The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  He glanced at Yvonne and winked. 'Aye well, we'll leave that for now.' Getting to his feet, he continued, 'So you've been very helpful Mrs Fitzwilliam, very helpful. There's quite a bit more we need to go through with you but that will have to wait until the next time. I'll give you a call in advance, just to let you know the stuff we'll want to see. Probably a full list of all your scholarship kids over the last five years, a list of all your supplier organisations with contact details, interview records, stuff like that.'

  Fitzwilliam looked as if she was about to protest, but evidently thought better of it. 'Well, if it's really necessary Inspector?'

  He smiled back at her. 'Oh aye. It really is necessary Mrs Fitzwilliam. Anyway, we'll give it a good think through and let you know. But thanks for all your help. We'll love you and leave you now.'

  Twenty minutes later they were back on the M40 heading south, Yvonne still flushed with excitement after her first face-to-face interview, Frank finally relaxed after battling through the nightmare Oxford traffic.

  'So how's the decision going?' Frank asked, grinning. 'Cop or robber?'

  'No contest sir. Cop of course. I loved that today.'

  'Good stuff. So what did you make of it all?'

  'She was lying sir. No doubt about it.'

  'Aye, I got that feeling too.'

  She gave him a serious look. 'It was more than a feeling for me sir. You see, when I had my interview with them, they made it very plain that you didn't get any choice as to where you were assigned. You had to agree to be totally flexible and go anywhere they told you. That was something they stressed very much.'

  'So all that stuff about consulting with the kids...'

  '...was a lie sir. Definitely.'

  So that was it, no doubts at all. Sophie Fitzwilliam was lying. Which naturally got him wondering why she would do that.

  Chapter 11

  They'd never really had a cross word in the year or so they had worked together. Until today, the relationship had been easy and relaxed, like a comfortable pair of old slippers. Or like she imagined a good marriage would be, although she had never experienced that herself during her eight miserable years with Phillip. Today however was different. Jimmy Stewart wasn't happy and he wasn't taking any trouble to hide his feelings, pacing around their little Fleet Street office wearing a thunderous expression.

  'Absolutely no way Maggie, absolutely no way. That's not what ah signed up for and I'm no' doing it.' She just loved the way his Glasgow accent broadened when he was agitated. It made her laugh, which was probably not the ideal way to handle the somewhat delicate matter.

  'I know it's a lot to ask,' she said, trying her best to be serious, 'but I couldn't think of any other way to get you in there. Unless you can come up with a better idea yourself of course.' She knew he wouldn't be able to, but there was no harm in asking.

  'Well no, but I don't see why I need to be in there at all,' he said, his voice betraying defeat. 'Can't you handle this yourself?'

  She shook her head. 'It's hard enough for me to pretend to be interested in modern art. You've no idea how many hours I've had to spend on line trying to get at least a semblance of knowledge. And we did agree that we need to find out how faithful Miss Brückner is or is likely to be, didn't we? As a key part of our investigation.'

  'Aye, we did but...'

  'Yes, so unless she is gay, which I think is unlikely, I don't think there's much I can do to help in that department. Not that she would be likely to fancy an old woman like me.'

  'She fancies an old man like Morgan.'

  'Oh yeah, like what first attracted you to the multi-millionaire Hugo Morgan?'

  He gave a wry smile. 'Aye, point taken. But what about that guy you're seeing? The gallery owner. If she's so beautiful, it's odds-on he's tried it on with her in the past. Couldn't you just ask him?'

  She looked at him, open-mouthed. 'You mean Robert?' She didn't expect it to come out the way it did, a hint of familiarity that suggested Robert Trelawney was already part of her life. Correction, her fake life. 'I don't see how I could do that without blowing my cover.'

  'Well maybe I could. You know, get a bit matey with him, a bit of laddish banter. We could even compare notes about you. Or here's a better one. Maybe I could threaten to beat the crap out of him for making a pass at my girl. Aye, that would be better.' Too late, he realised what he'd done.

