by Hugh Canham
‘No, no, I’m happy to leave it all to you.’
‘Very well – but can you please tell me two things? First, why are all these books open on the table? And, secondly, why did your dad buy all these books – particularly the art books? Some of them have wonderful reproductions and must have cost a small fortune. Did he buy pictures, too? I’ve never seen any around the office.’
‘No, he never bought a single picture. He visited the galleries regularly and I suppose he just liked looking at the books. It’s very odd, isn’t it? He seems to have developed an obsession with buying books. I believe it’s quite a common obsession, and he would never let Jolly tidy anything in the library. He said it might interfere with a legal point he was looking up. I’m sorry you’ve got such a muddle to sort out, but I have one, too – the filing system is in chaos. In fact, the only things that are in order in the office are the trust accounts and the firm’s ledgers, which Jolly dealt with.’
After this conversation Hector went back to wondering yet again what his father had done with all the money he must have drawn out of the practice. If he had known how little cash he would inherit from his father he would have not been so eager to leave the firm in Lincoln’s Inn. It had paid him very well and he had been asked on leaving to give an undertaking not to solicit any of the firm’s clients for a period of eighteen months. Most of them were gentleman farmers or the owners of substantial estates, and friendship with them had been the basis of his social life as a bachelor. Normally, he would at this time of the year be out shooting two or three times a week. But now he felt he had to refuse all the invitations, and just went to his club for lunch and dinner each day, spending the rest of his time trying to sort out his father’s piles of belongings. He was finding it a melancholy and difficult business deciding what pieces of his furniture from his rooms in Piccadilly to bring to his father’s house. He’d always looked forward to living in the house in St. James’s Square, ever since the day his father had said to him, just after he’d finished his Articles with him, ‘You know, my boy, there’s not really enough work here for two qualified people. I’ve made arrangements with my old friend Mitchell in Lincoln’s Inn to give you a job until I retire. Then, of course, you can take over the house and practice.’
Well, that had been twenty years ago, and his father had kept putting off retiring – no doubt, Hector thought, because he could not bear the thought of living in the country with Hector’s mother – until, eventually, he died.
No new work was coming in and he was not allowed to advertise for it. But it occurred to him that he could advertise his services as an art theft investigator. So he placed an advert in one of the ‘art world’ magazines and, much to his amazement, as no sooner had it been published than he received an enquiry, and on the same day a cheque from the book dealer for £350 for the first lot of his father’s books that Lucasta had sold.
‘Thank you so much, Lucasta,’ Hector said as he walked into the library. ‘I’ve just had this cheque . . . Goodness! What on earth are you wearing?’
To counteract the dust from the books, Lucasta had taken to wearing a boiler suit, a face mask and a plastic shower cap while working on them.
‘It’s the dust!’ she explained.
‘As bad as that? Good heavens! Well, anyhow, I’ve just come to thank you for this cheque and ask if you would be prepared to accompany me on a trip to Yorkshire. An artist chap phoned. He’s trying to prepare for an exhibition, but somebody keeps stealing his pictures as soon as they’re finished. He’s asked me to investigate.’
‘Why not the police?’
‘He tells me he smokes pot while he paints and the studio reeks of it – so not a good idea to involve the police!’
‘Is he well known?’
‘Never heard of him myself, but he says he’s well known – name’s Melvin Delaney.’
‘Oh! I know him. He taught us life drawing at art college.’
‘Er, I didn’t know you’d been to art college. That’s different from your art history degree, is it?’
‘Completely. At first I thought I wanted to be an artist, but I was useless and dropped out after a year. I then did the degree.’
‘I see . . . Well, apart from the dust, is everything all right?’
‘No – it’s cold in here,’ Lucasta replied, hugging herself. ‘I keep asking Jolly if he could turn up the heat in the radiators and he says “Yes miss”, but they never seem to get any hotter.’
