by P A Latter
A short while later, she had agreed to meet someone who then failed to keep the appointment. After that, she was repeatedly followed. It had all happened two years earlier and she tried to put everything about those few weeks out of her mind, but Julia had not met any man alone since.
When she reached Fathon House, the outer door of the familiar Georgian building stood open to welcome visitors. Immediately inside, a modern glass door shielded the interior from the elements.
The galleries were either side of the central passageway and staircase, with a small sales area and reception desk beyond. As the door clicked shut behind her, the atmosphere felt different. Not precisely unwelcoming, but as if she were under scrutiny.
It made her think of the unnerving stare of the Venetian portrait. Julia glanced around - imagining things again - she thought to herself and walked to the desk.
‘He’s up in the Boardroom.’ Penny called from the curator’s inner cubbyhole, when she saw Julia walk into the main office behind the reception. ‘I think he’s a bit impatient to get going. We can chat afterwards, if you have time.’
Julia walked halfway to the dividing door. ‘If he wants to ask me to do extra time, I’ll make him grovel, first.’ She grinned and left, closing the main door behind her, to give Penny some respite from the distracting chatter of tourists, calculating sterling-to-dollar conversions for their purchases. She smiled sympathetically at the volunteer manning the till and hurried up the stairs.
The Boardroom door was closed and she combined her entrance with a knock. She didn’t want to request permission to enter, but innate good manners stopped her from an unannounced intrusion.
‘Hello, Hugh.’ She was pleased he rose to greet her. He looked the same as ever: “George Clooney-lite” she had used to say to tease him. Powerfully built, with hair graying in the way people called distinguished, he looked relaxed in his expensive business suit with loosened tie.
He clasped her arms to lean in for a continental two-cheek kiss and she froze, but he was apparently unaware of her discomfort. He smelt the same too - a woody cologne and peppermints.
‘Julia. Many thanks for coming in. I do appreciate that you probably don’t want to talk to me. Still. But I hope we can keep this completely professional.’
‘I’m sure I can.’
‘OK. I deserve that, but I’m not going to start apologising again. This is business, and I actually thought you might enjoy the opportunity.’
‘What do you mean? What opportunity? Penny said she thought you wanted me to put in some extra time.’
‘It’s rather more than that. We’re hoping John won’t be away for more than two or three weeks max., but the hospital is very uncertain. I wanted to ask if you’d consider taking on the role of Acting Curator, until John’s back on his feet.’
‘Oh, I thought… Well, obviously I thought wrong.’
'Julia, I know you have a good grounding in this area and you are hugely knowledgeable about the collection itself. I’ve asked Penny if she’d be willing to support you in this - maybe take on more, on the administrative side of things.’
‘I think she already manages all the admin.’
‘So much the better. It will free you up to focus on the other aspects. I’m happy to be on hand if you need advice. And to keep my distance, if you don’t.’ He added the rider, hastily.
‘I have no problem in working with you. Honestly. And I know I’d need guidance. But you’re right - it is an opportunity. Even just for a couple of weeks.
Julia’s boast to Penny of playing hard-to-get had gone out of the window as soon as she realised what Hugh was offering. When she began studying for her Art History MA, shortly after starting as a volunteer, she had felt she was more than ten years too late.
If she’d followed this route as a teenage undergraduate, she might have found a proper career in the museum and gallery environment that she loved. Instead, she had toyed with English Literature, married shortly after graduation and let her husband’s finance career take priority over any professional aspirations of her own. She had drifted into a series of office jobs.
She realised she had become inattentive, contemplating the requirements of the role and had to re-focus on what Hugh was saying.
‘That’s great. It would be a weight off my mind to know you’re minding the shop.’
‘Hugh, I’ll have to clear this with my office before I can say yes. They’ve always been great about the odd day off, but this is a big ask.’
‘Yes, of course. What if we proposed four days here, one day there? If it’s for three weeks, that’s less than a fortnight’s holiday. I’m presuming you still work a four day week at the partnership?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Ken James this afternoon and let you know either way.’
‘I could talk to him, if you like...’
Julia knew they belonged to the same golf club. ‘Thanks, but no need. I hope I can get an instant decision, but either way, I’ll be in on Friday, as usual.’
‘Thank you. The museum will pay you at a consultancy rate. I’m afraid it won’t be much, but I’ll leave Penny to sort out arrangements for that.’
Julia hadn’t given a thought to being paid for the work. Not a very professional approach to start with, she told herself ruefully.
When she returned to the office, she immediately went to ask Ken James for fifteen minutes, before his 3PM appointment. He was the most laid back of the three partners, but Julia had her fingers crossed behind her back, all the while she spoke.
He looked surprised but not annoyed by the interruption. As she had hoped, he was instantly supportive - well aware of her passion for the local museum. ‘We’re supposed to have majority agreement for decisions affecting the business, but since the others aren’t around, I’ll say yes and they can gripe next week, if they’re not happy.’
‘I’ll only be just up the road, so if anything needs instant attention, I’m sure I can get it sorted.’
