Cold Heart (23 page)

He walked out into the alley. ‘Slow. How is it with you?’

‘Not so bad. Got a client coming in - ‘bye now.’ She waved again, and pushed open the big double gates.

Eric was in the yard, stacking a delivery of old frames they would repair in the shop. She tossed him the keys of the jeep, a little irritated that he was there: she had forgotten about him. ‘Eric, there’s a delivery of white spirits in the jeep - bring them in for me, will you? ‘

‘Sure, Mrs Nathan, but we’ve got plenty in stock,’ he said, heaving an old gilded plaster frame up to lean against the wall of the workshop.

‘I know, but I don’t want it cluttering up the garage.’

Eric wandered out to the alley, unobserved by Greg Jordan, now busy with a customer. ‘Where do you want them?’ he asked Kendall, as he carried the crate of spirit into the workshop.

‘Just leave them by the door,’ she said nonchalantly, bumping into the big trestle table covered with paints and pots.

‘You all right, Mrs Nathan?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine. We do any business today?’ she asked, trying to appear casual, and he said there had been just a few customers, but no sales.

‘Well, I might close up early,’ she said, then had to hold onto the ledge of the table as the room was spinning. ‘Got a headache, actually,’ she muttered, and he looked at her but said nothing. It was obvious she had been drinking.

‘You want me in the morning?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Maybe come in a bit early as I want to shift some of these paintings into the main space.’

‘I can do it now, if you want.’

‘No, tomorrow will be fine. I’m going out to dinner, so I won’t be here long. I’ll just lock up and then I’ll be leaving.’

‘Okay.’ He stared at her again: she was dragging some wooden frames from behind a screen.

‘You sure you don’t want me to stay an’ help out?’

‘No, just go. See you tomorrow.’

Eric hovered by the door, watching her stumble against a wall. He’d never seen her like this in the two years he’d worked there. ‘You sure you’re okay, Mrs Nathan?’

She turned on him angrily. ‘I’m fine. Now just go, go on, get out.’

‘On my way,’ he said, picking up his jacket. He didn’t give a shit either way - he’d never liked her or her hawk face. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, as the door shut after him.

Alone, Kendall did not move until she had heard the yard gates clang shut. Then she heaved more and more wooden frames into the centre of the room, laughing softly, knowing they would catch light fast.

Lorraine was clearing her desk, getting ready to leave for home, when the phone rang. She checked the time - five thirty. Decker buzzed her office. ‘Call for you, Mrs Page, line two. Lieutenant Gorgeous. Okay if I leave?’

‘Sure. See you tomorrow.’ She hesitated, then switched to line two. ‘Lorraine Page speaking.’

‘Hi . . . er, I was just wondering . . . I’m off duty early this evening, and it’s a . . . well, it’s a nice night, and I was wondering . . . if you were going for a walk. Or if you were busy I could take your dog out for you.’

She smiled. ‘I’m just leaving the office.’

‘Oh, well, another time.’

‘No, no, I meant that I’d go home, change, and I’d like . . . we could walk together.’

‘Oh, yes, fine.’

She gave him her home address again - just to make sure - and they arranged to meet at seven thirty. She couldn’t stop smiling. She had a date! Well, she
and
Tiger had one.

Usually, when she got home, Lorraine tore off her clothes, pulled on an old track suit and sneakers, then walked to the nearest park, ran for almost two miles and went home. Tonight she washed her hair, redid her make-up, and put on a pale blue track suit with a white T-shirt that she wore only for the gym on Saturdays - it was an expensive designer label, and she knew the colour suited her. Then she tidied the apartment, arranged some fresh flowers and sprayed air freshener, while Tiger padded after her, wondering what the hell was going on. He even dragged his lead from the hook by the door and sat there waiting, afraid that she would go out without walking him.

On the dot of seven thirty, she heard Burton’s car outside. She cast a quick glance round the room and tossed a magazine onto the sofa as the entry phone buzzed.

When she let Burton in, Tiger hurled himself, barking, at the door, and Lorrane grabbed his collar and yelled at him. ‘It’s okay, Tiger, stop it. Good boy . . .
Tiger?

Burton wore an old pair of torn jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, and concealed his shyness by making a fuss of Tiger. ‘Hello there . . . Who’s a good house-dog, then, eh? Hello, good boy, good boy.’

