The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  He had dismissed the power of the portrait as just so much gossip and rumour. But now the facts were becoming harder and harder to ignore. The organisation he currently ran was dedicated to the protection of The Montague Portrait in the name of Eleanor. His biggest fear had always been that the painting would be recovered and found to possess nothing more than the stuff of legend. All his power would be instantly stripped and he would be returned to a life of relative poverty and boredom. Now the painting was beginning to show real possibilities of actually being something of value. Over the years Vargas had sunk vast amounts of money into finding it. And Vargas was rarely wrong about anything. You didn’t get to build an empire such as his by being a fool.

  If he could obtain the portrait and keep it hidden under the guise of protection, then regardless of the painting’s power he could sit upon his throne for the rest of his days. He had to snatch the portrait from Vargas. Nothing would give him more satisfaction than to see the great man humbled into begging.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  HOONEYMOONERS

  Ballytona Castle, built around 1270 with a rich rural history, looked every bit as enchanting as the website suggested. Travis could feel Charlotte’s pleasure as they drove up the long gravel driveway. It was almost midday by the time they arrived and Travis couldn’t help feeling a little giddy despite their current situation. Perhaps it was the threat of Vargas and Lochay hanging over them that made every moment special and full of tension. He could have found a small cheap anonymous motel, but while he still had some of the Vargas money burning a hole in his pocket, he was determined to live it up. He felt that after so much darkness they both deserved a little touch of light.

  They were about to get out of the hire car and make their way up to the main entrance when he had a thought. They were supposed to be a married couple but Charlotte wasn’t wearing a ring whereas he was. He hadn’t been to Ireland before, but their religious reputation was legendary, however apt or ill-deserved. There was a good chance that someone might notice that Charlotte wasn’t wearing a wedding band. That might also lead to a little more interest being taken in them than he wanted. If they were deemed to be having an illicit affair then there was a chance that they would be on the end of looks and nudges from nosy staff.

  He slipped his hand into his shirt and felt for the chain that hung around his neck. He had worn Amy’s ring since the day she died and hoped that she would understand now.

  He turned to Charlotte. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said awkwardly as he slid the ring from the chain, ‘but prying eyes and all that.’

  To her credit Charlotte didn’t make a joke or a solemn vow. She simply nodded and slipped the ring on. Whatever it meant, the ring was a perfect fit.

  Travis took the large empty bags from the back of the car. He was pleased to find that the further down this road they went, the sharper his mind was getting. He had planned ahead, and luckily the ferry was equipped with every kind of shop. After all, he didn’t want to turn up to a hotel without any bags.

  The courtyard was lined with large overhanging trees that rustled gently in the soft breeze. The sturdy oak trunks seemingly as old as their surroundings stood guard like ancient sentries protecting and eternally watchful. To Travis it was oddly reassuring.

  Before they reached the main door it opened and a smiling warm face greeted them.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ the woman said. ‘You must be Mr and Mrs Hudson.’

  ‘Please, it’s Travis and Charlie,’ Charlotte said in a more friendly tone than Travis had heard from her before. ‘This is just beautiful.’

  ‘Why thank you. I’m Keeva Brody, and my husband is Aiden. If you need anything just be sure to let us know. Do you need any help with your bags?’

  ‘No we’re fine, thank you,’ Charlotte replied quickly. ‘My husband could do with the exercise,’ she added playfully.

  Travis managed a smile at the jibe and wondered if he could do with getting a little more in shape. It was a long time since he had looked critically at himself in a mirror – not since Amy died – and he wasn’t sure he would like what he saw.

  They followed their host into the hotel as she began to beguile them with the castle’s history. ‘The Ballytona Castle complex comprises a Norman tower house, a fortified wall and an early seventeenth century house. The castle tower is approximately fifty feet high and measures thirty-nine feet by twenty-seven externally, with walls four feet to nine feet in thickness,’ she said with understandable pride. ‘It was built around 1470 and is probably one of the £10 castles – a grant of £10 being given by King Henry VIII for the building of fortresses in his kingdom.’

  Travis was not normally one for historical lectures, but he couldn’t deny the power of their surroundings. He noticed that Charlotte also seemed enchanted. Her face was glowing and she looked like a princess in a real castle.

  Keeva Brody led them up what she informed them was a seventeenth century staircase. They reached the second floor and along the landing she paused outside their room. ‘Well, here we are. Would you like some tea or coffee? I make a pretty mean homemade biscuit if you’re hungry?’

  ‘Oh really, we’re fine thank you,’ Travis said.

  ‘So how did you come to find our little corner of the world?’ Keeva asked. ‘It’s a little off season now.’

  ‘Well to be honest, Keeva, I’m afraid it was rather dire news that brought you to our attention,’ Travis said guardedly.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It sounds terrible to admit, but it was when Ballytona was on the news a few weeks back. We read about the area and saw some photographs of the beautiful coastline.’ Travis saw their host’s face darken, and he hated to touch a nerve but he needed some answers. ‘That terrible business with the woman and her ex-husband and the fire.’

  ‘It was a terrible business all right. Such a pretty young thing and such a fine young man – or so we all thought,’ Keeva said sadly.

