The Art of Intrigue

by P A Latter

  Julia stopped to think about what he was trying to tell her. ‘I … I think I understand. And I suppose I should thank you for warning me.’

  ‘Cases like these take a while to come to court. I believe a number of other items were recovered. But forewarned is forearmed. I’d like to get hold of the light-fingered toe-rag he used to actually lift the painting, but that would just be icing. Ferrers is the more satisfying cake.’

  ‘Inspector, may I tell my colleagues that the police have recovered our painting?’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your confidentiality, so you should tell them whatever you think appropriate.’

  ‘Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am that the painting is safe.’

  ‘And thank you, too. I understand that the Art and Antiquities Unit had gathered sufficient material to obtain a search warrant but, until very recently, weren’t aware of all the addresses Ferrers operated from.’

  ~

  Despite Ferrers’s disturbing accusation, Julia’s sense of relief was almost overwhelming, but she was reluctant to share the full story with the team, as it would reveal her questionable part in making the arrest. She let everyone know that the painting had been recovered and, since Hugh had gone with her to ask MJL for the address, she decided to tell him about sneaking back into the office to take it.

  She was in two minds whether she should talk to him at all - a little space between them might be no bad thing. But she didn’t want to commit the message to record, as an email or text, so she tried to keep it brief.

  She had called from the office phone, pretending she just had a couple of minutes before a meeting. Hugh had sounded impressed by her enterprising action and unsurprised that she had then confessed her crime to the MJL partners. With Ferrers now in custody, Hugh had wanted to tell the rest of the Board about her role in foiling the theft, but she convinced him that it would be best to keep that quiet before Ferrers came to trial.

  Just before she hung up, she knew he had been about to invite her for a drink or meal, and excused herself on the spurious excuse of visitors arriving for her meeting.

  ~

  Later, when Julia and Penny were supposed to be going over business put on hold during John Carmichael’s protracted illness, Julia’s mind was elsewhere. She had to let Penny into the secret of how the police located Ferrers and how it had rebounded on her.

  ‘I can see it could put you in a spot, if it comes out in court that you had provided the address. Instead of showing your innocence, the defence could use that to claim you’re not a trustworthy witness, because you broke your employer’s trust to get hold of it. I don’t know enough about the law - but could it all be inadmissible evidence, if the address was obtained illegally?’

  ‘I don’t know either, but they could claim I “grassed up” Ferrers for some reason.’

  ‘But they won’t be able to demonstrate any connection between you, will they? Just that one visit here.’

  Julia shrugged. ‘That’s just it. I did only meet him that once, but I can’t remember properly what I said to him. Unless my mind has completely blanked out any other contact. I’ll be hopeless in court.’

  ‘Whatever you said and whenever you met, I’m quite certain you didn’t invite him to steal a painting.’ Penny grinned, then frowned when her words didn’t win an answering smile.

  ‘I can remember feeling very strange that day and thinking I might be about to come down with some weird virus - but I didn’t feel ill. I felt … sort of powerful.’

  ‘The curatorship isn’t quite like being CEO of a multinational or a… a cabinet minister.’

  ‘I’m not certain how much power politicians actually have. Sorry, not relevant.’ Julia gripped Penny’s arm for a moment. ‘You’ve made me realise - every time I think about that morning, my mind sort of slides away from it.’

  ‘How odd, your memory is usually like a steel trap. You could try retracing your exact movements - think what you said at each point on the guided tour around the collection.’

  ‘I could give it a try. Thanks. Now, we really must get on with some real work.’

  ‘OK. The Haussmann Foundation visit has now been rescheduled for Monday morning.’

  ‘Oh cripes. I have so much to prepare.’

  ~

  John Carmichael had submitted a grant application some months previously. The Haussmann Foundation was one of the few grant-giving organisations that gave substantial funding to independent museums and galleries. They were held to make quirky decisions and John had viewed the proposal as a long shot. The Foundation’s visit was unusual and taken to be a positive sign.

