by Chris Curran
A long silence. Stella could only stare at Maggie. A Maggie who was suddenly so different. Like someone she had never known. She dropped her hand and sat back, trying to catch her breath, to still her whirling mind. ‘You did it together? Sold my drawings as fakes?’
If she’d noticed Stella’s reaction, Maggie didn’t show it. Just lit up another cigarette. ‘It wasn’t just you. Before I even met you Ben told me about these art collectors who only wanted to make money. They were interested in lesser-known artists who looked like becoming fashionable. Wanting to buy in hopes the prices would rise. And there was a guy in my class who could do brilliant copies of any painting. So when Ben heard about one of these collectors looking for stuff by a particular artist, he’d tell them he might know where to locate something. Then we’d ask the guy to produce copies. They were mainly of pictures that were rumoured to exist but hadn’t been traced. And Ben sold them.’ She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘We did it a few times.’
‘Did the guy who produced the paintings know they were sold as fakes?’
A shrug as Maggie blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘Probably guessed, but he needed the money and, like me, he despised idiots with more dosh than sense. But he was talented, of course, and when he started having a bit of success with his own work he wouldn’t do anymore for us.’
Stella got up, her legs were damp and cold and she brushed at her shins where little stones had stuck into the skin. Walking away – she couldn’t bear even to look at Maggie – she said, ‘So when he stopped, you tricked me into doing it.’ What a fool she was. It was Maggie who had encouraged her to do those drawings when Stella told her how much she liked the East London Group’s work. She shook her head, wondering just how suggestible she had been. ‘I can’t remember, but did you steer me towards George Grafton, too?’
Maggie stood up, leaning back against the wall and rubbing her face again. In her shorts and ponytail, with her smudged cheek, she looked like a naughty little girl. ‘I can’t remember. But it worked out perfectly. A recluse. And him dying youngish. Couldn’t have been better.’
That was why Maggie had encouraged her to do something original in Grafton’s style. She’d probably described the portfolio where Stella kept her drawings to Ben, and when she arrived home carrying it he’d been able to grab it without her noticing. So they didn’t even have to ask her.
Maggie was saying something, but her words were drowned by a buzzing in Stella’s ears. ‘And I was doing you a favour. I didn’t think you’d agree to do it, but this way you got some extra money without the need to feel anxious or guilty. I knew you’d be all right, because no one was ever going to find out. And no one will find out.’
She took a long drag on her cigarette and coughed. ‘Unless, of course, we decide we want them to.’
The earth shifted under her feet. ‘For God’s sake, Maggie. What are you saying? If people find out it’ll kill any chance I’ve got of a career as an artist.’
Maggie came to her and grabbed her forearms. ‘Not if we told the whole truth. That you were tricked. It would be great publicity for you and it would bugger that pretentious Pamela up for good.’
Stella pulled hard away. ‘No. Please don’t even talk about it.’
Maggie smiled at her and flopped onto a chair by the table, gesturing to Stella to sit near her. She did so only because her legs would no longer support her, but Maggie kissed her cheek, in a waft of cigarette smoke. ‘Oh, Stella. You’re my best friend. I would never do anything to hurt you.’ She put her hands behind her head and took a deep breath. ‘And anyway what we can do is much better.’
Stella sat frozen, unable to believe any of this, and yet Maggie’s voice went on. ‘You see we don’t need to expose the forgeries, just threaten Pamela with it. It would be the two of us against her and Ben. We’re just two gullible girls. It’s obvious who’d be believed. She couldn’t risk it.’
‘No, Maggie.’ Now it was Stella who felt like a little girl; a fierce little girl whose best friend had let her down. She clenched her fists to stop herself lashing out at Maggie, tearing at that ponytail. Instead she stood taking deep, deep breaths.
‘But why not?’ Maggie was saying. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, and they’ve both treated you really badly. Just like they did to me. I say they owe us. You need money and so do I. And they deserve to pay.’
