A Change of Texture

by Paul Maxwell Taylor

  ‘I am surprised, my dear, that your mother hasn’t spoken of it. She was a teenager, maybe a young adult, when she lived there with your grandmother.’ He paused, turned and looked at Hannah, his smile gone. ‘But, of course, you are still not talking to your mother!’

  Hannah looked past him to the painting. Her body language changed, suggesting she would say no more. He sighed, raised his eyebrows and returned to the canvas.

  The subject of Hannah’s mother was suddenly less interesting, as it dawned on me that all these stories seemed to be lending support to the authenticity of the painting.

  But the Alley Cat hadn’t finished. ‘To go back to your earlier comment, you’re right, my dear; there’s not a lot of your grandmother’s work that was done at Vue de Mer. There are definitely two paintings that are set in the gardens, and there is one other garden scene she painted that may well be Vue de Mer, we cannot be sure. And, further, there is a still life that we think may have been painted in the house, but we can’t be certain. She doesn’t appear to have had a proper studio at Vue de Mer, so it’s obvious that she simply erected the easel and did some work.’ Then he turned and looked at me, and, in a loud and clear voice that echoed around the room, said, ‘Carter, I’m not sure how much of this is of interest to you but, before we go any further, I feel that all I’ve been saying might suggest a degree of optimism on my part, so, I hasten to add, these are chickens that should not yet be counted. I certainly am not saying this work is a Tyson.’ He raised his hand in front of his face, palm towards me, like an artistic traffic warden. ‘So, please do not raise your hopes at this early stage.’ His eyes rested on me for a long moment, as if to ensure that I understood what he was saying. Then, as an afterthought, he said, ‘In fact, the best forgers do their homework; they offer the unexpected.’ I took a moment to remind myself that what I didn’t know about this subject greatly outweighed what I did. ‘So, Carter, from what Hannah tells me, there is not paperwork of any kind: no letter of authentication, no original receipts, no correspondence, nothing to prove provenance.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s right.’

  ‘And it was purchased in Kyneton?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I am not aware of any gallery of consequence in Kyneton?’ It was a question as much as a statement.

  ‘It was from Kyneton Collectables. They sell a variety of stuff; much of it would be described as bric-a-brac.’

  ‘Yes…ah-humph…I think I know the sort; sometimes, one finds little gems in them, generally, one finds rubbish.’

  I nodded, although I was not sure why, since I rarely spent time in such places.

  ‘Did they say where they got it?’

  ‘The lady I dealt with wasn’t sure where it came from. She suggested it might have been a deceased estate or something like that. Should I contact them again?’

  ‘Not yet, but it might be a good idea at some point.’

  The Alley Cat returned his focus to the canvas, put his spectacles back on, and produced a small torch and started to examine the work.

  I stood feeling awkward for a several seconds, then smiled inwardly. ‘Can I offer you a glass of champagne, Leonard?’

  ‘When you say champagne, are we referring to …?

  ‘Veuve Clicquot. Could I tempt you?’

  His smile was slight but genuine, and he gave a theatrical nod. ‘You certainly could. The Widow Clicquot has always been someone of whom I am fond. Thank you, Carter.’

  I left the room pleased with myself and Hannah followed me.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No, I think I’m fine.’ I put pressure on the cork and felt it give way with a minimum of fuss.

  ‘Nice,’ said Hannah. ‘Someone once told me that if you open champagne the right way, you get a sound like the sigh of a contented woman.’

  I glanced at her, and she was smiling. I slowly poured three flutes, handed her one and picked up the other two.

  As I entered the room, I observed Leonard stroking his chin with his left hand, with his right folded across his chest and his left eyebrow raised, as if he was the work being studied. He again removed his spectacles and turned to face us. When he saw the flute of champagne, he uttered a sigh of pleasure and gave another long slow nod as he accepted it.

  We raised our glasses, and I offered a toast: ‘Here’s to possibilities.’

