by Jan Jones
Penny owed him something for suggesting the boutique. ‘Can you picture the wall-covering behind the frame? Relax and try to see it. Is it paint or wallpaper? What’s the space like around you? Are you in a gallery or a private house?’
He looked at her with startled respect.
She laughed. ‘I’ve had a lot of practice helping children find things they’ve mislaid. Go on, try it.’
He shut his eyes. ‘Wallpaper, I think,’ he said slowly. ‘And crowded. Dimmer than it is here.’
‘It could hardly be brighter,’ said Penny dryly. ‘Do you think you might have seen this painting during your missing week?’
His eyes flew open. ‘I certainly hope so! I’d hate to think any more bits of my memory are flaking away!’
Penny squeezed his arm. ‘It’ll come back when it’s ready. You don’t keep a work diary?’
‘Yes, but it was mangled in the smash.’
‘Do you have a back-up on the computer?’
‘Not up to date,’ he said shamefacedly.
‘Oh well, like I say, it’ll come to you. I’m going to make tea before I start tidying. Want a cup or have you got things to do?’
‘Love one. Then I’m going to rattle Alice by asking about the rest of these painters. Tell her I want to flesh out the bare bones of the press release.’
‘And what do you really want to find out?’
‘Haven’t the faintest. But I’ll know it when I hear it. That’s the exciting bit about investigative journalism, that moment when you find a linking piece of puzzle. Can you pin your friend down as to why she’s so sure there was someone in the house on those two occasions?’
‘I can try, but the answer won’t make sense. Rosamund has flirted with reality since she was six. People tend to take her tales of auras and disturbances in the ether with a pinch of salt.’
Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘That could be what the intruder was banking on.’
Penny shivered. ‘You really think something is fishy?’
‘Yes, I do. Journalists’ hunch.’ He looked along the wall with dissatisfaction. ‘This is all too perfect somehow.’
‘Oh, that’s just the Julian effect. No blemishes allowed. Adding Alice to the mix makes it lethal. Can we go? This gallery is making me dizzy.’
As they walked back through to the main house, Leo glanced sideways. ‘Do I take it you and Julian had a civilised divorce?’
‘Extremely. It helped that Alice didn’t want any suggestion of mud attached to her future MP status. My demands were met almost before I’d made them.’
Leo’s mouth twisted. ‘Lucky you.’
Penny felt a clenching sensation in her stomach. ‘I’m sorry. I’d forgotten your separation wasn’t voluntary. Do you ever see your little boy? What’s his name?’
‘Daniel. Yes, every month. It’s not enough.’ He frowned suddenly.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. An almost memory, but it’s gone. Anyway, if it wasn’t for Daniel, I’d never want to see Kayleigh again.’ He frowned again. ‘There is something.’ He banged his fist against the wall. ‘Why can’t I remember?’
‘There’s no point getting dramatic over it. Go and ask Alice about her past painters. Take your mind off things.’
Leo took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. Thanks, Penny.’ He started off in the direction of Alice’s voice, then looked back with an impish smile. ‘I’m quite glad about Julian,’ he said, and vanished.
Penny stared after him. What was that supposed to mean? She pushed the immediate – rather disturbing – answer away and went to find Rosamund. It had occurred to her that there was something more concrete she could ask.
Ten minutes later she had the facts. The harbour painting by Ted Edwards had been in a private house in north London. She had the address and she knew when Alice had collected it. Leo could only have seen it there. Would it jerk his memory back to know the name and address of the owner? There was only one way to find out.
She sat him down at the kitchen table with tea before telling him. And felt a huge whumph of satisfaction as relief flooded into his face.
‘You’re right,’ he breathed. ‘Penny, you’re a total star. I can’t remember the rest of that week, but I did go to Professor McGregor’s house. I was interviewing him about an energy-saving device he’d just patented. There were a number of us there, so I had to wait before seeing him. Edwards’ painting was hanging in the hallway outside his office along with hoards of others. I think the professor used cheap art to cover all the damp patches.’
