Page 11 of Old Girls Behaving Badly

I contemplated this, but really it made no sense.

‘What makes you think it’s likely he’s stolen from you?’ I asked, and Dorothy took a long, ragged breath and began to tell me.

‘Just over a year ago I suffered the most awful night of my life. There was a burglary at our home. Actually, it makes more sense to take you back a little further.’

She got up suddenly, poked her head out of the doorway, glanced around and then sat back down again. I wondered if she might be a little mad, but sat down beside her on the bench anyway, because I was supposed to be her companion after all.

‘My husband first met Leonard when he began working for Philip’s firm. At the time, Leonard was just twenty-five; that was thirty-five years ago. My Philip took an instant liking to the man and took him under his wing, so to speak – mentored him. I didn’t see the same thing that Philip did. I thought he was a little arrogant for such a young person, but Philip liked his verve and always seemed to see good in people. I’m afraid I’m much more of a realist.

‘Anyway, years later Leonard invested heavily in Philip’s business and they became partners. It was only at that time we knew there was family money that went back some way. Later, he inherited this place from his late uncle. So, everything was quite rosy for a while and Philip and I also enjoyed a very good quality of life. Philip loved art and began collecting. It started out as a harmless enough pursuit, but Leonard took it up as well and then became a bit fanatical about it, and if Philip mentioned an auction or a piece he was interested in, then Leonard would try and outbid him, or buy the piece behind his back. Friendly competition Leonard saw it as, but I knew Philip was beginning to get a bit fed up with him.

‘Then Philip wanted to retire and sold his share of the business to Leonard, and he left the company. He tried to distance himself from the man too, but still, he’d turn up like an art-collecting stalker. We both went out of our way to try and avoid him, but he was persistent and seemingly thick-skinned. Then, Leonard seemed to go quiet for a while and Philip wasn’t really collecting much anyway. He was getting older, more frail and didn’t have the passion for it so much.

‘But then there was a competition, a treasure hunt of sorts. It was a thing set up by an art organisation that Philip had been associated with and involved clues from locations around the country, very complicated and far too academic for my mind. It wasn’t out and about, you know; they weren’t all flying around in helicopters. It was mostly online, but with some clues hidden in a couple of locations. Well, Philip won. I was amazed and so proud of my husband for outwitting all the others, and quickly too. The prize was a painting. It wasn’t hugely valuable, but quite an attractive coastal landscape. We didn’t know at that point that Leonard was also trying to win the competition, but he turned up unannounced the day Philip picked up the painting to congratulate him. He couldn’t stop looking at it.’

Dorothy stopped talking for a moment, seemingly back at that time with her husband, and Leonard, the increasingly unappealing character, and I waited for her to continue. In fact, I got up and walked to the doorway to look out. This tale seemed to be getting darker and I wasn’t sure where it was going to end. No one was in sight, though, and we were quite tucked away here. Dorothy began again as I sat back down.

‘Last year, six months after Philip won the painting, we were burgled. A man broke in while we were supposed to be at the theatre, but Philip wasn’t well, so we’d offered our tickets to friends. We were in bed early, but woke to the sound of smashed glass downstairs. I will always regret not trying harder to stop Philip, but he was determined to see what was going on. The thief took several small things of no consequence and also the winning landscape that was hanging on the living room wall. Philip had a number of quite valuable things – you’ve seen some of them – but none were taken. It was as if the thief didn’t know what he had near his grasp and just took random items. I know it was the painting he was really there for. Other works of art with far more provenance were left behind. Philip was weak, but outraged and he chased after the thief onto our front steps where he tripped and fell, broke his arm and hip and smashed his head on the ground. He never recovered from his injuries in hospital.’

‘Dorothy!’ I said, taking the woman’s hand. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘Yes, it was terrible – poor Philip.’

‘And you really think it was Leonard who took it?’

‘Yes, I do. He obviously wasn’t the masked thief. I caught a quick glimpse before he fled. Leonard is tall; the thief was not. Leonard was good at getting others to do things for him – he had a reputation in the office a long time before he was in charge, but he must have planned it. Who else would want the painting?’

