chapter twenty-four

Suffolk 2011

 

Fiona held her breath as Teresa settled back in her chair, briefly closing her eyes. She felt a pang of guilt for putting the old lady through the ordeal but didn’t see they had any choice.

Teresa opened her eyes and smiled tiredly.

‘It’s a sweet story, which Leo shared with me when he first showed me around his home. I remarked on the painting, and he confirmed it was by Renoir. His grandparents had seen an exhibition of his work in Paris shortly after he returned from Guernsey and loved the scenes of Moulin Huet with the group of children. They were passionate art collectors and fond parents and asked if Renoir could replicate the picture, but with their three children as the subjects.’

Fiona let out an involuntary gasp. A private commission! No wonder the painting wasn’t listed anywhere.

The old lady nodded.

‘Renoir knew the family and was happy to oblige. He’d returned with a number of semi-finished pictures from Guernsey and simply completed one with the children as the principal subjects. It became a family favourite, having special significance as, sadly, the two younger children died a few years later. Adele, my husband’s mother, inherited a considerable estate as well as the painting. She’s the eldest of the group,’ she pointed to a tall girl in the photocopy.

‘Wow! That’s some story, Mrs Bichard,’ John said, his eyes alight with excitement. ‘Everything finally makes sense, doesn’t it, Fiona?’

She nodded, too overcome with the various revelations to speak. This family’s story was like something out of a novel, particularly with the surprise news that Leo’s mother was in the painting.

Teresa seemed to think of something.

‘You mentioned other paintings? Were they by any chance local scenes by Naftel and Toplis among others? My husband had a large art collection, of which he was extremely proud.’

‘Yes, they were. I’m afraid it looked as if an unknown number of items stored in the basement had gone, presumably sold. But there were about a dozen paintings left, and I have a list here.’ Fiona handed her a typed sheet of paper.

Teresa gave them a cursory glance.

‘To be honest, I can’t remember the details, but is it fair to assume these were Leo’s and not general stock?

‘It is, they had been wrapped in the same oilcloth as the Renoir and had been there years. I’m happy for you to have them when I can arrange it.’

‘Thank you,’ Teresa whispered, looking pale.

She watched as Michael whispered something to her, before turning around and saying, ‘My grandmother’s very tired and needs to rest. I’m happy to answer any other questions you may have before you leave. Okay?’

They agreed, and Judith stood ready with the wheelchair as Michael again assisted his grandmother into it. Teresa reached out a hand to first Fiona and then John.

‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you both and no doubt we shall be in touch again soon.’ To Fiona, she added, ‘And again, please accept my condolences for your loss. I do hope you find the man who killed your brother soon.’

‘Thank you, and I enjoyed seeing you as well, Mrs Bichard.’ Fiona watched as Judith wheeled her mother out of the room, leaving her son pacing up and down, running a hand through his hair.

‘Were you surprised at what your grandmother told us?’ Fiona said.

He swung round and grinned ruefully.

‘Not really, I’d heard most of the story before. But it still has an effect when told again in such detail.’ He slumped in a chair.

‘And your parents knew?’ John asked.

‘My mother yes, but I doubt my father was aware of it, particularly about the Renoir. He wasn’t someone you could entrust with such information.’ Michael’s voice sounded bitter.

‘I’m assuming your parents are not together?’ Fiona ventured, hesitant to intrude.

‘My father died last year, but they’d been apart for years.’ He crossed his legs and gazed out of the window.

She muttered, ‘I’m sorry,’ but he didn’t respond. A sore subject, then. An uneasy silence ensued, broken by Judith’s return, twisting her hands.

‘Mother’s resting and asked me to offer you some tea and cake before you leave. I made a carrot cake this morning, and we also have shortbread.’ She stood next to Michael, briefly touching his arm. He jumped up, saying, ‘I’ll sort it, Ma, you sit down and relax.’ He turned to Fiona and John. ‘Earl Grey okay with you two?’

They nodded their agreement.

‘You have a beautiful home here, Mrs Collins. I presume it’s where you grew up?’ Fiona asked. Judith looked up from gazing at her lap, the sunlight emphasising the lines and dark circles on her face, making her look older than her years.

‘Yes, with my mother and grandparents. It was a working farm in those days, idyllic for a single child. So many places to explore,’ she said, a smile hovering on her lips.

‘I noticed the horses in the field as we arrived. Do you ride?’

‘Only occasionally now, but Michael rides when he’s here. It’s such wonderful riding country, and makes a refreshing change for him from London.’ Judith smiled properly for the first time. ‘Do you ride, Miss Torode?’

