by John Boyne
‘He wouldn’t…?’ began Jane, not knowing whether to say the words or not.
‘He might.’
‘For a woman? For an American woman?’
‘I’m sure that’s all a long way off,’ said Roderick quickly. ‘Hardly worth discussing now anyway. In the end Hailsham thanked us all for coming and said he’d get back to us if we needed to talk again. Monckton made a break for it, Altringham wasn’t to be seen for dust, and I ended up drifting back here with Keaton in tow. And just as we left each other and shook hands he said the most extraordinary thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘He looked me directly in the eye and said, “He’s a fine fellow, you know. A damned fine fellow.” And I said, “The king? I’m sure he is. We’ve only spoken once, at a garden party.”’
‘Which we have to make sure we get tickets to next year,’ interrupted Jane.
‘“The king, certainly,” said Keaton, “but I was talking about the Duke of York. He’s a damned fine fellow.” And of course I didn’t know what to say to that and just stood there with my mouth open and then the impudent scoundrel gave me a wink and walked away. What do you make of that?’
Jane frowned. It all sounded very salacious and grist to a gossip monger’s mill but that last part felt faintly disturbing.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to keep your ear to the ground.’
‘At first I didn’t want any part of the thing,’ said Bentley. ‘But now I’m not so sure. Now I think I had better do exactly that. I mean when it comes down to it, if he wants to marry the woman, who does it hurt exactly?’
5
THE PROCESS OF CONSTRUCTING a picture frame is not a difficult one but it takes a certain amount of skill and expertise to get it right; it also takes patience. First, having checked the dimensions of the picture to be encased within, the correct amount of wood to surround it has to be measured out and divided into four pieces, each of which should equal the length of the side plus twice the width of the wood, the extra being in place for the mitred corners. The end of each piece needs to be cut to a forty-five-degree angle and then all four may be laid out with wood glue and corner clamps attached to join the corner sections of the frame. Turning the frame over, two nails should be applied along each glued corner seam with a hammer, with one nail pointed towards the inside of the frame and one nail aimed towards the outside. The midpoint of the nail rests on the seam and the open portion points towards the inside edge. At this point the clamps may be removed and the frame should be left to dry overnight. Varnishing may be completed the following day.
Owen Montignac and Gareth Bentley were novices at the art of frame-making but, working together and with the aid of a good manual, they succeeded in constructing three by the end of the first day. They would have managed more were it not for the fact that their first two efforts fell apart quickly and when Gareth was hammering the nails in on a third, he placed one too close to the centre of the wood and it split. This was work that Montignac normally contracted out to a local firm when it came to paintings at the Threadbare Gallery but this was a specialist operation and could not involve any outsiders.
Gareth arrived in the early evening and joined Montignac upstairs in one of the small storerooms where they had laid out their materials; he had already told his assistant, Jason, that he was not to be disturbed and that he should lock up as usual and leave at the normal time.
‘You want me to let you know when I’m off then?’ asked Jason, poking his head around the door to see what was going on without him, unhappy by the presence of the new colleague in the storeroom who might be after his job; his nose was already out of joint over Gareth’s apparent closeness to his employer.
‘No, that’s all right, Jason. Just go at six and I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘But what happens if—’
Montignac closed the door in the assistant’s face and the boy went back downstairs to the gallery, distinctly unhappy.
‘Do you really think this is going to work?’ asked Gareth as they came to the end of their third successful frame for the evening.
‘Of course it will,’ said Montignac, who would suffer no doubters on the subject.
‘They won’t check the boxes before they’re shipped again?’
Montignac shook his head. ‘You have no idea how painful the process of shipping paintings is,’ he said. ‘They have to be carefully swaddled individually in tight wrapping, which is all taped up, and then inserted into the wooden casings which are stapled shut. It takes an age to do. Trust me, once they’ve completed it no one will be opening them again until they reach Scotland.’
The first stop of the Cézanne paintings was the Royal Museum in Edinburgh, from where they were to make bi-weekly trips down the country from Edinburgh to Newcastle, Leeds, Liverpool, Birmingham and Cardiff before coming to a final rest for a month at the Tate Gallery in London. There were over eighty already on their way to Scotland with the last dozen, the ones being restored at the Clarion, set to join them shortly.
‘And by then,’ said Montignac, ‘they will be gone forever.’
Gareth nodded; the plan seemed like a sensible one and he was enjoying the excitement of being involved in something illicit. Enjoying even more the promise of the thousand pounds which Montignac had promised him if everything went off without a hitch, not knowing that Montignac himself had negotiated a fee of fifteen times that amount for himself. He checked his watch; it was six fifteen. All going well they should finish half the frames that evening and the other half by the end of the following one, which would mean they could undertake the operation at the only possible moment, on the evening of the last day.
He stood up and stretched out—his back felt sore from being crouched over for so long—and he looked at the just completed frame, which was designed to house a painting of ninety-eight inches by eighty-two, the exact dimensions of Cézanne’s Les Grandes Baigneuses. He quite enjoyed the work and began to wonder whether he’d missed his calling as a carpenter but thought better of it immediately, knowing what his father would say if he suggested such a thing.
