Necessary as Blood

halfformed creatures peered from crags and branches. The red was visceral, shocking. As were the prices, again.
    Gemma stepped back and looked round. The space seemed cavernously empty, but there was a door at the back of the room. She walked towards it, calling out, Anyone here?‘
    A woman stepped out, and Gemma had the impression that one of the drawings on the wall had come to life. Waif-slender, the woman was dressed in black, but her skin and hair were ice-pale. ‘I‘m sorry,‘ she said. ‘I was on the phone. Can I help you?‘ Her voice was polished and surprisingly husky.
    ‘Are you Pippa Nightingale?‘ asked Gemma. As she moved closer, she saw that the woman‘s eyes were red, as if she‘d been crying.
    ‘Yes.‘ Now she sounded slightly wary. ‘Did someone send you?‘
    ‘Not exactly.‘ Gemma gave her a condensed version of her explanation to Roy Blakely, finishing with, ‘Roy said you and Sandra had known each other for a long time, and that you represented Sandra‘s work. So I wondered if you could tell me anything more about Sandra‘s relationship with her family.‘
    Pippa Nightingale‘s eyes filled, and she clutched at the skirt of her black jersey dress. ‘I can‘t believe Naz is dead,‘ she whispered.
    There were no chairs in the gallery area. Spying two chrome-and-black-plastic models in the office, Gemma guided Pippa inside, saying, ‘Here, sit down, why don‘t you?‘ Pippa sank into one of the chairs, the backs of her fingers pressed against her upper lip. ‘Can I get you some tea or something?‘ Gemma asked.
    Pippa took a shaky breath. ‘There‘s a kettle on the work table, and some teabags.‘ She nodded towards the back of the room. Unlike the gallery space, the office was cluttered — it looked as if every bit of detritus that might have sullied the pristine display space had been sucked into this room. Paper spilled from desk and work table, file folders lay open, disgorging their contents in cascades, stacks of stapled exhibition brochures teetered precariously near edges.
    Gemma found the sleek stainless-steel kettle, some obviously hand-thrown pottery mugs and a box of PG Tips. The kettle had water in it, so she flipped the switch and it boiled quickly. She didn‘t see milk or sugar, so she poured water over the teabags, then stirred the cups for a moment with a used and bent spoon she‘d found beside the kettle. She fished out the teabags, tossed them into an overflowing rubbish bin, then carried the mugs round the desk. She cleared a spot for Pippa‘s cup, then sat in the other chair, holding her own.
    ‘Thanks.‘ Pippa‘s voice had recovered some of its huskiness. She lowered her hand, taking the pottery cup gingerly by the rim and handle. ‘Sorry the place is a tip. I haven‘t been keeping up with things very well lately. And this...‘ Her eyes started to tear again and she shook her head.
    ‘You knew Naz, then?‘ Gemma asked.
    ‘Of course I knew Naz. Sandra and I were friends before they married. It‘s not that Naz and I were ever all that close — I think Naz resented my influence on Sandra, and vice versa, I‘m sorry to say — but I...‘ She stopped to sip at the still-steaming tea. ‘It‘s just that — I can‘t believe he‘s dead. Now I don‘t think Sandra will ever come back.‘ This time the tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
    ‘You thought Sandra would come home?‘ asked Gemma, surprised. She realized it was the first time anyone she‘d talked to had genuinely seemed to believe it.
    ‘I know it‘s stupid, but yes. Somehow I thought she would just walk back into her life one day. But with Naz gone, I can‘t imagine Sandra coming back.‘
    ‘What about Charlotte?‘ Gemma felt immediately incensed on Charlotte‘s behalf.
    ‘Oh, I don‘t mean she didn‘t love Charlotte. She adored her. But long before Charlotte was born, Naz and the house were her lodestones, the things that mattered most to her — even more than her work.‘ This was said with the faintest of frowns on her unlined, almost translucent face.
    ‘Should her work have mattered more?‘
    ‘That‘s not what I meant.‘ Some of Pippa‘s initial wariness seemed to have returned. ‘I‘m still not quite sure why you wanted to talk to me. I never met any of Sandra‘s family.‘
    ‘Roy Blakely said you and Sandra hadn‘t been as close lately, and that you weren‘t representing her work any longer.‘
    ‘Sandra told him that?‘ Pippa stared at her, and