by Jan Jones
‘It’s not the contents so much as the building that’s worth the trip.’
‘It’s awesome,’ confirmed Frances.
‘I looked it up. Definitely different. Built by an American eccentric in the thirties, wasn’t it?’
‘Wallace T. Wallace,’ said Penny. ‘Rosamund’s great-uncle. He was a millionaire who fancied himself as an artist, sculptor, architect, you name it. Anyway, he fell in with a moderately accomplished painter called George Greville, who convinced him that the best way to develop his own talent was to surround himself with artists and soak up the ambience. Greville even altruistically offered to give up his own garret and live at Wallace’s expense in order to start the community off.’
Leo grinned. ‘I like his style. I take it the millionaire didn’t see through him?’
‘Are you kidding? Wallace thought it was a cracking idea. He bought up the land at the top of Salthaven Heights and designed a radical, sweeping modern building with room for all the indigent artists he could find. After encouraging him all the way, Greville then shot himself in the foot by saying that of course Wallace would never be a truly great artist because he’d never had to suffer for his art.’
Leo looked puzzled. ‘Don’t follow you.’
Frances giggled, knowing what was coming.
‘Shh, you,’ said Penny. And to Leo, ‘You can imagine this was a terrible blow as far as Wallace’s hopes were concerned, but he was nothing if not philanthropic. He thoughtfully built the artists’ quarters with wonderful north light, but no heating – so they could continue to suffer in order to produce great art.’
Leo’s shout of laughter rocked the car. ‘Served Greville right.’
‘He endured it nobly, right up until he married a local girl and moved out. The whole ground floor of the house is a gallery now, and it’s the artists’ wing that has been turned into the new extension. Rosamund is displaying paintings by Wallace’s original protégés for the opening. And here we are.’
The car surged up the last incline and ran into the mercifully level car park. Penny got out and patted its bonnet. ‘Well done,’ she said. To think she and Rosamund used to bike up here!
Leo unfolded himself from the front seat, then turned around to look at the gallery. ‘Good heavens,’ he said, stepping back a pace to take in every inch of the flowing, curving, white concrete magnificence. ‘Art Deco at its wildest.’
‘Or ‘Early Odeon’, as I prefer to call it,’ said Penny.
‘Can it really survive as a gallery? All the way up here?’
‘You wouldn’t think so, would you? But Wallace set up a trust to keep it going and the council is immensely proud of it and runs a couple of buses a day up the hill. Salthaven Heights has a certain notoriety in the art world. It was a Mecca for a whole community of nutty arty types right up until the sixties.’
‘And were they all visionaries and eccentrics?’
‘Pretty much. Talking of which, meet my friend Rosamund. She owns the place.’
‘Darling! Where did you find him?’
Penny had known Rosamund would be intrigued. ‘At the church jumble sale last week,’ she said with a straight face.
Rosamund’s eyes widened. ‘How fabulous. Maybe I should go with Marissa when she’s off rummaging for junk jewellery to reset. Why the limp?’
‘He broke his leg in a car accident.’
‘Was it serious? What happened?’
‘He can’t remember. No memory at all of the week before the crash. Don’t ask him about it – he gets very touchy.’
‘Better out than in. You look nice. Oh, sweetie, you’ve brought nibbles. You didn’t need to do that.’
‘It was preferable to fainting with hunger, I thought.’ Penny rolled her eyes at Leo as he hefted a tray of vol-au-vents out of the boot and asked Frances artlessly if she and Marissa could show him to the kitchen.
‘And so helpful,’ murmured Rosamund.
Penny was just about to say that Leo was as helpful as a salesgirl with a commission in mind, when she sensed her ex-husband in the close vicinity.
‘Penny,’ said Julian’s warm velvet voice. ‘Bearing food as usual. What do you think of the new wing?’
Julian had always needed praise and glory. ‘You seem to have done a masterly job of the conversion,’ she said diplomatically.
‘Rather splendid, isn’t it?’ He strolled indoors to admire his design properly.
Hello, Penny, how have you been keeping? How are the children? Good to see you haven’t been letting yourself go. Got over your mother’s death yet?
