Read Online Dead of Winter by Elizabeth Corley - Free Book Online Page B

for most of its length, with a mezzanine over the far end under which there appeared to be some sort of storage area. Easels were arranged around an empty central plinth. The north wall had been replaced with glass and there were Velux windows in the roof with electrically controlled blinds, which today were uncovered, showing snow and the close grey sky above.
    Fenwick was momentarily distracted by the artwork on the walls and didn’t notice at first the two women deep in conversation by the far wall. He dragged his eyes away from the paintings and coughed to attract their attention.
    ‘Can I help you?’
    The woman who spoke was older than he had expected, in her fifties perhaps, with long, silver-grey hair pulled back by a tortoiseshell slide. As their eyes met he felt an unmistakeable tug in his chest and a tingle of attraction that immediately put him on his guard.
    ‘I’m Superintendent Fenwick,’ he announced, his voice stilted even to his own ears.
    ‘Louise Bullock, how do you do?’
    She walked towards him and the light fell onto her face for the first time. It was lined around the eyes and mouth but so finely he couldn’t bring himself to think of her as wrinkled. Her eyeswere almost violet, angled up at the corners, hinting at laughter. He almost recognised her and wondered if they had met before. He took her hand, ignoring the slight shock of her touch, and dropped it quickly.
    ‘You can go now, Octavia,’ she said to the young woman waiting curiously behind her. ‘Don’t forget, I need that piece by Friday at the very latest.’
    ‘Yes, Miss Bullock,’ the girl said.
    Fenwick waited until she had gone before he spoke again.
    ‘I’d like to talk to you about Isabelle Mattias. You were the only person to think her absence worth worrying about and I need to understand why.’
    ‘Of course, but can we do it over lunch? I only have thirty minutes before my next class. It’s personal tuition for a gifted student that I’m trying to persuade of her talent. Any excuse such as my being late and she’ll scarper. Some days I could murder her supercilious parents. But,’ she looked at him again and raised her eyebrows, ‘I imagine I’m not meant to use words like that in front of you. Shall we go?’
    Fenwick, who had never learnt the art of teasing or of being teased, followed her with growing unease.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Any expectation Fenwick might have had of Hogwarts-type splendour vanished as he walked into the airy, cream-walled dining room. For sure, there was a raised platform complete with high table but it was empty save for an arrangement of winter greenery. Below it ash wood tables ran in long parallel rows. Most were occupied. At the far end there was a partitioned area for staff and Miss Bullock headed towards it. Six seats remained vacant at the end of one table and she took the two furthest away.
    ‘We have waitress service. That’s the menu. I’m sure there won’t be a problem feeding you. I’ll be back in two ticks.’
    She promptly disappeared to talk to a colleague at another table.
    Fenwick looked around the room, breathing in the atmosphere. He had been at the school less than two hours but already he could feel the pull of its character: routines and cliques; obscure rules of conduct, even a secret language that linked everybody together to the exclusion of outsiders.
    His initial briefing from Bernstein had been thorough if unenthusiastic but she had shared with him her misgivings about Isabelle’s favourite teacher, Louise Bullock. Something about the art teacher worried her and despite a second interview she remaineduneasy. He had the same gut instinct. There was an air of secrecy about her that he didn’t think was deliberate but it was there just the same, and he was beginning to resent the time she was consuming. Still, he had to eat and warm food would be better than sandwiches to keep him going. He ordered beef bourguignon over rice. Louise Bullock returned as their