The Liberation of Alice Love (11 page)

“Have you worked here long?” Alice asked, leaning against the front window.

Helena nodded, hair falling in a flat, shiny sheet. “I’m the manager.” She flicked ash onto the pavement.

“It’s a great space.”

Helena inclined her head slightly. “Thank you. We have a reputation for showing some of the most provocative, challenging artists around.” Her gaze drifted back through the open door, and Alice was certain she saw her lip lift, in the smallest sneer.

“Well, Flora’s show should be a big draw.” Alice felt curiously defensive. “She’s very popular.”

“Yes,” Helena agreed, looking amused. “She is, isn’t she? Gregory just loves her little prints.”

Alice narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, Flora came breezing out. “All done!” she declared. Helena’s features rearranged themselves into pleasant enthusiasm.

“Fab!” she cooed, kissing Flora again. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either,” Flora agreed happily. “Looking back at some of those old paintings, I can’t believe how far I’ve come.”

Alice, who had seen everything from Flora’s earliest watercolor smudges on, had to agree. Her work may not be as provocative or challenging as Helena desired, but it had a certain quintessential charm—if you enjoyed
Meditations on a Wheelbarrow
, that is.

***

After a lunch of Iberian charcuterie and artisan breads (since it was apparently impossible to find a plain ham sandwich within a mile-wide radius of Westbourne Grove), Alice and Flora strolled back to the car. The day was finally warming, with hints of sun glinting between the wash of gray clouds; Alice shrugged off her cardigan and rolled up the sleeves of her printed silk blouse, enjoying the brief flashes of warmth on her face.

“Do you mind if we take a detour?” she finally suggested, as Flora searched her handbag for the keys. “I need to drop by…” Alice consulted the printed address. “Westbourne Gardens.”

“Sure,” Flora agreed. “Just as soon as I find…Aha!” She triumphantly held the pink-beaded keychain aloft. “What’s there?”

“I don’t know yet.” Alice climbed in. “I’m trying to track down some of these payments.”

“From Ella?” Flora paused. “I thought Stefan’s people were handling all that.”

“They are,” Alice agreed quickly, should Flora think she was ungrateful. “And they’ve been great. Thank you, again.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Flora insisted.

“It isn’t,” Alice corrected, thinking of the hours of work—and wages—the solicitor and Stefan were contributing to her care. “But I appreciate it all.”

“So, this place?” Flora prompted, pulling away from the curb. Alice wondered whether that had been a crunch of metal she heard as they drove off.

“What? Oh, right. I’m trying to piece together Ella’s movements, from all her fraud,” she explained. “There was a payment to a business with this address, so—”

“So you’re going to investigate?” Flora’s eyes widened. “Like Nancy Drew!”

Alice laughed. “If Nancy Drew had a debit card and online banking.”

“Cool.” Flora grinned, obviously thinking of haunted mansions and mysterious jade shipments, but when they parked outside the address, they found only an innocuous stucco-fronted house. “Do we go in?” Flora peered up at it.

“Why not?”

Despite her determination to fill in all the missing blanks in her purple leather calendar, Alice wavered for a moment as they stood on the doorstep, wondering what kind of nefarious business the bright exterior could conceal. She was assuming that Ella hadn’t been mixed up in anything terrible—more terrible than fraud, theft, and deception, of course—but that was only based on the persona she thought she’d known. Who knew what underground crime she was a part of? Gangs, or drugs, or…

Flora reached out and rang the buzzer. “What?” she protested, noting Alice’s expression. “I thought you wanted to know.”

The door clicked.

Inside, the hallway was cool and airy, with pale cream walls and a bleached wooden floor. Framed photos of Italian villas and market scenes were arranged in clusters on the wall, and a side table was elegantly set with fresh-cut lilies. Alice let out a small breath of relief. Drug dealers probably didn’t go for fresh-cut lilies.

“Hello?” Flora went ahead, farther down the hallway. “Is anyone here?”

Alice hurried after her, coming to a stop by the calm gray kitchen. Set across the whole back of the house, it put even Flora’s to shame, with three different stoves and pale granite work counters stretching far down the room.