Tiger allowed Burton to ruffle his ears, then tried to squeeze between his legs to get out of the half-open door.

‘
Wait!
’ Lorraine yelled, but Burton grabbed his collar.

‘It’s all right, I’ve got him. He seems pretty eager to go.’

Lorraine agreed, saying that she had only just arrived home, and he was used to his routine. ‘I just throw on a track suit and we run.’

Burton looked at her, flushing. ‘Well, you look lovely, that colour suits you.’

‘Oh, thanks. I’ll get my keys.’

He clipped Tiger’s lead on, and went ahead of her down the stairs to the street. He hadn’t had a chance to notice how she had cleaned the apartment: all he had been looking at was her, and he liked what he saw – but, then, he had thought the same when he’d first met her.

They used her jeep to drive the short distance to Santa Monica beach. Burton drove, and Lorraine liked the way he asked if she’d like him to drive, not too pushy, easy and relaxed. She tossed him the car keys, and as he got in he pushed the seat back to accommodate the length of his legs. Tiger was stationed in the back seat, his head almost resting on Burton’s shoulder. She liked the way Jake had checked the gear shift and made sure he knew where everything was before they drove off. Out of his working clothes he looked younger, and she noticed he was well built, and had strong, tanned arms. He asked if she had any special route or if he should just take her the way he knew. She said she’d leave it to him, but started to direct him down the avenue anyway. He laughed, and didn’t seem to care that Tiger was drooling on his shoulder. When they stopped at lights he tilted his head to one side to run it against the big dog’s muzzle, and Tiger licked his face in reply.

He was relaxed, at ease, and as he drove, Lorraine was able to sneak glances at his profile. He was, as Decker had said, a very handsome man, and seemed even more so this evening than when she had first seen him. He was not exactly drop-dead gorgeous, but he had strong features: his nose was aquiline, and he had high cheekbones, and a deep cleft in his chin. His eyes were deep-set, and although she knew they could be cold and unfriendly, now they were teasing.

He knew she was scrutinizing him, but didn’t mind. He would have been a bit suspicious of someone who pushed their way into his life, and would have been sure, as he presumed she was, that the walk with the dog was just a pretext.

‘So, this was unexpected,’ she said.

‘Don’t you trust me? Do you think I have some ulterior motive?’

‘Possibly,’ she said lightly.

He half turned towards her, then back to concentrate on driving. ‘I used to have a dog, I told you. I like . . . taking walks, and I prefer some company, not all the time, but occasionally.’

Lorraine stared out of the window. It had been so long since she had had company, and not just for walking Tiger. ‘Yes, me too,’ she said softly.

Kendall arranged the frames, not obviously, but stacked at the side of a long trestle table, draped a length of muslin over them and soaked it in white spirit. She poured a trail of the liquid across the bare floorboards, which were splattered with paint and spirit spilt over a period of years. She brought more finished canvases out of their slats in the storage area, again not making an obvious bonfire but resting them against the walls, leaving space for air to circulate under them to feed the flames. She worked for almost an hour, sweating with the effort, and soaking rags from the bins in yet more spirit. Then she carried out more old canvases and laid them along the walls of the short passage between the workshop and the gallery, to encourage the fire to spread into the gallery itself. She was still drunk but so intent on what she was doing that she wasn’t aware of it.

At seven thirty she entered the gallery, turned on all the lights, and opened all the doors. She made four phone calls arranging for artists to meet her the next morning, opened her desk diary and entered the appointments, plus notes of possible sales – all to create the impression that she had no financial problems and had been planning normal business for the next day. She spread more papers and anything that would catch light quickly on the floor, and started to make her way back to the workshop. Half-way there, she crossed to the big gates to look out – then swore. Heading towards her was Greg.

‘Hi – that you, Kendall?’ he called, and she opened the gate. ‘You got any fresh coffee? It’s just that I’m stock-taking, and I’ve run out and can’t be bothered to go to the store.’

‘Sure, come on in. I’m working late myself – I’ve just got a new artist and I’m planning the show for him, so I’m moving things around to make space.’

She kept calm, walked into the little kitchen area in the warehouse with Greg, and passed him a half-used packet of coffee.

‘So, business is good, is it?’ he asked.