Oh, we’re all fine, thank you, Julian, and I’m coming to terms with being an orphan. So nice of you to ask.
Penny shook her head at her own stupidity and marched into the house. She needn’t have bothered dressing so carefully, just to prove she was OK. Julian was charm itself, but he never thought of other people unless it suited him. That was one reason they were now divorced. She really hoped Frances would think better of asking him for a holiday job. The poor girl would end up manning the phones in his office – or photocopying his blueprints – and not learn anything useful at all. Although at least she’d be paid. That reminded Penny of something.
‘Did the trust pay for this whole conversion?’ she asked her friend. ‘Julian doesn’t come cheap.’
‘The council topped it up, sweetie.’
‘And the fees to borrow all the original paintings for the opening display?’
‘I think some of those were free. People are always keen on a resurgence of interest in their old dears, especially if they don’t have to put themselves out at all. Advertising,’ she added vaguely.
‘You don’t know, do you? Rosamund, you are hopeless.’
‘Well, really, darling, it’s quite stressful having Julian here all the time …’
‘Tell me about it!’
‘So I was very glad when Alice offered to help track down the paintings and sort out the commissions – which was only fair as it was her idea in the first place.’
Alice was Julian’s accountant and also his new girlfriend. She had hair that could cut ham (as the popular saying went), was a county councillor on the side, had her sights set on Westminster, and was altogether the most efficient young woman Penny had ever come across. So efficient, in fact, that …
‘Rosamund,’ said Penny suspiciously, ‘have you done anything for the exhibition?’
‘Of course I have! I have been consulting with Alice, humouring Julian, and flirting with the builders to keep them on side. I can so see why you divorced him, darling. I just wish I liked her a little more.’
‘Ah, well that’s where we differ. I don’t have to like Alice, just be grateful to her.’ And if Alice managed to fulfil her political ambitions and get elected to the House of Commons, taking Julian with her, then Penny would be even more grateful.
On cue, there was a click-clack of high heels and Alice herself appeared from the back premises, mobile phone to her ear and carrying a clipboard. ‘Rosamund, there you are! Who is the – Oh.’
‘Hello, Alice,’ said Penny, with the utmost friendliness.
‘Penny,’ said Alice, giving a stiff, reluctant nod of the head. ‘Rosamund, there is a man delivering vol-au-vents and sausage rolls to the kitchen. I thought we had agreed with the caterers what was to be served.’
‘He’s with Penny. She got him at a jumble sale.’
Alice looked as if she had bitten into a particularly indigestible olive. ‘I see. It’s very kind of you, Penny, but I’m afraid the food won’t do at all. The opening has been themed.’
‘That’s all right. It’s for us during the day while we’re tidying the rest of the place,’ said Penny. ‘I brought sandwich-makings too. Don’t worry – if there’s any left later and your guests try to eat it, I’ll tell them they’re not to.’
Julian wandered back into the foyer, a sausage roll in his hand. He was followed by Leo and the girls. Penny was struck by the difference in the men.
Both were tall and good-looking, but Julian exuded suavity and self-satisfaction whereas Leo was younger, hungrier, and twice as alive.
‘Marvellous snacks, Penny,’ said Julian. ‘You’ll want to see the gallery. You too, Frances. Wonderful challenge. I think you’ll really appreciate the sensitivity of my conversion.’
That was Julian all over. Once she had loved his enthusiasm for all the tiny delicate details of his projects, assuming he would bring the same degree of care to marriage and children. It had taken her a shockingly long time to realise he never would. But she was aware of Leo’s bright-eyed interest and hadn’t the heart to disappoint either of them. ‘I doubt it, Julian, but do feel free to talk us through it.’
Alice’s grip tightened on her clip board. ‘Let’s all go.’
Poor Alice. She just couldn’t take it in that Penny really, really didn’t want Julian back.
The artists’ wing was startlingly white. Also bright with the north light striking down through the high curved windows that ran the whole length of the sinuous, uncluttered space.
