By a Hand Unknown, page 2
‘Interesting family,’ she was saying. ‘There have been Gyllam-Spences at Ranling Manor since the late eighteenth century. Their wealth was built on a thriving trade in wool, then the family diversified into shipping and started collecting art and fine things. It went from there, each successive generation adding to the collection. Apparently it’s quite varied: paintings and drawings, plus a few bronzes – some well-known artists, others more obscure. And of course it’s open to the public – the half of the house that houses the collection and a chunk of the grounds. Six days a week.’ Daphne’s tone became wistful. ‘Sounds like a lovely old place and a wonderful setting, right at the heart of the Broads with beautiful gardens and a stream meandering around the boundary. You do get to visit the most amazing places.’
‘We do,’ agreed Hannah. ‘I’m sorry we can’t take you with us.’
‘So am I. You’re booked into the inn in the village of East Ranling. It’s called The Boatman and it’s about two miles from the manor.’ Daphne dropped her voice. ‘I’m afraid they’re the cheapest rooms. Timothy didn’t want too much expense. He was hoping they’d put you up at the house but no joy there, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged and affected a brighter tone. ‘And here’s a map of the layout of the place and where you should park. I made two copies.’
‘Ah, thought I heard you.’
Timothy’s shrill voice assaulted them as he emerged from his office.
‘All set for Norfolk? Mr Gyllam-Spence has agreed to my costing but wants to be informed if there’s any unforeseen expense. He’s a man after my own heart: believes in economy. Do some quick assessments when you get there and let me know what you find. He’s keen to get the work done quickly and I don’t want to give him any reason to complain. Nathan has experience with drawings and you can concentrate on the oils, Hannah. That’ll keep it snappy.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Keep me informed of progress, won’t you? Lots more jobs waiting when this one’s over.’
‘Yes Timothy,’ said Nathan.
Hannah simply nodded.
Timothy returned to his office and closed the door. There was silence.
‘Says the same things every time,’ remarked Hannah, softly aggrieved.
‘We’d be disappointed if he didn’t,’ murmured Nathan.
Hannah flicked him a long-suffering look then turned back to Daphne.
‘What do you know about this Gyllam-Spence man?’ said Hannah.
‘His name’s Mortimer. He’s fifty-eight and single and widely considered to be eccentric. No wife but there are other Gyllam-Spences living and working with him there. Oh, and he has a thing about trains.’
‘Trains?’ queried Nathan.
‘Model ones, you know.’
‘Ah.’
Hannah grinned. ‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Well, don’t have the kind of fun you had in Provence last year.’ She looked at them both severely. ‘Behave yourselves and don’t get involved in any trouble.’
‘Where’s the pleasure in that?’ Nathan raised one quizzical eyebrow and left, making his way back up to the workshops on the first floor.
Hannah met Daphne’s gaze and rolled her eyes.
‘I can’t believe Timothy’s put us to work together again,’ she muttered.
‘He did say he would.’
‘Yes but Nathan. And stuck in Norfolk with him.’
‘Oh he’s all right. It’s just, you know, he’s got…’
‘Issues,’ finished Hannah. ‘Yeah, I know. His brother, Sam.’ She leaned forward on to the reception desk and dropped her voice. ‘Does he ever talk to you about it?’
Daphne shook her head. ‘Not really. He’s a man. What do you expect? If you want my opinion, you’d be better off not poking that particular wasp’s nest.’ She raised a warning finger. ‘And just make sure you keep out of trouble.’
‘A manor house in the depths of Norfolk. Come on, Daphne, what kind of trouble could there be?’
Chapter 2
It was just after one in the afternoon when Nathan arrived at the manor only to find Hannah already there, sitting in her little red Mini in the private parking area round the back. He’d taken a wrong turning in Milton Keynes, forcing him to make a short detour, and had been obliged to follow a tractor for the last two miles. Hannah raised her eyebrows as his car swept in alongside hers and offered a wry grin. She said nothing when they got out but he could read the amusement in her eyes which was worse. He should never have bragged about his map-reading skills, oh and did she need any help to find her way there?
Their instructions were to come round to the main entrance of the house. Ranling Manor had been built in the seventeenth century, a large, elegant two-storied property set in ten acres of equally elegant grounds. The front gardens were laid to lawn either side of a path while the public access and parking were discreetly placed on the western side, screened by trees. The front door was heavy, wide and imposing. And open. Though still early in the year, a constant trickle of visitors was filing in. Hannah and Nathan followed on.
