by P A Latter
‘Not yet. Why?’
‘Cassie has put up a board with copies of all the kids’ drawings. I thought you might like to see them.’
‘Thanks. I’ll go and take a peek right now.’ Julia drowned the dregs of her coffee and they both walked back down to the ground floor.
She strolled over to inspect the children’s artwork. Unsurprisingly, a number had chosen to copy the Assassin and a few had selected other pictures that were hanging in the room.
Julia took some time working out what each drawing had taken its inspiration from. A teacher must have suggested that they might like to select a detail rather than copy a whole picture.
If it hadn’t been for the row of daggers, each decorated with a large red blob, Julia might have missed the significance of a different small picture.
A lopsided circle was ringed with a patterned ribbon. But the end of the ribbon stood up with eyes and a forked tongue.
The pomegranate and the snake. At times, Julia had almost convinced herself that they were a disconnected memory and didn’t come from the portrait. The image was so vivid in her mind - she wanted to believe it had been part of a different painting she had seen in the past, which had buried itself in her subconscious.
Pomegranates feature in many still lifes, as did the occasional small animal. Insects were quite common, but a lizard or snake sometimes peeked around a leaf.
The child’s portrait denied her the soothing self-deception, but Julia still struggled for a rational solution. Apparently, the gallery had been specially illuminated for the childrens’ visit.
Perhaps the details in the corner of the portrait had been visible in the brighter light. She had previously taken note of how the Assassin’s expression could alter as the daylight reaching the gallery varied.
Harriet Fairfax had spoken of dreaming the snake was rising to strike. It had shaken Julia, but the woman was in the grip of some kind of religious mania and ranted about other visions that meant nothing to her.
She walked across the gallery to the Assassin. The corner remained stubbornly smudgy. Perhaps if the painting were cleaned, the detail would emerge innocently.
She wondered about suggesting it to Cassie, although she knew Sam didn’t want to have anything to do with the painting. Perhaps not. She wouldn’t force that on the intern.
She walked back to the drawings and was still standing in front of them when Penny stuck her head around the door.
‘Oh good, you’re still here. Could you cover the gallery for the rest of the morning? Terry was in first thing, but needs to go home early.’
‘Yes, no problem. Penny, you’ve done some science stuff, haven’t you?’
‘Not since A levels, no.’ Penny stared at her and then at the drawings, trying to follow her line of thought.
‘Well, you might know anyway. Kids can hear a bit differently from adults, can’t they?’
'Range of hearing changes as you age. A bit. Why?’
‘Is eyesight similar? Can children see into infrared or anything like that?’ Julia was casting around wildly for an explanation.
‘I don’t think so. Some other species see ultraviolet.’ Penny waved a hand at the drawings. ‘Imagination is enough to account for any deviations from reality with this lot.’
‘Of course. You’re right.’ Julia seized on the sensible words.
She had been imagining things herself again. She hadn’t spoken to Penny - or anyone else - about the ‘invisible’ detail, it would sound so foolish. The pomegranate and snake would have to remain a mystery. They were, after all, the least of her worries.
When she stood in front of the Assassin again, the eyes were mocking. For a moment, she felt the helplessness she had experienced two years previously. The death of the stalker had denied her the opportunity to confront him. And again, she wanted to be able to challenge her persecutor and say “Who are you? Why are you watching me?”
The date of Ferrers’s trial was looming ever closer and it was increasingly occupying her thoughts. Her second attempt to recall her exact words when talking with Ferrers had yielded no more than the first.
On her first attempt, she had been interrupted by the panicky phone call from Gerard Buxton-Pryce. And now, her recollection of the details of the visit seemed to be slipping even further away.
She would have to rely on the common sense of the judge and jury to recognise there was no connection between her and Ferrers. Whatever the defence barrister might say, she wouldn’t be on trial herself and the police had shown no sign of wishing to arrest her as an accessory.
She had hoped Penny might be willing to sacrifice a precious day of annual leave and be in the public gallery to provide moral support, on the day that Julia was due to be in the witness box.
In the light of her dubious acquisition of Ferrers’s address, she really did not want to involve anyone else. The following Friday, she raised the question hesitantly. Fathon House wasn’t generous with holiday time for its employees.
‘Oh Julia. I know you’re really anxious about the trial and I would come if I possibly could.’
‘No, it’s quite OK. It was unreasonable of me to ask. It’s not as if I’m the one on trial.’
‘I hope it won’t feel like it. The thing is, Cassie has said she will attend the trial and so I have to be Duty Manager here.’
This was an unexpected and unwelcome development. At no time had Julia anticipated Cassie would be present to hear her cross-examination.
Chapter 24
The trial was, like school exams or a dental trip, long-dreaded but desperately wished to be over. Julia had received clear instructions about when to arrive and what to expect, but had googled frantically for all the information she could find on being a witness.
On the morning she was due in court, she woke up ridiculously early, but wasted time dithering over what to wear. She didn’t want to become hot and flustered in the witness box.