  ‘Did you know them well?’ Charlotte probed gently.

  ‘Only a little. In a village as small as this everyone gets a little into each other’s business whether you mean to or not. Gemma and Frances seemed like a happy young couple, always smiling and holding hands around the village. We couldn’t believe it when we heard they were separating, only then to get divorced. Such things were unheard of in my day, but young people nowadays do seem to lack a certain steel when times get tough.’

  Travis didn’t know whether to take it as a complement or not, that she didn’t seem to include them in her criticism.

  ‘Were they having problems?’ Charlotte asked in a tone that said we’re all friends here.

  Keeva nodded. ‘They did seem to be growing apart. Usually they were inseparable, but suddenly we started seeing Frances on his own, limping around the village with a face like thunder. That was odd in itself because Frances was a bit of a fitness fanatic and always in perfect health. I remember asking Frances about his injury one day when we met out on the coastal path, but he just looked straight through me as if he had no idea what I was talking about.’

  Travis shared a secret look with Charlotte. Despite the news of another Wheeler descendant being murdered by her husband, and then the fire, he couldn’t be absolutely sure it was the work of the portrait and Hugo Montague. But if Frances was suffering with some mysterious limping injury then that only added fuel to the proverbial fire.

  ‘What happened … you know … when he …’ Charlotte probed gently.

  ‘We only heard the fire engine screaming past. It was quite a shock I can tell you. It was such a terrible waste. I still can’t picture Frances doing what they say he did – strangling his wife before burning that beautiful house to the ground. It was a small mercy that they didn’t have children,’ she added with a tear in her eye.

  ‘Now now, that’s really not the sort of thing our guests want to hear about,’ a new voice said from the corridor.

  Travis turned to face a large bearded man who
stood in the doorway.

  Keeva dabbed her eyes. ‘True, true,’ she said. ‘Travis, Charlie, this is my husband Aiden.’

  They all shook hands and Travis felt the landlord’s stare linger with suspicion. His face was open and friendly, but his eyes were cold and watchful.

  ‘You would be better off heading in the opposite direction to that house, or what’s left of it. We have some of the most stunning coastline in Europe,’ Aiden said firmly. ‘Breakfast is seven till nine a.m. and we hope you enjoy your stay’ he added as he steered his wife out of the room and closed the door behind them.

  ‘Well! He certainly seemed eager to curtail the conversation,’ Travis mused out loud.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Charlotte said, nodding as she looked around the plush room with its polished antique furniture – a solid oak wardrobe accompanied by a matching chest of drawers. The bed was pretty spectacular too – a four-poster in dark wood and red velvet curtains.

  Travis walked to the window and looked out over the rolling green fields and the grazing cattle below. ‘It really is nice, isn’t it?’ he said, admiring the view from the window.

  ‘Travis, come here,’ Charlotte called softly.

  He turned back to face her, only to find her sitting on the bed. Her top and jeans had somehow found their way onto the floor. His eyes feasted greedily on her lithe figure which was only encased now in delicate pink laced lingerie. His mouth ran dry and his throat tightened at the sight. Charlotte reached out and pulled him to the bed.

  It was two hours later when they made their way out into the afternoon sunshine, dressed in waterproof hiking outfits Travis had purchased on board the ferry. His head was still reeling from Charlotte’s wild, energetic love making. Whatever shell she had been living in, she had clearly decided to move out.

  They dressed in waterproof hiking outfits he had purchased on board the ferry. The path to their left wound its way across the fields and off into the distance towards the ocean. The road the other way led into the village. They were about to head into the village when Aiden Brody appeared behind them.

  ‘We have such a beautiful coastline here,’ he said with a gruffness in his voice. ‘And it’s such a lovely day for a walk.’

  Travis watched a little awkwardly as the large man moved around to block their path into the village.

  ‘We’re just a small community here and people have been through so much. You’d be wise to take full advantage of our local natural beauty – perhaps a ride up to Wexford to see the sights? A sunset stroll across the beach?’

  ‘Just stay off the moors after dark?’ Travis couldn’t help adding.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the landlord said.

  ‘Oh, you know – creepy locals, vague warnings, local legends.’ Travis grinned. ‘Stay off the moors and stick to the roads.’

  ‘Very amusing, I’m sure,’ Aiden said grumpily as he turned and left.

  ‘Not exactly the friendliest host in the world, is he?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘He does seem very keen for us not to ask any questions about what happened.’

  ‘But we have a job to do.’

  ‘Damn right we do,’ Travis said.

  ----------

  Sage Adderley watched the couple from a safe distance. It had been relatively easy to find out where they were staying. Given the burgeoning nature of the couple’s new relationship, the Ballytona Castle seemed like the perfect romantic spot.

  She had checked in a half hour or so after they did. For once she had to forego her usual wardrobe in favour of a bland lifeless offering. She looked with regret at her reflection in the mirror. Her exquisite curves and hard earned figure were smothered in drab bulky clothing built for comfort rather than display.

