They clinked glasses and drank, the delicate aroma of gin absolutely appropriate for sitting in this large, fragrant garden.

  Philly released a contented moan. “Ah, that hits the spot. So, Quintana. To put things into context, Hoagy’s art depends on his muse. Many women have inspired him. You probably know the most famous, Alyssa di Parma, who was the subject of Hoagy’s breakthrough series.”

  Matthew nodded. “Wonderful paintings. One of my first stops whenever I visit the Tate.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Hoagy, with modest grace. “Yes, the Ballerina pieces enabled me to find my style. At that time I was living in Ravenna and highly influenced by Gian Berto Vanni or Federica Ravizza, blending Impressionism with Surrealism when painting the human body. Only when I saw Alyssa dance did I realise what was missing. Her grace, her energy inspired me to put the beauty of movement onto canvas.”

  “How long was she your muse?” asked Beatrice, vaguely recalling there was some kind of drama about the end of their relationship.

  “Three years. My wife at that time was a very difficult woman. Jean objected to my spending so much time painting one woman’s body and gave me an ultimatum. I knew that if Alyssa had to leave, I would no longer be able to paint. I pleaded with her, but she filed for divorce and returned to England. The irony is that Alyssa loved Jean like a mother, so when she left me, Alyssa was heartbroken and could no longer dance. Everything was ruined.”

  Philly took up the story. “Hoagy spent some time in Biarritz, where he remarried and found other muses, a burlesque dancer, a model and an athlete amongst others. After that marriage failed and the muses ceased to inspire, he moved to Deià. That’s where we met. By then Hoagy’s fame was such that people were queueing up to offer their services as artist’s model. What was the first one’s name? Linda? Lena? I don’t recall, but she was the girl in the Beach series, mostly painted at our own little cove. Then came Nuria Quintana, whose figure is at the centre of Flamenco, which earned him a seven-figure sum when he decided to sell. Nuria Quintana is the niece of Detective Pedro Quintana and when his brother died, took over as her father figure. He was horrified and disgusted by her role here, calling Hoagy all kinds of unpleasant names and accusing me of being a pimp!”

  Hoagy shook his head sadly. “Soured the relationship, if I’m honest. Nuria had a noble bearing and a pride in her movements, but she only lasted six months. Maybe there was only one painting I could do of her and I’d done it. Maybe it was her uncle’s surly attitude, upsetting her and us, but we parted company early last year. She was furious, but he was worse. He hated her being here but when we sent her away, he came round to hurl abuse. It was a very stressful time.”

  “If he has a personal grievance against you, he’s the last person who should be in charge of this murder investigation,” said Beatrice. “I would strongly recommend you ask for another investigating officer.”

  “I did try,” said Philly. “He told me there was no one else and asked if I was doubting his professionalism.”

  “Oh dear. This is going to be awkward.” Beatrice sipped at her drink, hesitant to focus these gentle people on the events of two nights ago. “After Nuria, was Romy the next in line?”

  “After Nuria,” answered Hoagy, “there was no one for a while. I wasn’t painting much, but I was working with my agent on a book about my art. It wasn’t until September when I saw Romy and Miranda holding a yoga class on the beach that I found my next muse. Her fiery hair, her grace and her innocence caught my imagination. Since then, I’ve been painting constantly and completed, what is it, Phil? Half a dozen new pieces?”

  Philly looked up to the skies in thought. “If you count the one you just finished, that makes seven.” She looked at Beatrice and Matthew. “And every single one of them is extraordinary. We can’t show you, of course, as the studio is out of bounds to us until the police permit us to return. But Gabriel and Tanya saw some of his most recent canvases the other night.”

  Gabriel looked up from his drink. “We did and they are amazing. I don’t have the vocabulary to talk about art with any kind of authority but I’m familiar with my godfather’s work. I would say these are his best yet. Tanya and I agreed, they’re hypnotising. In the paintings we saw, there’s something dynamic and maybe even a little bit spiritual. We didn’t see seven, though. I counted only four.”

  “Yes, you’re right. We only have four on the premises because Raf took possession of the other three. He’s Hoagy’s agent and has some kind of system whereby he hints to buyers that those are the only three in the series, pushes up the price and then reveals a few more. He’s very good at his job.”