  The Alley Cat sniffed, drank and then brought the glass up to his eyes. ‘I just love the bead on champagne: the dance, the clarity, how light reflects its way through all that movement. It’s rather how I would like life to look.’ He took another sip. ‘Now, Carter, I dare say you would like to know where we go from here.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, I’m going to do some research. Primarily, I will refer to my notes about Vue de Mer and remind myself what was painted there. The photographs that Hannah has are good enough for the moment. I would like to make another examination, with a stronger light and magnification. I’m pleased to be here for Hannah’s sake but we’ll need to discuss my level of involvement. Whether a fee for my services is appropriate will depend on whether it’s an original and what you plan to do with it, so, rather than talk too much about that yet, let me do some initial research. If it turns out to be a real Tyson, any fee will be a minor investment, as the painting may be worth tens, even hundreds of thousands of dollars. If it’s not real and, let me say this clearly, the odds are still against it being genuine, then you have gained nothing except wisdom.’ At this point, he shrugged his shoulders, raised one finger in front of his chin and smirked. ‘Although, I’ve known paintings that have proved to be fake that have been good enough in their own right to have some infamy, and become quite valuable, although, nothing like the original. My function as an art appraiser involves me being part detective and part scientist. It is usually the case that, somewhere in the trail, we find some smidgen of identification, something too important to ignore, which either stops the process in its tracks and we declare it a fake, or we find something that fits, something that makes us feel like all the ducks, ah-humph, are falling into line.’

  I was sure it was a speech the Alley Cat had made before; he was wandering slowly around the lounge room as he spoke, his eyes on nothing but, at the same time, examining everything. It occurred to me that the rest of the room lacked what the painting promised; it doesn’t take much to change the balance. I’d been happy with my bathroom, but when I had completed some renovations to the kitchen and the bedroom, the bathroom suddenly looked tacky. So now, my lounge room, with its dark blue sofa and matching armchair, the brass light fitting with its tulip-shaped glass, even the old silver Deco lady lamp, seemed poor cousins, given they were sharing the room with what might be something original, beautiful and valuable. I was lost in this revelation when I realised he had stopped talking and was standing in front of me with an empty glass.

  ‘May I be so bold?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll grab the bottle.’

  I went to the kitchen and took my time, if I left them alone, Hannah might push the Alley Cat for more info, which she would later reveal to me. Eventually, with champagne bottle in hand, I started to return to the lounge room but, when I heard the conversation, I stopped and stood awkwardly in my hallway, unsure of whether to return to the kitchen, or stay where I was, like an intruder in my own house.

  ‘You are silly, Hannah. I understand that you’re angry but how long are the two of you going to be like this?’

  ‘I don’t know. She never took any real interest in me. I don’t know why she bothered having a child, and, when it comes to art, to Elaine’s work, I can’t believe how little interest she has in her own mother, in the great legacy of her work.’

  ‘That’s not quite true, my dear. She’s been to many art shows over the years and been part of your grandmother’s story…’

  ‘Oh, come on, Leonard; wh
en she let Real Woman magazine interview her, it was only because she’d demanded payment. And when that young guy from Melbourne University was doing his thesis on Elaine, she wouldn’t let him in the house; he just wanted an interview, wanted to see the one Elaine Tyson original she owns, and she gave him five minutes on the phone. And then there’s my father – she never was much of a wife to him.’

  ‘They were a lousy match to start with Hannah, and they grew further apart, it wasn’t just her. Anyway, how is your father, still in Stockholm?’

  ‘Yes, I think he’s all right, but that’s not the point. It’s my mother…her and me…no way.’

  There was a pause before the Alley Cat responded more quietly, ‘Well, I think you’re a bit hard on her but, my dear, this is probably not the place to discuss it further…’

  I waited, counted to ten and entered. They had their backs to each other. Hannah was looking out the front window and the Alley Cat was examining the painting.

  ‘Hannah, I think we should leave Carter to consider all we have said.’ He put his hand in his jacket pocket. ‘Here is my card. Feel free to call me.’

