by P A Latter
The favour Julia had requested - a single phone call - had apparently incurred a serious obligation.
Chapter 15
Julia had expected to feel energised by the confirmation of the Haussmann Foundation grant. It might secure her the curatorship, but it wouldn’t resolve all their financial worries and she found herself questioning whether she really wanted the position, after all.
As a volunteer, she had adored everything about the museum environment and when she had first become Acting Curator, despite all the stress, there was a sense of accomplishment.
But whether it was the relentlessness of the unfortunate events or simply the accumulating strain of professional responsibilities, the role of curator was losing its lustre.
She didn’t need to make an irrevocable decision until close to the next meeting of the board of trustees, so she shunted the question to the bottom of her mental in-tray and resolved to sleep on it.
She wasn’t sleeping well. She didn’t often remember her dreams - dismissing them as the brain’s filing system - but since the day of Ferrers’s visit to Fathon House, she had been experiencing unfamiliar and vivid visions.
They were radically different from customary dreams which seem normal while asleep, but wildly irrational on waking. Sometimes she was in a bright sunlit place - noisy and accompanied by a stink of drains. She dreamt of fencing - both practice and real fighting. She had fenced with a foil at university, but the weapons she wielded as she slept were different and deadly.
She tried to tell herself it was a simple mental association. The sunlit place was so obviously Venice, which she visited, as well as seeing it often enough in paintings and on television. But she was beginning to fear the images belonged to the Assassin’s memory rather than her own.
In one dream, she saw the corner of the portrait clearly again. The snake unwound itself from the pomegranate and reared up towards her. When she woke up, she couldn’t remember if it had bitten.
~
Ignoring her tiredness, and ignoring the question of whether she wanted to continue as curator or not, she was still committed to demonstrating that she could do a good job.
There was one channel of income where she thought she might make an impression. It would probably not raise a significant amount, but it might be a way for her to make a personal difference.
The museum had always offered a small range of items for sale, but it was an area that John Carmichael had had no interest in and all their stock was generic and old-fashioned.
As a keen gallery and museum visitor herself, Julia had taken note of what visitors bought elsewhere and what she sought out for her own purchases. People liked to have souvenirs - mementos that had a specific connection to the place or the things they had seen and enjoyed.
Fathon House had no brand. Julia knew it was something she should not try to create independently and even if there had been any budget to buy in the expertise of specialists, anything proposed to represent the museum should be approved by the board.
She knew equally well that the trustees would bicker inconclusively. A committee decision was likely to be a weak compromise. And she didn’t like the idea that she might be obliged to back Mary Bedford’s views.
She found a company that promised to put branding onto a range of gift-edibles and deliver within a week of her supplying artwork and placing an order.
Then she asked Sam to take a half day out from the workshop to take pictures of the House and items from the collection. Sam had a good eye for a dramatic image and the technical skills to capture it. She had taken many of the pictures Julia used in her talks.
Sam presented her with a sheaf of shots ranging from the characteristic Georgian entrance to the house, to copies of the Kent landscapes that were typical of the collection, to some of the Seckfield family portraits.
Julia leafed through the stack and found Sam had also taken some pictures of details from various works, including studies of the Assassin.
‘I read somewhere that aborigines think a photo can steal your soul. I thought I’d try it on the Assassin.’ Sam’s tone was defensive. ‘I didn’t think they would be any good for your brand image. I was just fooling around with the camera, really.’
Julia wasn’t giving her complete attention - distracted by the pictures. ‘There’s some lovely shots here, but I want something really distinctive. Something visitors will associate with the House, but not necessarily obvious. I thought the Assassin might have made a strong impression, but the one of the whole picture looks flat and with just the head, he’s a bit grim.’
Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, he looks mean and sneery.’
Julia looked through the rest of the close-ups, each one picking out a single detail or decorative element. The final image was a study of the Assassin’s hands. ‘This is the one!’ She knew at once that it was exactly right.
‘Are you sure?’ Sam looked dubious.
‘That ridiculous curse story has given the portrait a cachet, why shouldn’t we exploit that?’
Julia was reluctant to fully explore - even in her own mind - her reasons for selecting it and hurried on. ‘It looks complete in itself and it takes a moment for you to realise it’s a detail from a larger work. It’s striking and subtle at the same time.’
Julia broke off when she saw the change in Sam’s expression. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You want to put a picture of a blood-spotted hand holding a knife on a box that says “Hand Made Biscuits”.’
‘I hadn’t thought about that. But why not? Let’s do it. It’s quirky and not what you’d expect from a staid old art museum.’
Maybe it really would steal the Assassin’s soul. If she stopped dreaming about him, she might believe it.
Before Julia became too carried away and placed an order with the image decorating a range of giftware, Penny suggested they chose a single item and test customer response.
Julia was willing to rein in her enthusiasm and also to take other advice where offered. One of the new volunteers, who worked at the supermarket, suggested completely rearranging the layout of the small sales area. To Julia’s surprise, it made everything look fresher and more interesting.
