The Montague Portrait

by Matt Drabble

  The rest of the day and evening passed quickly. Travis felt a little smothered by Charlotte’s concern for his well-being, despite his protestations to the contrary. He was touched by her worry and her fussing, but also a little troubled. She was the muscle and he needed her to be clear minded, not worried about him. His gut told him that they were going to be in for a lot more danger before this was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  THAR SHE BLOWS

  Travis jammed yet another organic sausage into his mouth. He had already eaten a virtual mountain of a breakfast and his trousers were straining at the unusually large intake of food. He noticed Charlotte’s face on more than one occasion casting him disapproving looks, and it was more than a little unusual to find his actions now monitored by someone else. But strangely, the more time that passed, the more distant Amy became.

  Aiden put in the briefest of appearances during breakfast and was visibly admonished. Travis didn’t want to think about the tongue lashing he must have had to endure from his wife the night before.

  When they checked out, in view of several new arrivals, Travis paid in full despite Keeva’s insistence that the night was free of charge due to her husband’s poor showing, as she put it. Travis’s head still ached a little, but fortunately there was no visible damage. The only consequence was that he genuinely had a headache last night, much to his regret – and Charlotte’s.

  Travis parked the rental car outside the auction hall in Wexford. The morning was fresh, the hint of an earlier summer having soon dissipated, and as they waited outside for the auction house to open, the weather did indeed turn sour on them.

  The grandly named Antiquarian Auction House was in reality a small hall in the middle of the town of Wexford. Marie O’Conner had given them the address of the estate agent they had met in the village. She assured them that the surviving property from the Ahearn house was due to be auctioned today. Marie had mentioned a painting that had given her the creeps and Travis knew she could only have meant The Montague Portrait.

  Charlotte had wanted to drive up the night before and just steal the painting. But Travis knew instinctively that it was a bad idea. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t much fancied the idea of approaching the portrait in the dead of night. His choice was validated when they discovered that the auction house was small and unimposing. They should be able to buy the portrait at a reasonable price and be on their way with little fuss.

  They had barely spoken on the short drive up to Wexford and Travis was concerned about Charlotte’s feelings about the situation. They had both danced around the issue of what to do with the painting once they obtained it. Travis had never been close enough to the portrait to worry about it, until now. He had no idea just how much of the legend was true, but there was obviously something very strange going on. Including the fact that people seemed willing to kill and die for the painting.

  As the sky darkened, the rain began to fall heavily. The interior of the rental car was oppressive and words died in their throats. Travis had little interest in turning the painting over to Vargas, except for the financial promise that had been struck between them. He had little in the way of loyalty to the man, and knew the feeling was reciprocated. He didn’t trust Vargas, and his oldest friend Chris was dead, apparently at the hands of Lochay. But all that was according to Vargas. The big man had yet to sufficiently explain just what part Dr Gabriel Lochay played in all this. Travis could attest to the good doctor’s methods as he had been strung up in his office at the retirement home. If it hadn’t been for Charlotte’s rescue, he shuddered to think what might have happened to him.

  His zigzag thoughts were interrupted by the door of the auction house swinging open. A woman who looked about fifty, with a stern silver bun on top of her head and an authoritative stride, was the first to enter. She was razor thin and carried a clipboard.

  Travis nudged Charlotte, who was drifting in her own world. ‘We’re on,’ he said bluntly. Charlotte responded with a nod.

  They exited the car and made their way across the street. As they grew closer to the auction house Charlotte hesitated. Her mood was puzzling given just how determined she had been since he had met her.

  ‘You can wait in the car if you like?’ he said, taking her arm.

  Her only response was to wither him with a cold hard stare before barging past and into the building. He stood there for a moment, confused by her attitude. Her body was tense and she seemed unwilling to even look him in the eye. He gave up trying to decipher her behaviour and followed her through the door.

