Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“But the estate will have to make provision for her care, so maybe Grandma thinks if she gets the kid, she’ll get a piece of it, or at least a regular allowance,” suggested Melody. “But I would think that the mother’s disappearance would complicate matters. Can you talk to the lawyer?”

“I don’t see why not,” Gemma said slowly. “As long as I don’t mention anything about…where I didn’t go.”

“That’s one avenue, then. So who’s this Pippa person? That’s a posh name if I ever heard one. Could she add anything you could repeat about Gail Gilles?”

“Pippa is-was-Sandra’s art dealer. Roy Blakely told me they’d had a falling-out, but Pippa says it was a disagreement over the way Sandra was marketing her art. She says she didn’t know Sandra’s family, and that Sandra never talked about them.”

“I’m beginning to see why,” said Melody.

Gemma grimaced. “That’s an understatement. But the odd thing was, Pippa said she and Sandra and Lucas Ritchie were all three friends.”

“Lucas Ritchie was the guy Naz Malik told Tim Sandra was rumored to have had an affair with-well, that’s a bit garbled, but you know what I mean.” Melody waved her fork dismissively. “Did you ask Pippa about the alleged affair?”

“No.” Gemma drank some of her latte, savoring it. “I was there as a friend, because of Charlotte, and Pippa seemed so upset about Naz’s death, and about Sandra…it just seemed…inappropriate. Duncan asked Lucas Ritchie, though, and he said he and Sandra had been friends since art college, and that Naz would never have believed such a rumor.” She went on to recount Kincaid’s description of the club. “It’s just round the corner here, in Widegate Street. And the interesting thing is that when Duncan asked Ritchie who started the rumor, he said it might have been a former employee, who is now conveniently missing.”

“So.” Melody tossed both their salad containers in the nearby rubbish bin and came back wiping her fingers with the paper napkin. “Is there any reason you can’t talk to Lucas Ritchie, as a friend of Naz’s?”

“I’d have to have got the information about the club from the police-”

“Tell him you got it from Pippa Nightingale.”

“But-”

“Or tell him you want to know if you can hire his posh club for your hen party. Ask him if he’ll allow a male stripper.” Melody grinned impishly.

Gemma groaned. “Don’t be absurd. And I don’t want to have a hen party. Why would you think I did?”

“Because some of the girls at the station have been talking about it.” Melody grew serious. “They think they’re being snubbed. That they’re not good enough for the boss.”

“Snubbed? But I haven’t even made plans for the wedding,” Gemma protested.

Melody hesitated, then said, “And I’m not usually one to repeat gossip or to pry, but tongues are starting to wag about that, too. Boss, are you and the super not getting along?”

Gemma gaped at her. She’d had no idea people were talking. “Of course we’re getting along. We’re fine. It’s just-it’s just that I don’t want a wedding .” There, she’d said it, and the world hadn’t fallen in. At least, not yet. “It’s turned out to be something for everyone except us, and I just hate the whole idea.” She thought of the way things had been the previous evening, with Duncan and the boys and Charlotte, and it was that…that intimacy she’d wanted to celebrate.

“Well, post banns and go to the register office, then,” Melody suggested. “I’ll be your witness.”

Touched, Gemma said, “Thanks, Melody.” Then she shook her head. “But my mum really wants this for me, and right now-I just don’t think I can disappoint her.”

Melody gave her a searching look, then shrugged. “It seems to me that you can either disappoint your mother or disappoint Duncan.” She stood. “So Duncan said this Ritchie guy is good looking? Come on, let’s go see for ourselves. I’ll be your partner in crime.”

The latest arrivals in Brick Lane, the ‘haircuts’ (as some of the locals like to call them), are the ones buying up old warehouses and turning them into vintage-clothing stores or dot.com companies…As the City moves further towards territory traditionally belonging to immigrant groups tensions are increasing.

– Rachel Lichtenstein, On Brick Lane

To Gemma the street seemed like a canyon, a last bastion of the old London, close and crowded, steeped in the bustle of centuries, while beyond it the great towers of the modern City advanced inexorably, like armies of jagged glass shards. “I wonder why it was called Widegate?” she said aloud.

Melody, who was scanning the frontages as she walked beside her, answered absently. “These are eighteenth-century silk merchants’ houses, most of them. Maybe there was a gate into Spitalfields-literally into the fields, I mean. Look, this must be the club. It’s a new building, but very cleverly done.”

The building matched the description that Kincaid had given Gemma. She rang the bell, and after a moment, the door clicked open.

The girl who met them in the elegant reception area, however, was not the girl Kincaid had described. This one was a delicate blond, with a Nordic look that reminded Gemma of Pippa Nightingale, but Gemma’s gaze was held by the large fabric collage over the desk. Sandra’s work, undoubtedly, and as stunning as the pieces she had seen in Sandra’s studio.

They had no sooner asked to see Lucas Ritchie than a tall, fair man appeared from the small office area behind the reception desk. He came towards them with a hand outstretched, but his expression was a bit wary. “I’m Lucas Ritchie. Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Inspector Gemma James, and this is DC Talbot. But I’m not here officially, Mr. Ritchie.” As Gemma shook his hand, she gave him the same explanation she had given Roy Blakely and Pippa Nightingale, and took the opportunity to study him. Good looking, yes, but-she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she found disconcerting. Perhaps he was just a bit too neat and perfectly tailored, although there was a suggestion of muscle under the fine fabric of his suit jacket. Or maybe it was the faintest hint of red to his fair hair, or the freckling on his lightly tanned skin-something she had a personal bias against. “Pippa said that you and Sandra went back a long way,” she went on, trying to mesh this very polished man with what she knew of Sandra. “I thought that if you’d known her family…”

Ritchie moved away from the desk, although the blond girl had disappeared into the office area. A pale, heatless flame flickered in the sitting-area fireplace, even on such a warm day. It was meant to invoke a cozy atmosphere, Gemma supposed, but Ritchie didn’t offer them a seat.

“I told your superintendent-Kincaid, was it?” Ritchie said, and Gemma nodded vaguely, as if she hadn’t a clue as to who he meant. She certainly wasn’t claiming possession at this point. “I told Superintendent Kincaid yesterday that I really didn’t know Sandra’s family.” Ritchie leaned against the back of an armchair, folding his arms. “You have to understand, when we first met, we were kids in art school. Those aren’t the sort of things we talked about. We were going to change the world, and we didn’t want any baggage while we were doing it.” There was a faraway look in his caramel-colored eyes. After a moment, he added reflectively, “Although I think you could say Sandra tipped the balance for the better. And she had more cachet than most of us, even in the beginning, being a genuine working-class girl, although she didn’t make stock of it.”