‘Please, call me Fiona. Yes, I do, but not for a while. We’re limited in Guernsey as there are few wide-open spaces like you have here. My favourite was always galloping on the beach at low tide.’ For a moment the image of her and Nigel racing each other along L’Ancresse beach, laughing from pure joy, reignited the agonising ache of loss and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She was saved from saying more as Michael arrived with a tray of tea and cake and cups and plates were passed around.

‘Did I miss anything interesting?’ he said, his head on one side.

‘Fiona and I were chatting about the house and of how wonderful it was to grow up here.’ Judith’s voice faltered as Michael’s face clouded.

Fiona, sensing tension, changed the subject.

‘We haven’t discussed with Mrs Bichard what happens next regarding the Renoir. Should we do that now?’

‘Absolutely. My grandmother’s happy for me to be her representative from now on, with me being based in London,’ Michael said, handing her a slice of carrot cake.

‘I’m meeting Professor Wright tomorrow morning to update him on the provenance and ownership of the painting. As a leading authority on Renoir, his accreditation will be critical if Mrs Bichard wants to sell. For my part, I’m happy for the painting to be returned to the family.’ She paused, struck by a thought. ‘You’re welcome to come along with me if you’re free.’

Michael glanced at his mother.

‘I’d planned to spend another day here, what do you think, Ma? Can you manage if I leave today?’

‘I think you should be at the meeting, but the doctor’s coming at five if you can wait.’

‘Would this work for you two? We could travel back together by train.’ Michael looked at them.

John shook his head.

‘Sorry, I must leave within the hour if I’m to catch my plane. I can get a taxi.’

‘No worries, I’ll get Steve, our handyman, to run you to the station. Fiona?’ He turned to her, his smile warm.

‘I can wait. It’ll give me time to explore your garden if I may.’ In spite of herself, she felt a twinge of excitement at the thought of spending time alone with him. She hadn’t dated in the past couple of years, partly because of spending more time with Nigel and partly because she hadn’t met a man she found attractive. And Michael was attractive.

‘Great!’ Michael’s eyes seemed to light up a little, and Fiona assumed he was thinking about the family reunion with their valuable heirloom. Which reminded her, no-one had asked how much a Renoir would be worth.

‘Do you plan to keep or sell the painting?’

‘Oh, sell.’ He waved his arms around the room. ‘As you can see, the house needs money spending on it, and my mother and grandmother have few savings,’ he glanced at Judith, who flushed, ‘so what’s the point of having a pretty picture on the wall when we can fix the house?’

She nodded. It was what she’d expected. Only the wealthiest people kept such valuable art on their walls these days.

‘I’m sure there’d be a lot of interest from collectors and museums. It’s rare an unknown Renoir comes to the market.’

‘What sort of figure are we talking? Hundreds of thousands? I don’t follow auction prices these days unless it’s sculpture.’ He took a sip of his tea.

Fiona cleared her throat.

‘You’re a bit out.’ Her gaze took in Michael and Judith. ‘It’s difficult to predict at this stage, and an auction house would advise more accurately, but I’d say three or four million pounds is possible.’

‘You’re kidding!’

Fiona grinned as Michael slapped his leg in surprise. His mother’s jaw dropped.

‘We weren’t expecting that, were we, Ma?’ He hugged her.

Judith seemed lost for words and had to take a deep breath.

‘No, Mother had hoped for a few hundred thousand, but certainly not millions! It’s…hard to take in.’ She took a swallow of tea, her hands shaking.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ John said, standing, ‘but I do need to leave soon.’

Michael jumped up. ‘Of course. Follow me, and I’ll round up Steve. I’ve just thought, Ma; we’ll be able to buy a new jeep after all!’ He rubbed his hands.

John exchanged goodbyes with Judith and Fiona, telling the latter he’d see her on Friday. The men left, leaving the women with the remains of the tea on the table in front of them.

‘Do you have to manage the whole house on your own, Mrs Collins? Looks a lot for one person.’

Judith didn’t appear to have heard, her eyes unfocused.

‘Mrs Collins?’

‘Oh, sorry, my dear, I’m still trying to take it all in. You asked if I manage on my own. Yes, for the most part, but I do have a cleaning lady a couple of times a week. And Mother has a carer who calls once a day.’ She gazed at Fiona and smiled. ‘We’ll be able to afford more help once the painting’s sold. Will that take long, do you think?’ For a moment she looked anxious like someone offered a present and then seeing it snatched away.

‘I’m no expert, but I’d say months at least. The auctioneers will want to attract as many potential buyers as possible. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to carry on as you are for a while.’

‘I’ve managed for the past twenty years so I can wait a few more months.’

At that point, Michael appeared in the doorway.

‘What’s this about waiting a few more months?’