“Can I help you?” A woman emerged from the pantry, dishcloth in hands. Middle-aged, with cropped brown hair and a warm, makeup free face, she looked at them expectantly—but not, noticed Alice, as if it were out of the ordinary for strangers to be wandering through her house.

“We want to sign up, for your…services,” Flora announced, turning to give Alice a non-too-subtle wink.

Alice quickly stepped forward. She had planned another dull explanation of rogue charges and debit fraud, but now she found herself trying to look innocently interested. Perhaps a less obvious tactic would yield more information: “I, uh, heard about this place from a friend, and thought I would come by and see it for myself.” She tried to sound as vague—yet knowledgeable—as possible.

The woman relaxed. “Of course! Which class were you wanting?” she walked forward, reaching for a haphazard folder on the near counter, stuffed with stained pages and loose sheets of paper. “I have a pastry series just finishing and meat preparation next week…”

“Cooking classes?” Alice couldn’t stop herself exclaiming. Ella had gone through the effort of defrauding her for sauté skills?

The woman stopped. “I don’t understand.” She looked back and forth between them. “I thought you—”

“This is such a cute kitchen!” Flora interrupted quickly. She smiled at the woman disarmingly. “I love the rustic influences,” she cooed. “Is that a Falcon range?”

“Yes.” She paused, distracted. Flora quickly peppered her with questions about design themes and the darling little side bowls while Alice tried to think. So Ella had been taking classes here. But somehow, that knowledge wasn’t enough. When Flora had finished her spiel about earth tone accents, Alice adopted a regretful expression.

“I’m trying to remember what class my friend took with you. She was raving about it so much. I’d love to try it out myself.”

Beside her, Flora’s eyes widened. “Good one!” she mouthed, giving Alice a thumbs-up. So much for subterfuge.

Luckily, the exchange went unnoticed. “I can check,” the woman offered, flicking back in her organizer. “What’s her name?”

“Alice,” Alice said quietly. “Alice Love.”

“You’re friends with Alice?” Immediately, the woman brightened. “Oh, that’s great! How is she? Feeling better, I hope.” She looked concerned. “It’s such a shame about that stomach bug, she had to miss our final session. Everyone sends her their best,” she added, beaming.

Alice blinked at the outpouring of enthusiasm. “Ah, thanks. I’ll…pass that along.”

“So, she was signed up to Tartes and Tartins”—the woman consulted her book—“which ran for four weeks. I don’t have another starting for another few months, but our Italian country-cooking class begins next week. What did you say your name was?”

Alice paused. “Ella,” she said suddenly, beginning to back away. The name felt foreign on her lips. “Ella Nicholls. But I’ll just take your details for now, and then call later?”

“Of course!” The woman smiled. “Here, take some leaflets. And give my love to Alice!”

***

As they climbed the stairs to Cassie’s flat later that afternoon, Alice was still puzzling over her discovery. “I don’t understand why she would choose that, out of everything she could buy.”

Flora shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to eat cakes.”

“So why not charge a hundred pounds at a patisserie?” Alice argued. “Classes are different.” They weren’t something you just picked out from a shelf: they took planning and commitment and a process. She tried to picture Ella, joking with the other students over a counter of sugar and spices, showing up every week with a new anecdote. Did she tell those people the same stories she’d told Alice? Was she the same character for them or someone completely different?

There was a thought. Alice felt a slight chill at the idea of Ella playacting another role, this time as Alice. But before she could let it settle, she opened the front door.

“Oh!” Flora squealed.

In front of them, Cassie and Vitolio were twisted in a decidedly athletic embrace on the living room floor—naked, sweaty, and enthusiastically thrusting at each other. Alice tilted her head, mesmerized. Could
that
really go
there
…?

“Mghmm!” Flora made another noise, and Alice automatically reached to cover her eyes.

“Sorry!” she called, backing away and taking Flora with her. Cassie flashed her an absent smile and then turned back to Vitolio.

“Oh yeah!” she cried, voice rising. “That’s it! Aughhhh!”

The moans echoed after them down the staircase.