Then his eyes unfocussed, his brow creased and he grabbed her hand, hauling her across to the new wing.
‘Hey, the tea will get cold,’ protested Penny. ‘I’ve already seen the painting.’
‘I haven’t,’ said Leo in an odd voice. He stared intently at the painted canvas, at the squashed, naïf waterfront houses and the jostling boats. ‘It’s not the same.’
Penny felt a wave of pure exasperation. ‘You said you nearly remembered it. You said you recognised the nick in the frame. It was there at Professor McGregor’s house.’
His eyes were alight with excitement. ‘I did and I do and it was. But this isn’t it. Penny, the paintings have been switched!’
Chapter Four
Penny stared at Leo. ‘You think this painting is a forgery? That’s impossible. The whole exhibition has been authenticated.’
‘When? After the break-ins or before?’
Penny spread her hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know. Ask Rosamund. Leo, we can’t say anything about this today. Julian is showcasing a prestigious Art Deco conversion. Alice had the brainwave for the retrospective exhibition. Shouting fake right now would look like sour grapes from a spurned ex-wife. Why do you think this isn’t the original canvas? You’ve only just remembered where you saw it before.’
Leo jabbed his finger at the painting. ‘The boats in the foreground. Look at the brushstrokes in the oil paint. Most of them had the strokes going horizontally, like planking along the sides of the boat, but this red-hulled one had vertical strokes.’
Penny looked closely at the painting. ‘Do you mean this red-hulled one that has horizontal brushstrokes just like all the rest?’
‘Exactly. The painting I was staring at while I was waiting to see Professor McGregor had vertical strokes. I remember commenting on it to …’ Leo’s face turned suddenly grey. He took a faltering step backwards.
‘Leo! What’s the matter? Sit down, for goodness’ sake!’ Penny pulled Leo to one of the curved benches that Julian had allowed – at great cost to his artistic sensibilities and rather more financial cost to the project – to intrude into the gallery.
‘Daniel,’ whispered Leo, gazing at her with haunted eyes. ‘My son Daniel. He was there with me. But how? I only see him once a month. That time is precious. Why would I have taken him on a work assignment? What if I …?’
He looked so appalled that Penny gave him a sharp shake. ‘Stop that right now,’ she said. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but if Daniel had been in the car when you crashed it, someone would have told you by now. The reason for him being at Professor McGregor’s house will come back to you. Did you have to switch access days, perhaps? And couldn’t reschedule the interview?’
‘Must have been that, I suppose,’ said Leo, the colour seeping back into his face. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to be sorry. You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you ring your ex and ask her?’
‘I can’t. Kayleigh doesn’t know I’ve lost my memory. She’d never let me see Daniel at all if she thought I was a risk. I’m beginning to think she’s right.’
Penny clasped his hand where it lay loosely on his lap. ‘Let’s get back to the kitchen and have that tea. I think you need it.’
She set him to washing wine glasses for the opening. The trade press had been invited for the afternoon, followed by the official reception this evening. By the time Rosamund drifted in to say that she rather thought Alice had org
anised the caterers to bring their own glassware, Leo had recovered enough to focus on what he saw as the main issue, the forgery.
‘I’m trying to picture the scene in my head,’ he said to Rosamund. ‘You are keeping Salthaven Heights running while the renovations are going on, Julian is striding importantly about, moving the workmen a fraction of an inch to the right or left … and then the paintings start arriving. Which one was first? It must have been an emotional moment.’
Rosamund looked at him blankly, then turned her head to Penny. ‘I thought you said he was intelligent, sweetie?’
Penny grinned. ‘He is. He thinks one of the paintings has been switched, so he’s trying to find out in his sneaky journalistic way when the break-ins occurred.’
‘Well, why ever didn’t you just say so? Which painting? Mind you, it wouldn’t be the first time according to some of the old stories. Let me see, Alice brought in the first three, then a couple arrived by courier, Alice collected some more, then there was the first break-in …’
‘Rosamund has all the arrivals logged in, Leo,’ said Penny. ‘I’m sure if you ask nicely you can see her work diary.’
