‘No. No, oh God, NO.’
Jason stared in abject horror into the empty space. At the tartan rug lying there.
Was this nightmare ever going to end?
Gone.
The painting and the sketch both gone. Stolen. How was he going to tell his clients?
Then he remembered something, and suddenly his hopes rose.
Idiot!
He lifted a corner of the rug and relief instantly flooded through him. The two pictures lay there, sealed and wrapped in brown paper over layers of bubble wrap, as David had presented them to him this morning.
He closed his eyes in relief.
He was really in a state, he realized, lifting the first picture out and propping it against the side of the car. As he lifted up the second one, he saw the book the librarian had lent him, which he had completely forgotten about.
Sussex Mysteries by Martin Pemberton.
He picked it up, closed the boot and locked the car again, carried the book and the pictures back into the house and laid them on the kitchen table.
‘What’s that book?’ Emily asked, looking up from slicing a beetroot.
‘Something the librarian lent me – it has a mention of the history of Cold Hill village, apparently.’
‘Interesting. Did David do a good job on the framing?’
‘Actually, I never checked. He gave them to me like this – he was in a rush, trying to get everything done before he went off.’
‘Don’t you think you’d better take a look?’
‘I wasn’t going to – I trust his work completely.’
‘It’s when people are in a rush that they make mistakes.’
‘Not David. We’ve worked together for too long.’
She gave him a quizzical look. ‘These are both important clients, darling, isn’t it worth checking? Anyhow, I’d like to see them – you never showed them to me when they were finished.’
He shrugged. ‘OK.’ Removing a serrated knife from a drawer, he slit open the tape of the first one, very carefully, and slowly slid out the gesso board. ‘This is the painting of the labradoodles, and . . .’
His voice tailed off as he pulled the board out further.
Further still.
‘What the . . .?’ he said.
Emily stepped over to him. He slid the board completely out of its packaging.
To see there was nothing on it.
Both of them stared in disbelief.
It was blank. A beautifully framed, blank gesso board.
Jason shook his head, bewildered and close to tears. ‘What – what’s this?’ he said. ‘What’s he done?’ He turned it over, as if hoping, miraculously, his painting would appear on the reverse. But there was nothing except the framer’s label. ‘It’s not possible,’ he said. ‘It’s not— What has the idiot done? What’s he done? Has he gone fucking mad?’
‘Maybe they’re both in the other one?’ Emily ventured, lamely.
With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he slit the second package open. Then he teased out the single board inside, slowly, fearfully, as Emily watched. With his eyes closed, he pulled the board free of its container and held it up.
There was panic in his voice. ‘Em, tell me there’s a painting on it. Tell me, for God’s sake, tell me.’
Emily said nothing. She stared at it. She didn’t know what to say.
The board was just as perfectly framed. And just as blank.