‘Well, anyway, just let me know if I can help. Now, can I offer you tea or coffee?’
We returned to the dining room and the evening reverted to its relaxed state. As we sat, it occurred to me that in another time and in other circumstances my intentions for the remainder of the evening might have been different. But this was now and that other me was not in the room. At the appropriate time, I got to my feet, said tomorrow would be a busy day and thanked her profusely.
‘Not at all, it was a pleasure, and thanks for the lovely wine.’
We moved towards the door.
‘I‘ll give you a call; maybe we could go to the movies. I like movies but don’t like to go on my own. ‘My words surprised me, but it was too late to retrieve them.
She smiled again. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
I moved closer to her, put my hand on her arm, said, ‘I really enjoyed myself,’ and leant over. She turned her face to me, and I had to move my head slightly at the last moment to ensure I only kissed her cheek. The smile was still there as she closed the door.
I drove home afraid I was about to face another avalanche of guilt. Immediately after accepting Shelagh’s invitation, my conscience had engaged the rest of me in a debate about whether I was doing the right thing. Somehow, I believed Maxine would have told me to cut the bullshit, to go, get on with life. I found Shelagh attractive, that was all, I’d broken no rules – surely? The literature said that people handle things differently: give yourself space, take your time, don’t make big decisions, there’d be good days…bad days. I’d seen Maxine’s friends when I supposed to, communicated with those who needed to be communicated with and some who didn’t, had tried to settle the outstanding issues of Maxine’s and my life. I knew there was more of grief’s unpacked luggage awaiting. On more than one occasion, I made myself open the photo album. I could still see her, hear her. I didn’t hide. Tears arrived uninvited but were never rejected. But I was no hero; I didn’t like pain but mine was deserved.
Days passed, and I found myself thinking of Gloria and her reaction to the painting. Her body language as she looked at the canvas had seemed odd. And I knew should find out more about Elaine Tyson; maybe visit the library, or take up Shelagh’s suggestion that I talk to her friend, Elaine Tyson’s granddaughter.
I dialled. ‘Hi, Shelagh, it’s Carter. How are you?’
Her voice softened as we shared pleasantries.
‘I phoned you for two reasons. First, I wanted to say thanks for that wonderful dinner the other night, I really enjoyed myself.’
‘Oh, I’m glad, so did I.’
‘And, second, I hoped I might be able to follow up on your kind offer about chatting to your friend Hannah.’
‘You know, I saw her yesterday and told her your story, and she was very curious. But, as a note of warning, she had some fascinating stories about forged versions of her grandmother’s work. There was one sold for over three hundred thousand dollars four or five years ago, and was later proved to be false. I found that amazing, but, on the other side of the ledger, she said that an original Tyson was confirmed as recently as about eight years ago: a portrait of some businessman, a benefactor of Elaine’s, done in the fifties. They were inclined to consider it a very professional fraud but, after a full examination, they decided it’s the real thing. But yours isn’t a portrait, is it?’
‘No, it’s a house, or a house and garden scene, really. A big Moreton Bay fig tree dominates the garden sand the sea’s in the background. I could photograph it and, if it’s no bother, perhaps you could show Hannah?’
‘No bother. Have you got a good camera?
‘Well, now you mention it, no. I have an old camera here somewhere, but I haven’t used it for years. I use my phone for photos.’
‘You’ll need better resolution than your phone. I have a great camera that I bought for a trip to Asia last year. I’ll happily lend it to you. It’s a bit complicated but I can show you how to use it, or, if you like, I’ll come over and take the photos for you. But, I warn you now, my services aren’t cheap; it’ll cost you a decent coffee.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’d be a better photographer than me, so it’d be great if you could drop over.’
We agreed to midday the following Sunday, and lunch afterwards. I promised to call later in the week, to confirm arrangements. I was smiling. I hoped that later I would not be too angry with the guy who made the call.