‘Oh dear. The central heating is very antiquated. I’ve got a fire in my office and in my sitting room. I’ll buy you a convector heater, shall I?’
‘That would be very nice!’
‘So – are you willing to come to Yorkshire with me?’
‘Oh yes. It will be a change from the dust and the books, and maybe a bit warmer than this library at present!’
‘Well, I don’t know that Yorkshire is noted for its warmth,’ Hector mused. ‘I went grouse shooting once in September near the place where Delaney says he lives and it was freezing! By the way, I think we’d better travel by train. If we arrive in the Rolls he’ll think we’re going to overcharge him! We can apparently get a taxi from the station, which is only five miles away, and there’s a good hotel in the village to stay at.’
‘Let’s hope it’s better than the pub in Norfolk!’
It turned out to be considerably better. And the next morning they made their way across the village green to Melvin Delaney’s house, which was on the outskirts of the village. It was now nearing Christmas and there had been a hard frost overnight. Lucasta was very glad that she’d brought her woolly hat and gloves with her, as well as a thick overcoat. Hector did not seem to feel the cold, she noticed. All he had on was a stout tweed three-piece suit, a cap and a scarf round his neck. Lucasta had a small bet with herself that Melv – as he was always known amongst the students – would not remember her. He had had a reputation for asking several of the more forward girls to pose for him in the nude privately, but he’d never asked her. She remembered at the time that she’d been a bit disappointed – he obviously did not think she was beautiful enough!
It must have been eight or nine years since she’d seen Melv. Once they managed to get to see him, he struck her as looking odder than ever. The front door of his very substantial stone-built house was opened by a young lady wearing a massively thick, long jumper and a very bad-tempered expression on her face.
‘Ah,’ said Hector, not being able to decide at first glance if this was Melvin’s wife, sister, daughter or domestic help. ‘We’ve come to see Melvin Delaney. He’s expecting us.’
‘What’s it about?’ snapped the young woman.
‘Er . . . well, about some pictures.’
‘Well, it would be I suppose. He’s in his studio in the garden. Go straight down the hall and out the back door and you’ll see it. You’d better knock. He usually has some naked woman in there.’
‘Not very welcoming!’ Hector muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they walked down the long hallway to the back of the house. ‘Is that his wife?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But I thought you said you knew him . . .’
‘Yes, nine years ago. I don’t think he was married then. Anyway, he was always asking young girl students to pose for him in the nude.’
‘Did he ever ask you?’
‘No, never. I don’t suppose I was the right type.’
‘Strange – I should have thought . . . but never mind; here we are. What a weird-looking place!’
The studio was about twenty-five yards from the house. It was a rustic-looking wooden building with a very high sloping roof made of glass. Hector knocked on a small low door which led into it, and as there was no response, opened it a crack and shouted, ‘Mr Delaney? We’re here as promised – Hector Elroy and assistant.’
‘Damn! Come in I suppose.’
‘Another warm welcome!’ muttered Hector.
Melvin Delaney, heavily bearde
d and clad in cords and an artist’s smock with a scarf round his neck, turned from the easel and beckoned them in. On a chaise longue beside the easel there reclined a naked and very well-rounded young lady with bright red hair that came down almost to her waist.
‘We’ve visitors, Aggie, so cover up your goose pimples my dear and go across to the house, warm up and make yourself a cup of tea or something until I shout for you again.’
Aggie got up, coughed, covered herself with a dirty-looking dressing gown and, pausing only to light a cigarette, vanished into the frosty garden in bare feet.
‘Sorry to greet you so crossly,’ said Melvin, starting to fill a pipe from a jar of tobacco near his paints, ‘but I’d just got to a difficult bit. Aggie is a lovely girl but she won’t keep still, particularly when she’s cold. I try to heat this place up as much as I can, but it’s difficult in winter.’
‘Shall we talk here or would you rather go into the house?’ said Hector. ‘This, by the way, is Lucasta, my assistant.’
