chapter twenty-five

2011

 

Fiona wasn’t expecting that. Why would he want to help, even taking time to travel to Guernsey? And what was with the holding of her hand? Her face must have registered her surprise as Michael, looking serious, went on to tell her his reasons.

‘Firstly, my family owes you a huge debt of gratitude for what you’ve done and suffered, and it’s only right you’re not left alone to finish the search for the killer.’ She mentioned John, but he brushed that aside. ‘He’s a professional and knows what he’s doing. Going after a killer is very different to tracing an owner of a painting.’ He kept his fingers curled around hers, and she was reluctant to pull away.

‘I know, but–’

‘I need to do something, Fiona. What happened to my grandfather and your brother has to be atoned for, and I want to be involved. Family honour, if you like.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And secondly, after hearing my grandmother’s story again, I want to see the island where Leo and my mother were born. I must be about a quarter Guernsey myself. Do you understand?’ His eyes searched hers, and she nodded. He had every right to visit Guernsey. Her problem was whether or not she could deal with him being in her ‘space’ if he helped in their search.

‘Right, that’s agreed. As soon as we’ve set the ball rolling with an auction house, I’ll fly over. The project I’m working on can wait.’ He grinned, releasing her hand.

‘What is it?’

‘A giant metal sunflower for my client’s garden. Fortunately, he’s on his yacht in the Med for a few weeks, so no pressure.’ He opened the remaining bottles of wine. ‘I’ve got accustomed to the taste, how about you?’

‘I guess. So, tell me more about your work, sounds fascinating.’

 

By the time they arrived at Liverpool Street, Fiona had relaxed enough, thanks to the wine, to enjoy Michael’s company, hearing about his work and discussing art generally. They separated at the station, Michael going south to Battersea and Fiona north to Camden. After the merest hesitation, he kissed her on the cheek before rushing for his train. Once on the Tube, she mulled over the events of the day as she gradually succumbed to the effects of the early start and the alcohol. Yawning, she hoped her friend wasn’t geared up for a late night as was their norm. Not only did she need an early night, but she was meeting Sam at nine in the morning at UCL and would have to brave the rush hour. Oh, joy!

 

A bright-eyed Michael was waiting for her outside the main university entrance the next morning when she arrived at five to nine. He greeted her with a peck on the cheek and a warm smile.

‘This is it. I finally get to see the painting which meant so much to my family. I only wish Grandmama was able to be here.’

‘If you have a computer at the farm, we could set up a Skype link with my netbook; I always have it with me when I travel.’ She patted her bag.

His eyes lit up.

‘Brilliant! Ma has a laptop, and I could ring her when we’re ready.’

Pleased to have solved the problem, Fiona led the way to Sam’s office in the art department.

‘Fiona, my dear girl. It’s good to see you.’ She was wrapped in a bear hug that was both comforting and poignant, reminding her of their last meeting. Sam was a big man in all ways, tall and broad with a mass of grey curls and a tidy beard.

She pulled back and smiled, saying, ‘Good to see you, too. And this is Michael Collins, the grandson of the last owner of the painting.’

The two men shook hands before they all sat down round Sam’s untidy desk, overflowing with paperwork. Fiona had written down Teresa’s story of how the painting came to be in Leo’s possession and passed it to Sam. As he read, she saw the glint of excitement in his eyes and knew all would be well. She winked at Michael, who relaxed back in his chair.

‘Wonderful!’ Sam sighed. ‘You know, it’s a first for me, being involved in the discovery of a piece of work by such an artist as Renoir. Congratulations, young man. I’m happy to validate the painting. I assume you’d like to see it?’ His eyes twinkled as he looked at Michael.

‘Sure thing. Is it here?’ Michael glanced around the cluttered room, filled with filing cabinets, shelves and a lone artist’s easel.

‘It’s in our vault. I’ll go and fetch it, won’t take long.’ He stood to leave, and Fiona asked if they could set up a Skype link with Michael’s family, and Sam agreed. Michael rang his mother to warn her and then paced around the limited floor space until Sam returned. He removed the protective blanket and placed it on the easel. Fiona, lost in thought, gazed across at the object which had cost her so dearly. It was almost too painful to look at. Nigel would have been so excited to have been proven right about its authenticity. And delighted to find the true owner.