Penny’s record of sales income plotted against visitor numbers, demonstrated a small benefit immediately and when their branded biscuits arrived, half of the order was immediately bought by the volunteers - entertained, as Sam had been, by the juxtaposition of the death-dealing Assassin’s hands and the quaint domesticity of shortbread.
The remaining stock sold out in days. Almost half the visitors were buying them and if their wallets were out, they were making additional purchases.
Julia immediately ordered more and cautiously expanded the branded range. She was delighted with her success, but knew the sales were a minor contributor to their financial viability. She really did need to find grants or - ideally - rich donors.
The next time she was in the Specials room she tried to recapture the flow of thinking that had led her to engage Mary Bedford to help her snatch back the Haussmann grant.
The favour the trustee had requested in return was still worrying her, but Julia knew she would have to manage her scruples to succeed as a fund-raiser. What she viewed as playing politics and the distasteful art of seducing the wealthy to share their riches, were integral to the job she had aspired to.
Perhaps she really had found a way to rob the Assassin of his power - that day, at least, he was not providing inspiration. Had that been the answer? To reduce him from a threat to a joke?
She was transfixed in front of the portrait when footsteps shook her from her reverie. Sam had walked a few paces into the gallery to say goodnight.
‘Hi Sam. Are you off?’
‘Yes. I’m starting to go cross-eyed. I’ve been squinting at the same corner of a landscape all day.’
‘You’re doing a great job. We’re lucky to have you here.’
Sam shrugged dismissively but looked pleased with the praise. She gestu
red to the Assassin. ‘Were you thanking this bastard for helping us bring in some more dosh?’
‘I have to confess I feel rather more well-disposed towards him. He doesn’t look so malevolent to me now. I think your photo did steal his soul.’
‘I think he sold his soul a long time ago. He just looks bored. I reckon he likes to win. Not sure if being our brand increases his fame or is a bit undignified.'
Julia recollected that speaking of the portrait as if it had a mind of its own was probably not a good idea with Sam. Using the painting as a decorative device to drive sales to tourists might have reduced its power to intimidate, but Sam hadn’t relinquished her belief in its evil spirit.
‘If you have any more good ideas for fund-raising, do let me know. I need to find some generous rich people and I really don’t know where to start.’
‘Good luck with that. Find one for me, too,’ Sam said.
~
Over the next week, Julia turned her mind to other ways to increase income. While she was researching other funding opportunities - Lottery money, the Arts Council and other grant-giving bodies - Hugh dropped in unexpectedly.
Since John Carmichael’s death and the start of her “trial curatorship” period, her meetings with Hugh had been less frequent - generally just hurried catch-ups over coffee in the High Street.
Hugh hadn’t visited Fathon House for several weeks and Julia hadn’t spoken to him since their irritable exchange about approaching MJL clients. She hoped he had thought better of trying to pressurise her and would be pleased to hear of the improved sales.
However, he looked anything but conciliatory when he walked into the office.
‘What have you been doing out there?’ He waved an arm towards the door. ‘It looks different.’
‘We’ve just refreshed the way the merchandise is displayed.’
‘And just what is this?’ He slapped a box bearing the Assassin’s hands on to her desk.
‘I think it’s perfectly obvious,’ Julia said. If Hugh was going to be obnoxious, she certainly wouldn’t make any attempt at appeasement. ‘We’ve increased sales by at least 25%.’
‘Why didn’t you discuss this with me?’
‘Because I wanted to do something on my own. Make decisions. Make a difference. And raise income.’
‘Something like this should have been put in front of the board and you know it.’
‘And you know they’d just bicker for ever.’
‘Don’t you think using the Assassin to represent Fathon House is a tiny bit inappropriate? Given the circumstances, it’s in rather bad taste.’
‘Hugh, really? Do you know how stuffy you sound?’
If Hugh had reacted differently she might have apologised and cajoled him to recognise the success of her initiative, but his annoyance was completely disproportionate to the offence.
Was she reacting to his criticism because she had had the same misgivings? No, the “circumstances” were nothing but a spurious story of a curse, invented by a journalist.
‘We had no kind of brand. We sold nothing that was unique to Fathon House. I think you’re just grumpy because you know I’m right, but you didn’t think to do anything about it yourself.’ Julia knew she was being unfair, but felt goaded.
‘I have my own business to run and very little time to devote to the museum. I thought I could trust your judgement, that you’d know when to consult.’
‘Clearly I don’t know. You’ve been going on at me relentlessly to bring in more money. I succeed and now you complain.’
‘I said to find donors, not to sell tacky merchandise.’
‘There’s nothing tacky about it. We’ve branded premium products with a high quality image taken from a fine picture.’ Julia couldn’t believe she was arguing with Hugh over a packet of biscuits, but had gone too far to back down. ‘Clearly you don’t think I’m able to do this job.’
‘Oh bollocks. What’s done is done. There’s no point in blowing it out of proportion. There’s little point in trying to continue this conversation right now. We need to talk again, though. I’ll call you in a day or two.’