‘But not cold, I notice,’ murmured Leo as they followed Julian along the carpeted floor. ‘Would it have been carpeted?’ he said aloud.
Penny narrowed her eyes. He sounded earnest but there was just a whiff of mischief to the question. Had he taken a dislike to her ex?
‘Geometric tiled flooring originally,’ said Julian. ‘I prefer to go with the flow of a building rather than historical accuracy. We aren’t reproducing here. We are enhancing.’ He waved an expressive hand.
‘You mean you had trouble sourcing replacements?’ said Penny.
The look of pained sorrow was another reason they were now divorced. ‘It wasn’t appropriate. As you can see, we’ve left the far cell in situ for visitors to project their imagination back to how it would have looked when the artists were in residence, but there was no need for the other internal walls.’
‘It’s certainly impressive,’ said Leo. ‘Where did this break-in occur?’
There was a tiny silence.
‘We don’t know that it did,’ said Alice.
‘Yes, we do,’ contradicted Rosamund serenely. ‘I always know when intruders have been in my house.’
Leo turned an alert gaze on her. ‘Really? But this place is so big – and there must have been workmen in and out all the time. How could you tell?’
Rosamund shrugged. ‘I just could. The atmosphere felt disturbed.’
Leo’s eyes were fixed on Rosamund. He nodded thoughtfully. Penny felt a tiny stab of pride that he was taking her friend seriously.
‘But nothing was taken,’ Alice reminded them.
‘How did they get in?’ asked Leo, assessing the smooth white walls and the high, curving row of windows.
‘Through the far door,’ answered Rosamund. ‘I noticed the bolt hadn’t been shot when I came here to open up for the electrician.’
‘That’s why you thought there had been a break-in, but it doesn’t explain how they would have unbolted the door from the outside.’ Alice had the grittily reasonable air of having said this several times.
Rosamund patted her arm. ‘They were obviously professionals.’
Penny heard a small choking sound and looked around to see Frances and her friend Marissa clutching each other in silent hysterics. She struggled to keep her own expression sober and accidentally caught Leo’s eye.
He frowned in mock reproof. ‘What about the other set of intruders?’ he asked. ‘Did they enter through the end door too?’
‘We don’t know, but they were in the store room,’ said Rosamund. ‘The latch makes a very distinctive click. I heard it quite clearly.’
Alice pursed her lips. ‘As the police inspector pointed out, old houses make all sorts of noises. And nothing was taken.’
‘Peculiar,’ said Leo. ‘Surely these paintings must be worth a bob or two?’
‘Exactly,’ agreed the younger woman in triumph. ‘So it can’t have been a robbery, can it?’
Rosamund waved this argument away. ‘The paintings in the store room were from lesser-known artists that had been delivered straight here instead of Alice collecting them. They hadn’t been shown for years, so the burglars might not have known they were valuable.’
Penny could see Leo drinking everything in. His manner was relaxed, but his body was tense. He’s excited. He believes he’s on to a story. And she felt a shameful thrill because although Rosamund was her friend, Penny dearly loved getting to grips with a puzzle.
Further down the gallery, Julian was waiting to tell them all about the difficulties of hanging large canvases on a curving wall and the clever way he’d camouflaged the security cameras without compromising the clean design of the original building. Personally, Penny thought it could have done with a bit of compromising. She was beginning to get snow-blindness in here.
Leo listened attentively. ‘How many painters are represented?’ he asked when Julian paused for breath and they were free to browse along the walls.
‘Sixteen,’ answered Rosamund. ‘It’s a reprise of the exhibition that was on when World War Two closed the gallery. The show was only open for a couple of days that time. Then there was a heavy bombing run up the coast and Wallace panicked, shut Salthaven Heights, and sent everyone away for safety. He reopened the gallery six years later with something quite different. It was a nice idea of Alice’s to collect the canvases together again for this wing, don’t you think?’
‘Very appropriate. It must have taken some doing.’ Leo wandered along the wall, looking at the paintings and the panels of information about the artists.
Rosamund smiled. ‘Yes, but she had her grandfather’s notebooks to go on. And a vested interest in making it work, of course.’
