by P A Latter
‘You’ll learn. It will come in time.’
They were meeting in the Boardroom and heard the sensor alarm ring for a minute, as happened every so often, when a particularly unobservant visitor, drawn to the Assassin, walked past it.
It reminded Julia of her other woes. ‘I don’t know what to do. Did I really mess up the Haussmann visit? I’m simply no good at all the touchy-feely stuff.’
Hugh’s mouth twitched, but he managed to keep the conversation on a professional footing. ‘And you think John Carmichael was any better?’
‘That was different. He commanded respect for his scholarship.’
‘You know as well as I do that the application to the Haussmann was highly speculative. Their people are terrible luvvies.’
‘Meaning that if I was part of their in-crowd, we might have got the money.’
‘It’s not worth agonising over, Julia. But there are other potential funding sources - for grants or donations. You do need to practise your schmoozing skills at every possible opportunity.’
‘I know, I know. But look at the mess I got into, talking to Barry Ferrers.’
‘That’s unlikely to happen again.’
‘We have had so many “unfortunate coincidences” that the Assassin’s Curse is feeling very real. He’s cursed us with a broken boiler this week. It will cost a fortune to replace. And we have a scheduled closure for stripping and polishing the floors. It was expected to be a quiet day, but we’ve had to turn away two large coach parties.’
‘Don’t get sucked into this curse nonsense. Even joking. You don’t believe in any supernatural hooey, do you?’ It was obvious he didn’t blame her for the failure of the grant application, but he made no attempt to hide his irritation over the curse.
‘No, of course not,’ She said, unable to meet his eyes. Most of the time it was hooey. But bad things kept happening.
‘You need to keep a sense of proportion. John’s death may still be unexplained, despite your laburnum poisoning theory, but you can’t equate that with a failure of century-old plumbing, which is scarcely mysterious.’
Julia acknowledged he was in the right, but the meeting finished on a sharp note.
‘This is a bit of tough love, Julia. Use your network. Find donors. We’re relying on you.’
~
The session with Hugh, unlike many previously, didn’t restore her equanimity. She didn’t have a network of rich philanthropists queueing up to make donations. She walked into the main gallery to stare at a few pictures.
In the past, focussing intently on a single work had sometimes served to clear and settle her mind, but the trick rarely worked since she had had so many responsibilities at the museum.
One of the volunteers was giving a small pre-booked group a formal tour. It made Julia realise how much she missed those uncomplicated interactions with museum visitors, who appreciated learning about the artworks and their history.
The recitation of facts about the Seckfield family and the artists they had patronised to fill their walls, brought to mind the tour Julia had given to Ferrers.
She decided to follow Penny’s suggestion that evening and retrace the route she had taken when showing Ferrers the collection.
She would take her time and concentrate on remembering everything that had been said. She would write it all down, so that if she was challenged when Ferrers came to trial, she would have at least an approximation recorded.
After they closed to visitors, Julia locked the front door behind Penny, who was the last of the team to leave, and collected a notepad from the office.
She went into the main gallery, recollecting that she had started the tour there. Then she returned to the front door - she needed to take time to do this properly and she had met “Barrington - call me Barry” in the hallway.
She kept experiencing the same sense of her mind being unwilling to remember the events of that morning, but wrote down everything she could recall. She stopped trying to force the memory and simply put herself back in her tour guide role.
She had noted Ferrers’s jewellery and thought he might be the type to speak about his own wealth. So she had talked about values and money, hoping it might give her an opening to raise the idea of supporting the museum. He couldn’t have interpreted that as encouraging theft.
Finally she reached the Specials room, where he had compared Aemilia Seckfield unfavourably with the portrait of her mother, before he had noticed the Assassin. Then he had said something about history or origin.
Julia suddenly remembered that she had been on the point of telling him who the sitter for the Venetian portrait had been. But that couldn’t be right: nobody knew the identity of the subject. What had she been going to say to Ferrers? And what had she actually said? The Assassin stared down at her, providing no answers.
The phone ringing in the office, broke through her confusion. She hurried out to answer it.
‘Fathon House museum. Julia Bailey here.’
‘Ms Bailey, thank Christ you’re there.'
It took Julia a moment to recognise the voice. Gerard Buxton-Pryce had drawled lazily at their meeting but now sounded breathless.
He paused to regain his cool. ‘Harriet - my colleague, Harriet Fairfax - has disappeared. We thought perhaps she might have returned to Fathon House.’
‘I’m sorry, no. I haven’t seen her.’
‘Oh God, I can’t think what has happened. She isn’t answering any of her phones and she missed our masala chai latte date. She never forgets that.’
‘Why did you think she might come back to the House?’
Chapter 14
Julia related the strange phone call to Penny, over coffee. ‘It was really weird. When I asked him why he thought his boss might have come back here, he hedged about for ages. He was so reluctant to say.’
‘I hope he was embarrassed about how rude they were, when they were here.’
‘Sort of. In the end, he admitted they had been playing a game. That wretched pair apparently think it’s funny to swan around galleries that have made grant proposals and insult the applicants. They were primarily en route to Knole, but wanted to check out the collection here.’