  We moved in convoy to the front door.

  ‘Carter, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. I hope all this has the conclusion you want.’

  He left, and Hannah stood in front of me, looking intense. ‘Sorry if he seems a bit brusque, but he has a heart of gold. He’s been a friend to me.’ She placed her hand firmly on my right arm. ‘I really hope this works out. It’s so exciting.’

  I said thank you and closed my door before she had reached her small red Toyota. I returned to the painting, ‘wow, Vue de Mer, this thing could be bigger than I realised. I wish I knew what you saw in it, darling girl. Guess I’ve got some decisions to make.’

  I knew it was time to go jogging. I enjoyed the release of tension it offered, the exertion, the accomplishment and, more importantly, its normality. All too often, I felt I did not deserve normality, that the world should move more slowly, should seem less alive. That it should bow its head in respect to what was lost.

  Jogging had a renewed attraction for me now I no longer feared seeing the other runner. But, as I jogged, I could only conclude that my current existence was absurd, or perhaps bizarre was a better word. I didn’t understand why I’d believed Warwick was me. It was easiest to conclude that it was due to grief; Serena Cartright had pointed out that grief showed itself in many guises and leapt out from behind all sorts of bushes. But I wasn’t convinced. Soon, these thoughts took a back seat, as my lungs started to object to the steepness of Kellyview Street and the twinge in my left knee reminded me I was out of condition.

  Then I was in my kitchen, consuming lots of water. My body ached but it was good; it was physical and, importantly, it was totally explicable. I looked at the empty champagne bottle on the kitchen bench and knew things were shifting. My mind again drifted to Gloria’s reaction to the painting. I must ask her if she knew the name Vue de Mer.

  CHAPTER 21

  I slept badly. The name Vue du Mer echoed around my subconscious, and Gloria was nearby. I knew that procrastination was a habit I needed to banish.

  As I drove to Gloria’s house my mobile sang its version of ‘Up on Cripple Creek’ by The Band. My dad played the song all the time when I was a kid.

  ‘Hi, Shelagh.’

  ‘Carter, it’s exciting, the painting could be genuine. How good is that?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s good, but I’m trying not to be too optimistic, The Alley Cat also made the point that there’s more work to do’

  ‘Still, you must be a little bit pleased?’

  ‘It’s weird, I’m still getting my head around it. It’s always been about what it meant to Maxine and now there’s this potential that it might be a work of artistic importance. It’s like it’s someone else’s painting that I have at my house and I get to make the decisions. I don’t plan to tell anyone about all this stuff until we know more, so I’d appreciate if you kept it quiet.’

  ‘No problems.’

  ‘And I really want to thank you for helping me find the Alley Cat and I owe you, maybe another meal or something…’

  ‘Seriously, Carter, you owe me nothing. I’m just glad to be of some help. But, having said that, I’d love to go to dinner some time.’

  ‘It’s a deal. I’ll call you and we’ll make a date.’

  We said our goodbyes. The desire to keep quiet about the painting had only occurred to me as I spoke to Shelagh but now it seemed necessary. It removed the possibility that, sometime in the future, I would be saying, ‘It was a fake.’

  CHAPTER 22

  I knocked three times on the wooden door. I heard footsteps, the door opened and there was Virginia, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Hello, Carter. I didn’t expect to see you. What are you doing in this part of the woods?’

  She was wearing tracksuit pants with a hole in one knee, and a faded blue windcheater on which the words ‘Surfers Paradise’ were just readable, and her hair looked like it needed a wash. I remembered how different Maxine and her sister were. There were four years between them and Maxine would not have answered the door in such an outfit. Her sister seemed more carefree, and didn’t push herself, didn’t seem a driven soul like her sister. She was intelligent and capable but had changed jobs several times since I’d known her. Max once said that her sister had never had a serious relationship. I got along fine with her. I reckoned that living with Virginia would be easier than living with her mum. Existence seemed a bit tougher for Gloria, who now appeared in the hallway behind her. She had a tea towel in one hand and used the other to push hair out of her face. She looked surprised, not quite pleased, but managed a smile. ‘Carter, how are you?’