  She laughed. 'Excellent, excellent, so you will come with me to the gallery. Now obviously you can't use your own name. We don't want anybody googling Jimmy Stewart and your bloody Hampstead Hero story popping up all over the place. James we can use, that's fine, but you need to come up with a new surname.'

  'McDuff.'

  'What?'

  'McDuff. It just came to me. He was my old RSM. Ally McDuff. He was from Forres in the Highlands. A great lad.'

  'Fine, James McDuff it is. So the back story is you've recently left the army and haven't quite worked out what to do next.'

  'So far, so true.'

  'We met quite by chance in a bar, resulting in fireworks. Lust at first sight, at least on my part. Now I can't keep my hands off you.'

  'And yet you agreed to go out with Mr gallery guy. How's that supposed to fit in?'

  'All part of the narrative. The wronged widow going a bit crazy, grabbing everything that's out there, and bugger the consequences.'

  He shook his head. 'Bloody hell Maggie, you've got this all worked out haven't you?'

  She laughed. 'Not all my own work I'm afraid. I nicked it from the plot of a trashy novel I've been reading. It's every older woman's fantasy, according to these books anyway. The hunky young stud insatiably satisfying her every desire, twenty-four by seven. Sheer animal passion.' To her surprise, his face began to redden. 'But it's not mine, honestly. Not my fantasy, I mean. And anyway, in the book, the heroine chooses love and money over lust, and you - I mean the young hunk -gets dumped. Sorry mate.'

  Now he was laughing too. 'Well that's a relief. No, I didn't mean that the way it sounded, honestly, you're looking very lovely at the moment and it would be an honour to play your toy-boy.'

  The compliment took her by surprise. 'Harriet Ibbotson, Hugo Morgan's intern. She's the one to thank. And spending eight hundred pounds on an outfit and two hundred pounds on my hair.' She was thrilled that he had noticed. It had been money well spent.

  Jimmy smiled. 'Aye, but just remember, you owe me big time. Silent and broody, is that what you want?'

  'Silent and shifty actually. I want your eyes all over Lotti when I'm not looking and I want her to notice. Think you can do that?'

  'Suppose so,' he said, uncertainly. They decided to take a black cab, on the twin grounds that Morgan was generous with the expenses and more importantly, she didn't want to walk any further than was strictly necessary in these heels. Now she just had to remember her homework. First there was Andre Dehrain, the French painter she found on Google. He had, this apparently a well-known fact amongst art lovers, painted Big Ben and other London riverside scenes, in what she took to be an impressionistic style, although she didn't actually know what that meant. She genuinely loved some of his portrait work too, particularly one he'd done in 1923, Portrait de Madame Francis Carco. An astonishingly attractive young woman, perfectly captured by the artist, her brooding sexuality bursting from the canvas. There was Paul Nash of course, and that picture she had seen in her earlier visit. Then LS Lowry, perhaps the most famous of the British artists. She knew that it was rare for any of his original works to come on the market and when they did, they fetched an eye-watering price, but that didn't matter. Hopefully their little project would be concluded before any money had to change hands. But then again, it would be Hugo Morgan's money she would be spending if it went that far, and since the purchases would be those recommended by his fiancé-to-be, he would hardly be in a position to complain.

  Lotti was waiting at the door when they arrived, dressed in similar style as before in grey tailored trousers and a white tee. A
nd, Maggie noted with envy, a pair of glittery ballet flats. Today her hair was tied up and she was wearing more make-up than before, a subtle salmon-pink foundation and heavy mascara ringing her eyes. Still very attractive, but at first glance she looked older. Maggie couldn't help wondering if that was by design. But then she looked closer at her eyes. Revealing, she was convinced, the crystal clarity and sparkle of youth. Just like Chardonnay Clarke and Luke Brown.

  If she was surprised to see this woman who'd had dinner with her boss accompanied by a man, she didn't show it. 'It is very lovely to see you again,' she said. 'I am very much looking forward to it. We are able to use Robert's office today, he's at Christies with another client. There's a Matisse as the star lot and it of course has attracted much international interest. Our client hopes he will be successful but it will be very difficult I think.' Through all of this, she hadn't looked at Jimmy once. A good sign perhaps, but suddenly it opened up a possibility that Maggie hadn't previously considered. What if Miss Brückner was not actually attracted to men? It was a possibility, however unlikely, that couldn't be ruled out, and that was something Hugo Morgan would definitely want to know about.