‘There you are. What do you think?’ Sam beamed at Michael who stood silently in front of the painting, hidden away for so long.

‘To be honest, I’m not a great fan of the Impressionists, but seeing it in the flesh is quite, well, moving.’ He pointed to the older girl playing on the sand with a younger boy and girl. ‘And to think that’s my great-grandmother. Quite something. Thank you, Fiona’. He turned to face her, and she summoned up a smile.

‘You’re welcome. Shall we set up the Skype call now? I know Sam’s a bit short of time.’

The connection was soon set up, and Michael showed his mother and grandmother the painting, while Fiona remained in the background with her thoughts. She heard the oohs and aahs coming over the ether and was happy for them. Sam came and stood by her.

‘How are really, my dear? This must be difficult for you.’ He gripped her shoulder.

‘It is, but at least something positive’s come out of it.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘The family’s pretty broke so the money will come in handy. It’s so sad, they have a beautiful house but can’t afford to look after it.’

‘I see. Have they decided who to sell it with?’

‘I was going to ask your opinion, but how about Christie’s? I know they also offer private sales as well as the big auctions. Might suit the family better if they want to avoid publicity.’

‘Excellent choice.’ He coughed. ‘I’ve pushed my luck a bit, keeping it here, and now we know its provenance, the sooner it’s moved to somewhere more secure, the better. Insurance, you know.’

‘Yes, I’d wondered about that.’ She chewed her lip. ‘If I can arrange an appointment with Christie’s today, we could take it off your hands, but I’ll need to check it’s okay with Michael. Fortunately, I do have a contact there from my time at the V&A.’

Sam glanced at his watch.

‘I need to give a lecture in thirty minutes, assuming any students can be bothered to get out of bed at what they consider to be an ungodly hour,’ he grinned. She laughed, she was one of the few who always made it to Sam’s lectures, and he knew that.

Michael switched off her computer, and she told him about her thoughts for an auction house.

‘Sounds good to me. Can we call them now?’

She checked her phone for their number and dialled, keeping her fingers crossed her contact, Charles, was free. He was, and she was put through, explaining quickly about the Renoir. Charles sounded suitably excited, which she expected and said he’d set up a meeting with the senior valuation expert for after lunch, but they were welcome to bring the painting now. Fiona relayed this to Michael, and his grin said it all.

‘I’d better order a cab, don’t think we should risk the Tube, do you?’

She hugged Sam goodbye, thanking him for his help and promising to stay in touch. He and Michael shook hands, Michael also offering his thanks.

The Renoir wrapped once more in its anonymous grey blanket; they returned to the entrance to wait for the taxi.

‘Thanks for giving up more of your time, Fiona. If you need to catch a flight home, I could carry on alone once we’ve dropped off the painting.’ He held it tight under his arm.

‘It’s okay; I haven’t booked my flight yet, thought I’d see how things went this morning.’ She felt her face flush. ‘I’d quite like to be there for the valuation if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not, in fact, I’d be glad. And the very least I can do is offer you lunch. With a decent bottle of wine,’ he added, straight-faced.

‘You’re on. Looks like our taxi. Good, I feel vulnerable standing here with you holding onto millions of pounds worth of art.’ She flashed him a smile before getting into the taxi.

‘Christie’s, King Street, driver, please.’ Michael sat beside her, the painting on his lap. ‘My grandmother was over the moon to see this on Skype, as you probably gathered. I think it made it seem more real for her, no longer a daydream. She got a bit emotional.’

‘It must be reviving memories of Leo and all she lost,’ Fiona murmured.

They remained lost in their thoughts as the taxi weaved its way to St James’s and the splendid Georgian building belonging to Christie’s. Michael jumped out, offering a hand to Fiona, while still holding the painting under his other arm. Once inside, she asked for Charles, and two minutes later he arrived to guide them to a small office down a corridor. After the initial introductions, Michael unwrapped the painting for his inspection. Charles grinned.

‘I say, Fiona, you were right. What a find! And thanks for bringing it to us. I’ve managed to fix an appointment for two o’clock with Roger Baines, who’s our expert in Impressionist paintings. Bit of luck he was in today as he’s due to fly to New York tomorrow.’ Charles signed a receipt for the painting before seeing them out with a cheery wave.

‘Right, now what? It’s a bit early for lunch, so how about coffee and a stroll in Green Park before we find somewhere to eat?’

