Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop: The heart-warming, romantic read we all need right now

by Ali McNamara

  Maggie looks like she might cry at any moment.

  ‘Why they disappeared is anyone’s guess …’ George adds, shaking his head. ‘Must have been taken at night though, as someone would have seen them in the day. It’s a mystery, it is.’

  ‘A mystery that I’m going to solve,’ Arty says with determination. ‘An artist as good as Freddie, no, Wilfred—What was his surname?’

  ‘Jones,’ George says. ‘Wilfred Jones, his full name was.’

  ‘… as good as Wilfred Jones is not going to be forgotten. I’m going to make sure of it.’

  The pictures swirl together and begin to fade.

  ‘Oh no, another sad one,’ I say, turning to Jack. ‘I wonder what happened to the paintings?’

  ‘Stolen, obviously,’ Jack answers, still staring at the easel.

  ‘Who would want to steal some old man’s paintings though? Everyone described them as childlike – they can’t have been all that good …’ My voice fades out as I stare at the pictures in front of us.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jack asks. ‘You’ve gone a bit pale all of a sudden.’

  ‘Childlike,’ I repeat. ‘Everyone described them as childlike.’

  ‘And so?’

  ‘The last time I saw paintings like that was at the Lyle Gallery – at the Winston James exhibition. The art world uses the terms like “naive” and “innocent” to describe that sort of painting. But there’s something more to it apparently that not everyone, including myself, always gets.’

  ‘I’m really not following you, Kate.’

  I stare at Jack. ‘It couldn’t be, could it?’

  ‘Couldn’t be what?’ Jack asks, looking bewildered. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Wilfred Jones. Winston James,’ I say. ‘Same initials too.’

  Jack stares at me again, about to say something, but then suddenly he understands. ‘Wait a minute, are you saying you think that this Winston James stole Freddie’s paintings?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, but Julian said his father bought Freddie’s cottage around that time. It’s a huge coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘But why would he do that? Wasn’t he an artist in his own right? Why steal someone else’s paintings?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My forehead wrinkles as I try to recall the conversations I’d had with Julian about his father. ‘I’m not sure he was all that successful back then. Perhaps he saw Freddie’s paintings and thought he could make some money with them. Arty seemed to think they were pretty good.’

  ‘If he wasn’t successful, how could he possibly afford to buy the cottage?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ I snap in frustration. ‘But,’ I continue, sounding as determined as Arty had just now, ‘I’m damn well going to find out. This might be it,’ I say to an astonished-looking Jack. ‘The reason we’ve been seeing all this. This could be the reason the St Felix magic has chosen us to help.’

  Thirty-two

  ‘I’m so glad you called, Kate,’ Julian says, when I meet him for coffee in one of the many cafés in St Felix a couple of days later. ‘I desperately want to apologise for the other night. I’m truly sorry for what happened.’

  ‘It’s fine, Julian. Water under the bridge and all that. And actually you did me a favour,’ I say, trying to remain calm and composed. I had to find out more about Julian’s father and his possible connection to the missing paintings.

  Jack and I had visited the Winston James exhibition at the Lyle Gallery the previous day, and we’d looked carefully at each and every painting in great detail. They were all in the same simplistic style with the same harsh lines and bold brush strokes, and they all had the initials WJ etched into the bottom right-hand corner. What I hadn’t noticed previously though was that some of the images had been created on pieces of wood and metal as well as on artist’s canvases, just like Freddie’s had been.

  ‘WJ,’ I’d whispered to Jack as we’d examined the pictures. ‘Everyone assumes it’s Winston James’ initials, but what if they stand for Wilfred Jones instead?’

  ‘It doesn’t prove anything though,’ Jack had whispered back. ‘Lots of people have the same initials.’

