by P A Latter
If they wanted to get rid of her now, she told herself, she was only too happy to oblige. She typed a cold message giving her resignation with immediate effect.
Her finger hovered over the send button. Then shifted abruptly and she deleted the words. She would not give Cassie the satisfaction of an instant reply. She would sleep on it and compose a dignified and measured response in the morning.
She went to bed still fuming and was unable to sleep. After an hour of turning the hurtful words over in her head, she got up and switched the computer back on. She had to do something about it so that her mind would let go and permit her to rest.
After staring at the screen, scrubbing at her eyes and wondering if another drink would help, she carefully selected “forward” rather than “reply”. She typed Take a look at this - I’m speechless and sent it to Penny.
A problem shared might not be a problem halved, but Julia felt it had bought her time for her mind to clear. She poured herself a nightcap from the seldom-broached bottle of scotch and returned to bed.
The morning brought an unexpected development. The reply from Sofia in Italy, for which Julia had almost given up hope. But she was no longer sure if she wanted to continue with anything that related to Fathon House.
She skimmed the contents - warm and effusive - and decided it was another message to which her response shouldn’t be too hasty.
She walked to work at MJL, trying to redraft her resignation message to Cassie in her head, but distracted by the dozen other tasks she had to attend to that day.
At nine-thirty, she received a text from Penny: Don’t do anything hasty. In fact don’t do anything. More later. She was comforted by her friend’s solidarity, but was certain there was no place for her now at the museum.
In the afternoon, Penny sent another text: DO NOT RESIGN. Hugh on side. Julia looked at her phone uncomprehendingly. When Penny said “on side” she always meant fighting your corner and giving unqualified support. She must have contacted him - maybe forwarded Cassie’s email. But why was he now on side, if he had told Cassie of Julia’s “underhand” acquisition of Ferrers’s address?
Julia had no opportunity to phone and demand an explanation, as there were clients coming and going for the rest of the afternoon.
When she finally had the opportunity to check her personal emails, there was another message from Cassie, sent within the last hour. She immediately opened it, trying to imagine what more Cassie could have to say to her.
Julia - I regret a draft email was sent to you in error yesterday. Kindly disregard its contents and delete it. I understand you did what you thought best for Fathon House in relation to the theft of the Romney portrait. I hope we can put this matter behind us now.
Penny must have worked some kind of miracle - somehow involving Hugh - but Julia couldn’t fathom out how. The office was now quiet, with two of the partners still at their desks, but no more client meetings scheduled.
Julia phoned, desperately hoping that Penny would be free to talk and explain how she had effected Cassie’s retraction - she could hardly call it an apology.
‘It wasn’t that hard, when I read what she’d said. Why didn’t you talk to Hugh, yourself?’
‘After he’d told Cassie that I’d broken into the office here? How could he do that?’
‘Julia - you really don’t see it, do you? He was so proud and impressed you did that for Fathon House. He knows how you feel about anything dishonest.’
‘Then why…?’
‘He thought it showed how principled you are. He was singing your praises to Cassie. He had no idea she’d use it against you.’
‘You forwarded her email to him?’ Julia tried to take in that Hugh had been defending rather than betraying her.
‘I certainly did. And I gave him a piece of my mind. Apparently he had to drive back from a meeting in North London, but he descended on Cassie at lunch time.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing to me, and they had the door closed, but I could hear most of the barney in the outer office.’
Julia knew that a voice had to be raised significantly to penetrate the hard-wood doors at the museum. ‘And?’
‘I’m not going to flatter your ego, my dear, by reciting what he said about you.’
‘But he must have said something else to force Cassie to backtrack.’
‘Oh yes. She’s still in her probationary period and he said he’d recommend to the Board that her post wasn’t confirmed.’
‘Wow.’ Julia was momentarily speechless. ‘That was pretty decent of him.’
‘It was nothing more than fair and reasonable. What did that horrible woman say in today’s email? I hope she apologised.’
Julia read out the message.
Penny snorted. ‘How ungracious and weaselly.’
With Penny being outraged on her behalf, Julia felt she could afford to be generous. ‘The poor girl must be far more uncertain and daunted by the job than she appears. Perhaps she feels like I’m disapprovingly judging her every move.’
‘If she does, she’s an idiot, as well.’
‘I don’t think she’s a fool, but I’ll try to keep my head down and stay out her way until this blows over.’
Julia thought of one way she could steer clear of Cassie and the museum for a couple of weeks, at least. Sofia’s email had included an invitation to visit. She could now take her time over a positive reply and plan a trip to Venice.
~
Before she was able to get away, there was one occasion on which Julia and Cassie would not be able to avoid each other. The political soirée, which had been arranged before Cassie’s appointment, was fixed for the following week.
Hugh had originally asked Julia to provide a brief introduction to Fathon House and offer a guided tour for any of the delegates who wanted to see more of the collection.
Cassie had had little time to familiarise herself with all the art on display and had been content to leave the tour in Julia’s hands, but took over the welcome speech.