‘We’ve become a bit dependent on you looking after us. It might do us good to manage for ourselves.’
Julia expressed her undying gratitude and phoned Hugh and then Penny to say she would be reporting for duty in the morning.
In her excitement, she had given no thought to John Carmichael. The symptoms Penny had described meant nothing to her, but her medical knowledge was minimal. The hospital probably knew what was wrong, but felt it was breaking patient confidentiality to give information to the museum staff.
She decided to drop into the hospital to see John after work. She knew he had no family locally, who might visit, so he might appreciate a familiar face. It could be tactless to tell him she would be care-taking his role, but she might get some idea of how long he would be out of action.
~
When she reached the ward, the duty nurse was dubious about letting her see him.
‘He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness all day.’ She glanced around the ward, clearly too harassed to deal with arguments from visitors. ‘Look. Just don’t disturb him if he’s sleeping and don’t agitate him if he’s awake.’
Julia nodded acceptance and approachJohn’s bed. He appeared to be asleep - dreaming. She settled into the visitor’s chair and her mind drifted back to her meeting with Hugh. It had all been business-like, but quite companionable too. She didn’t regret their affair or its ending, but she did occasionally miss some male company.
As she sat quietly by John’s bedside, a spectrum of emotions alternately lit and distorted his face. His eyes opened and he turned his head to stare intently at her.
‘He is the snake rising. Don’t let him get to you. It’s all about power. It’s only ever about power.’
He couldn’t know what she had been thinking about. So who did he mean?
Chapter 3
After two weeks as Acting Curator, Julia’s life had distilled into a cycle of work, with meals taken at her desk, and sleep - but not enough of it. Each job needed at least one addition
al day, just to keep on top of incoming email and upcoming deadlines, so she had slogged through long days and two weekends without a break.
From time to time, she still felt conscious of the odd atmosphere she had sensed on the day Hugh had offered her the temporary role at the museum. When she stopped to consider it, there was that same feeling of being under observation. There were too many other things to worry about for her to dwell on it.
There was so much more to learn about the curator’s role than she had expected and for no discernible reason, a number of new clients had chosen the last week to want their wealth managed.
When her mobile rang at 10AM on Saturday morning, she had been at the consultancy office for a couple of hours.
‘Hi Penny.’
‘Hi Julia. Hope you managed to get a lie in, because I’m afraid we have a bit of a panic. Could you get down here, as soon as you can?’
‘Are you at the House? I didn’t think you were in this weekend.’
‘I wasn’t, but it looks like Aaron had a heart attack last night. Sam found him dead on the floor in the Specials gallery when she unlocked this morning.’
‘Dead? My god. That’s awful. How terrible for Sam. And Aaron, of course.’
Sam was their conservation intern, on loan from the new studio at Knole, but as she was on the payroll, she was nominally in charge of the volunteers when Penny wasn’t on weekend duty. Aaron was their regular security guard.
‘Sorry, Penny. I sound totally deranged. I can’t think straight. Just give me a moment.’ Julia pressed her free hand to her temples, then looked around the office. ‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes. Are you closed to the public?’
'Yes, for the moment, but there’s a coach party due at 11. I’ll fill you in when you get here.’
Julia cleared the papers from her desk and locked the filing cabinets before she reset the alarm and secured the office. There was usually little of value there, even in the safe, but the partners were neurotic about client confidentiality.
Ten minutes later she was at Fathon House. An ambulance was parked on the yellow lines outside.
Penny was standing at the reception desk, in weekend jeans rather than her workwear suit, along with Imogen, the volunteer on duty to man the desk that weekend. Penny waved Julia ahead of her, through to the back office and closed the door behind them, before she spoke.
‘Thanks for coming over so quickly. The police are due any minute.’
‘Police? Is that routine for an unexpected death?’
‘I’ve no idea. The guys who came for the… for Aaron, called them. They said they couldn’t move … anything, until the police had inspected the scene.’
‘But you said it was a heart attack.’
‘Why else do people drop dead, suddenly? It was just a guess. I’ve no idea if he had a heart condition, but what else could it be?’
‘There couldn’t have been an intruder, could there? The ambulance people don’t think he was attacked, do they?’
Before Penny had a chance to respond, Imogen was tapping at the door. The police had arrived. The plain clothes officer introduced himself as Inspector Barrett and asked what had happened. Penny briefly repeated what she had told Julia and the inspector directed his two uniformed colleagues to accompany him into the Specials gallery, where the ambulance crew were waiting with the body.
Julia, with Penny, loitered at the doorway - reluctant to intrude, but feeling that remaining in the office would look odd - disrespectful or rude.
The inspector conferred with the paramedic. The uniformed officers took photos and scrutinised the room from all angles. If it had been a crime scene, it would have looked very professional, but Julia was mystified by the diligent examination.
The inspector was apparently satisfied that no further forensic attention was required, as a stretcher was fetched from the van and the body taken away.
‘It’s all routine, Ms Bailey, I assure you. Any unexpected death has to be investigated.’
‘Inspector, it was certainly unexpected, but do you have any reason to think it wasn’t natural?’