‘I’m just running to the bathroom,’ he told Montignac as he began measuring out the wood for the fourth frame. ‘And then I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
Montignac nodded and pulled out his measuring tape as Gareth left the room. He was deeply immersed in his work and didn’t hear the sound of Jason Parsons leaving the gallery a few minutes later, or the conversation he had with the young woman outside, who he allowed to enter before he left, locking the door behind him. And he didn’t hear her footsteps as she climbed to the mezzanine level and made her way up the side stairs to the small room where he was working. Given another moment he may well have recognized the scent of her familiar perfume as she stood in the doorway behind him but before that could happen he was startled by her voice and jumped, dropping the tape and wood on the floor in surprise.
‘Surely the canvases should have already been painted before they’re framed?’ she asked, standing there and looking half in amusement and half in confusion at the three large frames standing by the door, their entirely white canvases standing out in contrast to their elaborate frames. ‘Haven’t you rather put the cart before the horse?’
‘Stella,’ he said, standing up and feeling his face begin to redden a little, as if he had been discovered while committing an illicit act. ‘I didn’t notice you there. How did you get in?’
‘Your assistant let me in as he was leaving,’ she said, looking past him as he tried to block her view. ‘He knew I was your cousin and—’
‘Did he indeed?’ said Montignac, making a mental note to tell Jason exactly what he thought of him the next day.
‘Well it’s not a problem, is it?’ she asked. ‘You’re still here after all.’
‘Indeed I am,’ he said, taking her by the arm and leading her out. ‘Come on, let’s go downstairs.’
‘Why? What’s wrong
with talking here?’
‘Staff only,’ he said with what he hoped was a charming smile but only made her raise her eyebrows in surprise.
‘Owen, it’s only me for heaven’s sake and there’s no one else here.’
‘Still, I’d prefer it,’ he said, taking her by the arm and leading her towards the stairs. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘All right, all right,’ she said irritably. ‘You don’t have to drag me.’ She turned around just as they went down the stairs and for the briefest of moments caught a glimpse of another young man going back into the storeroom carrying what looked like two cups of tea. ‘Was that someone else?’ she asked, but he had already disappeared inside. ‘Is there someone else up there?’
‘Just a trainee,’ said Montignac, now that they were safely on the ground floor again. ‘We’re learning to make frames, you see. It’s costing the gallery a bloody fortune contracting the work out to craft shops and we’re never so busy that we couldn’t do it ourselves if we had the skills. Hence all the … woodworking going on upstairs,’ he explained. ‘And the blank canvases. After they’re secured we pull them off and start all over again.’
‘Right,’ said Stella, who had already lost interest in the matter of the canvases. ‘Well that’s not what I came to talk to you about anyway.’
‘Yes, well this isn’t a good time really,’ said Montignac. ‘Can’t we meet tomorrow perhaps?’
‘No, Owen, we cannot meet tomorrow,’ said Stella sharply. ‘As I’ll be on the morning train for Leyville tomorrow. And if you recall I phoned you yesterday and you promised to meet me for lunch today but never showed up. Which meant I had to stay here another night when I had particular business to take care of at home.’
‘Oh that’s right,’ said Montignac, who had gone to the restaurant earlier in the day at the appointed time but turned back at the last minute, unable to face another conversation about money with his cousin when he was immersed in a new plan at the time. ‘Sorry about that. We were up to our eyes here.’
‘Well it seems that the only way I have of tracking you down these days is by just turning up here unannounced. Which is fine because if that’s what it takes then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not going to let you just slip away, Owen, you know.’
Montignac licked his lips and recalled once when she had said that very line to him before; the memory seemed to have escaped her, though, as so many things had.
‘Aren’t you?’ he asked quietly.
‘No, I am not. I’ve told you before that I’m not going to allow the fact that Father is no longer with us to cause a separation between us. I want to see you, Owen. I want us to be friends. To be … family again. Like we once were.’
Montignac nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, eager to move her towards the door. ‘All right, but this isn’t the best time for this conversation. If I don’t get on with my work I’m going to be—’
‘Owen, there’s something I need to tell you,’ she said, interrupting him.
‘Do I want to hear it?’
‘It’s about Raymond and me,’ she said, looking away from him for a moment.
Montignac felt his stomach contract a little. Even the phrase Raymond and me, three words which implied a connection on so many levels between them—legally, spiritually, emotionally, sexually—was enough to cause him unparalleled pain within.
‘Then I’m sure I don’t want to hear it,’ he said bitterly.
‘Well you’re going to have to hear it, I’m afraid, because I have to tell you. We’ve decided to get married.’
Montignac laughed. ‘You told me that at Christmas,’ he said. ‘I told you that you were a fool then and I’ll tell you that you’re a fool now. If you want to spend the next few years engaged to that—’
‘No, you misunderstand me, Owen,’ she said. ‘We’re not just engaged any more. We’ve set a date.’