Fiona was happy to agree; the sunshine was too good to miss. They picked up takeaway coffees near the entrance and wandered off to find a quiet spot. Being too early for the lunchtime brigade, they found a place near one of the many trees and flopped down on the grass, facing towards the back of the Ritz Hotel.

‘You’d find a good bottle of wine there,’ Fiona said with a grin, pointing to the hotel. ‘I hear they provide a pretty good lunch as well.’

Michael looked where she was pointing and laughed.

‘And I hear men have to wear a tie in the restaurant, so no can do, sorry.’ He indicated his T-shirt. ‘But there are other great places around here, including one in Jermyn Street I quite like and isn’t as stuffy.’

‘I was only joking. I’m not keen on places like the Ritz myself. When I lived here, I used to take pleasure finding good value eateries off the beaten track.’ She sipped her coffee, enjoying the feel of the sun on her face. It was good to be away from her problems in Guernsey for a while, even though she’d be back later that day. To face – what? With a sigh, she looked up to find Michael gazing at her, an odd expression on his face.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. This is a bit awkward,’ he said, swirling coffee in the paper cup. ‘My grandmother phoned last night as she’d been thinking about you and what you’ve done for us. If this guy at Christie’s confirms what you’ve said, we stand to make millions, and we should be paying you a reward–’

Fiona, her face flushing, cut him off. ‘I didn’t do this for a reward! I did it for love of my brother and…and justice. I actually expected you to be a wealthy family and not in need of money.’ She almost choked on her drink and Michael had to pat her back. It took her a moment to recover and breathe normally.

‘Okay now?’ He looked shocked. ‘Why did you think we were wealthy?’

‘Because I was told by someone that Teresa was from a posh family. Which is true, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve lived so long with us having lost almost everything that I forget how grand the family once was. Grandmama hasn’t forgotten, though. As I’m sure you could tell.’ He grinned ruefully.

She laughed.

‘Sure did. But I respect her for it, family pride and all that.’

‘Hmm. In any case, we’re all agreed on offering you something to say thank you. You’ve obviously spent money on employing a detective and flights, so,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘we think ten per cent of what we sell for would be fair. And no arguments.’

Stunned into silence, Fiona didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t given a thought to ask for a reward, only concerned with restoring the painting to the rightful owner. Although she and Nigel had joked about a reward when they first found it, after his death it had been the last thing on her mind. And she was far from broke, owning the house and business. But she didn’t have a long-term income…oh, what to do, what to say.

‘Just say yes and accept gracefully. I’d hate for us to fall out over it, Fiona. And what’s a few hundred thousand pounds to a multi-millionaire, eh?’

‘Could we settle for five per cent? Even that would be more than generous.’

He shook his head.

‘Nope. Grandmama was insistent, and no-one argues with her. Please, shake hands on it?’ He held out his hand.

‘Oh, all right, but it’s under protest.’ She shook his hand, again feeling a tingle as their fingers touched. His brown eyes smiled back at her, and she felt the heat rise to her face. This was stupid. She was reacting like a teenager not a woman of thirty-four. And they were not potential lovers, more like business acquaintances.

‘Great, I can report back to my grandmother that mission is accomplished. Now, ready for a walk before lunch?’ He helped her up, and after discarding the empty cups in a bin, they walked down one of the tree-lined avenues. People lounged on either side in the park’s green and white striped deckchairs.

‘Michael, would you mind telling me what happened to your family? Why you’re not as well off?’ She hoped he didn’t think her rude, but she thought it might help her understand them better.

He frowned.

‘My father happened.’ His voice was bitter. ‘It’s no big secret, but it’s not something we talk about.’ He took a deep breath and continued. ‘Ma didn’t meet my father until she was thirty, and fell in love with him, head over heels. A real charmer, apparently, though I never saw that in him. Bruce Collins; had a good job in banking, not bad looking and everyone was happy. I came along a few years later, and I understand the marriage was reasonably smooth. My parents bought a house in Surrey, and my father commuted to the City. At eight I was packed off to boarding school, which I hated.’ He picked up an errant drink can from the path and tossed it in a bin.

‘I’m sorry about the school. Did you miss your parents?’ Fiona had this image of a small boy crying himself to sleep at night in an unfriendly dormitory and reached out to touch his arm.