“So…” Alice cleared her throat as they emerged into daylight again. Flora was still wide eyed with her thousand-yard stare.

“Was that, was that a…pomegranate?” she whispered, looking over at Alice.

“Yes,” Alice answered faintly.

“Oh!”

Chapter Eleven

During the next week, Alice did her best to work around Cassie and Vitolio’s passionate encounters. She was a guest, she reminded herself frequently, and a little inconvenience was the price she paid for no rent. But because of the open-plan living space, poor soundproofing and Cassie’s apparent penchant for sex on nontraditional surfaces—floors, walls, the granite-topped breakfast bar—avoiding the amorous couple became a substantial challenge. She tried instigating a dormlike hair-scrunchy-on-the-door-handle policy, a text early-warning system, and even a creeping quick-glance-before-entering-any-room strategy, but when Alice arrived home from work one evening to find Cassie spread eagle and blindfolded on the couch, with Vitolio wielding a large green dildo above her, it was clear that the situation had become untenable.

Given that her savings were still being held hostage by the bank, her credit rating would cause even a daytime-TV-ad loan company to pause, and Julian was otherwise engaged picking out new linens with Yasmin, Alice had no alternative but to accept Flora’s offer of a place to stay. She moved her things out that same day, as soon as Cassie’s S&M lite session came to its natural—and loud—conclusion.

***

“It’s not that bad,” Alice said into her phone, the day after her move. By her calculations, this made three in under a month, although her stock of possessions seemed to be dwindling while every accommodation improved. At this rate, she’d be living out of a single suitcase in a castle somewhere by the end of summer.

Julian laughed, familiar and comforting even through the mobile speaker. “I thought you said you would throttle her if you spent more than two days in her company?”

“I did?” Alice reached into the huge stainless steel fridge and paused over the selection of three different types of bottled water. “When?”

“Years ago.”

“Well, I was wrong. Stefan’s away on business again, but I’ve hardly seen her so far, she’s spent most of the day out in her studio, working.”

Evian it was. Alice unscrewed the top and took a cool gulp, wandering to where the French doors were thrown open, filling the kitchen with a gentle breeze and the faint scent of roses. She stopped, gazing at the expanse of neat lawn and mature trees: an idyllic summer scene enclosed behind the tall, crumbling walls. “What am I even saying? I’m ridiculously lucky to be staying here. With everything Ella put me through, I could be out on the streets by now.”

“Have they made any progress?” Julian asked. “I mean, do we even know her real name yet?”

“No,” Alice answered slowly. “She’s still a Jane Doe as far as the police are concerned.” She paused, wondering whether to divulge her own work but said instead, “I have another meeting with the investigator later, so perhaps he’s found something new.”

“Probably best to leave it to them, now that you’re moving on.” Julian sounded relieved. “I was getting worried, all that time you spent wallowing over it.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Alice murmured. This was why she hadn’t told anyone about her private investigations—not even revealing to Flora the true extent of her project. She was supposed to be forgetting about everything and just letting the professionals get on with their work, but instead, Alice was becoming even more determined to discover everything she could about Ella’s duplicitous double life. The things she knew now may be simple, minor details—nothing more than Ella’s love of American TV drama box sets, her strange adventures in Italian cooking, her real bra size—but they were true. And the truth, to Alice, could not be overestimated.

She pressed the cold water bottle against her throat, savoring the icy sting against the sweltering heat. To her disappointment, her stack of statements had finally been exhausted. She must have been using other secret cards and accounts, because Ella’s trail was thin, and far from complete.

“So are we still on for the film later?” she asked. “My meeting won’t run long, so I can be at Southbank by six.”

“Uh, that’s actually why I called.” Julian paused. “I can’t make it, I’m afraid.”

“What? Julian Hargreaves missing out on a Hitchcock showing?” Alice joked. “What happened—a death in the family?”

Julian laughed. “No, sorry. Yasmin has a company dinner she needs me for.”

“Oh, well have fun.” Alice bit her lip. She hadn’t seen him for at least two weeks; now that she thought about it, their long-standing lunches and film nights falling aside with Alice’s upheaval. “Maybe we could do a pub lunch this weekend? What was the place we found in London Fields?”

