‘How did you spend your time in Switzerland?’ Joe asked to change the subject. He knew Armitage’s views on conscientious objectors and wished to avoid an outbreak of verbal hostilities.
‘I discovered painting,’ said Orlando with a vivid smile of enthusiasm. His eyes darted back to his unfinished picture and his attention was lost.
Joe got to his feet. ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll just have a word with the young lady . . . Melisande? . . . a matter of confirming your departure and arrival times, and then we’ll be off.’ He looked at Armitage and Westhorpe who had risen with him. ‘Not much room in a caravan, I think. Perhaps you two would like to take a turn under the apple trees? Get a few pure lungfuls of country air before we go back?’
He watched for the automatic expression of displeasure at the suggestion and was surprised to see none. They both nodded and set off into the orchard examining Armitage’s notebook and murmuring to each other.
Joe approached the open door of the caravan. All was silent. Had she fallen asleep? Hesitantly, he called, ‘Hello. It’s Sandilands. I’m here at the front door. Do excuse me.’
‘Come in, officer. That didn’t take long! Look, I could come out to you but I expect you want to see the inside of a caravan? Everybody does!’ Her voice was light and attractive with the hint of a country accent he could not place.
He climbed the wooden ladder and entered the small gloomy space. Mel was lying with her feet up on a divan running the length of the caravan. Pots and pans hung from hooks in the ceiling and piles of artist’s materials cluttered the floor, vying for space with baskets overflowing with clothes and blankets. Joe looked around uncertainly.
‘It’s not usually as tidy as this,’ said Mel. ‘You should have seen it when we all went to France. You can sit here.’ She swung her legs to the floor and patted the space next to her on the divan.
‘How absolutely charming and romantic,’ said Joe, finding his conversational gear with a crunch. ‘The children must adore having a hidey-hole like this in the grounds.’
‘Are you mad? The place is a midden! Best thing that could happen is for someone to set fire to it. All that linseed oil and turpentine, rags and suchlike lying about – it’s a death trap. Do you smoke?’
‘Only cigars and only after dinner,’ said Joe carefully.
‘Good. Wouldn’t want to see the Law blow itself up. They’d pinch me for it. I’ve got previous! Now, what do you want to know? Inspector, isn’t it?’
‘Commander. Sandilands. CID. We’re checking the movements of all members of Dame Beatrice’s family at the time of her death yesterday. We’ve heard from her brother and would now like to hear your confirmation.’
‘Whatever he said, I’ll go along with that,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Not acceptable, I fear,’ said Joe, smiling with difficulty. ‘What time did he set off for London yesterday? Let’s start there, shall we?’
‘Sometime in the afternoon. I was having my afternoon nap. Before I went to sleep he was there. When I woke up he wasn’t. He caught the 3.40, I expect. He got back this morning late – about midday. He looked the worse for wear and stank of booze.’
‘He attended a very boozy party, I understand,’ said Joe.
She took off the scarf she wore around her head and shook out her rich russet hair, running her fingers through the length of it. ‘I’d like to have short hair but he makes me wear it long. All his models have had long hair. I’m just surprised he hasn’t told me to dye it black – he’s got this fascination for gypsies. You only have to look at his kids to see that! The minute he hears there’s an encampment within hiking distance – he’s off! He can actually talk their language, you know.’ She cast a sideways, speculative look at Joe. ‘Can’t think why you need to come all the way down here to find out what Orlando was up to last night, but as a matter of fact I’m glad to hear he really was in London.’ Joe waited for her to go on. ‘There’s a bunch of Romanies just set up camp near Dunsfold, I hear. He could have walked there, had a sing-song round the campfire or whatever he does and got back in the time. You have witnesses who saw him there, then, at the party?’
Joe was aware of the insecurity behind her question. ‘I believe there are people in London who can vouch for his presence there,’ he said carefully. ‘The champagne flowed well after midnight.’
‘Champagne at the Ritz, eh? Funny . . . when I took up with him I thought he was just a penniless painter but, you know, he owns all this. Did you know?’