Corduroy Mansions Page 0,95
chap who bought me lunch—you probably saw him leaving the restaurant—Christopher Catherwood, I’ve just taken his photograph for a magazine.”
Caroline wondered whether James was getting annoyed with Tim and his interruption of their conversation. But if he was, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed quite pleased that Tim had sat down at their table. Perhaps, she thought, James did not really want to speak about whatever it was that he had been going to speak about—in which case he probably welcomed Tim’s arrival.
“So you were at Oxford Brookes with Caroline?” James asked Tim. “Did you study art history too?”
Tim shook his head. “No. I was at Bath Spa University. They have a degree course in photography. I did that.”
Caroline saw her opportunity to navigate the conversation away from perilous shoals. “Bath Spa is terrific,” she said. “I had a friend who did design there. She had a great time.”
“When?” asked Tim.
“When she was there. She had a great time when she was there.”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” said Tim. “I meant: When was she at Bath Spa?”
“Oh, same time that I was at Oxford Brookes.”
“Then I wouldn’t have known her. When you were at Oxford Brookes was when I took that—”
Caroline interrupted again. “She was called Stella.”
Tim looked interested. “I knew a Stella. What was her name again? Her surname? You know, you forget these things. Stella …”
“Stella Something,” suggested James.
Tim looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something—or something other than Something—but Caroline seized the initiative again. They needed to talk about anything but photographs and country magazines. Anything.
“I think she’s no longer with us,” she said. “The Stella I knew, that is.”
James looked puzzled. “What do you mean? She died?”
Caroline looked away. Stella did not exist. She never had. And now she was proposing to kill her off. No, she could not do that.
“She went to France,” she said wildly.
“Why?” asked James.
Tim Something looked amused. “I can think of plenty of reasons to go to France! Where do you start?”
“She met this French boy,” muttered Caroline.
“That’s a good enough reason to go to France,” said Tim, glancing at James.
“I didn’t like him,” Caroline went on; how easily were the lives of others invented. “But she did. They went to live in Paris. And then …” She trailed off.
Both Tim and James were looking at her expectantly.
“Then what?” asked James. “You know, it’s a fascinating story. This Stella person! You’ve simply got to tell us more, Caroline. I’ve got to know!”
“Then she found out that he wasn’t French at all,” she said. “He was Italian.”
James snorted. “Is that it?”
“I’ve remembered the name of the Stella I knew,” said Tim Something. “Stella Lachfield. An unusual name. I took her photograph for the mag.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Quite soon after I took yours, Caroline.”
67. Where’s Freddie de la Hay?
MARCIA TOLD WILLIAM that after she had seen her seafood supplier she would go back to Corduroy Mansions to carry on with the task of sorting out Eddie’s room.
“I hope that he’s picked up the rest of his clothes,” she said, “because if he hasn’t, I’m going to give them to a charity shop.”
This brought a sharp intake of breath from William. It was one thing to bundle Eddie’s clothes out of his room; it was quite another to give them away. Did they have the right to do that? Could anybody give away somebody else’s clothes, or was it simple theft? Marcia was showing a fairly cavalier attitude to the law, what with her apparent indifference to the presence of the stolen painting and now her willingness to dispose of Eddie’s property. He would have to watch this and, if necessary, start educating her as to the requirements of the law-abiding life.
“I really don’t think we can give his stuff away,” he protested. “It doesn’t belong to us, you know.”
Marcia had no time for such niceties. “It’s in your flat, isn’t it? Surely you’ve got the right to dispose of things from your flat?”
William was doubtful. “I don’t think so.”
“But you must have,” said Marcia. “Otherwise it would be ridiculous. Listen, if I came and dumped something in your flat without your permission—just dumped it in the hall, let’s say—surely you have every right to put it out on the street. After all, you didn’t ask me to bring it, whatever it is.”
William thought about this. People obviously could not land their property on others, but Eddie had not done that anyway; his property