Judith explained about her conversation with Fiona while he sat down and helped himself to more cake. Michael and Judith, in light-hearted mood, started drawing up a mental list of all the things they could spend the money on, leaving Fiona to enjoy their fun. A few minutes later, Michael turned to her, saying, ‘Please forgive our rudeness, this must be boring for you. Would you like to walk around the gardens now? Ma and I need to wait for the doctor.’

‘Yes, please.’

He took her through the French windows facing the garden. Fiona realised they were at the back of the house and saw what appeared to be an unfinished attempt at a formal country garden. Untidy hedges, overgrown herbaceous borders and strips of ragged pathways.

‘Not in great shape, is it? My grandmother wanted to establish a proper garden once her parents died and the family no longer farmed.’ He followed her gaze as she surveyed the dereliction. ‘Unfortunately, for various reasons, money became a problem, and there was no-one to help keep it in shape. Ma did her best, but it’s got too much for her lately.’ His expression was solemn.

‘Well, I guess employing a gardener’s on the list once the painting’s sold,’ she said with a grin.

He laughed.

‘Too right! I expect Ma will have written a Wish List as long as my arm by the end of the day. Anyway,’ he added, pointing to the left, ‘you’ll find the remnants of a kitchen garden down there, and if you follow the path around the house, you’ll end up by the fields with the horses if you want to say hello.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that.’

‘Here are some mints, you’ll be friends for life with these,’ he said, grinning.

She watched him return inside then picked her way along the paths towards a copse, from where she wanted to look back at the old house. Along the way, she spotted brave roses and irises raising their heads above tangles of weeds and long-dead stalks of indeterminate flowers. Fiona was saddened by the state of the garden, emphasising as it did, the downfall of what was once a proud and successful farming family. She liked old Mrs Bichard, she had spirit and hadn’t lost her pride. Whereas her daughter seemed cowed and somewhat diminished by their misfortune. Whatever it was.

As Fiona reached the edge of the wood, she turned to view the house stretched out behind. Now she could see where additions had been made over the centuries, offering different coloured brickwork and varied window sizes, from small single pane to the large French windows serving the drawing room. Although a hotchpotch, the overall effect was beautiful. No-one had painted the bricks like the front elevation, now gleaming red in the sun. Fiona hoped whatever plans the family had for this house; they’d keep its character. Not that it made any difference to her, of course, as she might never return. But still…she sighed as she made her way back towards the kitchen garden, and beyond. Something about this place called to her.

 

Fiona was fussing over the horses eagerly sniffing her pockets for treats when a car drove up to the house. A man with a medical bag emerged and was promptly ushered inside. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was ten minutes past five. Pretty much on time, then. Good. She wanted to arrive in London early enough to share a meal with her old uni friend. It was less than three weeks since she’d seen her, but so much had happened. Her life turned upside down – clearing her throat, she bent to kiss the soft muzzle of a horse before reaching for the mints. Frantic whinnying ensued, and she couldn’t help laughing as both horses vied for attention, the mints soon gone. They were happy to stay by the fence and be stroked, and Fiona found it soothing. She must get back into riding, she thought, envious of the openness of the surrounding countryside.

The closing of a car door alerted her to the doctor’s departure, and she took a fond farewell of her new friends, who trotted alongside in the field as she walked back to the house. Michael must have spotted her as he was waiting by the open door, his hands shoved into his pockets and a smile on his face. She had to acknowledge he was gorgeous even in his scruffy jeans and felt a small frisson of desire in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to travel back with him…

‘Hi, did you enjoy your walk? Looks like my horses fell for your charms,’ he said, chuckling.

‘It was the mints, as well you know. Cupboard love.’ She smiled and glanced back at the horses straining at the fence to join her.

‘They may have had something to do with the attraction, but it looked to me as if you have an affinity with horses. If you’re ever this way again, perhaps you’d like to join me for a ride?’ His eyes locked onto hers and she took a deep breath to stop the heat rising to her cheeks.

‘I’d like that, thanks. Although–’ she shrugged, as if to say, it’s not likely to happen.

‘Good. In the meantime, if you’re ready, we can leave for the station. Steve will drive us as he needs to run some errands for my mother.’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Your mother doesn’t drive?’

He shook his head.

‘No, at least not nowadays. Do you want to come in and freshen up before we go?’

Fiona followed him into the hall, and he directed her to a cloakroom near the kitchen. When she returned, Judith was standing in the hall to wish them goodbye.

‘I hope the doctor’s visit wasn’t urgent?’ Fiona said as they shook hands.

‘No, just routine. He likes to keep an eye on her, been a friend of the family for years.’

‘Right, let’s go. I’ll give you a ring later, Ma.’ Michael lifted Fiona’s overnight bag and led the way outside where Steve was waiting with the jeep, the engine running. She hopped in the back, and Michael took the passenger seat. Her new four-legged friends galloped to the fence and followed them down the drive. Fiona waved, receiving an answering whinny from the bay and a toss of the head from the grey. As they neared the end of the drive, she settled back in the seat, the men deep in conversation about cricket.