‘But why did he think the Fairfax woman might have come back?’
‘He hasn’t seen her since the lunch at Knole, after they were here and he said “she wasn’t herself”. But she copied him into the rejection email. It shouldn’t have been sent. The Foundation had been intending to approve the grant. He doesn’t know why she did it.’
‘That’s disgusting. You have to talk to someone higher up at the Haussmann,’ Penny said.
‘That’s where it gets complicated. You know their rules say funding decisions cannot be challenged. Our charming visitor said the Haussmann board thinks something happened during the visit to make her reverse the decision.’
‘So what did Buxton-Pryce say to the board?’
‘He claims he has been avoiding speaking to them. He’d lose his job if he told them what the meeting was really like and he’s afraid that whatever he says, Fairfax might have a different story when she turns up.’
‘It all sounds like a bad farce. He couldn’t still be playing games, could he?’
Julia had already considered this possibility, but couldn’t see the point. ‘He did sound genuinely concerned that the blasted woman has gone missing. And so am I, actually. If the frame on that painting is poisonous, she might be dead in a ditch somewhere.’
‘Highly unlikely and - personally - I don’t much care what’s happened to her. But we do need to get that funding decision switched back. If Fairfax isn’t there to explain her decision, you’ll have to make her assistant say she made a mistake and sent the wrong email.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that? Sorry, it’s my problem. I just can’t think how I might make him cooperate.’
~
Julia had tried to use a “what would John Carmichael do?” mantra to guide her in the curatorship role. Now she
needed a much more Machiavellian approach.
She was not willing to admit to herself that she had been briefly possessed by the spirit of the Assassin, but she could still set her mind to imagining how he might solve problems.
Despite his naked blade, he had always looked more the politician - likely to indulge in metaphorical back-stabbing, rather than anything as coarse as physical violence.
It was contrary to all Julia’s instincts, but the thoughts came surprisingly - perhaps worryingly - quickly, as if she were channelling thoughts that the calculating Assassin might have had.
Who or what was standing in the way? How could they/it be neutralised? What influence could she bring to bear? In very little time, she had a plan and shared it with Penny to test for any weaknesses. Penny, the pragmatist, pronounced it worth a try.
Julia was unknown to the Haussmann board members. Her word carried little weight if Buxton-Pryce chose to contradict it. She needed someone who moved in the more rarefied circles of arts funding and knew just the person to call, but they would need careful handling.
‘Ms Bedford? It’s Julia Bailey at Fathon House.’
‘How lovely to hear from you, but I’m afraid….’
‘I know you are really busy, but I’ll only take a moment of your time. I know Dr Carmichael always valued your opinion.’ Julia had heard him refer to her as “that interfering old bat” on more than one occasion.
‘I’m always happy to offer the benefit of my experience, of course.’
‘Thank you. You may recall we made an application to the Haussman Foundation? We have been sent a rejection note.’
‘There’s nothing I can do about that, my dear.’
‘Of course not. Not under normal circumstances, but...well, I don’t want to get the young man into trouble.’ Julia wondered if she sounded completely artificial.
‘What are you talking about? You’re not making much sense.’
Julia had thought a lot about how to phrase this. She didn’t want to criticise Buxton-Pryce. Mary Bedford was so connected, there was a distinct possibility that he was her godson. ‘When they visited, Harriet Fairfax’s assistant let slip that the funding had been approved. I know they are not supposed to say anything before the official letter goes out.’
Julia discovered she had crossed her fingers, as if she were still a schoolchild protecting herself from the consequences of telling fibs.
‘So why did the Fairfax woman send a rejection?’
‘It must be a mistake. She did seem a little odd when they visited, and now she has disappeared, so perhaps she was sickening for something and sent the email when she wasn’t quite well. Of course Mr Buxton-Pryce doesn’t want to say anything, because he would have to confess to his board that he couldn’t resist telling us the good news.’
‘Leave this with me, I know just who to talk to.’
‘I am so grateful. I hate to feel like I’m telling tales - that he said things that he really shouldn’t, during the meeting here.’ How easily the lies mixed with the truth.
‘Harriet Fairfax is a loose cannon. I’ll get this sorted out.’
After she hung up, she was sure she had chosen the right strategy, but also realised how lucky she had been. There was clearly no love lost between Mary Bedford and Harriet Fairfax.
Julia was mildly horrified by her own deception - trivial though it was. She threw herself into tasks that wouldn’t require any more of this sort of manoeuvring.
~
The regular museum business was time-consuming. Julia was ever more conscious of the expenses incurred in maintaining the building. Income from visitors was insufficient to meet all the running costs and they desperately needed to bring in more charitable awards.
She knew Penny was doing a lot of administrative donkey work - obtaining quotes before jobs could be commissioned; scheduling work to minimise disruption for visitors; and ensuring its prompt completion.
Julia was double-checking all the work that went on at the museum. But when Julia asked Penny to help her think of ways to address their financial woes, Penny rather acidly suggested that she could resign, which would save one salary, since Julia seemed intent on doing everything herself.