  Hoagy’s head bobbed in agreement. “He’ll be here tomorrow. You can meet him. Enormously capable man, Raf, he’s handled all my business arrangements for the last thirty-odd years. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without him. Matthew, what do you say to another? Just because the rest of them are slackers, there’s nothing stopping you and me having a top-up.”

  Beatrice refused a second drink and wanted to get the facts before her interviewees’ memories became impaired by alcohol.

  “I’m sorry to ask, but I do need to know exactly what happened after Tanya and Gabriel left you the night before last.”

  Hoagy gave Philly a helpless look.

  “Yes, all right. To be honest, and I promise to be nothing else, Hoagy was drunk and expansive after our guests had gone. After we said goodbye to Tanya and Gabriel, Romy finished her port and went off to bed. The pair of us sat here chatting for another hour, I’d say, as he got progressively louder. Eventually I shut him up and insisted he go to bed. I cleared up, loaded the dishwasher, locked the dogs indoors and went upstairs to join him. Judging by the state of the bathroom, he had managed to clean his teeth and wash his face but had not quite completed the act of undressing. He’d managed to take his shoes and trousers off but then fallen asleep on top of the duvet, snoring like a chainsaw. I performed my ablutions, put on my nightshirt and inserted my earplugs, then got in beside him and fell asleep.”

  Hoagy held out his hands in an appeal. “Do you know how many years it is since I’ve seen my godson? It was a celebration! If I had a glass or two too many, who could blame me? I was filled with joy at meeting his lovely bride.” He turned to Matthew. “You and I should have a glass of port with a cigar. You did a very good job with that young lady.”

  Matthew beamed, Tanya blushed and Philly rolled her eyes. Beatrice could sense the atmosphere slipping away from the professional and into the social. She refocused and took out a notebook to add an official note to proceedings.

  “Do you always wear earplugs, Philly? Or was that night a one-off?” she asked.

  “Always, my dear. Hoagy only ever snores when he’s had a glass or two but he won’t mind me saying he’s always had a glass or two. That night, so had I, and slept deeply and well. The next morning, I woke at a quarter past eight, showered and dressed in clothes suitable for my bicycle. Hoagy was still partly dressed and on top of the duvet. I fed the dogs and had a glass of juice before getting on my bike to cycle to the bakery. I bought fresh bread and went a little further to get some vegetables for lunch. Then we came back up the hill while the morning was still cool and I spotted Tanya standing in the street, stroking a ginger cat.”

  “We?” Beatrice asked, her pen hovering.

  “Me, Harris and Balfour. The dogs,” Philly explained. “I take them out with me in the mornings. The great hairy beasts have such long legs I simply can’t walk fast enough. So I cycle, they trot beside me and everybody’s happy.”

  Tanya spoke to add her testimony. “I was bringing back her Tupperware and a note to say thank you. She invited me in for a coffee and I accepted. We were sitting here on the patio, in the sunshine, drinking coffee when one of the dogs started whining.”

  The late afternoon remained as warm as ever, the blossoms from the garden filling the air with fragrance and the sounds of insects provided a relaxing backdrop. However, the atmosphere on the patio grew several degrees colder. Hoagy hunched over, tucking his hands into his armpits. Gabriel frowned and placed a hand on Tanya’s arm. Beatrice waited. From here on in, it had to be Philly’s story.

  “When I want to summon Romy, I’m usually busy and don’t feel like walking over there. So I send Balfour and Harris. She loves the dogs and they love her. Loved, I mean. So I tell them to go fetch. Harris ...”

  The lighter of the two hounds lifted his head at the sound of his name.

  “Harris knows what to do. He trots over there and up the steps, scratches at the door and whines. She understands that is our equivalent of the dinner gong. Quite often, in the mornings, Romy and I have coffee together on the patio until Hoagy rises. She usually wanders down to the yoga studio or café to see her friends, I make his breakfast and sometime after eleven, she returns and they go to work. That’s our routine. Except that morning Harris began whining while Tanya and I were sitting here talking. I told him to go fetch Romy, but his reaction was most out of character. He curled his tail and slunk inside. Balfour too. The sort of behaviour they manifest if they’ve stolen something from the kitchen bin. Guilty or at least afraid they will be blamed for something.” She used a cocktail stick to stir her drink, her face pensive. “How would they know?”