Words failed him for a moment. The idea of marriage was one thing; the reality of it something else entirely. It was unacceptable.
‘A date,’ he said in a voice devoid of all emotion.
‘Yes, a date. The first Saturday in October in fact.’
Montignac thought about this for a moment. ‘Not this October, surely?’ he said.
‘Yes, this October.’
‘But that’s only…’ He made a rapid calculation. ‘Two months away.’
‘Well it doesn’t have to take years to prepare for, you know. Not for a simple ceremony.’
‘Your father’s only been dead a few months,’ he said, playing a card that he didn’t particularly like to play. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little soon?’
‘I discussed that with Margaret and she said—’
‘She said it would be fine,’ said Montignac, shaking his head. ‘I can just imagine. I’m surprised she doesn’t want you to elope to Gretna Green. I’m amazed she didn’t find a way to get a vicar down to Leyville to marry you in the bloody kitchen before you could change your mind.’
‘Owen, don’t be cruel, please,’ said Stella. ‘Can’t you be happy for me just a little?’
He stared at her without expression and made the most imperceptible shake of his head. Stella looked away and hesitated before speaking again.
‘Margaret and I have both agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to give me away,’ she said.
His mouth dropped open in horror at the very idea.
‘But Raymond obviously expects you to. As my only surviving male relative. So I wondered, if I could get him to ask you, whether you’d consider being his best man.’
‘Stella, tell me you’re not serious,’ he said, flabbergasted that she would even suggest such a thing.
‘It’s the only way to explain to him why you’re not walking me down the aisle.’
‘I can’t believe you would even think that I would want to do that,’ he said, stunned now by her cheek. ‘I simply can’t believe it.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not,’ he said, narrowing his eyes. ‘I don’t even want to be there.’
‘But you have to be there,’ she insisted. ‘You’re my cousin. We grew up together. We’re—’
‘Stella, don’t you think it’s a little late to play the cousin card now?’ he asked with a bitter laugh. ‘It seems to me that I was only your cousin when I was of some use to you. And after that…’ He clicked his fingers in the air, like a magician performing a disappearing trick.
‘And after that, what?’ demanded Stella.
‘Let’s just say that family loyalty was hardly your strong suit, was it? You did what you did to save your own neck and didn’t much care what happened to me afterwards. Cousin,’ he added, feeling as if he wanted to spit the word on the ground and tread on it, but resisting. ‘And besides, do you really think that Raymond would want me to act as his best man? What if he knew—’
‘Owen, don’t!’ she barked, a pink dot appearing on either cheek.
He bit his lip and looked away from her. ‘I don’t want to do it,’ he said quietly after a moment. ‘I think it’s heartless of you to suggest it.’
‘Owen, when you think about it, it’s really not that—’
A loud hammering sound came from upstairs and they both jumped and looked up there at the same time.
‘I have to get back to work,’ he said, snapping out of his unhappiness and moving towards the door. ‘Can you just leave please?’
‘Well will you think about what I’ve said at least?’ asked Stella. ‘Will you just tell me that you’ll give it some thought? Please? For me?’
He breathed in deeply and nodded. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. ‘But now I have to get back to work. I’ll be in touch, all right?’
‘Thank you, Owen. It means a lot to me.’ She hesitated for a moment before turning back to stare at him. ‘And for the record,’ she added, her voice faltering slightly, ‘you remember things entirely as you want to remember them; you do realize that, don’t you? You can call me disloyal or cru
el all you want but perhaps you should examine your own conscience about those days.’
Montignac snorted and looked away. ‘I have and it’s clear,’ he said.
‘Of course it is,’ she said turning away. ‘Because nothing is ever your fault, is it?’
‘No,’ said Montignac, seeing her through the door and locking it behind her.
Sometimes, he thought to himself, it’s possible to look at a person and wonder how on earth you could ever have loved them in the first place.
And why it is, when they continue to hurt you, over and over again, you keep trying to make things better and you keep going back to let them take another punch at you.
It’s because my love was an honest one, he thought, answering his own question. It was honest and true and I never would have betrayed her like she did me. No matter what she did. Cousin or not. I never would have done it. Not in a million years. I would have died first.
6
THEY WERE UNSURE HOW to deal with him at first but it didn’t take long for the Montignacs to feel that they couldn’t remember life before their young nephew had come to live with them; after only two weeks at Leyville, Owen Montignac proved himself to be a favourite with his new family. The children were welcoming, Stella doting on her blue-eyed, white-haired cousin, treating him like a real-life doll who’d been thrust among them, while Andrew enjoyed the fact that he had a younger brother of sorts for the first time in his life, and one who was already grown and not a baby at that.
Of course one of the reasons he made himself so popular was because he ingratiated himself so much into their affections. He kept up a parade of jokes, tricks and good humour that had the family and the servants falling in love with him, even Margaret Richmond who didn’t appreciate the kind of spontaneity that Owen brought to the house. She put that down to his French upbringing. (Or his ‘wild’ French upbringing as she styled it.) After only a short while it felt like a room was empty if he wasn’t in it.