  ‘I know, but it’s so easy to make assumptions, isn’t it? Remember when I received those mystery bunches of flowers? I thought at first they were from you, didn’t I? Because the card with them was signed with a J. Then I thought they were from Joel – thank heaven they weren’t. When I eventually discovered they were both from Julian I was shocked. It’s so easy to see what you want to, Jack. No one ever questioned these paintings were by anyone else, because they didn’t need to.’

  ‘Julian sent you more than one bunch of flowers?’ Jack had asked with a hint of jealousy. ‘You didn’t mention that before.’

  Jack and I had also taken another look at the painting and embroidery we had of Freddie’s house – from when Arty visited for the first time – to see if we could get a better glimpse of his paintings inside. We’d wondered if the magic would work for a second time as we’d only ever watched the pictures come to life once each before, but to our joy it had. It was like seeing a repeat of one of your favourite shows on TV – we knew what was going to happen but we were still keen to watch it again, and as is common when you view something twice, we noticed things we hadn’t seen the first time. Sadly, however, it was still incredibly difficult to catch sight of Freddie’s paintings properly, but we had our suspicions as they definitely looked like they might be the same as some of those hanging in the Lyle Gallery. If they were though how did we go about proving it?

  ‘I did you a favour?’ Julian asks with a puzzled expression while lifting his coffee. ‘How so?’

  ‘Let’s just say Jack and I got to know each other a lot better that night.’

  I bite my bottom lip. I hadn’t meant to reply quite so obviously. It wasn’t nice to taunt Julian even though I was still annoyed with him about the vest incident.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Julian says. He nods matter-of-factly and looks down at the table. ‘The best man won in the end, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m not a prize to be fought over,’ I tell him sternly. ‘I’m afraid, Julian, it was always going to be Jack. Like I tried to tell you, I only want to be your friend.’

  ‘Still?’ Julian asks, looking up again. ‘I thought I’d ruined that by not telling you about Joel and bringing your undergarment into the pub.’

  ‘You almost did, but like I said, it’s all worked out for the best and I’m here now, aren’t I?’

  ‘I’m glad you are, Kate, and I’m sorry again. I’ve behaved like such a fool.’

  ‘It’s fine, Julian, really. All forgotten now.’

  ‘No, it’s not fine. I need to learn how to behave like a proper decent adult, not some overprivileged public school boy who always gets what he wants. I’ve been cosseted my whole life, Kate, and the time has come to grow up. You’ve made me realise that, and until the other day I thought I was doing quite well at it. I was trying hard anyway, and then I blew it when I saw you with Jack at the pub. I’m ashamed to say I was jealous, and my immediate reaction was to bite back and try to hurt the two of you, but when I’d actually done the dreadful deed I felt so bad I quickly tried to put things right.’

  I nod. ‘I thought it might be something like that, but like I said, it’s forgotten now. Everything has worked out fine.’ I pause. I need to get this conversation back on track. I’m here to try to find out more about Winston James, but now I am here I’m feeling sorry for Julian again. He really isn’t a bad person, just misguided. ‘So why do you think you behave like you do?’ I ask tentatively, hoping this might lead on to talk of his father again.

  ‘It’s so easy for people to say “blame the parents”,’ Julian says weakly, ‘but the truth is I do blame mine.’

  ‘Go on,’ I encourage.

  ‘Even though they sent me away to boarding school, and didn’t bother to make the effort to see me most holidays, they still managed to spoil me as a child, with mo
ney and expensive gifts. Then they kept spoiling me in the same way when I finally left education. I went to university first of course, but that was subsidised with a healthy payout each month – from my mother too this time as she had almost as much money as my father when she inherited from my grandparents. I didn’t struggle to make ends meet like some of my fellow students, I had very generous allowances from my rich parents to fritter away.’

  ‘Some might think you very lucky?’ I suggest.

  ‘I know I sound like a whiny, pampered child, Kate. Believe me, I can hear it myself, but I’m simply trying to piece together for you and for me why I am the way I am now.’

  ‘Go on,’ I encourage.