She might look shifty if she had to strip off layers of clothing in the middle of her testimony. In the end she settled for a matching lightweight dress and jacket, worried it looked more like she was attending a wedding, and had no time for breakfast before she left.
She had been warned there could be a lengthy wait before being called, but when she sat in the chilly witness room, she couldn’t concentrate on the book she had brought.
She was absurdly anxious that her stomach would rumble when she took the stand and filled a cup from the water cooler, feeling lightheaded and knowing she ought to have eaten something earlier.
There was a Kitkat in her handbag but the thought of chocolate made her feel queasy.
She sipped slowly - she didn’t know how long she would be questioned and she didn’t want a full bladder adding to the stress. The water was ice-cold and in her thin jacket she was already shivery from sitting for so long.
When she was eventually called into the courtroom, she kept repeating to herself that it would be all over soon. Ferrers’s “not guilty” plea must have been intended for a chance to minimise his guilt rather than deny it outright. She still didn’t know if this would entail trying to implicate her in the theft.
She was sworn in and was initially in comfortable territory. The prosecution had been obliged to call her as a witness, since she was in charge of the museum at the time of the theft and the only one to interact directly with Ferrers.
The barrister for the Crown kept the questions brief, asking for nothing more than confirmation of the facts surrounding the theft. While he returned to his seat, Julia had a moment to take in details of the court. Some members of the jury looked as if their concentration was starting to wane.
Then she saw Cassie staring at her from the back of the public gallery, and the defence barrister stood to begin the cross-examination.
‘Kenneth James, a Partner in the business where you are a part-time employee, requested you provided a guided tour of Fathon House to Mr Ferrers and informed you that Mr Ferrers had become a clie
nt of the business?’
That was just the scene setter, just seeking affirmation, but Julia suspected there was a psychological edge in ensuring she had to agree with his first question. However, when it came, she was able to face the direct challenge calmly.
‘What is the nature of your relationship with Mr Ferrers?’
‘I had not met him before he visited Fathon House and had no contact subsequently.’
The barrister was, of course, well practised in sharing his sceptical smile with the jury. Julia glanced up at Cassie, who remained stony-faced.
And then the sticky question wasn’t long in coming.
‘It is believed that the police became aware of additional premises owned by Mr Ferrers, at which a painting belonging to the Fathon House Charitable Trust was found, due to an anonymous tip-off. Ms Bailey, why did you provide that information to the police?’
Her surprise at the way the question was phrased, delayed her response and the prosecution barrister jumped in with an objection. Fortunately, he objected both to the implicit accusation and the motive behind the challenge.
‘Whether or not this witness passed on information held by her employer is not relevant to the guilt of the accused. I understand the defence wishes to imply Ms Bailey was involved in this crime, but tipping-off the police would seem to contradict this absurd suggestion, anyway.’
‘It appears damaging to my client, but it is relevant to the case, as it would ascertain the reliability of the witness. Will she deny, under oath, that she betrayed the trust of her employer and revealed personal and confidential information?’
To Julia’s relief the judge disallowed the question - there was some legal technicality involved - but she felt the damage had been done. And she was wholly unprepared for the next question.
‘Can you confirm that the Kent police questioned you earlier this year in connection with the unexplained death of the previous curator, which had led to your appointment as Acting Curator?’
The prosecution again challenged the relevance, but in a panicky hope of damage limitation, Julia requested if she might explain the longevity of her association with the museum and the temporary nature of her curatorship. It felt like she was justifying herself to Cassie.
She hoped the jury would find the implication that she murdered John Carmichael in order to replace him as crazy as she did, but in this alien world of the criminal court, could it be made to sound plausible?
The notion would have been as laughable as the trial in Alice in Wonderland, if it hadn’t been as surreal and frightening as Kafka.
Julia could see the barrister was as alert to the mood of the court as a predator to a nervous herd. He clearly judged that his line of questioning was not going to win his client any favours and Julia’s breathing slowed a little.
He returned to Julia’s response of not having “met” Ferrers before the day of the museum tour, insinuating that individuals could communicate and even conspire without face to face contact. He threw in the example of online dating interactions. Julia felt her heart rate increase again and blood rise to the surface of her skin, as memories of her online dating experiences were forced onto her.
She fought to separate her feelings from the question being asked. It surely wasn’t possible that Ferrers, under another name, had been one of those whose overtures she had declined.
She looked blankly at the judge and he requested the defence barrister to restate his question. Julia was, at last, able to answer that when she said “met” she had meant she had no awareness of Mr Ferrers’s existence until Ken James’s phone call.
She was finally released from the witness box. She stared around in a daze, she had forgotten if she was supposed to sit in the courtroom or leave. Someone - an usher or clerk of the court - touched her arm and pointed to the door.
She almost stumbled as she walked towards it. The thudding of her pulse receded and she realised she could now go to sit in the public gallery and watch the rest of the proceedings.
Although she felt she needed to know exactly what was said during the rest of the trial, she couldn’t cope with finding herself seated next to Cassie.