  She led them upstairs and along a passageway to the back of the building where Robert Trelawney had his office. Like the rest of his gallery, the room was simply but tastefully decorated, one wall lined with limed oak bookshelves holding neatly arranged volumes that Maggie took to be works of reference. There was no desk, but in one corner was a large circular table in matching limed oak, surrounded by half a dozen chairs. On top of the desk lay a number of auction catalogues, page clips inserted to bookmark particular points of interest.

  'I've been doing some preparation, just to see what's on the market at the moment that might be of interest. We have two or three works ourselves that might be good for you. Please, take a seat.'

  Maggie smiled as she sat down. 'That sounds great Lotti. But can I introduce you to my friend James. He's interested in twentieth century art too. Aren't you darling? So I thought I would bring him along, I hope you don't mind.'

  He gave a half-smile and mumbled something inaudible in their direction. Lotti returned a polite smile but nothing more. This was something Maggie hadn't seen before, a woman who seemed totally immune to the charms of Jimmy Stewart. She was either super-professional or maybe she really was besottedly in love with Hugo Morgan to the exclusion of all others. If that truly was the case, this investigation would be over before it had even started.

  'We didn't really discuss budget, did we Maggie?' Lotti was saying as she thumbed through one of the catalogues, 'but I've assumed around a hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand would be a reasonable sum to get you started. We can assemble a very nice portfolio for that. And quite by chance there are some exceptional works on the market at the moment.'

  'Two hundred sounds great,' Maggie said, smiling. 'What do you think James?'

  'Aye, sound,' he said. 'It's your money, although if it was me I'd buy a Ferrari.' She saw him sneak a glance at Lotti and shoot her a crooked smile. And for a split second the young girl held his gaze, a flicker of reaction in her eyes, then with a definite movement, looked away.

  'Don't worry darling James,' Maggie said, squeezing his arm and kissing his cheek. 'You shall have your Ferrari.'

  'Sound,' he said again.

  Lotti wore the faintest smile as she waited patiently for this little love scene to conclude, before continuing. 'So the French were very prominent in the art of the period so I have a number of examples of their work. Also the later Flemish school was very popular.'

  Maggie nodded. 'I came across Andre Dehrain in my googling. I like his work very much.'

  'I agree, a fine artist, and popular too. Although he was a controversial figure in France. I do not know if that concerns you?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'You see, he was regarded as a collaborator during the war and afterwards his works were devalued as a result because many collectors shunned his paintings. Although that is not so much of an issue today. But you may also wish to consider Piet Mondrian. He was Dutch, and very much the pioneer of the abstract style in twentieth century art. His works do come on the market occasionally and are very sought after. There is also Carles Casagemas, a Catalan and a great friend of Pablo Picasso. There is a very pretty landscape of his going under the hammer in a few days’ time which we may be able to secure for you. To be honest, he was not the greatest of artists but because of his friendship with Picasso and his extraordinary life story, he is prized by many collectors.'

  'Extraordinary? How do you mean?'

  'He fell crazily in love with a beautiful model, but then suffered terrible depression because he was unable to consummate the relationship. Impotenz. The German word, it is almost the same.'

  Jimmy chuckled. 'Could'nae get it up eh? That's awful for a chap, so it is.' He gave Lotti a look that so clearly signalled but that wouldn't be a problem for me. Maggie chuckled to herself. It was nice to see him embracing the role, even although she doubted his exaggerated Glaswegian would be understood.

  Lotti seemed unable to decide if he was trying to be funny or not. 'Yes, I suppose it is. For him, it was obviously important, because he then committed suicide in a crazy fashion.'

  'This is fascinating,' Maggie said, truthfully, 'please, tell me more.'