  ‘After university it was decided I should work in the family business, but I didn’t start at the bottom and work my way up so I could properly learn what went on. Oh no, I went straight in at the top, and I wish I could sit here and say that I behaved with some sense of modesty and decorum in that position, but I’m ashamed to say I didn’t. I’m sure all the staff hated me, and I’m certain most of them still do.’ He lifts his cup again and takes a large gulp of his coffee.

  ‘Perhaps your parents were simply doing what they thought was the best for you?’ I try to suggest helpfully. ‘Maybe they felt ashamed that they didn’t spend more time with you when you were very young, so they tried to show their love the only way they knew how, by showering you with gifts and subsequently money? Some parents do that, don’t they? They think they can buy their children’s love when all the child really wants is their time and their affection.’

  Julian gazes at me across the table. ‘Oh, Kate, how very wise,’ he says softly. ‘I bet you don’t do that with your daughter, do you? I bet she gets all your time and more love than she knows what to do with?’

  ‘Well,’ I say, ‘I’m sure I could have given her more time in the past – it’s not easy being a single parent and running your own business – but she knows I love her.’

  ‘I’m certain she does,’ Julian says, nodding. ‘And I bet you don’t spoil her either, do you?’

  This was getting us way off track. How had we ended up taking about Molly now? I needed to bring this back to Julian’s father, but the more I listened to Julian the harder I found it to dislike him. Yes, he was sometimes trying and difficult, but was that really his fault when you knew about his upbringing?

  ‘No, I definitely don’t spoil her,’ I reply, ‘but then I’ve never really had the means to be a single parent. Perhaps your parents wanted to spoil you because they could? You said your mother had an inheritance, but what about your father – did he come from a rich family?’

  ‘No, not that I’m aware of. It was my mother’s family that had all the wealth, but my paternal grandparents must have supported him in his early days of painting. He didn’t make much money from that to begin with, that I do know. It was only when he went to the States that he began to see some success – they really seemed to get his work there.’

  ‘Do you know why he went to America? Surely it wasn’t that common in the fifties?’

  Julian looks puzzled. ‘How did you know it was then that he went there?’

  ‘You told me, remember?’ I say hurriedly. ‘When we had dinner.’

  ‘Oh yes, so I did. Golly, it seems all I do is pour my heart out to you, Kate.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I assure him. ‘I want to help. So, why did he go?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I think he wanted to try selling his art somewhere else … and it worked! He became very successful very quickly. I don’t think the Americans had seen anything like my father’s work before then.’

  I nod taking all this in. ‘So when did he buy the cottage you were in the other day? Did he do that with the proceeds of his sales, or did he buy it before he left St Felix?’

  Luckily, Julian doesn’t seem to think this an odd question. ‘Oh no, he didn’t buy the cottage until the early sixties when he’d sold a lot of his work and started to make a bit of money. I think it was a B&B before.’

  ‘Must have been a pretty small one? That cottage only had a couple of rooms upstairs.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it must. I believe there were a few properties down the street that were B&Bs back then. If I remember rightly they were bought one by one by a London firm then run by a single landlady. I suppose her guests simply all breakfasted together of a morning in one of her many properties!’ He smiles at his little joke, then shakes his head, ‘Anyway none of that matters now.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. I just wondered why your father would buy an old fisherman’s cottage when he was living in America?’

  ‘Memories, perhaps?’ Julian says. ‘Or more likely, knowing my father, he saw a good business opportunity. Wasn’t it in the sixties that people began to holiday abroad for the first time? I bet the B&B wasn’t doing too well and Dad swooped in and bought it at a bargain price. That sounds like him.’

  I just smile. This still wasn’t getting me anywhere with Freddie’s pictures. It was simply painting a not very flattering picture of Winston James.