Once at the station they only had to wait ten minutes for the London train to arrive and soon found a vacant table with facing seats. Fiona, confronted with the intimacy of an hour’s journey alone with Michael, shifted uneasily in her seat. Would it be rude to read her paperback? Of course, it would. They would have to make conversation, which should be easy as they had stuff in common.’

‘I don’t know about you, but I could murder a glass of something alcoholic. Care to join me?’ He raised his eyebrows in enquiry.

‘Love to, thanks. Dry white would be good.’ Phew! What a relief. She’d feel much more relaxed with a glass of wine in her hand. Michael disappeared to the refreshments carriage, allowing her to reflect on the events of the day.

The family had been so different to what she’d expected and Michael, well he was something else. Not that she wanted a relationship with anyone, her heart was too fragile after losing her beloved brother, but a mild flirtation might cheer her up. She didn’t even know if he was married or in a relationship. Idiot. Why wouldn’t he be taken? Nice guys were hard to come by these days. More frogs than princes. A flicker of disappointment caught her by surprise at the thought. Stupid woman. Anyway, they might not meet after tomorrow. She and John had done their bit. Now Leo’s family would take over the rest of the story while she…what? Well, they had to find Nigel’s killer and bring him to justice. There would be a funeral to organise soon and then she had the rest of her life to plan. By the time Michael returned with their drinks, Fiona had talked herself into a low mood, barely raising a smile when she saw he’d bought two small bottles of white for her and a couple of red for himself.

‘Thought we could celebrate my family’s good fortune, or is that insensitive of me?’

He must have seen the sorrow in her face as his smile disappeared.

‘No, it’s fine. You have a right to celebrate, and I’m truly pleased for you and the family. I’ll be hitting the vino later with my friend, so what the hell?’ She managed a smile, appreciating his concern. Sod it; she may as well drown her sorrows while helping him celebrate.

After giving her a long look, he opened a bottle each and poured the wine into the unprepossessing plastic glasses.

Raising their glasses, they touched them briefly, with a muted ‘Cheers!’ Before taking a sip. Fiona grimaced, catching the same reaction on Michael’s face and within seconds they were both laughing. In her case, verging on the hysterical.

He wiped the tears from his eyes, saying, ‘Sorry about the wine. Bloody typical rail fare, but they’d run out of Dom Perignon so…’ He grinned at her.

Grabbing a tissue, she blew her nose and patted her eyes before she could reply.

‘You’re forgiven. But next time you invite me to share a celebratory drink, I’ll expect something with a little more class.’ She took another swallow, urging her taste buds to get used to it. At least the alcohol would relax her.

‘I’ll bear that in mind. So, you’re meeting a friend tonight? Someone close?’ He took a swallow of wine and sat back.

‘Yes, a friend from uni. She and I were in the same year and shared a flat together. Since I’ve been in Guernsey, we’ve not seen as much of each other.’

He nodded.

‘I made some great friends at college, but seem to have lost track of most of them. That’s the trouble when you get involved with a girl when you’re young, your mates drift away cos you’re never available.’ He stared at his glass, a fleeting look of sadness crossing his face.

‘Did you get married young then?’ He wasn’t wearing a ring, but she knew from experience that not many men did.

‘No, didn’t get that far. Got engaged, but,’ he said, looking up, ‘it was a long time ago. We’ve met up a few times since and she’s happily married with three kids. There were no hard feelings. What about you? Is there a doting husband or boyfriend waiting for you back home?’

‘No. It might sound sad, but I live, I mean lived, with my brother. He developed MS a couple of years ago, and he needed my support. I don’t regret it, but I guess it impacted on my love life as I spent so much time with him.’ She swallowed more wine, determined not to cry.

Michael’s eyes widened.

‘I’m sorry, must have been awful for you both. What will you do now?’ He topped up her glass, and for a split second their fingers touched, and Fiona felt a tingle pass through them. She pulled back, not daring to look at him.

‘No idea. I’m not making any plans until we’ve caught the bastard who killed Nigel. It’s the main reason I hired John, and already we think we know who did it. We just have to prove it.’

‘Right. I’d assumed that was a job for the police.’ He looked puzzled.

‘Long story. And it involves your painting and how Nigel died.’ She went on to tell him about the police viewing Nigel’s death as a suicide and how, as yet, they hadn’t been told about the Renoir. Michael leaned forward, giving her his full concentration as she talked. When she finished, he gripped her hand, saying, ‘I want to help in any way I can. And I think I should come over to Guernsey.’