The tiff didn’t last long. Julia’s tendency to micro-manage escalated whenever she was stressed, but she had enough self-awareness to recognise the fault and apologise to her friend. Her excuse was that Hugh was leaning on her to bring in donations.
Since their meeting, Hugh had called a couple of times, pushing for her to use contacts she had made at MJL, all wealthy people with money to invest - or alternatively to use in supporting good causes. She had told him it would be a completely unethical abuse of privileged information - simultaneously feeling hypocritical that she had already done exactly that, to obtain Ferrers’s address.
There were lower-level fund-raising activities that had been taking her time: an exhaustive round of presentations to local organisations. Julia had hoped to use the same script for all the talks, but quickly started to see the same faces at different events.
There must be a lot of people on the same local community circuit. To avoid repeated apologies that the material might be familiar to some of her audience, she was spending more time preparing additional slides.
She had reluctantly added an image of the Assassin, since someone inevitably asked about the curse. She wished more was known about the painting, to deflect their interest, but she had to fall back on speaking more generally about the artist who may or may not have painted the fine detail, while the projected image of the Assassin smiled disdainfully.
She spoke also about the elements included in portraiture that would tell a more personal story than a simple depiction of physical features. The richness of the Venetian Nobleman’s clothes indicated wealth and status. The possessions displayed on shelves behind him hinted at interests.
Occasionally, someone would ask about the fuzzy corner, where Julia thought the pomegranate and snake were embedded. They had never been clearly visible since the day of Ferrers’s visit. If it was accumulated grime that hid these elements of the picture, how could they have been momentarily revealed? And what did they signify?
Julia didn’t say when you looked at the original portrait, it was hard to drag your eyes from the face, to take in any other details, at all.
The short-term returns from these activities were minimal. A local supermarket named Fathon House as its charity of the month and a nearby residents’ association promised a share from their “May Fayre” event, the following year.
The museum might see a few thousand pounds at most. Possibly more value was gained from a trickle of new volunteers, attracted by Julia’s enthusiasm for the museum. Her concern over one threat of closure receded a little.
~
Mary Bedford couldn’t have wasted much time accessing her Haussmann contacts. She called Julia back within the week. The Foundation had needed little convincing that the rejection email must have been a mistake - Harriet Fairfax was still missing and they were deeply concerned - they worried that Fairfax was in some state of mental confusion when she sent the message.
Julia relayed the success of her gambit to Penny, but was troubled by the entire episode. ‘Do you think the woman changed the funding decision just to be spiteful?’
‘I can’t imagine she had anything to gain. Although there are limited funds, so another grant applicant would benefit. Perhaps she was being bribed.’
‘That makes as much sense as anything. I’m getting paranoid - I keep thinking that if I lost the funding, the trustees would never support me as curator, but why would Harriet Fairfax care about that?’
Sam had been making a coffee and sat down to join them. ‘Fairfax might not care, but I know someone who might benefit, if you’re not curator.’
Julia gestured for her to continue.
‘The Assassin. Yes, really. You restrict his opportunity to do bad stuff. He might be able to manipulate someone else, in your place.
’
‘You’ve been having a cozy chat with our three hundred year old psychopath, have you?’ Julia wasn’t about to confess she had herself felt inspired by its iniquitous presence, in her attempts to secure the grant.
‘Ha ha. You must accept by now that the painting has powers. After yet another death. Why can’t you believe it?’
‘What do you mean “another death”? Not Harriet Fairfax? There’s nothing to suggest she’s dead.’ Julia had been listening to every news report since Buxton-Pryce’s phone call, half expecting to hear of a body being found.
‘It’s only a matter of time. I bet she’ll turn up dead,’ Sam said.
~
Julia cursed herself for a superstitious fool, but she couldn’t help dwelling on Sam’s belief that those who touched the portrait were possessed by the Assassin and, sooner or later, were compelled to return the spirit to the painting. That night, she ran through the security footage from the motion sensor camera, since the day of the Haussmann team’s visit.
She couldn’t remember the alarm being triggered by anyone getting close enough to touch the picture recently, but she was frequently out of the building. Checking back, she found the sensor had been tripped a few times and in each case, the security video showed that the visitor had immediately backed off. Except for one.
A few days after Fairfax and Buxton-Pryce had visited, the video showed someone dart in, possibly touch the frame and back away instantly. It was on a day when Julia had a meeting with Hugh and she could now recall that the alarm had gone off while they had been in the boardroom.
The height and build of the visitor were a match for Fairfax but, as usual, it was impossible to confirm an identity from the fuzzy images. It resolved nothing.
~
Julia didn’t tell the others everything about her second conversation with Mary Bedford. After congratulating her that her candidacy for the curatorship was now practically assured, the trustee’s parting comment had made Julia realise that she still had a lot to learn about office intrigue:
I’m so glad I could resolve that little problem for you. I’m sure the rest of our board will be very impressed that you have secured the grant. And I know now I can rely on you to persuade them to support my position at board meetings, for example, regarding this ridiculous proposal to install a café in Fathon House.