Two seconds later, she was finishing the washing up by herself.
‘The journalists will be here soon.’
Leo looked up from where he was scribbling notes at Rosamund’s desk. He got to his feet. ‘I’d better be off. Things to do.’
Penny raised her brows. ‘You want me to put away all this stuff that you were doing quite happily until now? Why the sudden urge to be gone?’
He hesitated. ‘The top architecture and art correspondents of the dailies are coming, right?’
‘They’d better be. I’d hate to think we’d washed all those glasses for the lesser ranks.’
He made a restless movement. ‘I’m likely to know them. I don’t want them to feel sorry for me because I’ve come down from the Nationals to the Provincials – or for them to think I’m on to a story and scoop it.’
Pride allied to healthy suspicion. That made sense. Penny chuckled. ‘The next bus isn’t for ages. Do you want to borrow my car? Go to the office for a couple of hours and then come back for us?’
‘It’s kind of you to offer – it’s insane of you to offer, considering what I did to mine – but I don’t drive any more.’
She regarded him levelly. ‘Because it hurts – or have you lost your nerve?’
‘Did you train as an interrogator in a former life?’ Leo turned away. When he spun back, his eyes were bleak. Penny was shaken by the intensity in his voice. ‘I don’t drive because I don’t know why I crashed. The investigators couldn’t find anything wrong with the car. I might have lost concentration for a moment – or I might have blacked out for some reason. I didn’t have a passenger, I didn’t hit anyone – but who’s to say I’d be that lucky next time? My own life is one thing, but I’m not going to risk anyone else’s. I’m not going to drive again until I remember what happened.’
‘That’s …’ Penny searched for the right word. ‘That’s really noble.’ Who would have thought it? ‘Take the ledgers up to Rosamund’s sitting room. No one will see you there.’
‘Won’t she mind?’
‘She’s known me thirty-eight years. We’ve both made the occasional mistake, but generally my friends have been sound.’ My friends? Penny pulled herself up short. Just when had Leo turned from a puzzle-solving acquaintance into a friend?
Penny watched with appreciation as Rosamund came into her charming own, welcoming the journalists to the gallery. She told them that the collection they were about to see had originally been staged in 1940, but was dismantled almost as soon as it had opened, and she paid tribute to Alice’s detective work tracking down the canvases from gallery records and her grandfather George Greville’s notebooks.
Alice spoke knowledgeably. as befitted a prospective Member of Parliament. She explained how Greville had been inspirational in the design of the Salthaven Heights gallery, how he had been the first of the ‘Salthaven School’, and how he had picked up his painting career again after serving his country during the war. Penny chuckled to hear Alice converting her rackety grandpa into a model of artistic integrity. There were going to be no shadows in her past when it came to opposing politicians looking for dirt.
Then it was Julian’s turn, talking enthusiastically about the concept of Art Deco and the rationale behind his conversion of the artists’ wing. Watching his animated delivery, Penny remembered with a tiny shock just why she’d fallen in love with him all those years ago. I hope they like it, she thought suddenly. I hope it’s a success.
Once the press had gone, Alice fired rapid, debriefing questions at Julian, whisking around the gallery as she talked, wiping real and imaginary finger marks off the walls ready for the official opening that evening, removing glasses and paper napkins from the floor and the benches.
Penny felt a strange blend of ruefulness and relief. Alice was perfect for him.
Eventually, even Julian thought he’d dissected his performance enough. ‘Time out. Did you say there were sandwiches, Penny?’ And at Alice’s tense look he added, ‘Pity there isn’t a garden here to help Alice de-stress.’
‘Sorry?’ Penny blinked, puzzled.
Julian explained. ‘She finds weeding very therapeutic after a hard day. Has them all up and burns them and feels much better afterwards. For instance, driving long distances winds her up, so after those trips to collect the paintings she marched straight out into the garden, dug up a few yards of weeds, and had a bonfire.’
‘Good heavens.’ Penny looked at the immaculate Alice with new eyes.