  The funding would enable online presentation of their 18th century works, but Julia had had no involvement in preparing the application and felt woefully ignorant about the art in the Fathon House collection that came from that time. If approved, the grant would support a post for a year. John had intended that their neglected website and online presence could be updated by the post-holder at the same time. A respectable digital identity would help increase visitor numbers and improve the outreach credentials now needed to attract further funding.

  Julia had a matter of days to turn herself into, if not an expert, then a competent professional. She thought she would need every moment, but only had limited resources. The internet was invaluable, of course and there was a file of notes and some books in the curator’s office, but John had owned most of his reference materially personally and kept it at his own house. She didn’t have time to visit the London galleries and libraries that could help with her homework.

  Many of the paintings in the collection that John had referenced in the grant proposal were back in storage, with no time or manpower to extract them before the visit. The 18th century works on permanent display were relevant to the Seckfield family but artistically unexceptional. The Assassin - with its dubious “School of Bernadino Castelli” provenance - remained.

  And then there was the embarrassing gap where Emma Seckfield had presided over the main gallery. Julia hadn’t had the heart to hang a replacement, and one of their own “Removed for cleaning” signs mendaciously hung in its place.

  ~

  The team from the Foundation consisted of Harriet Fairfax, an expensively-dressed older woman, assisted by a bearded young man, who introduced himself as Gerard Buxton-Pryce with a “Y”. They arrived late without apology, declined coffee but accepted a tour of the house.

  ‘Fathon House is a rather bijoux collection, yes? I’m sure it won’t take us long to see the highlights,’ Fairfax said.

  Julia’s jaw tightened to fix her welcoming smile in place. Patronising bitch, she thought. ‘We only have space to display a fraction of the Seckfield family collection at one time. We frequently rotate a selection of works from storage.’ She led the way into the main gallery.

  ‘Ms Bailey, you assumed the role of Acting Curator when Dr Carmichael was hospitalised?’

  ‘The Board of Trustees asked if I would take on the role and my employers were good enough to give me leave of absence. We never imagined that John - Dr Carmichael - wouldn’t recover.’

  ‘Dr Carmichael’s death was a sad loss for our community and, of course, for Fathon House,’ Buxton-Pryce said, making little attempt at sincerity.

  ‘You haven’t advertised for a replacement yet,’ Fairfax said. The woman’s words were an accusation rather than a question.

  ‘Not yet, no. But I am confident that we will be able to deliver the project envisaged in the grant proposal.’

  An unreadable look passed between her guests and they made a swift circuit of the room, pausing pointedly at the gap where their stolen picture had hung.

  ‘We heard about your other terrible loss.’ The Haussmann team looked as if they would mourn the theft of a painting rather more than the death of a curator. ‘Are you confident of the level of security you have for the rest of the collection? I suppose you’re quite safe. There’s nothing else that is likely to catch the eye of a black-
market connoisseur.’

  ‘The Romney portrait of Emma Seckfield has been recovered by the police. It is being held as evidence but will be returned, soon enough.’ Julia caught herself using Inspector Barrett’s customary phrase.

  ‘Aren’t you a lucky girl? We’ve seen enough here. Can we sit down somewhere?’ Fairfax said, yawning.

  ‘Of course. Please come upstairs to the Boardroom and we can talk properly.’

  ‘Yes, we should review the project proposal with you, but we are on a tight schedule today. Due at Knole for a lunch meeting. The Trust is always so hospitable.'

  Julia felt their every breath-takingly rude sentence had been chosen to make her feel inadequate.

  Buxton-Pryce joined in. ‘How long will it take us to get there, from here?’

  ‘It’s a five minute drive. I hope that means you have enough time for us to convince you that Fathon House would benefit hugely from the 18th century art resource and it would have significant value for a number of other regional collections.’

  ‘We don’t doubt that your little museum would benefit, but the Foundation’s funding has to do far more than that.’

  ‘I fully understand and that is why our proposal emphasises the online resource, which would be a tool for specialists and provide an opportunity for the general public to access works that they might never otherwise see.’