  ‘I was in the gallery the other day,’ I tell him casually, as I stir my coffee spoon around my now half-empty cup. ‘And I was looking at your father’s work again.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Julian says, finishing off his own coffee. ‘Were there people fawning all over it, gushing about how wonderful it all is?’

  This almost sarcastic tone doesn’t sound at all like the Julian I’d originally met – the one who had bigged up his father’s paintings at the opening of the exhibition. That Julian had been full of himself and his father’s work, but the Julian I was with now with was a much different character, one who wanted to be redeemed of his many failings and removed from those of his father.

  ‘No,’ I tell him, ‘it was only me taking another look. Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn here, but the way you describe your father doesn’t seem to fit at all with his style of painting. I mean it’s so …’ I choose my words carefully, ‘… simple and pure, and you describe your father as a bit of a …’ I hesitate, but Julian finishes off my sentence for me.

  ‘A bit of a bastard? Will that do as an adequate description?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘He was though,’ Julian insists. ‘All my father ever thought about was money and how he could make more of it. He never really cared about me or anyone else for that matter. I imagine my mother was simply a trophy wife to him. She was very beautiful in her day – and as I’ve already mentioned she was from an extremely wealthy family. That’s why Father was so interested in her. Like I said, he loved money.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  ‘It is, Kate. Whatever I did was never good enough for him. Giving me the position in his company wasn’t because he trusted me to do it, it was so he could keep an eye on me, make sure I didn’t do anything to embarrass him and his name. I’m surprised he actually left me in charge of the business when he died. I might have been better off if he hadn’t. At least I’d have had to stand on my own two feet then.’

  ‘Your mother – is she still alive?’ I ask delicately.

  Julian shakes his head. ‘No, she died five years ago.

  ‘So it’s just you? No brothers or sisters?’

  Again, Julian shakes his head.

  ‘This might sound like an impertinent question, but did you inherit your mother’s wealth?’

  Julian stares at me for a second. ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘And is it separate from your father’s business assets?’

  ‘Totally. I’ve always kept it that way. Just between you and me, Kate, I’m only employed by the company. I don’t even own any shares in it. When my father died, I chose to keep it that way. It seemed simpler to continue taking a generous salary than anything else.’

  ‘Good,’ I say, nodding as I think this through. ‘That’s very good.’

  ‘Why?’ Julian looks puzzled. ‘What are you suggesting, Kate?’

&
nbsp; ‘Can I suggest you give up your job as soon as possible and think about starting somewhere or something new.’

  ‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’

  ‘For one, it would rid you of the constant shadow that your father’s name casts over both you and everything you do. And two,’ I hesitate again, should I really be telling him this? But I had to. It was only fair he was warned. None of this was his fault. ‘And two,’ I repeat, ‘I have a feeling that the name Winston James and any company he’s associated with is going to suffer quite badly very soon from … let’s just say, from some bad news. And when that news breaks, I think you’d be well advised to be as far away from it as possible.’

  Thirty-three

  ‘And he’s going to help us?’ Jack asks suspiciously. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Yes. I told you Julian wasn’t all bad.’

  ‘But why would he want to help you tarnish his father’s name? I’d have thought it would have been the other way around, and he’d be trying to stop you.’

  I throw Barney’s ball along the sand, and he chases after it while Jack and I watch him. We’d taken Barney for a walk so we could discuss in private what had taken place earlier today with Julian, away from the prying ears of both our shops and their various staff.

  ‘Julian never liked his father, and I think he’s got quite strong principles. If he thought for one moment his father had stolen those paintings he’d be the first to hold his hand up and admit it.’

  Jack doesn’t look so sure.

  ‘Trust me, Jack. Julian will come through on this.’

  ‘And didn’t he want to know how we knew all this?’ Jack asks. ‘You can’t have told him everything?’

  ‘No, not everything. I didn’t mention the paintings and embroideries, of course. I said I couldn’t tell him how I knew or I’d be breaking a confidence. I asked him to trust me.’

  ‘And he did?’