“The Drooping Whistle?” Julian chuckled.

“That was it.” Alice laughed. “Dirtiest pub name ever. How about Saturday?”

“Sure, I’ll check with Yasmin. I think she’s free.”

“Great. I’ll see you both then.”

Snapping her phone shut, Alice took her drink and wandered back through the house to freshen up before her meeting with Nathan. When she had arrived, Alice had braced herself for a cacophony of printed wallpaper or waterfalls of embroidered lace, but instead she’d been pleasantly surprised by the large, airy space. There may have been rosebud upholstery on the window seat and floating muslin draped from the canopied double bed, but the look was simple and fresh rather than Flora’s typical cluttered chintz. She’d even hung Alice’s favorite of her paintings over the mantle: a washed sunset scene that captured the light beautifully.

Crossing to the antique wardrobe, Alice quickly dressed. This time, she wouldn’t be caught off guard in a wrinkled blouse and unwashed ponytail; she’d already blow-dried her hair into sleek submission and hung out her navy shirtdress in preparation. There. She knew that making such an effort was foolish, given that Nathan seemed to have forgotten he’d ever flirted with her, but for some reason, it felt like a matter of pride to Alice to seem efficient and put together at the very least.

Tripping lightly back down the sweeping staircase past a procession of Flora’s artwork and beaming family pictures, Alice paused by the front hall. Should she let Flora know she was leaving? Cassie had taken it for granted that Alice would come and go as she pleased, but somehow, being installed in the pristine guest suite felt different, as if Flora were a proper hostess rather than a friend. Which was almost more complicated, Alice realized, given that they were family and should be even more casual around each other. Deciding to err on the side of politeness, she quickly made her way down the winding, polished hallway and tapped lightly on Flora’s studio door.

“Come in!”

Alice cautiously entered. Stefan had spent a vast amount of money knocking through several walls to create the perfect artistic environment for Flora; now a long, L-shaped sunroom stretched almost along the length of the house, with huge sash windows flooding the room in light. Stacks of fresh canvas leaned against one wall, a paint-stained table was covered with pots of color and pastels, and a set of comfy couches were arranged in the far corner, surrounded with vases of lilacs. It was there that Flora was curled up, sketching.

“I was just heading out…” Alice gestured awkwardly.

Flora looked up, immediately flipping her sketchbook closed. “Oh, OK. Have fun. Will you be back for supper?”

Alice paused. “I think so? Yes,” she corrected herself, seeing Flora’s hopeful expression. She looked very small and delicate, tucked in among the huge cushions. Alice softened. “Did you want to eat together?”

“That would be fun.” Flora smiled. “There’s stuff in the fridge, but we could order takeout. Chinese, Indian…Whatever you want.”

Alice took a step back. “Don’t go to any trouble, really.”

“Oh no, it isn’t.” Flora blinked. “I usually just order in when Stefan’s away. He does all the cooking,” she added, her voice becoming slightly wistful.

“Well, then fine. Takeout,” Alice agreed. “Your pick.”

“I’ll see you later then!” Flora smiled, but she didn’t resume her sketching. Instead, she watched Alice: “You look nice.”

“Oh, thanks.” Alice glanced down, pleased but still self-conscious about her effort. “What are you working on?”

Flora looked embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Just…”—she bit her lip—“I’m trying out a new project. It’s completely different from anything I’ve done before,” she added quickly. “So, I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Alice reassured her. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“I don’t know…” Flora sighed expressively. “It’s much more challenging. But I’ve been wanting to push myself, as an artist, you know? Really try something different, new.”

Alice was surprised. She would have wagered that Flora would keep churning out her dreamy lakeside scenes and pretty still-life paintings for years. “What’s the subject?”

Flora took a breath, as if to brace herself. “Kittens!”

“Kittens?” Alice repeated. Feeling Flora’s gaze on her, she did her best to keep a straight face. “That’s…lovely!”