  The meeting continued for another ten minutes of questions that were mostly unanswerable. Buxton-Pryce looked at his watch. Julia had the impression that they had never intended to fund the project at all.

  ‘We do now have to move on to our next appointment,’ Fairfax said, standing up abruptly.

  Julia led them back downstairs. She was heading for the front door when the woman surprised her by calling her back.

  ‘While we are here, I suppose we should see the rest of what you have on show. We haven’t had a peek at your notorious cursed Assassin.’ She walked into the Specials room while her assistant slouched in the doorway. ‘Oh do come and look, darling boy.’ The Assassin had immediately drawn her to the end of the room. ‘Wouldn’t you be perfectly scrumptious in a jacket like that.’

  Julia glanced at the portrait and bit her lips to suppress an unladylike snort. The Assassin’s features appeared to her to have assumed an affronted expression.

  Fairfax moved closer, heedless of the obvious sensor.

  ‘Don’t…’ The rest of Julia’s sentence was inaudible as the alarm sounded.

  Julia grabbed at the woman’s arm, a second too late. She was close enough to hear Fairfax muttering to herself.

  ‘Interesting frame. Laburnum wood perhaps?’ Fairfax leapt back. ‘Fuck. It bit me.’ She sucked at her finger and her sidekick immediately moved to her side, cooing comforting noises. They both glared at Julia as if she had assaulted them and they hurried out of the gallery.

  Meanwhile, Penny must have switched off the alarm, from the office. There was an uncomfortable silence which Julia chose not to fill. There was nothing she couldn’t think to say, that would be appropriate, but remain polite.

  Then the click of Farfax’s spiky heels cut the air, as she walked briskly to the front door. Buxton-Pryce scampered behind her. The pair lingered for just a moment on the doorstep, but ignored Julia’s outstretched hand.

  ‘So useful to see the… eclectic collection that you have here,’ Fairfax said with a parting sneer. ‘We will, of course, let you know the Foundation’s funding decision very shortly.’

  Chapter 13

  When her supercilious guests from the Haussmann Foundation left, Julia silently mouthed “You’re welcome” to their retreating backs and stalked back to the main office. Sam followed her in, looking questioningly from Julia to Penny. She must have seen their departure from the conservation workshop, which overlooked the street.

  ‘They aren’t going to approve the funding,’ Julia said.

  ‘Bastards,’ Sam and Penny said in unison and shared a wry grin.

  ‘Did I hear the alarm go off when they were in the Specials room?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Yes, the stupid cow walked straight through the sensor and then got herself scratched by the frame.’

  ‘She actually touched it?’ Penny queried.

  ‘Yes. She was questioning if the frame was laburnum. Oh god, why didn’t I think of it before? Laburnum is poisonous, isn’t it?’ Julia turned to Sam, whose conservation training might have covered such things.

  ‘It is if you eat it. Or possibly if you ingested a sufficient amount sanding it without a mask.’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ Julia rushed on. ‘It could explain the deaths. I’ve only just remembered. John got a splinter from the frame just before he fell ill. It bled, so there was direct contact with his bloodstream.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Penny was ever the voice of reason. ‘Didn’t the police eventually decide John hadn’t been poisoned?’

  ‘Felicity asked me to keep it quiet, but the coroner returned an open verdict,’ Julia said.

  ‘OK. Even if he could have been poisoned by a splinter, which I very much doubt, how does that account for Aaron?’

  'I don’t know. Something like an extreme allergic reaction?’ Julia was unwilling to let go of a rational explanation.

  ‘Which drove him mad, so he stabbed his wife?’

  Sam interrupted their inexpert speculation on medical issues. ‘Listen, both of you. You might find a rational explanation or you might not. But if that woman touched the picture, the Assassin may have just claimed another victim.’

  Julia spent the entire lunch hour with Penny and Sam, discussing what they could or should do about Harriet Fairfax’s possible laburnum poisoning or - as Sam saw it - being marked for death by the Assassin.