‘Not so much, hardly ever saw my father and Ma, well, Ma had all her clubs and societies to attend, the usual for a woman of her class. No, it was my friends I missed the most, from my local primary. I remember begging my parents not to send me away, but my father was adamant. I was to go to his old school. As it happens, I wasn’t there too long as everything changed three years later.’ Michael stopped to watch the antics of a grey squirrel, running in circles around a tree, as if searching for something.

‘So, what changed?’ she asked softly.

He turned, his face stricken. ‘I’d been aware my father was a heavy drinker, but it turned out he was also a gambler, losing hundreds, sometimes thousands, on the horses. He got so desperate that he began stealing from his firm, setting up bogus accounts to cover his losses. I was eleven when he got caught. We lost our home, everything. The only good thing was I had to leave that dreadful school.’

Fiona’s heart ached for him.

‘How awful! Did he get sent to prison?’

‘No, that’s why the family’s broke. My grandmother paid back all the money my father stole to save his skin. I think she should have let him be arrested, the bastard. But it was to save my mother from total disgrace. So it was all hushed up, and Ma and I had to move in with my grandmother, which was great for me, but Ma found it hard. She totally lost her confidence and self-respect and been living in her mother’s shadow ever since.’

Fiona, in spite of, or perhaps because of, her past tragedy, felt a swelling of sympathy for him. ‘What happened to your father?’

‘He and Ma divorced, that was non-negotiable as far as my grandmother was concerned. Although I didn’t learn about any of this until years later. Apparently, my father was forbidden to have any contact with me, but I just thought he’d stopped loving me and wasn’t interested in seeing me. We’d never been close, but still…’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, turning his head away.

She moved closer, linking her arm through his and he didn’t comment.

‘And you didn’t see him again?’

‘No, he simply disappeared. I think Ma did try to find him, in spite of what he’d done, she still loved him, never loved anyone else. And then five years ago, we heard he’d died in Spain, running a sleazy bar. Cirrhosis of the liver.’ His jaw tightened. ‘Karmic justice, I suppose.’

‘Your poor mother. No wonder she seems unhappy. But at least the family fortunes are about to be repaired.’

‘Thanks to you.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Come on, time for that lunch I promised.’

Within ten minutes they were sitting at a table in Franco’s, which Michael assured her was one of the best Italian restaurants in the area. Happy to take his word for it, she perused the menu as he ordered the wine. Moments later the waiter arrived with a bottle of Laurent Perrier and two champagne flutes. Fiona laughed. ‘You really didn’t have to…’

‘But I do. After that crap we drank last night, I must make amends. And don’t worry, I’m getting well paid for the sculpture I should be working on.’ Michael grinned, and her stomach flipped. He had the most devastating smile.

They raised their glasses in a toast as Michael said, ‘To the painting, and may it sell for millions.’

Fiona sipped her wine, allowing the bubbles to fizz through her. Not having eaten since seven, the alcohol went straight to her head. She reached for the basket filled with fresh ciabatta and began nibbling.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘but I’m starving. I’m ready to order if you are.’

Their order taken she relaxed. She loved Italian food, and her stomach juices were flowing at the sight and smell of the food on nearby tables. The familiar Italian herbs of oregano, thyme and sage with an overlay of garlic. Delish. Michael had good taste in restaurants.

‘If I can settle the necessary with the bloke at Christie’s today, I should be able to come out to Guernsey at the weekend. Can you suggest somewhere I could stay?’

Fiona gulped. So soon! She hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with John yet, although he was unlikely to object, as long as she still needed him. Which she did. If Michael was coming over, then there was one obvious place for him to stay.

‘How about my house? I’m staying with friends, so it’s empty. John upgraded the security after we realised the killer might burgle the house and it might be good to have you there.’

He slapped the table, causing bemused glances from their neighbours.

‘Great idea! We could work out some kind of lure for the guy, catch him in the act. We need him to try again, and this way you’ll be safe.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll run it past John tomorrow. Welcome to our team,’ she raised her glass and Michael reciprocated.

‘Thanks. We’ll make a good team. Ah, our food,’ he added as the waiter arrived bearing their starters. Parma ham and fried parmesan for him and linguine with crab for her. ‘Looks wonderful, doesn’t it? All I need now is the right valuation from Christie’s to make this day perfect.’