Melvin glanced at Lucasta keenly and raised his eyebrows.
‘I see,’ was all he said enigmatically. ‘We’d better stay here so that you can find some clues as to how these bloody pictures keep disappearing! You can see the ones that haven’t been nicked standing in a line against the wall over there. They’re all the same size as the one I’m working on – seven feet by four. The first three are of my wife, Molly, but she caught a chill and then developed bronchitis and had to stop posing – said it was due to the cold in here, of course! I was frantic – the exhibition is opening on the 5th of January, so I had to find an alternative model. Aggie is quite good, but she can only come on Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ve got June for the other days. She’s more flexible, but not so good. Frankly, neither of them is professional and they keep fidgeting. It makes me very bad tempered. Anyhow, somehow I managed to bash off a few more pictures, and then I noticed that some were missing. I’m desperate to get them back, you see – I need at least twenty for the exhibition.’
‘When did you first notice that some pictures were missing?’
‘The day I phoned you. God, I was nearly demented!’
‘Have the paintings that have disappeared been of both your models?’
‘No, that’s the odd thing – I think they’re all of Aggie. Well, no, some pictures of June may have gone, too. I’m not sure. Certainly none of the ones I did of Molly have gone.’
‘Don’t you number your paintings?’
‘No. Never have.’
‘How could the pictures be removed from here?’
‘Well, they could only be taken out through those big doors at the end there. The one you came in by is too small. The big doors lead out into our orchard and then you can get round by the side of the house into the road. I used to leave the studio unlocked, but after the theft of the first picture I’ve kept both the doors locked!’
‘And where are the keys kept?’
‘I try to keep them in my pockets, but the key to the big doors is a bloody enormous thing and I sometimes take it out and put it down somewhere.’
‘And what do you do with the keys at night, when I presume the pictures were taken?’
‘Right! Well, I take the keys out of my pocket and chuck them down somewhere in the bedroom.’
‘So it would have been possible for someone to grab them from there and have them copied?’
‘Possibly, but look, that’s what I want you to find out!’
‘Of course, you could simply change both the locks.’
‘I’m going to do that, but I want to find out what bastard would do this to me!’
‘Do you have any enemies?’
‘Nobody round here seems to like me very much. Apparently the Free Church minister says publicly from his pulpit that I’m a corrupter of morals.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I paint nudes, of course. But he’s a silly sod!’
‘Would there be anyone jealous of you painting their wife or girlfriend in the nude?’
‘Aggie’s husband is a local shepherd. I pay her well and they need the money. June is more or less the local tart, so I don’t think anyone would be jealous of her!’
‘I see. No sign of anyone breaking into the studio or the house?’
‘No.’
‘Do you mind if we have a look around?’
‘Help yourselves; go where you like. I’m going indoors now. Come into the kitchen when you’re finished.’
Hector noted that the key to the big double doors was indeed very large and heavy. He took it out of the lock and put it in his jacket pocket. It felt very uncomfortable.
‘Did you smell the pot?’ he asked Lucasta when they were outside.
‘No – well, actually, I’m not sure what pot smells like, believe it or not. I’ve always steered clear of drugs.’
‘He probably smokes that foul pipe to try and cover up the smell of the pot. Anyway, I think that’s irrelevant. Let’s look round the outside of the studio and have a general stroll around. I wonder what the thief does with the pictures, you see. They must be very difficult to carry. Ha!’ They had now reached the end of the orchard. ‘The remains of a bonfire – maybe, of course, from Guy Fawkes night. Look over there, in that lean-to shed – a paraffin can, and also what I need for my search – a leaf rake!’
‘Whatever for, Hector?’
‘Well, I may be completely mistaken – or barking up the wrong tree, as one should say in an orchard . . .’