Eve
On New Year’s Day she woke to the bedroom bathed in the white glow that means snow. Alex was already up, and Ivy wasn’t crying.
She had sat on the sofa last night for what seemed hours, staring at the TV flickering away with the sound off and the fire going cold. Then when Ivy stirred and began to whimper she had gone to her before there was any chance Alex would hear. So it was past 3 a.m. before she crawled into bed beside him.
She checked her phone, but there was nothing from Maggie. Alex came in with a tray. ‘Ivy’s fed and changed, so you can relax,’ he said. ‘And I’ve brought the breast pump in case you’re feeling uncomfortable.’
She tried to smile, but knew it wasn’t convincing. He walked over to the window and pulled the curtains. ‘Look at this.’ The snow was coming down fast: a drifting white veil. ‘Just too late for Christmas, as usual.’ Then he moved back and knelt by the bed, kissing her lightly. So lightly she didn’t need to respond. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said. ‘I wanted so much for us to have a perfect New Year’s Eve and what your dad said spoiled it for me.’
Gulping apple juice – she was very thirsty – she said, ‘What exactly did he say?’
Alex sat back. ‘Do we have to talk about it now?’
She put down her glass and nodded. ‘Just tell me.’
‘That you’d had an email from this Maggie and were thinking of going to meet her. He assumed you’d told me already and wondered what we’d decided. I felt like a complete idiot.’ He gestured to her plate. ‘Eat up before it goes cold. You hate cold toast.’
She tried a piece, but it was difficult to swallow. ‘So what do you think?’
He sat on the bed. ‘Well if you actually want my opinion …’ His voice had an edge and she felt her jaw tighten. ‘I’d rather you didn’t see her. Your dad and mum don’t seem to trust her and I think you should just let the whole thing rest. Everything you’ve found out so far has only made you unhappy.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘But if you do decide to go, I’ll come with you, of course.’
‘She says she’ll only see me on my own.’
‘Well that makes it even more important to take someone with you. And meet in a public place.’
She couldn’t stop a small laugh. ‘I don’t think she’s likely to be dangerous.’
‘You know nothing about her, Eve. You can’t take a chance.’
Picking up her toast she tried to quash her annoyance. After all he was right to be anxious. But he obviously couldn’t understand how she felt. There was no point in fighting with him. ‘Well, I don’t have to decide right now.’
It was a white lie, but when he jumped up with a smile she knew she had been right to tell it. ‘And we’ll open that champagne later on. Start the new year properly.’ He bent and kissed the top of her head. ‘I was very childish last night. Please forgive me.’
When he left the room she checked her phone. No email from Maggie, but a message from Simon.
I’ve been staying in Dorset. Driving back tomorrow so wondered if I could stop off to see you. Maybe have an introduction to your new daughter. And your husband of course. No worries if you don’t want visitors. Simon XX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Stella
For some reason she hadn’t expected rain in Italy, but today it was pouring. The studio hut was cold and water flowed down the big window like a vertical river. With the hints of green from the distant hills behind the glass, it reminded Stella of a fast-moving stream. One of those streams with waving grasses growing in the riverbed.
She was spending most of her time in the studio, painting and
painting. But it wasn’t going well today. So she wiped her brush, grabbed her sketchbook, and used pastels to try to capture the rain on the window.
Then she sat back on a stool to look at the half-finished painting on the easel. It was of Maggie sitting at the metal table outside the house. She had made the sketches before their argument. But everything had changed since then and the sketches no longer seemed true.
When she’d begged her not to go ahead with the plan to threaten Pamela and Ben about the forgery scam, Maggie had said, ‘OK, OK, keep your hair on. It was just an idea.’ But Stella couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t trust her.
And it wasn’t the only scheme she had come up with for blackmailing them, was it? More than once she’d mentioned trying to get money out of them by pretending Eve was Ben’s daughter.