‘I can’t really tell you anything yet, Ms Bailey. We will have a report from the pathologist soon enough. You and your colleagues saw no sign of anything untoward, this morning, before he was found?’
‘I only arrived a few minutes before you. You will need to speak to Sam. She’s the intern here, who opened up this morning and discovered poor Aaron.’
‘Yes, that will be most helpful, thank you.’
It struck Julia that his manner was more like a family doctor than a policeman - not that she ever had much contact with the police. Television dramas conditioned one to expect extreme characters, but these were, of course, invented to be dramatic. A real police inspector was likely to be as ordinary as anyone else.
She offered the curator’s office for the interview and went to summon Sam from the staff room, where she had sat, dazed, since Penny’s arrival an hour earlier and was now being comforted by a weekend volunteer and hot sweet tea.
Sheila, the upstairs volunteer on duty that day whispered to Julia, when Sam left the room. ‘It’s quite knocked her sideways. I don’t think she’s ever seen a dead body before. And to stumble over him like that.’
‘I don’t think I’ve seen a body before either. I’m not surprised she’s so shaken. I might be, myself.’
After refilling the kettle - she suspected there would be much tea-drinking and speculation that day - Julia checked with Penny whether Hugh had been informed.
‘Not yet. I thought we might as well wait until the police are done and - hopefully - we know what’s what.’
The inspector conveniently chose that moment to conclude his questions to Sam and emerged from the inner office, wearing a bland smile.
‘Thank you, both. You have been most accommodating. I think we are finished here for the moment. But one of my team might drop in to talk to the rest of you, in the next few days.’
‘Inspector, this isn’t a crime scene, is it?’ Julia didn’t want to wait a few days to get answers. ’I hope this doesn’t sound heartless, but we really need to open up for visitors. There is a coach party due - overdue, in fact.’
‘I understand you have a business to run.’ He hastily corrected himself in response to the assembly of frowning faces. ‘A charitable business. There’s no reason to keep the museum closed completely. However, I would like the gallery to remain off-limits for the time being. To staff as well as visitors, please.’
‘Are you able to say why you think that is necessary?’
‘I am sorry, Ms Bailey.’ The bland smile remained fixed. ‘I’m sure it will just be for a day or two.’
~
‘Which gives us no reason at all.’ Julia said to Penny, as soon as they had seen the police off the premises.
While the inspector has been talking to Sam, his team had explored the entire building - testing locked doors, rattling window frames and tutting at the aged security cameras. The cameras produced fuzzy images in the daylight hours and little more than ghostly outlines at night. The officers had requested that the overnight hard disc recording, was not wiped, but after fast-forwarding through the view of the Specials gallery from closing time until Sam’s discovery of the body, they showed no further interest in the video.
The driver of the coach party had phoned as the police were packing up, to say they were stuck in traffic and were still half an hour away. The museum team used the time to lock the Specials room, check everything else was in order and start on the tea drinking and speculation. It was only when Sam’s mug slopped tea over the table that Julia realised the intern was shaking. Julia volunteered to man the reception desk while Imogen drove Sam home.
Once the visiting group had been welcomed and counted in and were exploring the house, there was little to keep Julia occupied at the desk. Further visitors drifted in at irregular intervals. Julia kept an eye on the live feed from the security cameras and lined up the
overnight footage showing Aaron’s last movements, once more, to examine it herself.
She fast-backed the video to midnight, the usual time of Aaron’s arrival. The museum couldn’t afford to have someone on site all the time and contracted a security firm to provide a once-a-night patrol. However often John or Penny had spoken to Aaron, requesting that he vary his schedule - the regularity of his patrol increased the risk of thieves learning when the House was unoccupied - they couldn’t get him to alter his routine. They had never had the heart to complain to the agency.
On the very few occasions Julia had met Aaron he had appeared to be conscientious. She had never given any thought to him beyond assuring herself that he was doing his job. She didn’t know if he had a family - or who might be grieving for his death. She made a mental note to contact the security agency - Fathon House should send flowers for the funeral. And she would need to arrange to meet the person they intended to send as a replacement.
The tape showed a figure enter the Specials gallery at 12.15. A torch was flashed into the corners and then held up to illuminate the paintings, one by one. Julia had not known Aaron had shown an interest in the collection.
Her growing warmth for a fellow art-lover ended abruptly when she saw him approach a picture and reach out to touch it. For a moment, she felt outrage at the contact with the artwork. But then she recollected that the man she was watching was dead and the picture that his hand had brushed was the Assassin.
From the first day it had been on display, the volunteers had commented that visitors seemed drawn to touch the frame and they had to spend a disproportionate amount of time warding them off.
The figure on the screen turned full face to the camera and Julia could see clearly that it was Aaron. He turned again and walked out of the gallery. She let the machine run for a few minutes before it registered. If he walked out of the gallery, when and why did he return?
A flurry of visitors arriving and others wishing to pay for purchases from their small selection of merchandise, kept Julia busy for fifteen frustrating minutes, before she could return to studying the security video.