CHAPTER 19
‘It’s impressive. The Moreton Bay fig is such a powerful image. It seems to hover over the garden, timeless, and powerful. Makes me want to pick a leaf off it…it’s great.’
We stood close to each other. The room seemed small, and Shelagh’s presence was disconcerting but that was not her doing. A familiar space occupied by the unfamiliar can seem to have changed dimensions.
She turned back to me, her expression clear and direct. ‘I like it, Carter; I really like it.’ She stepped back and took a photo, then more at different angles and different distances, and examined them on the screen on her camera. ‘Yeah, that should do. What do you think?’ Our shoulders met as she moved close to show me. Neither of us bothered to disconnect from each other.
‘They look fine, thanks.’
‘Not a prob.’
Then she moved towards the mantelpiece. I turned away and looked out the window at nothing.
‘She was beautiful.’
‘Hey, I’m getting hungry; let’s go eat.’
‘Sounds good,’.
‘Hope you like Peking duck?’
I held the door open of Chen Louw for her, breathing in the aromas and warmth. The Peking duck was moist and flavoursome, and, again, Shelagh was wonderful company. I was conscious of not letting the conversation go anywhere that I might regret but we stuck to neutral topics that one might prescribe for a couple who seemingly just having lunch. I enjoyed the way she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly whenever she was considering some conversational point. We finished our second coffee and were surprised to see we were the last customers. I noticed the plump-faced waiter glancing at us often, his eyes hinting at disapproval.
There was a moment of contention when the bill came. She wanted to pay, arguing that I had brought an expensive bottle of wine and that it was only fair. I explained that I had invited her, but she disagreed. In that instant, I felt a wave of annoyance. I wanted to say that I was paying and the subject was over. I breathed in and reminded her that she had cooked me a lovely meal only a few days before. Her eyes stayed on mine, and there was a twitch of her cheek, then her shoulders relaxed; something had made her acquiesce. The brief exchange reminded me that I didn’t know her and I was re-learning myself. We had come in separate cars, so we kissed goodbye outside the restaurant. There was a mild wind and her hair moved gently. I was aware of its soft touch on my cheek as our lips met briefly.
I arrived home around four, planning a walk to help me digest lunch and then a couple of hours of writing. Plot twists and dialogue between separated twins were jumping around in my imagination. Seeds were planted and there seemed to be good growing weather ahead. Walking was good; I felt tall, took long strides, I seemed in control of my feet and my mind. I found myself going over the lunch conversation. I liked the way Shelagh talked. She was candid, unpretentious and seemed to accept what I was offering, which was unencumbered friendship. I returned home invigorated.
I had settled in front of the computer when the phone rang. It was Shelagh.
‘Hey, I had to ring you. It’s been so long since I saw you.’
‘Yes, have you changed much?’
‘Oh, enough crapping on; I’m at Hannah’s house, she lives in Richmond. I was driving home from the restaurant when I suddenly realised I was about a block from her place. Carter, she’s looking at the photos and enlarging them on her computer, and wants to see the real thing. We could be there very
soon.’
I hesitated. Shelagh had been here today and that had seemed important, but, somehow, it was all I wanted to inflict on the house. It deserved a gradual introduction to new people. But how could I explain that to anyone else when I had trouble explaining it to myself? After all, she was trying to help.
Twenty minutes later, I opened the door. Shelagh was smiling, and next to her was a shorter, attractive woman who looked in her late twenties. She had short hair, which was bright red, almost crimson. Her bright blue eyes were alluring and they clashed with, and yet complemented, her hair. She was dressed casually in a skirt and sweater.
I shook Hannah’s hand and noted her firm grip. Thankfully, I had cleaned the house earlier, knowing Shelagh was coming. I smiled at the thought of how I might have reacted if I’d had twenty minutes’ notice of an impending visit on a normal Sunday. This bachelor’s house was rarely prepared for visitors. ‘Please come in.’