  Lotti nodded. 'So he invited the model, who was called Germaine Gargallo, and a few friends to dinner at the Hippodrome Cafe in Paris, where he proposed to her. When she turned him down, he drew a pistol and tried to shoot her but missed. He then turned the gun on himself and put a bullet through his head. As a result, he died of course. He was just twenty-one years of age at the time.'

  'Good lord, that's awful,' Maggie said. 'Just twenty-one?'

  'Yes,' Lotti said, 'and he was quite remarkably beautiful too. Picasso painted many portraits of him, including one of him lying in his coffin, which is perhaps the most famous of them. Of course, I don't think we could afford that work even if it ever came up for sale. Right now it is in the Musée Picasso in Paris and I doubt if they plan to sell it.'

  To her surprise, Maggie found herself being absorbed into this world, transported by the infectious enthusiasm of Lotti Brückner. Which made her revise her opinion of the young woman, because although she might look as if she should still be wearing school uniform, she obviously knew what she was talking about.

  'What I find interesting Lotti is how you came to learn so much about this subject,' Maggie said. 'Because I guess it's a huge field.' And then it was revealed.

  'It's my family business Magdalene. My great-grandfather started a gallery almost one hundred years ago and now it is run by my mum and dad. Gallerei Brückner.'

  'In Zurich?'

  'Yes, we have a small one there, but our main gallery is in St Moritz. The town gets many rich visitors and they are often very interested in art. So it has been a very nice business for us through the years.'

  'St Moritz sounds like a place,' Jimmy said. 'So how come you ended up in smelly old London?'

  She smiled. 'Perhaps one day I will take over the family business, but I wanted to have more experiences in my life before then. And of course London is a very big market in the art world.' To Maggie, it all sounded so terribly plausible, which made it all the more likely that it was true. So far there was nothing about Lotti Brückner that might cause any concern to Hugo Morgan. Except, curiously, she still hadn't mentioned him at all. A fact that Jimmy had obviously noticed.

  'Aye, and you'll probably meet someone, a lovely-looking girl like you. In fact I expect you've already got a boyfriend.' Once more he shot her the crooked smile, and once more, she studiously ignored it.

  'Yes, there is someone,' she said, demurely. 'He's very nice. But I'm sure you're not interested in my rather dull private life. Come, let's have a look at some of the paintings I have bookmarked for you.' The message was polite but clear. Subject closed. Maggie decided it would be prudent to park that line of enquiry
for a while. Instead she said,

  'It must be lovely to come from a nice family like yours Lotti. My mum and dad divorced in 1991 and it affected me rather badly. It was a year I'll never forget. I was just twelve years old.'

  She seemed uncertain how to react. 'Yes...yes, I am very lucky. I know that.'

  Maggie smiled to herself before quickly changed the subject. So it looked like her assumption might be correct after all.

  'Sorry, sorry, too much information again. Yes, let's look at what you've found for me.'

  Then for the next hour she was immersed in the fascinating world of twentieth-century European art, guided by a young woman whose expertise seemed unchallengeable. Lotti had put together a shortlist of around twenty paintings, some rather affordable, some with auction estimates running well into six figures. When all of this was over, Maggie could imagine her real self buying one or two of the more modestly-priced items to decorate the walls of her little Hampstead study. She chuckled inwardly when she thought of what her Ollie's reaction would be to that. Ugh, his go-to word of disapproval. To him, just eight years old, the only pictures that should be stuck on a wall were of cars, the faster and more exotic the better.

  At the end of the hour, they had narrowed the selection down to five or six items that which they would definitely try to acquire. Her favourite on the list was a work by Casagemas, the subject a Spanish townscape which she thought was painted rather in the style of Lowry. To her surprise, Lotti agreed with her.

  'Yes, I think they do have much similarity. Neither was what you would call a great technical artist...'

  'You mean they couldn't really draw,' Jimmy said.

  'Perhaps you could say that,' Lotti said, smiling, 'but of course Carles Casagemas was very young and was still learning. And they were both very good at capturing the atmosphere of a scene and bringing it to life. That is a very important talent that many more technically gifted artists do not possess.'