He didn’t finish what he was saying, but grabbed the rake and started very carefully to pull it through the ashes of the bonfire. As he seemed not to wish to communicate what he was hunting for to Lucasta, she went over to the lean-to shed and sat down on a small rickety bench inside it. That joke about the ‘wrong tree’ was just typical of Hector. He was all right when you got to know him and she could see why Duncan and he were friends, although Duncan was a much more jolly and open person. She suddenly wondered whether Duncan had perhaps written her an airmail letter and that would be waiting for her when she got back home. But she put that thought away as, after several exclamations of ‘Ha!’, Hector was now approaching her with several small objects in his outstretched palm.
‘I think we’re on the right track. Tell me, are these the sort of things with which you attach a canvas to a stretcher?’
‘Possibly,’ said Lucasta dubiously.
‘And is this not a piece of charred canvas?’
Lucasta examined it closely. ‘Looks very like it,’ she said.
‘Well then, it seems to me that the paintings were burnt on the bonfire.’
‘But wouldn’t people see the flames if it was done at night?’
‘Maybe. But I suppose if you smothered the canvas in paraffin and set fire to it with a few newspapers it would soon be gone.’
‘Even quicker if you use petrol.’
‘Very good, Lucasta! Shall we open the can and have a sniff? . . . You’re right, it’s petrol! Well, I think we must be right!’
‘Well, it may explain how the pictures were disposed of, but not who did it.’
‘True, but I think it must be an inside job. What did you think of the nudes he’s finished, by the way?’
‘Excellent. He always was talented, but very strange. I particularly like the way he blurred the faces so that it was just a body.’
‘Oh, that’s good is it?’
‘I thought so.’
A few minutes later they were in Melvin’s large kitchen which had an Aga in it so it was reasonably warm. Aggie was sitting by it in a broken-down Lloyd Loom chair, huddled in her dressing gown. Melvin was standing at the kitchen table holding a large china jug.
‘Cider anyone? Home made from the apples in the orchard. Chap down the road has got an even bigger orchard and a cider press. Very useful. Tell me what you think of it!’
Lucasta thought she would have preferred a cup of hot tea or coffee, but as she was not offered one she drank the cider. It s
eemed very warming, and after a second glass had been pressed upon her she started to feel very sleepy. She told herself it must be because she’d come into the warmer kitchen from the cold outside and took off her coat and hat. In the background she could hear Hector explaining how he’d found the staples and the piece of canvas and she heard Melvin saying, ‘Good work, good work. We’ll get the bugger!’ And then she must have dozed off.
She woke up when she felt someone patting her hand. For a moment she wondered where she was and then she saw that Melvin was standing over her trying to wake her up.
‘Come on, Lucasta – not used to strong cider! You look very pretty with a pink flush on your face.’
Lucasta looked round the kitchen. Aggie and Hector were no longer there – it was just her and Melv.
‘Goodness, your cider’s strong, Melvin. I thought you didn’t remember who I was when we first came.’
‘Of course I did. I always remember lovely girls who’ve been my pupils. You shouldn’t have given up, you know. You could have been quite good!’
‘But not very good!’
‘I always wanted to ask you to pose for me, you know, but I knew you’d refuse and I hate being rejected. But now you’re with this Hector chap I suppose you’re less prudish than you seemed nine years ago.’
‘I’m not sleeping with Hector, Melvin! I just work for him.’
‘How strange . . . but, well, how about it? You always had the most gorgeous tits and they look even better now.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Oh, come on. Let me have a closer look. They’re lovely!’
Lucasta was about to take evasive action when there was a most horrific crash behind her as the door into the kitchen from the hall was thrown open, hitting the kitchen dresser which was full of plates, and dislodging several of them, which broke into pieces on the stone floor.
‘You miserable lying and cheating bastard!’ a voice shrieked.
Lucasta looked round and there was the young woman who’d opened the front door to them when they’d first arrived, now looking dementedly angry.
‘I heard every word you said to this girl just now. You’re disgusting and I hate you!’