“I know, right?” Flora broke out into a smile, relieved. “I’ve been doing preliminary sketches, trying to get used to the anatomy and movement, but it’s such a change.” She held out her pad, and Alice had no choice but to come closer and make appreciative noises over the rough sketches of balls of furry delight in various poses. “See, I’ve been working from these photos of Ginny’s new kittens. Here’s Snowball playing with yarn, and Tinkerbell sleeping, and Princess Fluffy…Doesn’t she look so cute, with her little paws!”

“Very cute,” Alice agreed. “Look, I better get going…”

“Oh, of course!” Flora gave her a sunny grin. “You really like them?”

“I do.” Alice nodded, backing away.

***

Leaving Flora to her kittens, Alice took the Tube across town. She was meeting Nathan at his own office this time, in Bloomsbury, and as she made her way down escalators and through the gray, cavernous tunnels beneath London, she couldn’t help but think of her stepsister with a faint twinge of envy. The kitten project would undoubtedly be a huge success: earning Flora adoration and more substantial sums that Stefan would wisely invest on her behalf—further cushioning her in the perfect world of comfort, satisfaction, and zero responsibility that she’d inhabited ever since she was a child. The world seemed to bend itself around Flora in a way it never had for Alice: curving gently to protect her from harsh realities while the rest of them struggled and ached and slammed against rejection and indifference at every turn.

She loved Flora, of course she did—and trying to hold a grudge against her was like holding a grudge against those adorable kittens—but Alice wondered sometimes what would happen to her if this favored existence ever crumbled. Flora folded like tissue paper when her favorite pink pastel broke, so how would she ever cope if, say, Stefan wasn’t around to wrap her in a warm cocoon of cotton wool? But, of course, that would never happen, Alice reminded herself, pushing through the press of sweaty bodies in time to make her stop. Or, if it did, another man would ride up, eager to play Prince Charming. There were probably half a dozen likely prospects already: art collectors or investment bankers who already gazed wistfully at Flora across crowded rooms.

Alice pulled her card from her handbag and briskly swiped through the turnstiles, checking herself A to Z to orientate herself before setting off down the street. Comparing herself to Flora had always been a futile task, she knew, but still, Alice felt a small pang remembering those looks of adoration. She doubted anyone had ever gazed at her like that. She just wasn’t the sort.

***

Nathan’s office wasn’t quite what Alice expected. Or rather, it looked exactly how a serious financial professional would choose to present himself—and that was the odd thing. She didn’t know him at all, but Alice hadn’t thought he was the kind of man to pick dark wood paneling, somber leather furniture, and a wall full of important framed certificates and photos at the golf course/cigar club/yacht club.

“Alice, good to see you.” Nathan’s voice was easy as he ushered her into the room. “You found the office OK?”

“Yes, fine thanks.” He was dressed smarter than she’d seen before, in navy trousers and a crisp white shirt, but as Alice followed him in, she caught sight of his jacket flung over the back of an executive chair; carelessly crumpled. For some reason, she found it reassuring.

“Take a seat. I’d offer you a coffee, but the machine and I are having something of a disagreement.” Flashing her a grin, he took some papers from the top of a filing cabinet. “Well, all-out war, to be honest. Many good beans lost in pursuit of a fine grind, but I’ll beat the damn thing into submission eventually.”

“It’s OK. I’m good without.” Alice took a seat and glanced at his antique desk, curious. It was clear, except for a cluster of small, shiny gadgets: an array of high-tech toys in gleaming monochrome that she couldn’t even begin to identify. For some reason, this didn’t square with her memory of him either, old-fashioned in that linen suit at the garden party.

But, of course, those were only her idle thoughts, Alice reminded herself, feeling self-conscious for even remembering. She didn’t really know him at all.

Alice pulled out her notebook and brandished her pen, trying to snap back into a more businesslike mode. “What’s the news?”

Nathan slid into his chair and looked at her, amused. “Straight to the point, huh?”

Alice stopped. “Well, you did arrange the meeting…” she trailed off, embarrassed by her eagerness. Since she’d exhausted every lead her bank statement had provided, she’d been waiting on any new break that could push her profiling along. A withdrawal, a lone payment: anything that would give her a new flash of insight into Ella’s life.