  The inside of the auction house was far more professional looking that he had anticipated. The room was large and long without a car boot in sight. There was a small raised podium at the far end of the room and the floor space was laid out with high backed matching crimson chairs. Recessed lights shone down from the high ceiling, illuminating the room against the dullness of the wet day.

  He caught up with Charlotte who was looking around the room, but there were no items out on display yet.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A voice startled him from behind before he had a chance to talk to Charlotte.

  He turned to face the stern looking woman they had followed in. ‘I’m sorry, are we early?’ he said in his warmest, friendliest voice.

  ‘A little,’ she said, eyeing them suspiciously. ‘You’re not from around here, are you,’ she said.

  Travis faced her with what he hoped was a warm smile. ‘My wife and I are just passing through on holiday. I’m Travis and this is my wife Charlie.’

  There was a moment when he thought the woman was going to call his bluff. To laugh in his face and tell him she knew exactly who he was and why he was there. Then the storm seemed to pass. ‘I’m Meredith Scroggins. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?’ she asked, a little warmer.

  ‘The painting from Ballytona,’ Charlotte said bluntly.

  Travis grimaced inwardly. The closer they got, the more Charlotte seemed a liability. He was staring to wish she had waited in the car.

  ‘Ah, the Worthington,’ Meredith replied and Travis’s heart sank. If she knew about the painting’s origins, then the idea of getting it for a steal just went out the window. ‘I’m afraid that particular piece will be on its way to London tomorrow. It will be part of the Sotheby’s auction next month. Quite a find I don’t mind telling you,’ Meredith confessed.

  ‘Where is it now?’ Charlotte demanded and Travis’s heart skipped another beat.

  Meredith Scroggins took a step backwards away from Charlotte. Catching the look of raw naked suspicion in her eyes, Travis knew they were teetering on the edge of a precipice.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s already on the road. It left last night,’ Meredith said, her eyes darting around nervously.

  ‘Where is it?’ Charlotte demanded, her voice dropping another few degrees.

  Travis was wracking his brain for a way to smooth this over. The last thing he wanted was a big noisy scene. He opened his mouth to speak and smooth things over when Charlotte swept past him and grabbed the auctioneer around the throat.

  ‘Charlie!’ He looked around nervously.

  ‘Get the door. Quickly,’ she said.

  He ran to the front entrance and flipped the Open sign over to Closed. He pulled the door shut, dropped the latch down and locked the door. Running quickly back, he found Charlotte still gripping Meredith viciously around the throat. The older woman was no longer stern and was weeping gently. He reached out and grabbed Charlotte’s shoulder. She whirled around with such venom that his hands rose in self-defence.

  ‘Don’t get in my way, Travis.’

  He could not believe that the snarling face he was looking upon now was the same face he had lovingly caressed only the day before. She turned her attention back to Meredith and slammed the auctioneer into the wall so hard that plaster dust fell from the ceiling.

  ‘Please,’ Meredith gasped.

  ‘Where?’ Charlotte screamed, tighten
ing her grip on the terrified woman’s throat.

  ‘You’d better tell her,’ Travis said, playing the good cop, though in reality he was no part of this game.

  ‘It’s at my house,’ Meredith said, weeping softly. ‘It’s being shipped tomorrow.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’ Charlotte released her iron grip and Meredith dropped to the floor.

  ‘But I can’t leave here,’ Meredith whined. ‘People will miss me.’

  Charlotte answered by smashing her fist into the woman’s solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of her.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Travis yelled. He gripped Charlotte’s elbow as the auctioneer slumped to floor, unable to breathe. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  She spun away from his grip. ‘Don’t get in my way, Travis,’ she said, cold as ice. ‘Not now, not when I’m this close. I will go over, I will go around, or I will go through anyone who gets in my way – even you.’

  Travis stepped back and stared at her blazing intensity. He had no doubt that if he tried to impede her in anyway, he would end up flat on his back and out cold. ‘I’ll get her legs,’ he said.