‘Yep, well, I hope it’ll be even better. I am always looking for new talent. You know – eye-catching stuff She smiled, wanting to get rid of him, but then realized he would make a good witness, and elaborated on her new deals, even gestured towards the warehouse. ‘You can see it’s kind of cluttered in here, so I’ve got plenty to keep me busy this evening.’

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks for the coffee – I’ll repay you in kind tomorrow, okay?’

‘Oh, it’s on the house.’

He thanked her again. She smelt of alcohol, and he was sure she was tipsy. She didn’t offer him a drink, though, and he hadn’t really wanted the coffee – he’d wanted a chat with Eric, from whom he scored a variety of recreational chemicals.

Kendall watched him leave, and not until he was back inside his shop did she return to the warehouse.

The beach was almost deserted, and Lorraine and Burton had walked a fair distance. Tiger was having the time of his life running after sticks, chasing stray dogs, hurling backwards and forwards, and barking and diving around them.

‘He’s a great dog,’ Burton said, throwing a stick as far as he could.

‘I never thought I’d get so attached to him, but he kind of grows on you.’

They walked side by side, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Burton caught her hand. The touch of his, warm and strong, made her heart pound, and she curled her fingers tightly around it, trying to calculate just how long it had been since someone, anyone, had taken her hand and walked with her the way they were walking now.

‘So, Mrs Page, do you want to start first, or shall I?’ he said casually.

‘Start with what?’

‘Well, I want to know about you . . . I want to know you.’

‘Ah, well, that might take more than a walk on the beach, Lieutenant Burton.’

‘But it’s a start,’ he said, and released her hand to pick up the stick Tiger had dropped at his feet. After he had thrown it again, he didn’t take her hand, but rested his arm loosely around her shoulders.

‘I’m forty-five years of age, and I’ve been married once, to my childhood sweetheart. I was nineteen and it lasted four years. I joined the army and she and I grew apart, she left me, and married another childhood friend - my best buddy, as a matter of fact, and they live very happily in Seattle, two kids . . .’

She loved his arm around her. ‘I’m thirty-eight, divorced, and my ex-husband lives not far from here with my two daughters. He’s married again to a very beautiful lady called Sissy. I don’t have any contact with my daughters because . . .’ She trailed off as Tiger arrived back, exhausted, with the gnarled stick. This time she picked it up and threw it, and he hurtled after it like a greyhound on the track after a mechanical hare. ‘He’ll sleep tonight,’ she said. She wanted Burton’s arm around her again.

‘You were a cop,’ he said, and slipped his arm around her again to draw her closer. ‘I pulled your report sheet.’

‘Yes, you told me,’ she said coldly.

‘I know I did. Do you mind?’

‘Why should I? It’s public knowledge.’

‘Not quite, but I wanted to know about you.’

‘Yes, well, there are some things that don’t make it into reports,’ she snapped.

‘Hey, I’m just being honest. Don’t get all uptight on me.’

‘I’m not uptight, but I’m amazed you still wanted to take a walk with me. Most men would have run a mile.’

‘Yeah, maybe, but everyone has a past - nobody’s perfect.’

She wanted to break away from him, but didn’t. She stopped walking. ‘Maybe, Lieutenant, but not everybody has a past quite as colourful as mine, or as seedy, or as dramatic or as—’

‘Sad?’ he suggested, gently.

She glared at him. ‘What is this? Yeah, I’ve had my problems, and I admit to them, but I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. What do you want from me?’

‘I don’t want anything, or not the way you think. I wanted you to know that I knew, that’s all.’

‘So?’

‘It doesn’t bother me what the fuck you were, or whatever you did.’

‘Thank you, I’m grateful, but we are just walking my dog. I know what I did, I live with it. I know what I was and I live with that too. So take your pity and screw it.’

He grabbed hold of her. ‘What’s with you? Pity? You think I pity you? Jesus Christ, woman, I don’t pity you. I’m out of practice with these things. All I know is I wanted to see you so badly, from the first moment I set eyes on you. I wanted to be with you, so I pulled your file from records. I’m sorry - all I wanted you to know was that.’

Well, I want you to know that I’m not some charity case, and I’m not so desperate that I’d hide anything I’ve done. I killed a kid when I was drunk on duty. I was a drunk for eight years. Well, I’m sober now and I’m not prepared to be anyone’s lame duck. Thanks for the walk – you can get a cab ride back.’