The younger woman gave a brittle smile. ‘A sandwich sounds very nice as you’ve been so kind as to make them, Penny. We can sit down and check the guest list for tonight, Julian. I’ve marked in red the people we especially need to impress. Bearing in mind that they are all voters, what we must concentrate on is stressing our absolute loyalty to Salthaven and the local area. Push the fact that your children all went to local schools. Point out that my grandfather came here for artistic inspiration and found so much that he married a local girl and settled here for good.’
Leo joined Penny as they crossed the lobby. He had evidently overheard part of the discussion. ‘Must be a beautifully tidy garden they’ve got,’ he murmured. ‘According to the log, Alice made over a dozen trips to collect those paintings.’
The opening itself went much as Penny expected. The guest list included local dignitaries, Salthaven people, art world notables, and a smattering of bemused relations of the original ‘Salthaven School’. Drinks flowed, food was nibbled, Rosamund floated about, talking to people. Alice worked the room like a pro.
Penny was startled to see that Julian was equally busy on Alice’s behalf. For possibly the first time in his life he was functioning as part of a couple. She moved away, unsettled, and found herself next to an elderly lady who had been a friend of her own mother. ‘Hello, Minnie. I didn’t know you were going to be here today.’
Minnie Pilgrim had a slight frown on her face. Penny glanced at the canvas she was looking at. Cockle-pickers on the beach at dawn, a small figure in a blue shawl holding a huge horse by the bridle. ‘Evocative,’ she said. This was always a safe word to use at any of Rosamund’s showings.
The old lady nodded towards the young girl in the painting. ‘That’s me,’ she said. ‘Not that I ever went cockling. I used to work here as a tweeny. But Mr Wallace that owned the house said the gentleman wanted me in the picture, so I left my dusting and was told to stand there and hang on.’
‘Hope you didn’t catch a chill,’ said Penny. ‘Fancy you working here in the old days. I’ll bet this wing looked a bit different then.’
‘I’ll say. A right tip along here it was. Perishing, too. All these concrete walls holding in the cold. I reckon that’s why the artists were all so lively. In and out of each other’s rooms all day, criticising each other’s work. Forever fiddling with their paintings.’ Minnie
frowned again at The Cockle Collectors. ‘He must have changed it later,’ she said.
Penny felt a frisson of interest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My shawl. He’s put the pattern in. I remember packing the paintings up for storage with Mr Wallace and the shawl was plain then. He must have done it after he came back from the war, poor gentleman. Fancy him remembering.’
Another painting altered! ‘Amazing,’ agreed Penny. ‘How long did you work here, Minnie?’
‘Until the house was shut up. Then I went off to the cannery.’
‘Why didn’t the artists take their paintings with them?’
‘We were warned there was going to be this big bombing raid, see, so Mr Wallace, he told them to move out double quick and he’d send their stuff on when he had the addresses. We put everything in the strongroom ready to send, but he got so scared by the bombers he booked himself a passage back to America that very night!’
‘You wouldn’t think it of a millionaire, would you?’ said Penny.
‘That’s how he got to keep his money, I reckon. Anyway, it turned out he’d been in such a hurry he’d gone off with the keys. Mr Greville was real cross when he couldn’t get at his own paintings! Still, he was called up himself that month and didn’t come home until after Mr Wallace, so he wouldn’t have been able to do anything with them.’
Alice passed by, smiling at Minnie as she went.
‘She’s a good girl,’ said Minnie, approvingly. ‘Responsible. Listens to what people say, not like a lot of councillors. She got my daughter’s planning application for a granny annexe passed. Reliability comes from her grandma’s side, of course, not Mr Greville’s. Oh, that man. My, the stories I could tell.’
Interesting, thought Penny, and made her way along the curving white gallery to where Leo was in conversation with thin, dark Mr Steggs who ran the large art supplies and picture framing shop in Salthaven High Street.
‘It’s not one of Dad’s best,’ the man was saying, looking critically at a gloomy seascape. ‘His eye must have been really out that day.’