The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

Police officers didn’t drink on duty, did they? This would be just as Holly had said: unofficial overtime to allow her to understand the place and the residents better. Nina could have nothing to fear from her. She knocked on the kitchen door and spoke to Alex about Holly spending the night. He nodded as if there was no problem, even giving the impression that the whole thing had already been arranged as he handed over a key to an empty room. Nina could see that he was preoccupied with his cooking and that he wasn’t really listening.
    ‘Sorry about that,’ Nina said. ‘He’s a perfectionist. But the food here is very good.’ It was as if she were recommending a fancy new restaurant in Jesmond.
    They all gathered in the lounge for pre-dinner drinks. Even Lenny had made an effort and was dressed in a dark suit. Nina thought it had probably last been worn at a funeral. The trousers were painfully tight at the waist and his belly hung over his belt. The room too was dressed for the occasion. There were flowers, huge dahlias and chrysanthemums – the colours, Nina thought, of fire. Candles on the window ledges and the mantelpiece. Nobody mentioned Tony Ferdinand at all. It was as if he’d never been here, never given his ego-laden lectures, never sat in one-to-one tutorials making promises he was unlikely to keep, or assessing the possibility that he might persuade a student into his bed. Tonight the residents pretended that they were at a fashionable book launch; for most, after all, this was the nearest they’d get to the real thing. Nina, who had attended a couple in her time – her own and her friends’ – thought they’d be disappointed by the reality. Here, the wine was a great deal better.
    She’d prepared carefully for the evening. There’d been a bath, her favourite oil, a cup of camomile tea within easy reach. Then make-up. Perfume. Long silver earrings. A red dress. Her students would be shocked to see her in colour. She was known for wearing black. A moment to read through the paragraphs she’d chosen for the presentation. Then shoes and a small evening bag. Halfway down the stairs she’d gone back to check that her room was locked. She was still troubled by the recurring image of an intruder. When she’d arrived in the drawing room most of the students had been there already, though she’d been the first of the tutors. She’d walked into the room to a little round of applause.
    Holly was there, still in the clothes she’d been wearing in the afternoon of course, but they were smart enough for her not to look out of place. She’d added more make-up and was holding a glass of wine. She was talking to Joanna, who tonight was wearing black. Another statement perhaps. Soon after, Giles Rickard came in. He sported a little bow tie, this time in blue velvet. His movement seemed a bit easier than it had; perhaps he too was relieved at the prospect of leaving the place, of returning to the real world.
    But I’m not sure that I am pleased to be leaving, Nina thought. And though she’d considered the place as a prison all week, now she had a moment’s anxiety about going. In some circumstances prison might be comforting. A place of safety.
    Miranda was handing out drinks and canapés. She had on a long black skirt and white silk blouse – clothes that, Nina thought, reflected her ambiguous position in the house. The colours of a waitress’s uniform, but in a rather grander style. As Nina took a glass of white wine, Miranda gave a tight smile. ‘I’m so glad we had that little talk this afternoon.’
    She moved on before Nina could answer, and the academic was pleased not to be expected to make a reply. What would she have said? In her memory the exchange had been acrimonious and disturbing.
    Dinner was more elaborate than on the previous evenings. There were bottles of wine on the table. Alex had changed from his chef’s whites into a shirt and jacket, and after helping Miranda to serve the meal he sat beside her. Usually he ate alone in the kitchen. Again there were flowers and more candles, thick and cream, the sort you might see in a church. Nina sat next to Holly, but during dinner they spoke very little. The young detective’s attention seemed to be on the conversation going on all around her. It seemed she’d taken to heart Vera Stanhope’s advice about listening. But when the dishes were being cleared, Holly turned to Nina.
    ‘Go on then! Give me the gossip. Who’s sleeping