  She sensed that Parker and Goode had to be close to something. Their body language spoke of excitement rather than fear. She knew that as long as they were feeling comfortable and safe, they were capable of producing results. Her original assignment had been one of simple protection. But now she was beginning to get ideas above her pay grade. She could feel an opportunity fast approaching. There was promotion in the air that was far beyond her job level. Whatever Vargas wanted with them, or from them, she wanted to be on hand. Whatever they were searching for, she wanted to pluck it from their grasp and take it, along with the glory. After all, she had a king to woo and a kingdom to rule.

  ----------

  Ignoring their landlord’s concerns and menacing attitude, Travis and Charlotte walked into the village. The lane was quiet and devoid of traffic, the hedgerows were neatly trimmed and the sound of crows a pleasant accompaniment. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and rolled hay and Travis felt a strange but not unpleasant urge to hold Charlotte’s hand as they strolled. But he refrained. Their nocturnal and daytime bedroom couplings were one thing behind closed doors, but he still felt watching eyes from above. He had no idea how Amy would take to his recent activities. He had been widowed over three years now, but somehow, although he was beginning to feel a deep emotional attachment to Charlotte, it still felt as if he were being unfaithful to Amy.

  ‘So how do we play this?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Subtlety is your bag after all.’

  ‘We take it slowly. Right now we don’t have an awful lot of choice. We can poke around the village a little, but this will be a tight knit community. We need to find the village gossip willing to talk without suspicion,’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘Is there any doubt that it’s the painting?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, me neither,’ she said. ‘It’s the limp, isn’t it? The unexplained injury to Frances?’

  ‘Yeah. I think Hugo brings that particular ailment with him when he gets into a new host,’ Travis said, aware that he was talking about ghosts without sarcasm, as though it was all perfectly natural.

  ‘Do you think he’s a conscious entity?’ Charlotte asked. ‘You know – a walking talking version of Hugo Montague in someone else’s body?’

  ‘I don’t think so, not really. From what we’ve heard I think it’s more like a remnant of him. Part of his anger that lives on trapped in an eternal cycle, where he gets to kill Eleanor over and over again.’ He felt Charlotte shudder and cursed himself for his insensitivity. Charlotte’s own father had strangled her mother in front of her eyes before the fire consumed him.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I keep forgetting that you had a front row seat.’

  ‘Just as long as we get to finish it once and for all,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

  Travis put up a roadblock in his head before he started to worry about just what the hell they might do with the painting if they ever found it. One step at a time, he thought to himself.

  They entered the small village and didn’t need a map to find Frances and Gemma’s house. A crater where the house had once stood, surrounded by trees with twisted limbs and charred trunks were testament to the fire that had scorched the land.

  An attractive stone wall encased the garden. Travis and Charlotte walked up to it and he felt her tremble as though the sight was evoking her childhood memories. They were gazing at the vision of death when someone crept up behind them.

  ‘Are you interested?’

  Travis swung round to face the woman with the lilting Irish voice. She was about thirty with a keen face and smart but cheap shiny shoes. Her dress sense said professional but was in line with her shoes.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ he said, genuinely wondering what the hell she had meant.

  ‘The auction date isn’t even set yet,’ the woman said and Travis pegged her as an estate agent. ‘My name is Marie O’Conner, from O’Conner’s Estate Agents. We’re handling the sale, but we haven’t announced it yet.’

  He thought quickly and played the part. ‘Pleased to meet you, Marie. Yes, yes that’s right. We heard a whisper about a property coming on the market around here and thought we’d take a look. Properties in areas such as this seem to come on the market so rare
ly,’ he said in his friendliest manner.

  ‘Was it some kind of accident?’ Charlotte asked without taking her eyes off the site.

  ‘Um, yes …’ Marie said, none too convincingly. ‘Nothing of course for a new owner to have to worry about, I assure you.’

  Travis admired her bluster. ‘Some of the houses here are so old and authentic. Are there local builders and craftsmen we could use to rebuild the property?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘I have a brother who is a builder and my cousins are carpenters. We could have the place up and running in no time, without missing a beat.’

  ‘Well, that sounds grand,’ Travis said. ‘Tell me, was the house completely gutted?’

  ‘Um … not entirely. Why?’ she said with a tinge of suspicion.

  ‘It’s just that we would want to make sure the interior didn’t suffer from new hands. We’ve been looking at similar villages to this and the properties all seem to have a certain look and charm on the inside,’ Travis said, baiting the hook.

  ‘Oh, right. Well no, the house wasn’t completely ruined. A lot of the original furniture was saved and is going up for auction tomorrow, as a matter of fact. The village fire engine managed to get to the fire before it gutted the house. The original pieces were removed before the house was …’

  Marie’s voice trailed off and Charlotte quickly butted in. ‘Why was the house pulled down, then?’ she asked, and Travis would have kicked her shins if he could have done so unobserved.

  Marie looked flustered and Travis could almost hear her mind ticking over as she searched for a suitable reason to explain why the house was demolished, without scaring off potential buyers.

  ‘Where is the auction?’ he asked, breaking her train of thought.

  ‘Up in Wexford, not far from here,’ she replied, visibly glad of the interruption.