Shelagh led her friend to the painting. Hannah moved next to her. ‘So, this is it.’ Then there was silence. I wanted Hannah to comment but she remained silent as she stood and stared, her head to one side, her hands by her side. Her glare was intense, almost aggressive, her nostrils flared; she was like a leopard considering some poor beast that might become dinner. She moved closer, and her right hand suddenly produced a small torch with a strong beam. Then, with dexterity, she produced a pair of spectacles, which she placed on her nose, and started another slow examination. I considered offering to bring a lamp or a chair, or anything else she wanted, but it seemed superfluous. I glanced at Shelagh. She was grinning, and looking amused, as if to suggest she not expected this level of concentration. I grinned back at her and grandly offered her my arm; she took it and we left the room.
‘Coffee, tea or wine?’ I asked quietly.
‘Well, I guess it’s two hours since my last glass, so maybe one more would be permitted.’
I grabbed a semillon from the fridge, handed her a glass and raised mine, saying, ‘To artistic endeavour.’ I added, ‘Should we go back in?’
Shelagh nodded and smiled. We arrived to see Hannah standing a little further back from the work, spectacles and torch now out of sight.
I handed her a glass of wine, and watched her sniff it, then take a sip.
‘Hmm, that’s nice. Really dry, and lemony. What is it?’
Shelagh interjected, ‘Come on, don’t worry about the vino; what do you think of the painting?’
They smiled at each other.
Hannah said, ‘Carter, am I right in assuming there’s no letter of authentication, or any history of previous purchases, any data on its provenance?’
‘Right. It was found in an antique shop in Kyneton.’
‘Why did you choose it?’
‘I didn’t, it was my partner, my former…’ I stopped talking.
‘Oh yes; my sympathy for your loss.’ Her eyes meet mine quickly, then returned to the canvas. ‘I don’t believe there’s any record of a painting like this in my grandmother’s body of work.’ She took another mouthful of wine. ‘But she had a particular style of brushwork and, while I’m no art expert, this seems to be the same style, so that’s good. And it seems to me to be similar in style to a couple of other things she painted.’
I nodded.
‘But I must quickly point out that, despite the fact I’m related to Elaine, there are better people to assess this. I recommend we show this to the Alley Cat. He’s the major expert on Elaine’s work. He’s written the best book on her life and is the person usually called on to authenticate pieces like this when they come to light…which is not often. But, I warn you, only one new and unknown work has emerged since Elaine died. I wish there were more, but that’s another matter. I know he’s looked at lots of paintings that various optimistic punters have believed to be my grandmother’s work. Most don’t get past an initial visual examination. I think there have been three or four that he’s bothered to subject to an exhaustive examination, and, as I said, only one got the nod.’
‘The Alley Cat?’ Shelagh and I asked simultaneously.
Hannah smiled. ‘Leonard Eric Catt. His business card reads “L.E. Catt”, so of course we call him the Alley Cat.’ Now she turned back to the painting and said, ‘I will be recommending he look at this.’
‘To Elaine Tyson,’ said Shelagh, and we all repeated the toast.
‘How do I contact this Alley Cat?’
‘I’ll call him, if you want me to. I’ve known him for years, he’s almost an uncle. If I ask him to do me a favour, he will. Which, I might add, is a good thing, because he’s not cheap. But, a note of warning: the last time I got him to do a freebie, he asked me not to waste his time again.’
‘I don’t want to get you into trouble with him.’
‘Oh, you won’t. This is a more interesting piece than the last one. And a tip, he loves champagne – the real thing – so, if we were to suggest to him there’ll be a glass or two of something good, that’ll assist me in the job of recruiting him.’ She tapped one side of her nose, as if to emphasise that it was a wise plan.
I remembered that I had bought three bottles of Veuve Clicquot at a sale a few months before. There had been nothing worthy of celebration for a long time. I left the room and promptly returned with a bottle, and asked Hannah if she should give it to him as a sort of down payment.
She smiled. ‘Nice thinking, Carter; that might just do the trick.’