‘When you think I’ll have calmed down and will be more reasonable?’ How dare Hugh say she was the one without a sense of proportion. The conversation crystallised her decision over the curatorship and her mood flipped. She wasn’t cut out for the schmoozing; the lobbying for support; the manoeuvring it called for.
‘No. I mean I really don’t have time for this,’ Hugh said. ‘I need to get back to the office. The business is…’ He didn’t complete the sentence.
She put a placatory hand out to his arm. ‘Listen. Forget about the brand stuff. It’s not an irrevocable issue. This is more important. It’s taken me a long time to realise, because I was so convinced it was the career I always should have pursued, but I don’t want the curatorship.’
‘Julia, no. I’ll call you and we’ll discuss this, I promise. It’s just not a good time right now.’
‘It’s the right time now. I’m not planning to walk out and leave you in the lurch, but I’ll let the other trustees know that they need to start the formal recruitment process for a new curator.’
Chapter 16
It was such a relief - to abandon any aspiration to a permanent role as curator. Julia hadn’t realised quite how badly the worries had been nagging away at her. The obligation to support Mary Bedford’s position with the board was the least of it.
The stress lifted like fog rising on a September morning. Her mind felt sharper and the sensation of being watched, constantly reminding her of the weeks when she had been stalked, had gone.
Depending on which flavour of paranoia she was experiencing, it had been preferable to imagine the lurking presence was another oddball from her foray into online dating or some criminal contact of Barry Ferrers, rather than the spirit of the Assassin.
She had never been certain if other members of the museum team besides Sam felt the aura emanating from the painting, but while she was managing the team she had done her utmost to avoid speaking openly of it.
Supernatural hooey - as Hugh had dismissed it. Now she was quitting, she wanted to say: “Is it just me, or has the curse been broken?” They would think her daft.
The prospect of continuing as Acting Curator until a professional replacement was found, resolved into a satisfying conclusion to a challenge, rather than an unending chore. She began to regret that she had voluntarily quit the job she had found satisfying at MJL, but tried not to dwell on the prospect of unemployment.
When Hugh had suggested she could court existing MJL clients as potentially supporters for the museum, she had decried it as a conflict of interest, but she did have an idea for fund-raising in which MJL and the museum’s interests would be aligned.
This time she would follow the rules and talk to the trustees, but first she requested a meeting with her former employers at their office, to speak to the three together.
~
‘Hello Ken, Stephen, Mike. Thanks for seeing me.’
‘You haven’t come to ask for your job back, have you?’
Julia had never been able to tell when Mike Latimer was joking and the smiles of his colleagues didn’t provide any clues. It was safest to treat it as a completely straight question and move on swiftly.
‘Absolutely not.’ She imagined that Ken James looked momentarily disappointed. ‘I have a business proposition - a reception to attract new clients.’
‘We’ve done it before.’ Mike Latimer said, ‘But another one would be timely. And we have never done a mailing for the Kippington Road area - there’s some serious money around there that we could be taking care of.’
‘So what did you have in mind, Julia?’ Ken James said.
‘If Fathon House hosted the event, it would be a bit different from before - using the committee room at the golf club. And if you let me introduce the museum’s collection and make a subtle pitch for donor support, you’d only have to pay for drinks, not the
venue.’
‘Hmm. The museum would add a bit of refinement. It could make it seem less tackily commercial,’ Mike Latimer said.
The partners had lots of questions, but since they immediately focused on details of dates and numbers, it was clear to Julia that they all liked the idea.
‘I wasn’t certain you would be keen. I will need to get approval from the trustees, before I can promise we can do it.’
As she was leaving, Ken James stopped her at the door. ‘Julia, we do still miss you around here. Would you be free for a coffee - maybe next week? I’d like to hear how you’re getting on.’
‘Yes, of course. That would be nice.’ Julia saw - or sensed - a significant glance pass amongst the partners, but she didn’t know what to make of it.
~
When she told Hugh about the idea, he seemed disconcerted that she was proposing a new initiative, especially one involving MJL, now that she was committed to standing down. But when he notified the other trustees, he was sufficiently fair-minded to recognise its merits and applaud her continuing efforts.
~
Meanwhile, Julia had other work to get on with. The first task was to prepare a job description and advertisement for the permanent curator. John Carmichael had been in post for so many years, that she had to draft materials from scratch. She had very little idea of the most appropriate sites to place the advert, but used this as an excuse to contact Buxton-Pryce at the Haussmann Foundation. He wasn’t the most obvious person to ask for advice, but it gave her an opportunity to enquire after Harriet Fairfax.
Buxton-Pryce appeared anxious to help and provided a comprehensive list of organisations that might publicise the role for free, as well as ones that took paid-for job adverts.
He confirmed Julia’s fear that Fairfax was still missing, with no clues as to her whereabouts. There was nothing to indicate foul play and the police seemed to have taken the view that Harriet Fairfax was known to be an independent woman who might simply have gone away without choosing to tell her colleagues.