  Gabriel lifted his head. “Dogs understand things we don’t. It’s not simply a better sense of smell. They are more attuned to their environment. From your description, they knew something bad had happened and it would make you angry or upset you.” He reached down to stroke the darker one, who lifted its chin for a scratch.

  “How though?” asked Philly. “They were locked inside the house all night and woke up happy to see me when I came down to breakfast.”

  Beatrice interrupted. “When you left, did you close the house behind you? Did you lock the gates? Was anything different to normal?”

  Philly shook her head. “The police asked me the same thing. Everything was as I left it the night before. The gates were locked and the house was secure. When I left to go shopping, I didn’t lock the house in case Romy came over early for coffee. I cycled down the drive and there’s an automatic device which opens and closes the gates attached to my bicycle. I definitely closed the gates behind me, because I always check neither of the dogs is in the way.”

  The moment of truth could be put off no longer. Beatrice took a deep breath and met Philly’s grey eyes. “What did you do when the dogs crept off?”

  The woman took a large draught of her gin. “Do you know, I would like a top-up. But we’ll need some snacks with that. Hoagy, be a darling and fetch us some nuts, and what about making those toothsome chickpeas you do so well, the ones with coriander. Just a few nibbles, you know. Perhaps your godson might like to give you a hand. Choose some music while you’re at it.”

  He gave her a knowing glance but she maintained the breezy smile and waved her glass at Tanya. Gabriel got up and placed a kiss on Tanya’s head.

  Once the men had moved into the kitchen, Philly’s demeanour changed. She leaned forward, clutched Tanya’s hand and recalled the horror of what she had seen.

  Chapter 7

  Noises came from downstairs. Machines buzzed and whirred, conversation bubbled and a child burst into laughter. Adrian luxuriated in the double bed and gazed out of the window. Matthew and Beatrice’s house had a good vibe; cosy, countrified and, apart from the two loud voices downstairs in the kitchen, blissfully quiet.

  He sat up and looked across the garden towards the stream, registering the sounds of the front door slamming and the Audi’s engine bursting into life. So much greenery and all those patches of colour opening up to the sun did a body good. He pulled on his robe and took advantage of the empty kitchen. On a normal working day at home in London, Will left for work two hours before Adrian. Those two hours were welcome, just to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, read the news and prepare himself for the day. Now they were on holiday with all the time in the world to relax together, Will was forever leaping out of bed as soon as the sun rose and proposing a trip to some cove or beach or West Country hotspot they’d be crazy to miss.

  At the foot of the stairs, Huggy Bear danced about his feet, her comic toothy grin making him smile. “Good morning, Miss Bear. I trust you slept well. You seem in fine spirits and why not in this wonderful weather? I do hope you are amenable to taking a small excursion today. Mr Quinn and I plan to visit Dartmoor. No doubt he’ll make a fuss about a canine in his carriage, but a lady like you knows how to comport herself. Shall we share a slice of toast?”

  Huggy Bear’s tail wagged so fast Adrian wondered if it might fall off. He drank his coffee in peace, read the news, admired the white rosebush growing outside the kitchen – a wedding present for himself and Will which they had entrusted to Beatrice’s care – and fed the Border Terrier little crusts of toast. He was washing up and tidying when he heard the Audi pull up on the forecourt.

  “You’re still not dressed?” asked Will, hands on his hips.

  “Rumour has it I’m on holiday. Did Luke get off to school OK?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Right, you jump in the shower and let’s get out onto the moors. Big hike, pub lunch and back to collect Luke at twenty past three.”

  “We’re looking forward to it.” He dropped his gaze to the expectant terrier.

  “A dog? In my Audi?” Will’s eyes widened.

  “You just had a child in your Audi, so why not Miss Huggington Bear? I’ll find a nice cosy rug for the back seat and she’ll behave beautifully, I’m sure. Give me ten minutes to have a shower. Why don’t you send Beatrice a message to see how she’s getting on?”