And of course there was the earlier deception – the way she and Ben had conspired to steal Stella’s drawings and make her into a criminal. She moved as far from the easel as she could, squinting to see it better. Why had it never crossed her mind that Maggie was in on the plan to sell those drawings as fakes? And what if Maggie had only sought out her friendship, given her a home, in order to cheat her into making money for them? She could hardly bear it.
At first she had decided to leave right away. Didn’t think she could stand being in the same house as Maggie any longer. But she told herself she needed to finish the pictures she’d begun so she would have something to sell in England.
After what she’d learned about Maggie she realized there was no one she could really trust. So she had to learn to trust herself. And if she could do that maybe she could be a good mother.
She had written to Jill and David to tell them how much better she was feeling and that she planned to be back soon. Maggie had taken the post into town and the rain was a blessing because it meant she was likely to be away longer.
Something had become obvious to Stella since her mind had cleared: Jill had always wanted Eve. She probably wouldn’t acknowledge it, even in her own thoughts, but the way she had behaved had been designed to shake Stella’s confidence in herself as a mother. And to persuade everyone else she was unfit. And it had worked.
Since Stella had found out about Maggie she’d realized how gullible she had been in the past. It was odd, with a mother like hers, that she had been so willing to think the best of people. To think they meant well. She realized now – and in a way it was a relief to accept it – that there was no one she could rely on but herself.
She picked up her palette again. Had to keep going. Told herself not to worry about Maggie’s face for now, but to try to recapture the colour of her hair. It was interesting because the sun had turned some of the strands very light.
The door flung open and Maggie stood there wearing a pale cotton raincoat, the shoulders darkened where the rain had soaked through. Her hair was dripping around her face. ‘Please come and help me light the fire. The house is freezing.’
It was no good arguing, and Maggie was so chilled she looked almost ill. The rain was easing, but they had to run across the wet garden, mud splashing their legs.
It was even colder inside than out, but she soon got a blaze going. Maggie padded in on bare feet, swathed in a green blanket she must have dragged from her bed. She gave a huge shiver as she plonked down on the sofa. ‘I bought a big bottle of Cinzano in town, so get us some glasses and we can really warm up.’
There was no point in going to the studio for a while. When she was interrupted like this she always needed some time to get back in the mood. Besides, she itched to do a sketch of Maggie swathed in the green blanket with her hair dripping around her pale face. Maggie as a mermaid.
When she’d poured the drinks Maggie took a huge swallow, pulling the blanket down to cover her feet. Stella grabbed a sketchbook and pencil from her bedroom and started making little drawings and notes. Maggie was used to her doing it, so she said nothing.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but whenever she looked up from her pad Maggie seemed to have a full glass. The bottle was going steadily down. Perhaps The Drunken Mermaid might be a good title if she ever turned the sketches into a painting. The thought made her smile and Maggie must have noticed. ‘Thank the lord, she’s finally cracked a grin. My god, Stella, you’ve been such a misery lately. What’s the matter?’
‘Just thinking about work.’
A raised glass wobbled into the air. ‘Ah, yes, Stella the young artistic genius. I keep forgetting.’
Stella asked, ‘Why don’t you try to start something?’
‘Told you, I’ve given up. There’s no point.’ She was drinking with her eyes closed. A sign she was definitely drunk. ‘Do you know why I bought this house?’ she said.
‘I did wonder.’
Chewing her thumb, Maggie spat out a piece of nail and rubbed her nose. ‘It was Ben’s idea. We were going to move here together when he’d made enough money and got his divorce.’
This was the first she’d heard of it. ‘Why here?’
‘Ben says,’ a tiny grimace. ‘Ben said it was the perfect place to open a new gallery. Lots of artists here and more might come if someone with his reputation set up shop. It’s not the south of France, but it is the Riviera and he says the views are incredible just along the coast.’
Stella didn’t speak, and the logs crackling in the grate sounded very loud. Maggie took a drink, but it made her cough and she sat up and put her glass on the floor. When she carried on talking her voice was gruff. ‘All that travelling around Europe I did was just a way to pass the time until he could join me.’