  ‘You said she recognised the picture frame as laburnum?’ Penny said.

  ‘She mentioned laburnum wood. But that doesn’t mean she knew it was poisonous.’ Julia half-felt she’d be happy to see both Haussmann representatives die horribly, but in reality she wouldn’t knowingly let anyone come to harm. ‘We ought to warn her.’

  ‘I say it’s her own fault and we should leave it to see what happens.’

  ‘Sam, we might be condemning her to a slow and horrible death.’

  ‘She deserves to die miserably for rejecting our grant. But it wouldn’t be good for the House if there’s another death linked to the Assassin,’ Penny said.

  Julia was fairly confident that Penny wasn’t serious, but she wasn’t so sure about Sam.

  ‘We should at least find out if you can get poisoned from a splinter. Otherwise, what could we say to her?’ Julia didn’t want to talk to the unpleasant woman, but didn’t want a poisoning on her conscience.

  Sam was, not unusually, toying with her phone. ‘This says “All parts poisonous, but mortality very rare. Symptoms may include sleepiness, vomiting, convulsive movements, coma, frothing at the mouth and unequally dilated pupils. Possible severe diarrhoea. At times convulsions are Titanic. Cool. No. Shit, sorry, it says tetanic.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Err... something doctory. That’s Wikipedia. This other site has got some great stuff. Don’t let a kitten have a laburnum scratching post. Looks like it mostly just makes dumb kids sick, if they think the seeds are peas.’

  ‘We’re getting off track.’

  ‘It sounds like the worst it could do is make her a bit sick - which she definitely deserves. Don’t look so disapproving, Julia. When you walked in here after they left, you were practically frothing at the mouth.’

  Sam still had her head down, intent on tapping and swiping at the tiny screen.

  ‘Have you found anything else?’

  ‘No, I’m looking for a video of someone having tetanic convulsions. There’s always weird shit like that on YouTube.’

  ‘I hope this isn’t how you spend your time when you’re hiding away upstairs.’

  Sam looked aggrieved. ‘Hey. I’m on my lunch break. It’s a bummer about the funding. A friend of mine was going
to apply, if it was approved. He was planning to volunteer for work experience first - to get into pole position for the job.’

  ~

  Julia was thoroughly despondent. She knew that fewer than a quarter of applications to the Haussmann Foundation were funded, but she had been so optimistic before the visit, there had been hints it meant a positive decision had already been made.

  She went over the visit in her head, but the Haussmann team had seemed uninterested from the moment of their arrival.

  Was there something she could have done differently to get them on side? If she had known how to handle the awkward pair, would it have changed their attitude? The nagging doubt persisted that it was all her fault. If John Carmichael or maybe Hugh had been there, it might have been different.

  She wondered if there was still any way to attract Sam’s friend to do some voluntary work, even if there was no prospect of a funded post. There might be other, if smaller, grant opportunities to pursue - when she could summon some enthusiasm.

  A rejection message from Harriet Fairfax arrived by email the next day. Julia forwarded it to Hugh with the comment: “I’m afraid I haven’t learnt how to play politics yet.”

  When they met that week, once more she found herself bleating about how helpless she felt. ‘I’d be more use to the museum if I had trained as a plumber. The Ladies loos blocked again last week. I had to stand guard over the Gents for an entire afternoon to stop men walking in, every time a woman wanted to use it.’

  ‘Why did you have to do it? Why didn’t you put a volunteer on it?’

  ‘There’s still some animosity about me being Acting Curator. It’s better if I’m seen to do some of the grotty jobs.’

  ‘I wouldn’t disagree with your reasoning, but it’s a mammoth waste of your time.’

  ‘I made the time up, after hours.’ Julia was defensive.

  ‘And if you keep doing that, you’ll be exhausted and no use to anybody. You can’t hope to keep them all happy. Everyone hates the boss on occasion.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t seem to get the balance right.’ She knew she was whining again.