CHAPTER 20
L. E Catt stood motionless beside Hannah. He was staring intently to his left, checking the street as if trying to decide if it was a locale that deserved his presence. There seemed a deliberate pause before he slowly turned his head to look at me. As Hannah introduced him, he offered a slight nod and shook my hand less than convincingly. He personified my expectations, probably mid-fifties, and wearing a dark blue corduroy jacket with a blue-and-white-striped bowtie. His head of thick grey hair was combed back, and he had prominent eyebrows that looked as if they might have been combed upwards to cover most of a generous forehead. He stood straight, his shoulders back, and his head raised in a superior, almost regal, fashion.
‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Leonard, and thank you for coming.’
A slight smile creased his face and again he nodded. He took one step in and then to the side. I felt a little like the butler as I moved through the hallway. I stopped at the door to the lounge room and let them enter. Hannah led him to the painting. She raised her hand as if about to comment when he said,
‘Ah yes, Vue de Mer.’ The words didn’t make sense but his tone was authoritative, and Hannah seemed surprised.
‘Pardon?’ she said.
‘It’s a depiction of Vue de Mer. How interesting.’ He cleared his throat, with an odd ‘ah-humph’ noise and repeated, ‘Interesting.’ He moved closer, taking large, round spectacles from the breast pocket of his corduroy jacket and putting them on. Their magnification gave him a wide-eyed, startled look.
I tried to recall my schoolboy French. ‘Sea view?’
‘Correct, young man; Vue de Mer: a view of the sea. It’s a place I’ve visited five or six times. It’s in Mornington, a lovely spot. I understand that it has some sort of heritage protection, so, hopefully, it’s still as it should be. Probably not exactly as your grandmother left it, Hannah, but I like to think of it as hers. I mean, no one else who lives there will be as important as your grandmama.’ He nodded, a satisfied look on his face.
‘Of course, I’ve read about it. My grandmother used to holiday there, and you refer to it in your book. Did she actually own it?’
‘Oh yes, my dear, she inherited it. It was provided to her by Wally Wilkins, or, I should say, Sir Walter Wilkins. He virtually gave it to her, on the condition that she lived there. You see, he wanted to be sure he could drop around to visit at his whim!’ His whole demeanour was a smirk.
Ha
nnah looked surprised. ‘Elaine and Sir Walter Wilkins...I mean, I knew he was a great benefactor of hers, but you’re suggesting they were something else?
‘My dear Hannah, it’s all in my book. It’s just a matter of putting the proverbial two and two together.’
‘How about my grandfather?’
‘Thomas Appleby was a fine man, and he loved your grandmother dearly, but knew how she was, he knew he had to be tolerant to keep her. His job with an international shipping company meant he was out of the country a lot. They lived together on two separate occasions: for about five years the first time, and about four years the second time, that period being the last years of her life. They also spent some time travelling overseas. He fathered your mother and your Uncle Alexander, I’m sure of that.’
‘Wow. I’m going to reread your book.’
‘Splendid idea. Now, as I was saying, your grandfather was, how do I say it…he was never quite enough for your grandmother. Oh, she loved him in her own way, he was a good man, but your grandmother was a… ah-humph, a woman who needed more than just a loving, caring man. She required – no, she demanded – intellectual and artistic satisfaction, and, if I may say, other kinds as well.’
Hannah was shaking her head, her expression a blend of confusion and amusement. ‘So, Sir Wal, as you call him, where exactly does he fit in?’
‘Well, he was an extremely wealthy man; involved in agriculture and retail. He started the Montgomery Clothes shops, which later became a chain of department stores, and was instrumental in establishing Australia’s first privately owned national airline. He was great art lover, and, well, perhaps a great lover of artists.’
This last line seemed to give him satisfaction, as if he had just found something he thought he had lost. The smile split his ruddy face and give the impression of a beardless Santa Claus. I had a feeling it was a line he would use again.
‘But I didn’t know Elaine stayed there for any length of time,’ Hannah said. ‘I mean, she must have sold it before I was born. I don’t think there are any other works done there; or are there?’
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