  ----------

  Ten minutes later they were back on the road, this time with an added passenger slumped on the backseat.

  Charlotte drove. Although Travis said nothing she was aware of him looking at her with distrust blazing in his eyes. She didn’t dare meet his gaze as she feared she would crumple. She had to be strong now and finish the job. She was sure she could make it up to him afterwards, but right now she couldn’t risk him getting in the way.

  The road was quiet as they drove into the countryside. Before they left, Charlotte had grabbed Meredith’s purse and removed her driving licence, so she had her address now. Travis was navigating. As he called out directions, his voice was emotionless and cold but she kept her own feelings locked deep inside her. Contrary to what Travis no doubt currently believed, she hoped they would be able to snag the painting without any fuss.

  After one of the longest twenty minutes of her life they finally pulled into a private driveway lined with landscaped lawns on both sides. The red brick farmhouse stood tall and proud, and looked capable of gracing any designer magazine.

  Charlotte had noticed that Meredith didn’t wear a wedding ring and hoped she lived alone. Despite her desperation she did not want to leave a stack of bodies in her wake.

  She pulled up in front of the house and exited the car quickly before Travis could make any sort of plea to interfere. She opened the back door of the car and found the auctioneer stirring. She was glad that the woman was relatively unharmed, but also that she wouldn’t have to carry her.

  She helped the dazed captive up and out of the backseat. Meredith was unsteady on her feet and Charlotte lent her a shoulder as they wobbled together towards the front door. Groggily Meredith took her keys from her pocket and with an unsteady arm unlocked the door.

  They entered with Travis following on behind wordlessly. Charlotte led Meredith through the house peeking around corners until she found the lounge. The house was as immaculate inside as it was out. Clearly Meredith had an eye for art and Charlotte suspected she kept the best pieces that passed through her auction house for herself.

  She allowed Meredith to slip into a comfy looking armchair. When her eyes fluttered and then closed again, Charlotte checked her vitals and made sure she was not in any danger, but as a precaution she took Meredith’s keys.

  The lounge was large and airy with pale magnolia walls and plush crimson curtains. Long patio doors graced the rear wall and led out to a well-kept garden beyond. The soft brown leather furniture looked handmade and the hardwood floors gleamed. Charlotte admired the woman’s taste in décor and wondered what her own home might look like one day. She shut that voice off quickly and got back on the clock.

  ‘Check upstairs,’ she ordered Travis without turning to look at him.

  Above the noise of the rain lashing against the glass doors, she heard the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor and felt a tug towards him. Ignoring it as best she could, she walked through the spacious farmhouse lounge and started to explore the rest of the downstairs area.

  As she passed through each room she hoped to find the painting. She could feel its presence here stronger than ever. Having faced the portrait as a child she knew its power.

  Moving through the kitchen she paused at a door. She reached out and put a hand on the wood. She felt the vibrations tingle the tips of her fingers. Her stomach twisted in knots and she sagged against the frame as her knees weakened, knowing that the source of her pain and suffering lay somewhere beyond the feeble barrier. For as long as she could remember her dreams had been blackened by Hugo’s spirit and the flames that had engulfed her parents and their family home.

  Reaching out with a trembling hand she tried the handle. It refused to turn. Her first instinct was to batter the door until it splintered and fell. But she had no strength left in her fists. Then remembering that she had Meredith’s keys she withdrew the clinking silver chain from her pocket and quickly found the key. A considerable part of her hoped the key wouldn’t fit and that the door wouldn’t yield, but it did.

  The door swung open. Stairs ran down to a basement below, hidden in darkness. She reached out and flipped a switch on the wall. The lights flickered as the fluorescent bulbs hummed into life and worked their magic. She walked on timid legs down the wooden stairs and into the basement.

  The room felt oppressive and hungry for her. Even at this distance she could feel Hugo’s burning rage. Crates containing their hidden bounty were lined up across the floor, but only one treasure interested her.