Alice stiffened.
‘A very natural vested interest,’ said Penny hastily. ‘You remember I mentioned George Greville, Leo? Alice is his granddaughter.’
She looked towards Leo to see what he thought of this nugget of information, but he was staring at one of the paintings with a puzzled look. In the uncompromising white light of the gallery, his face seemed just a touch grey.
‘Leo?’ asked Penny.
He gave a tiny movement, as if jerking back to the present. ‘Greville’s granddaughter? Fascinating. He was one of the luminaries of the community here, wasn’t he?’ His eyes slid back to the painting.
‘Very kind of you to say so,’ said Alice, shooting a dagger glance at Rosamund. ‘If you’ll all excuse me, I really do have a hundred things to do before the opening.’ And she whisked off, taking Julian with her.
‘You are very bad, Rosamund,’ scolded Penny.
Her friend sighed. ‘I know. But she brings out all my nastiest vibes. I’m not completely stupid, sweetie. She’s not doing this for me, she’s doing it to further Julian’s career, raise interest in Grandpa’s paintings and the Salthaven School, and add a solid touch of community spirit to her Hopeful-Member-of-Parliament CV. And there were two break-ins, whatever she says.’
‘I believe you. Let’s get on. The ground floor carpets aren’t going to vacuum themselves and I’ll just bet all your glasses need washing before we pour strong drink down the art journalists’ throats. Frances, have you and Marissa set up the jewellery yet?’
‘No, Dad found us. C’mon, Marissa. Where would Alice hate us to put your stall most?’
‘Frances!’
‘But, Ma, she’s so funny the way she won’t let anything spoil Dad’s new extension. Talk about single-minded.’
‘And so sugar-coated,’ said Marissa. ‘No matter how hard Mum and I try to make her lose her cool.’
The girls went off arm in arm, heads together, giggling. Rosamund followed them. Penny tapped her foot irresolutely.
‘What’s up?’ said Leo, coming to stand next to her.
Penny sighed. ‘I am trying very hard not to interfere. Frances is thinking of asking her father for a holiday job. I’m not being petty,’ she added, ‘it’s just that he�
��ll exploit her and she won’t learn anything useful. An architect’s office is no place for a girl who simply wants to make clothes.’
Again to her mild surprise, Leo looked thoughtful. ‘The Salthaven Messenger is planning a feature on the town’s hidden gems – in other words they are going to plug some of the off-High-Street shops. One of the possibles is a new designer clothes boutique in that tangle of tiny roads around the Market Square. I went in there to interview the owner. Quirky place. Could Frances take some of her stuff along to show she’s serious and to ask for a holiday job as a girl Friday? She won’t earn anything, of course, but the experience should be useful.’
‘Leo, that’s a fantastic idea!’ Penny felt relief roll over her. ‘I’ll suggest it. She can call in after school next week. Thank you.’
Leo grinned. ‘No problem. I’ll look up the name for you. Now you tell me something. Why is Alice Greville – a fine upstanding pillar of society – playing down Rosamund’s intruders?’
Penny shrugged. ‘Doesn’t want to rock the boat with the exhibition coming up?’
He shook his head. ‘No, she ought to be paranoid about anyone damaging either the gallery or Grandpa’s works of art.’ He prowled the walls again, looking upwards at the hidden cameras and down again at the paintings.
‘But she knows the exhibits are OK,’ said Penny. ‘They’ve all been checked by an expert and had their authenticity verified. And nothing showed up on the security tapes, which is one reason for the police losing interest. Why are you staring at this painting?’
Leo had paused by the same canvas he’d been gazing at before. He rubbed his forehead. ‘Not sure. I feel I should know it. I remember the boats and I remember this nick in the frame. But I can’t remember where I’ve seen it before.’
‘Who’s it by?’ Penny looked across to the artist information panel. ‘Ted Edwards. Never heard of him. Do you think it’s important?’
‘I don’t know!’ Leo balled his fists in frustration. ‘I hate this. I hate not being able to remember things. It’s like finding the flat bit at the top of the stairs instead of another step.’