Guns in the Gallery Read Online Free PDF Page B

whatever was delaying their daughter, it wasn’t shopping. But they didn’t mind waiting. They were in a lovely room and provided with excellent coffee and shortbread biscuits. These had been produced by an efficient young woman in a bright print dress. Though she didn’t wear uniform and was addressed by her first name, there was no doubt that she was staff. And the immaculate appearance of everything outside and inside suggested that Butterwyke House had quite a lot of staff.
    Conversation with the Whittakers was no strain. Sheena was one of those people who clearly didn’t like silence. She chattered on about local events and the new season of plays at Chichester Festival Theatre, to which she and Ned were substantial donors. Her husband occasionally chipped in with some literary reference; each time he did so Sheena smiled with admiration. From the way they looked at each other, it was clear that they were still very much in love, an appearance that charmed Jude and made Carole characteristically suspicious.
    After a while they heard the sound of a car scrunching to a halt on the gravel outside, then the front door opening. From the hall a young woman’s voice, much more expensively educated than her parents had been, said, ‘I don’t care what you do, but just don’t mess things up for me.’
    Another young woman’s voice, similarly educated, replied, ‘I have no intention of messing things up for you. What you do is your own business.’
    â€˜If it’s my business, Fen, then why the hell do you . . .?’
    The first voice, perhaps becoming aware that their conversation might be overheard, dried up. Ned Whittaker cleared his throat, ill at ease for the first time since Carole and Jude had arrived. ‘Morning, girls!’ he called out. ‘We’re through here.’
    There was a moment’s silence, then in the sitting-room doorway appeared a tall girl with long, highlighted blonde hair. Only a slight sharpness of her features prevented her from being beautiful. She was probably mid-twenties, slender and gym-toned. A designer polo shirt and jeans showed her figure off to advantage.
    â€˜Hi,’ she said.
    â€˜This is Chervil.’ Ned introduced Carole and Jude. The girl gave the latter a knowing look. ‘You’re the one Fennel’s had sessions with?’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜I was thinking Jude might be able to offer some healing services for the glampers,’ said Sheena.
    Her daughter had clearly not heard this idea before. She thought about it, and then said ‘Cool.’
    â€˜I thought it’d make sense if you were to show Carole and Jude round the site,’ said Ned.
    Again Chervil thought about the suggestion before saying, ‘Yes, good idea.’
    Both Carole and Jude received the strong impression that the girl’s parents were slightly in awe of her, slightly nervous as to how she might react to their ideas. It was only a hint in the atmosphere, an anxiety not to upset her.
    Now she knew what was happening, Chervil Whittaker turned the full beam of her blue-eyed charm on to the visitors. ‘I’m ready when you are. It’d be a great pleasure to show you round.’
    As they went through the hall, the three of them encountered Fennel Whittaker who was texting a message into her iPhone with some vigour. Though physically very much in the same mould as her sister, Fennel had long black hair and brown eyes. She too wore jeans, with a floppy cardigan over a black T-shirt.
    The moment she saw Jude, the girl abandoned her texting and went across, allowing the older woman to enfold her in her arms. Carole felt a familiar pang. She knew she would never have a tiny fraction of the instinctive empathy her neighbour had with people. Jude’s very presence was a kind of therapy.
    â€˜How’re you doing?’ she asked.
    â€˜Oh, you know . . .’ replied