At that moment all she wanted was to be at home. She wanted to curl up on her sofa with a glass of scotch and some mindless television, so that she wouldn’t replay the last fifteen minutes on an endless loop in her head.
After a few minutes she was able to see beyond her loathing for the defence barrister - for what he had just put her through. She reached the realisation that the lawyers were basically enjoying themselves in the exercise of their skills. It was a professional game for them: they might have some concern for liberty and justice, but winning or losing was just that - a score at the end of the game.
By the time she left the court, despite the protestations of the prosecution barrister that an innocent witness had been maliciously and pointlessly defamed, Julia felt she had been made to seem thoroughly devious and unreliable and an untrustworthy employee. And with Cassie a witness to the whole of it.
~
‘Buck up, Julia. They found him guilty. We’re supposed to be celebrating.’ Penny had bullied Julia into going out for a drink, after the verdict was announced.
‘I wish it felt like a victory.’
‘I know you gave Ferrers’s address to the police, and the defence tried to use it against you, just as you feared. But it was the right thing to do.
A number of other galleries and individuals recovered property from that police raid, so you did the art world a very good turn. And Fathon House has Emma Seckfield back.’
‘It would be nice to get George Seckfield’s watch on display in the main gallery. To have their wedding presents to each other together.’ Now that it was over, Julia didn’t want to talk or even think about the trial.
‘Yes, it could make a nice little story for the press. A positive one, for a change. I’ll suggest it to Cassie - unless you want to?’
‘No, I’ll leave that to you.’ Julia intended to minimise her contact with the new curator. ‘I wonder if they were happy.’
‘Who? Oh, George and Emma? Impossible to know now. But I’d still bet she’d have preferred jewellery to having her portrait painted.’
Julia tried to put herself in the place of an 18th century bride. ‘I don’t know. We are so used to having photos to look back at. Being immortalised in oils as a teenage beauty must have been something.’
‘She was probably a plump and spotty Kentish heiress. George Romney knew how to flatter his patrons.’
Julia smiled. ‘I thought I was going to be the miserable cynic today.’
‘It’s a shame we don’t have any other portraits of her, to compare the likeness.’
‘No, it’s the men with greater vanity and control of the cash who commission multiple pictures of themselves.’ Julia smiled momentarily and then her thoughts returned to the present day. ‘I hope everything can just get back to normal now.’
‘I should think we’ve had more than our share of excitement for a while.’ Penny took a large slurp of her prosecco. ‘I hope you won’t be bored.’
‘You have no idea how much I would like some boring normality, as an ordinary volunteer again.’
Catching on to Julia’s avoidance of a post mortem on the trial, Penny appeared to be casting around for a safe subject. ‘That letter you found - in the auction-lot boxes - it didn’t lead anywhere?’
‘Not so far. I’m trying to think of ways to follow the link to Venice.’
‘Perhaps some local research? What’s Venice like at this time of year?’
‘Venice is lovely whatever time of year. But I wouldn’t know where to start. I’ll keep plodding through the boxes and hope something else turns up - there might be another letter, or even a bill of sale.’ To please her friend, Julia tried to sound more hopeful than she felt.
‘But there is somewhere to start. You said it yourself: Rich men commission more than one portrait of themselves. There may be other
pictures of the Assassin in Venice which might identify him. How many Venetian noblemen would there have been at that time?’
‘Hundreds I should think. It does sound like a nice excuse to stroll around a lot of art galleries - if I needed one. But what are the odds?’ Julia said, shrugging.
‘A week of Venetian galleries would do you a world of good. But you’re right - if other portraits survived, they’d most likely be in private hands anyway.’
~
When Julia checked her emails that night, still hoping for a reply from Sofia, there was instead, a message from Cassie:
Julia - I am sure we are all relieved that the portrait of Emma Seckfield has been recovered and the criminal behind the theft convicted. However, I was alarmed by various issues raised during the trial.
Most specifically, to hear that you may have been responsible for passing on personal and confidential information held by your employer. I have also been made aware that you abused the trust of your employer to obtain the information in a most underhand manner and against their direct instructions. A question was also raised at the trial about a relationship between you and this Barry Ferrers, with the possibility of your direct involvement in the theft.
Fathon House needs to trust its volunteer team members as much as its paid staff, and hence I regret that I must ask if you now consider it appropriate to continue your role at the museum.
I would be most grateful for your reply at your earliest convenience.
Cassandra Neville
Chapter 25
Julia was furious. That Cassie would take the word of a - now - convicted criminal against her. Or even if she didn’t believe it, to feel so threatened or dislike Julia so much that she would stoop to get rid of her in this way. She re-read the email: “I have been made aware…”.
Hugh must have told Cassie how Julia had got into the MJL office to get Ferrers’s address. That was the real betrayal of trust. Julia wished she could enjoy the irony.
She had risked her job to help the museum, her actions contributing to the recovery of their most precious artwork, and this was how she was repaid.