  She didn’t have to see through the crates to know which one was his. She looked around and found a claw hammer, went straight to his crate and started to pry the lid loose.

  With every tug she felt her strength returning. Nails squeaked in protest as she ripped them from their moorings.

  Until the lid was off.

  A long rectangular shaped object carefully wrapped in delicate cloth lay within. She could feel Hugo’s boiling anger, and hers rose to meet it. He knew that Eleanor Wheeler’s blood ran through her veins and she sensed his hands twitching in eagerness to wrap around her throat. But her vengeance was a devil in a different guise: Hugo Montague did not hold the monopoly on retribution.

  She pulled the painting from the crate, leaving it wrapped. She leant the frame against the crate and stepped back.

  After decades of thinking about nothing but this moment, she felt transfixed by it. Her legs were leaden and a single tear spilled from her eye and ran down her cheek as she thought of her dear sweet mother and her gentle father. She thought about the life that Hugo Montague had stolen from all of them and countless other families.

  Soft footsteps came down the stairs to join her. As much as she wanted to she didn’t turn to face Travis. His shadow fell over her and she needed him. Whatever future she may or may not have with him, she didn’t want Hugo Montague to steal that from her as well.

  She was halfway turning to face him when a faint whiff of perfume caught her nose and her senses went on high alert as the warning sirens screamed in her head. But it was too late.

  With expert precision, a heavy blow struck her across the temple and the world went black.

  ----------

  From upstairs in the farmhouse Travis heard the car pulling away. He rushed to the window as their rental car was disappearing up the driveway towards the main road. He couldn’t believe that she had run out on him. Or could he? Her devotion to her cause ran deeper than he could imagine, but could she really have used him so callously?

  He ran down the stairs and back through the lounge. He was so intent on charging out of the front door that his brain suddenly rebelled and kicked into gear. He cursed his emotions that lately had been clouding his judgement and impairing his rational mind. Something was tugging at the corners of his thoughts and he hadn’t been listening. He stopped and looked aroun
d the lounge.

  Meredith Scroggins was slumped over in the armchair where they had left her. A thick blood trail ran from a vicious swipe of a knife that had opened her throat. The leather upholstery was covered in a still wet spray that spoke of the attack’s recent nature. He did not need to check to know that there was no life left in her cold unmoving eyes.

  Turning away in shock, his eye was drawn to a tall, elegant Welsh Dresser. The shelves were lined with exquisite crockery and the top held several photograph frames. The faces in those images made him stop and look at them more closely. It was strange that Meredith Scroggins kept a lot of photographs of only one woman in many different outfits and locations through different ages, but none of herself.

  Whoever the woman they had abducted from the auction house was, she was not Meredith Scroggins.

  He raced through the other rooms until he found a door standing open in the kitchen. He peered down into the basement below that was illuminated by the overhead lights. Knowing that time was short he charged down the steps until he found the empty crate and he just knew exactly what had been taken.

  He couldn’t quite believe that Charlotte had murdered the now unknown woman and taken the portrait for herself. He stood in the silence not knowing what to do for the best. But if Charlotte didn’t want to be found, he knew he was unlikely to find her.

  The phone rang from upstairs breaking into his thoughts. He knew who it was. Walking slowly back up to the kitchen he ignored the voice in his head that told him to flee this scene as quickly as possible.

  He snatched up the phone. ‘Vargas?’

  ‘Not quite,’ the voice said, laughing down the line.

  ‘Lochay?’ Travis asked stunned.

  ‘In the flesh,’ Dr Gabriel Lochay said, smiling as he stepped around the corner holding a mobile phone. ‘We need to talk, Mr Parker, and I won’t take no for an answer.’

  ----------

  Sage drove carefully. She obeyed all the speed limits and did nothing to draw attention to herself. She was an anonymous driver in a sea of fellow drivers.