  I couldn’t be disappointed at her reaction; I had never visited without an invite, and hadn’t phoned ahead because I didn’t want to hear reasons why I shouldn’t visit and, also, I wanted an element of surprise. wanted them unprepared and relaxed. Soon, the kettle was on, and I was doing my best to be chatty. It worked, and we talked about the weather, the news, food and other easy subjects. Then Virginia left the kitchen and the time was right.

  ‘Gloria, I need to ask you about the painting that Max purchased, it seemed to me you got a bit of a surprise when I showed you. Now, I might be wrong and, if I am, then…’ I shrugged my shoulders.

  I was prepared for a negative reaction but there was a pause. She didn’t turn from the kitchen bench, where she was mixing a fruitcake.

  ‘It was nothing really…I mean, for a moment it reminded me of a place I visited long ago. A friend of my brothers had a house down by the beach somewhere and I visited there once, or maybe twice. I hadn’t thought about it for years and then the painting reminded me of it.’ She smiled unconvincingly, shrugged her shoulders again and threw a smile in my direction, without looking directly at me. ‘So, I was unsure, that’s all.’

  ‘Do you recall the name of the people who owned the house?’

  ‘No. As I said, they were friends of my brothers. Did you meet my brother, Oliver? No, you wouldn’t have, he passed away about ten years ago.’

  ‘Is it possible that Max was there? Did she visit the house in the painting?’

  ‘Oh, maybe, let me think…oh, it’s such a long time ago. She might have.’

  ‘So, it’s possible that’s why she wanted the painting; that it brought back memories?’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s possible, but I don’t know, Carter. If she was there, she was very young and, anyway, I’m not even sure it’s the place.’

  I heard a noise and realised that Virginia was in the room, leaning on the door jamb. She said, ‘So, Carter, are you saying that Max reacted to the painting because she recognised the location?’

  ‘Well, maybe. I mean, she told me that the painting had affected her, said she knew the place but didn’t know why.’

  I w
as feeling the usual sting as I recalled the conversation on the night she had found the painting, we were sitting in our kitchen, chatting like life was simple.

  Gloria shrugged her shoulders, then turned to face me. ‘Anyway, does it matter now? Max is gone, it’s not going to bring her back.’

  The words were unexpected, and seemed harsh, an unnecessary reminder of what none of us could forget. I almost said so but paused as I remembered that I had no right to tell a mother how to handle losing a child. She turned away quickly but not before I saw her pain. It came as a cold blast that swirled around the room and chilled each of us. I held my breath and waited for it to blow away. ‘Yes, of course. Gloria, does the name Elaine Tyson mean anything to you?’

  She shrugged again. ‘No, I don’t think so. Who’s she?’

  ‘She’s quite a well-known Australian artist. It’s possible that the painting might be her work.’

  ‘Wow, you mean it might be the real thing? How much would it be worth?’

  I looked at Virginia and wanted to tell her its value was irrelevant. I told them an abridged story of the Alley Cat’s visit. Gloria remained silent, but Virginia was interested.

  ‘So, Carter, Max might have left you quite a legacy. I can’t wait to see it.’

  Suddenly, I was a gun that wanted to fire. I turned to face her, and my pulse quickened, my nostrils flared as I sucked in a deep breath; could anyone really think that Max’s passing could have any positive aspect? But I knew it was a throwaway line. So I held on, let the emotion subside. ‘It’s far too early to tell. As I said, there have evidently been forgeries.’

  The room relaxed and we returned to inane pleasantries. I thanked them for the chat and for afternoon tea. Cheeks were kissed and they both waved to me from the front veranda. I looked back at them and wondered if time would loosen the knots.

  My hands gripped the wheel tightly. I was annoyed; I had hoped for more information, something worthwhile. I should have asked Gloria if she remembered seeing an artist at work when she visited that house all those years ago.