She probably should have stayed quiet but she said, ‘Did he say he would?’
‘When he was hurt I thought it would make him realize he mustn’t waste his life. So I came here to wait for him.’ Her eyes were still closed and silent tears were running down her face. Her voice had dropped so low Stella could just make it out. ‘But he’s not coming, is he?’ she said. ‘He’s never coming.’
Eve
Eve told Alex very casually that Simon would be dropping by to see them. After his previous reactions she was wary about how he would take it, but he just said, ‘That’s nice. You can show the baby off.’ Then he kissed her cheek. ‘I’ve been stupid about your friendship with him, I know, but we seemed to have grown apart and I suppose having a new baby has made me feel my age.’
For once there was a parking space outside and they saw Simon’s car, a sleek black Mercedes, pull up. Eve was on the sofa holding Ivy who, fed and changed, was looking adorable. So Alex went to the door. A murmur of voices from the hall. Then Simon came in.
It was odd to see him here – he seemed to belong to a separate reality. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘And this is Ivy, I take it?’
She gestured to the armchair next to the fire, and when he sat she said, ‘Would you like to hold her?’ His face changed colour and he looked so alarmed she couldn’t help laughing.
Alex came in with coffee, ‘What’s so funny?’
It was Simon’s turn to laugh, stretching out his long legs. ‘Your wife is amused because I’m terrified to hold Ivy. I’m not used to babies.’
Alex put down the tray and took Ivy over to him. Their heads almost touched: one very dark, the other gleaming pale in the flicker of the firelight. Alex gave Simon a tiny pat on the shoulder. ‘Just relax. You’ll soon get the hang of it.’ Then he came to sit beside Eve, handing her a mug and squeezing her knee.
Looking down at the baby, black lashes fanning his cheeks, Simon smiled and took a deep breath. ‘You’re very lucky.’
It was the men who did most of the chatting. They had plenty in common, art in particular, and Simon offered Alex a tour of the auction house he worked for. Maybe they could be friends.
Although Alex asked him to stay for lunch, Simon said he had to be getting back. ‘Work tomorrow and stuff to catch up on before then.’ As he stood, he caught Eve’s eye and she knew he had something private to say.
�
��I’ll see you to the car,’ she said.
She slipped on the ice as they crossed the pavement and Simon caught her arm, pulling her close. He was warm and solid and when he looked down at her she felt herself flush. A woman coming towards them glanced over with a smile. Eve moved away.
Hand on the car door, Simon said, ‘I assume you’ve exhausted all the leads to your mother?’
She nodded. ‘Looks like it.’ Again she was tempted to tell him about the meeting with Maggie, but held back.
Simon came close again. ‘Don’t forget I’m happy to do a DNA test.’
‘Thank you. If James Stone agrees to one as well that could finally clear up the mystery. And for the rest I may have to let it be.’ It wasn’t quite a lie.
‘Do you still think it’s Maggie de Santis who supplied the pictures to the Baltic?’
She answered carefully, not wanting to shut him down in case he knew something useful. ‘She wrote to Mum and Dad all those years ago that she and Stella had made wills naming each other as beneficiaries.’
He barked out a sharp laugh. ‘Very convenient. Although if she did get her hands on some paintings you’d think she would have tried to sell them long ago. And even now they’re only in an exhibition.’
‘Perhaps she thinks the publicity will raise their value.’
He nodded. ‘That makes sense.’ His hand was on the car door, but he didn’t open it. She shivered and he said, ‘It’s cold out here. Let’s sit in the car for a minute.’
Eve looked back into the living room. Alex must have taken Ivy upstairs or into the kitchen. When they were in the car, Simon gave a little cough and reached out as if to touch her knee, but then drew his hand back. ‘I could understand if you wanted to contest the ownership of your mother’s works, but if I were you I’d leave it as it is. Especially if the apparent owner turns out to be Maggie.’