Cassie had seemed dubious about the event when Hugh had asked Julia to join him in briefing her on the planned programme. Julia had supposed that a bunch of predominantly white middle-aged European men didn’t fit with Cassie’s ideas of increasing accessibility of the museum to a diverse audience. Now, she just wondered if Cassie’s negativity was because hosting evening receptions had been Julia’s idea.
As for the MJL event, volunteers had been asked to assist, to man the reception desk and act as waiting staff.
On the day, Julia left work at MJL promptly to go home and change. She showered and put on the dress she had bought a few weeks previously, with the event in mind.
She looked down at the fabric and wondered if the sheen of the bronze satin was too flashy, but when she looked up and saw her reflection, she thought the colour brought a glow to her skin. It was an instant boost to her confidence and she sashayed out of the house.
Penny met her at the front door of the museum. ‘You’ve scrubbed up nicely, former-Acting-Curator Bailey.’
‘You look rather elegant yourself.’ Julia didn’t need to compromise her honesty in the cause of friendship. Penny had swapped her customary workwear for a classic LBD that flattered her curves.
‘Now we’re all dressed up, let’s go to the ball. Or we could wait in comfort for the ball to come to us.’ Penny led the way into the main office.
Cassie was still at her desk, in her inner sanctum, on the phone. She concluded the call and picked up her handbag.
‘How long before our guests are due?’ She asked Penny, after nodding at Julia without meeting her eye.
‘About fifteen minutes. But we can hold the fort, if there’s anything you want to do.’
‘Just tart myself up a bit.’ Cassie unhooked a dress bag from the back of her door and disappeared off to the ladies’ loo.
‘Is everything set up, or can I do anything useful?’ Julia saw Penny was enjoying herself - refusing to fus
s about the imminent arrival of VIPs.
‘If you really want to hop from one foot to the other, rather than sit here, we could go through to the Specials room.’
‘If Hugh’s arrived, I’d quite like a word with him, while I can.’
Penny seemed to be considering whether she would permit this. ‘Go on then. You probably need to clear the air.’
‘Actually, I don’t know whether to thank him or thump him.’
‘Men, huh? Idiots all.’
‘Penny, you are the most sexist person I know.’
Penny leaned back in her chair and blew an unladylike raspberry at Julia’s departing back.
Hugh was chatting to Sam, standing next to a table laden with ice buckets of sparkling wine from the Kent Hush Heath Estate. The event was intended to fly the flag for local quality. Hugh was pouring and on seeing Julia, picked up another glass for her.
She waved it away. ‘Thanks, but I’d better not, until after I’ve done the tour.’
‘Fair enough.’ Hugh paused long enough for Sam to realise he was wishing her elsewhere and she made for the door. ‘You must think I’m a complete arse. I had no idea Cassie would react like that when I told her what you did.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
‘You’ve every right to be upset, but don’t be too hard on the girl. It was stupid, but she is very inexperienced and still trying to find her feet.’
He was being quite reasonable, but Julia still felt constraint between them. She defaulted to her professional persona.
‘No-one knows better than I do that the job can be stressful. I managed to annoy a few volunteers myself, when I was doing it.’ The memory forced a rueful smile and her formality dissolved. ‘But don’t tell her I said that.’
‘Not a word, I promise.’
There was an awkward pause and Julia was relieved when the VIP guests began to pour in, allowing no further opportunity for private conversation. They had been brought by luxury coach from nearby Chevening, along with an escort of business attaches and a discreet security detail.
Fathon House trustees Colin Harper and Philip Smythe arrived moments later, to swell the senior host contingent.
Cassie was on sparkling form - she had changed into a peacock blue bodycon dress that drew the eye, turning the expensive tailoring of the visitors into a mere backdrop.
Julia couldn’t place why the dress looked familiar, although she was sure she hadn’t seen it in a shop, but then had to focus her attention on the incoming guests.
She moved forward to engage one of the few visitors who looked more interested in examining the paintings than in finding a drink.
She introduced herself and discovered he was, by his own account, a sardine amongst the tuna fish of European trade politics. He asked a few questions about the artworks - inexpert but observant and thoughtful - to which Julia was pleased to supply answers.
Someone was tapping a glass - ineffectually trying to quieten the swell of sound that had grown as quickly as glasses were being emptied. Hugh stepped in.
‘Ladies and gentleman…’ He called and was then able to drop his voice, as he caught everyone’s attention. ‘Our host would like to say a few words of welcome. Dr Cassandra Neville, Curator of Fathon House.’
Cassie appeared completely at ease as she smiled and spoke to the assembly. She hardly raised her voice, but her debutante diction effortlessly projected across the now, quietened room.
Her words were conventional, but Julia could see charisma at work, making hard-headed and hard-hearted politicians feel they were special recipients of her personal charm.
The “sardine” beside Julia seemed aware of the glamour being cast. ‘Your curator steals a little limelight from the Venetian portrait?’
Julia saw at once what he meant - the blue of Cassie’s dress mirrored the rich cloth worn by the Assassin. Before she could frame a suitable reply, he continued, ‘Ah - it is deliberate - you also have something of his style.’
Julia stared at him, aghast. What had he seen in her, that the Assassin had implanted?