  He skipped out of the kitchen before Will could protest. A wild walk on Dartmoor and lunch at a country pub. He was almost as excited as the dog.

  So many places on Adrian’s bucket list had turned out to be a disappointment. Mostly because they were on everyone else’s bucket list. Not this holiday. Everywhere they went turned out to be better than he could have imagined and this was the best yet.

  Wilder and more atmospheric than any photograph could convey, Dartmoor laid claim to at least a third of the world’s sky. Ponies grazed in grassy valleys, heather dabbed the coarse scrubland with splotches of colour and winds unchecked by barriers buffeted them in unexpected gusts. Huggy Bear was in her element, racing from tussock to rabbit hole and returning to her guides. Her joy was so all-consuming, Adrian and Will kept bursting into laughter at her eager face.

  Naturally, Will had planned the hike to the last detail. After an hour’s roaming, they ascended to a plateau where a solitary pub could be seen on a country road. Like a beacon in the distance, The Burrow’s lights welcomed hungry travellers, weary from their journey across the bleak and unforgiving wilderness, offering a haven from bogs, pixie lights and the Beast of Bodmin Moor. Adrian reminded himself it was midsummer, twenty past one in the afternoon, he’d been walking for just over an hour and Bodmin was in an entirely different county. In his defence, this landscape lent itself to romanticised history and flights of imagination. Or maybe that was just Adrian.

  Will spotted a table outside and went inside to order the special of the day: scallops on summer salad, two portions of fries, two glasses of Chenin Blanc and a bowl of water. Adrian tucked Huggy Bear’s lead under his buttock. She lay beneath the bench, apparently worn out by their trek. Instantly Adrian began to worry. She was an old dog, according to Gabriel, and she’d not had the best start in life. Dragging her across a moor might be cruel at her age and while they stuffed their faces, she would have nothing to eat. What was he thinking?

  He jumped at the sound of a bark. An Alsatian jerked away in alarm as Huggy Bear attempted to defend her territory, hackles high and teeth bared. Adrian caught her collar.

  “Sorry, she’s not normally like this. Have a lovely afternoon!” The Alsatian’s owners walked off without a reply and Adrian gave the dog a hard stare. “Here am I feeling sorry for you and you attack a dog four times your size? Wind your neck in, sit down and I’ll give you some of my chips. Sit now, good girl.”

  The food, the air and the atmosphere worked its magic. They ate and admired the view, Adrian sneaking chips under the table for the attack dog who had once more assumed the persona of Little Miss Docile.

  Will checked his watch. “We have two options. Walk back to the car together. Or I use the opportunity to jog across the moor while you stay here with that overfed dog and have another glass of wine. Either way, we have to make a move soon so we’re back in time for Luke.”

  “Miss Bear and I are quite comfortable where we are, thank you. We’re in favour of option two. You wear yourself out running across rough terrain and we’ll risk everything on an Antipodean Chardonnay. Do be careful, Will. Have you got your mobile?”

  Will laughed and pulled on his jacket. “Who’s the cop here?” He kissed Adrian briefly and took off over the road to start his run. His form grew smaller and smaller as he progressed across the undulating rolls of the moor. He became aware of two people staring. Two Hell’s Angels types on a table closer to the road were watching him. Both bearded and muscular, they switched their attention from Adrian to Will’s diminishing figure and back again. One of the two stood up and came to loom over Adrian, casting a shadow over his empty glass.

  Despite a sinking heart and fear for Huggy Bear if he were about to be subjected to a homophobic attack, Adrian attempted a relaxed greeting. “Good afternoon. Lovely weather, isn’t it?”

  The sun was behind the man, so Adrian couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” His voice was deep and might well have made a decent baritone in the Gay Men’s Choir.

  “No,” said Adrian, clasping Huggy Bear’s lead tightly. If he was about to get beaten up, enough observers would surely help him out. His priority was making sure the dog wasn’t injured. “He’s my husband.” He jutted his chin, half in challenge, half in defence – hit me first, don’t hurt her.