back in a sneer. She raised the teacup in a taunting gesture. “I suppose I’d better drink to her!”

She took a big gulp, then turned back to the painting. I saw a waiter hastily approach her and offer a napkin, no doubt hoping to prevent any mishaps. She waved him angrily away, her action causing some of the tea to slosh out of the cup. I heard Cassie take a sharp intake of breath next to me but thankfully none of the liquid landed on her beautiful painting.

Jon’s frown deepened. “Excuse me,” he said. “I think I’d better have a word with my assistant…”

He left us and made his way across the room to where a young blonde woman in a smart sweater and pencil skirt was standing by the doorway to his office, watching Sarah anxiously. She looked up as Jon joined her and gave a quick nod at something he said, then turned and went into the office. Jon gave Sarah a last worried glance, then followed his assistant. I wondered if he might be calling the police after all.

Slowly, the hubbub of conversation filled the room again but there was an uncomfortable sense of waiting for something to happen.

Cassie turned her back on the girl and hissed to me, “She’s unbelievable! What an absolute cow! She’s obviously some spoilt rich princess used to getting her own way and now she’s having a tantrum, just because she can’t get what she wants. Poor Jon!”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Yeah, the girl was a major pain in the backside, but I found it hard to feel sorry for Jon. Maybe it was mean of me but I felt that he was well able to look after himself. I started to make some inane reply, when a cry of alarm made us spin around.

The girl—Sarah—was staggering around, flailing her arms. Her teacup smashed on the ground, spilling tea everywhere. She tripped, stumbled, then collapsed on the floor. Her arms and legs jerked spasmodically.

There was a scream from the crowd. “Oh my God! She’s having a seizure!”

Cassie and I rushed forwards, along with several others—not sure what to do, but wanting to try and help. I saw Jon come out of his office, his eyes bulging as he took in the scene in the room, whilst all around us, chaos erupted in screams and shouts.

“Someone call 999!”

“Roll her over! That’s what you’ve got to do in a seizure—so she doesn’t swallow her tongue—”

“No, no, you’ve got to restrain her—make sure she can’t hurt herself!”

“Maybe she’s got one of those pen thingies that you’re supposed to jab her with—look in her handbag—”

“Don’t be stupid, that’s just for an allergic shock—”

“Is she allergic to something?”

“Get her some water!”

“Loosen her clothing!”

I arrived at Sarah’s side just as a few others were grabbing hold of her arms and legs, and attempting to restrain her. I bent over her, trying to catch hold of her thrashing head. Then she twitched violently one last time and stiffened. Her tortured breathing faded away, to be replaced by silence.