He must have thought he had offended her, when he meant to compliment. ‘I mean… the colour of your so-beautiful dress. It is what lines his coat, yes?’
She looked again at the Assassin - avoiding the face in the painting. Where the jacket was open and folded back slightly, the lining was an echo of the bronze satin.
‘Oh! Mine is just a coincidence. How observant of you to see it.’
‘Fashion is not just big business in Italy. For some it is practically a religion. I have had to learn fabric and couture.’
Cassie had mentioned in her welcome address that Julia would provide a tour for anyone interested, so Julia had to make her excuses to the interesting guest and present herself as tour guide.
As she escorted the handful of guests around the main gallery and briefly through the upstairs rooms, she kept checking for signs of impatience to return to the deals being brokered in the Specials room. But the subset of art lovers remained relaxed and attentive.
The reception was showing the first signs of wrapping up when the tour party returned. It took the civil servants another half hour to coax their charges, who had now found the leisure to inspect the paintings on display, towards the door and marshal their departure. The trustees quickly followed and the remaining team massed together to finish off the wine and canapes, over an informal post mortem.
The VIPs had appeared to enjoy themselves, so Julia was surprised that the mood of the volunteers was not more positive.
Cassie beamed at them. ‘That all went off extremely well. Thank you everyone. Very well done.’ Her upbeat tone jarred.
Sam broke the silence. ‘One of them spoke to me as if I was some ‘ho hired in for the evening’s entertainment.’
Anya chipped in. ‘There was a horrible atmosphere in here - all aggressive posturing and sexism.’
Penny leaned in to mutter to Julia. ‘She means it was a room full of politicians.’
‘Erm…’ It was a youngster Julia didn’t know, who volunteered to gain some work experience. She sounded reluctant to draw attention to herself. ‘One of them asked me to step into the main gallery and then he pinned me against the wall and tried to grope me.’
‘One of them made a pass at me too,’ Cassie said, ‘But boys will be boys. Hardly something to get worked up about.’
All conversation ceased and when Julia glanced around, she saw that practically everyone in the room was staring at Cassie.
The new curator eventually tried to fill the silence. ‘But perhaps next time we should hire professional waiting staff.’
It was not the solution Julia expected to hear. She had thought Cassie might say she would make a complaint or at least speak to Hugh - acting as their liaison with the civil servants. Hiring others to be exposed - potentially - to sexist insult, hardly addressed the issue.
The group began to disperse and Sam came up to Julia, glancing back to ensure no-one remained in earshot.
‘I saw one of the delegates coming out of Cassie’s office. I’m sure he was snorting coke in there. And then Cassie followed him out.’
‘Whatever they were doing is their business.’
‘Don’t you think you should say something to Hugh?’
‘It’s not my place to and I don’t want to tell tales.’ Julia immediately regretted her tone. ‘Sorry Sam, I didn’t mean to snap at you. This evening’s put us all a bit on edge.’
Julia left for the night, wondering whose side Hugh would take if she did try to talk to him. She couldn’t expect him to continue to back her against the curator he had appointed.
She found it impossible to put a finger on, but even though he had acknowledged being at fault and apologised when they had spoken at the beginning of the evening, she still felt their friendship had become fragile.
Chapter 26
Julia wasted no time in speaking to the MJL partners about her hopes of taking a holiday. In view of the t
ime Julia had been absent from the consultancy, she proposed taking it as unpaid leave. The partners, easy-going as ever, said they could survive for a fortnight.
Julia was able to reply to Sofia with real pleasure, accepting her invitation to visit and promising to share everything she knew about the picture and Edmond Seckfield’s Grand Tour, which had piqued Sofia’s interest.
Sofia lived in Tessera, close to Marco Polo airport. From a little online research Julia worked out that travelling into Venice would be little more than a typical commute into London from home.
Julia had asked Sam to make some copies of her photos of the Assassin. On her last day at the museum before the trip, Sam handed over a package.
‘I’ve made some good prints of the Assassin for you and I’ve done some enlargements of the head and hands, plus the shelf behind for comparison.
If you can find a Castelli expert, they might be able to examine the brush strokes. I’ve put a file of high resolution images on a USB stick, in there, too.’
‘Thank you. Handing around a photo, I’m going to look like I’m hunting for a missing person.’
‘Are you so sure you want to find him?’ Sam looked troubled.
‘If I can demystify that painting, I’ll feel I’ve really achieved something.’
‘I think you might do better to leave him here, behind you.’
~
Julia had visited Venice twice before, but only on short city break holidays. On the first, with her husband, who was both unversed and uninterested in the Renaissance art, the planned romantic getaway had been a disaster.
In retrospect, she realised this was largely her fault. She had been unable to curb her frustration in missing the opportunity to visit so many churches and museums. A second trip, as a solo traveller, had enabled her to wallow, albeit briefly, in the art she loved.
The prospect of two weeks was mouth-watering, but had a sharp tang: She could hardly bring herself to acknowledge that she had a feeling - part excitement and part fear - that a fragment of the Assassin’s spirit remained with her and would sense its return to its homeland. The trip was primarily a holiday, she wouldn’t let the search take over completely.