‘I assume you’ve told the police.’

‘Of course. They investigated all of the people who entered the competition, including Leonard, but there was no evidence at all. Leonard made all the right noises about how devastated he was to have lost his dearest friend – you heard him in there tonight: to absent friends. But I know deep in my bones that he has it in that house somewhere, somewhere clever. Like I said, hidden in plain sight. He’s so egotistical that he probably would have loved to have got one over on Philip that last time.’

Dorothy was quiet then for a moment, and I began to contemplate the reason why she’d told me this sorry tale.

‘Gina,’ she said, then. ‘The reason I asked you particularly to join me for this week wasn’t because I needed a companion. My daughter-in-law arranged the advertisement even though I told her I’m very happy looking after myself. I was humouring her by talking to the applicants, but had little intention of taking anyone on. But then I spoke to you and you told me about your previous role as a curator. I won’t get another opportunity to be in this house, I doubt, and so it is vitally important that we move quickly. If Leonard gets wind, he’ll move the painting, I’m sure.’

‘Move quickly in what way?’ I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew.

‘We need to brush aside the fact that Leonard is unhinged and actually in light of what I believe he has done, is pretty dangerous too. He mustn’t know you are anything other than a companion and I will keep smiling at him even though I would ideally love to plunge a knife in his heart.’

‘And…?’ I asked, tentatively.

‘And, you will search the house from top to bottom until you find the painting.’

7

GINA

The sun came up over the lake at seven-thirty and I watched it from my bedroom window. The sky went from a dark shade of indigo to a warm magenta and then just before the sun itself came into view it turned to a rose-gold and then pink. The magnificent oaks were bathed in a glorious golden light and the dragonflies began to dance across the shimmering surface of the water. The stone mullion was cool under my elbows as I leaned towards the glass. It was criss-crossed with lead-work that fractured the view, making it appear as individual vignettes.

I had not slept well, which was hardly surprising after Dorothy’s bombshell. I sincerely wished my position had been all about hair and make-up now. How easy that would be in comparison. I’d made no promise to Dorothy, only that I’d use the day to decide whether I could possibly take on the task. In truth my mind was already assessing what I’d seen so far in Leonard’s eclectic taste in art, but what Dorothy was asking was impossible, wasn’t it? To creep around Leonard’s house and go through his things? I couldn’t do that. If he was responsible for stealing the painting then he showed no sort of remorse or any concern about Dorothy being in his house. Perhaps she was mistaken and if I was caught snooping I wasn’t keen to think about the repercussions of that.

I decided to go down and see if I could get some coffee from the kitchen and as I left my room I became very aware of every painting, ornament, clock and piece of art. The house was stuffed full and that was just in the few rooms I had been in so far. Nothing came to me; there was no obvious sign that pointed to a hidden painting. It was just an odd mix of things Leonard liked, it seemed.

The kitchen was on the west side of the house and down a flight of stone steps. The rich burgundy carpet had stopped at the bottom of the last flight and now the sound of my footsteps echoed. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. The air became cooler and was a relief from the warmth that penetrated the rest of the house.

The property was at least three hundred years old and not really conducive with modern living. There was no open-plan kitchen-diner where guests could chat to the person preparing the meals. The kitchen was in the bowels of the house and all the food would have to be brought up via the servants’ staircase, into the serving room and then the dining room. The one exception to the lack of modernity was the patio and the French doors from the music room. That looked to be a new appendage, but sympathetically done.

I was surprised to see a very sleek and contemporary set-up once I had navigated the last of the steps. There were black granite worktops and glossy white doors to all the cupboards and drawers. Where I had been expecting an antique Welsh dresser there were glass shelves with chrome edges. Instead of a family heirloom dinner service there was a modern set in crisp white and when I picked up a side plate and turned it over I read John Lewis. I smiled, thinking about Lavinia’s comment the previous afternoon.