In order to open it up to the public, the house had been neatly divided either side of its central hallway into show rooms on the left and residential quarters for the family on the right. The same had been done on the first floor. The broad main staircase still stretched from the entrance hall to the public bedrooms but the private quarters had its own winding run of stairs at the rear, allowing the two sides of the first floor to be completely self-contained. Downstairs the office, the hub of the day-to-day administration of the estate, lay to the right of the entrance hall and, with a door at each end, worked as a stepping stone between the public and private rooms.
Mortimer Gyllam-Spence was all smiles when he met them.
‘You’ve found us then. Well done.’ He beamed and shook their hands. ‘A bit out in the wilds aren’t we but that’s all part of our charm as I’m sure you’ll find out. So, a quick overview. This is our nerve centre, so to speak. Rose here runs the office. If you need the phone or the fax or maybe just information, she’s your girl.’ A young woman with blonde hair smiled in their direction, looking up at them through her eyelashes. ‘Alan seems to have wandered off, I’m afraid.’
Mortimer surveyed the office as if Alan might suddenly materialise.
‘Anyway, we’re open six days a week, closed on Mondays. There’s a wide range of fascinating art works to see and we’ve tried to keep the furniture and décor as authentic as possible. The grounds are delightful too. I’m sure there are maps somewhere for you to see what’s what.’
He explained a little more about the running and layout of the manor, briefly introduced them to Sidony, a woman in her fifties who scrutinised them with a searching gaze, then took them down the main hallway and through a door to a room at the back.
‘And this is Carrie, our curator,’ he said. ‘Hasn’t been here long but she’s doing a grand job, sorting us out.’ He offered Carrie an apologetic smile. ‘We’re a bit… well, disorganised, aren’t we? Anyway, I think I was supposed to be somewhere else ten minutes ago. She’ll explain about the pieces you’re going to be working on and all the other things I’ve forgotten.’
Carrie was fine-boned and pretty, her golden-brown hair fastened in a solid plait down her back while odd wisps escaped fetchingly around her face. She wore a long, loose, printed cotton dress with puff sleeves and flat, slip-on shoes. She seemed out of place somehow, as if she’d been transported through time from the sixties. Nathan could imagine her with flowers in her hair, maybe with a guitar hanging round her shoulders, singing songs about love and peace. But he quickly realised he was being fanciful. However ethereal she might appear, Carrie was business-like and efficient.
The room they were going to be working in was what Carrie called the ‘workroom’, right at the back of the house, a few paces from the rear door. She had put the work out ready for them and now gave them a list of the pieces and the issues she had identified as their problems.
‘I’m having another key made to this door,’ she added. ‘Please lock it when you finish each day. I’ll get one for the door from the entrance hall to this rear vestibule too. It should be kept locked to stop the public from wandering but often isn’t. People forget. There’s a washroom across the hall under the stairs for you to use. The door next to it gives access to the rear of the private quarters.’
‘Mortimer said we’d be given a key to the back door,’ said Hannah.
‘Yes, it’s the quickest route to our car park through the private gardens. I’ll chase that up for you too. Mortimer’s a bit, shall we say, absent-minded? If you’ve got any queries, just ask. I’ll be around or in the office.’
She offered a brief, hesitant smile and left them to settle in. Their trunks had arrived and had been moved into the room, ready. They unpacked some basic kit and spent the rest of the afternoon assessing the work.
It was five-thirty by the time they drove to the village and found the inn. A pub more than a hotel with just six letting rooms, The Boatman was double-fronted and built in a decorative pattern of small red bricks. It was old and quaint with a faded, traditional décor but boasted a delightful position facing the river. Most of the village in fact seemed to stretch out on a long loop of the River Ant.
In early April demand for the inn was low and it was still closed for the afternoon. A bored-looking young woman with a froth of curly blonde hair answered the bell and showed them their rooms which were upstairs at the rear, side by side, and shared a communal bathroom.
Hannah and Nathan exchanged a look.
‘Food’s served from seven,’ the girl added in a flat, disinterested voice and left.
They arranged to meet downstairs for a meal and separated to unpack.
The lounge bar had half a dozen people in it by the time Nathan bought himself a pint of bitter and grabbed a table by one of the front windows. On the other side of the lane in front of the inn a couple of boats were tied up on the long stretch of quay where a number of tables and benches stood empty. A chill wind and the suggestion of rain in the air had driven everyone inside. Nathan’s thoughts wandered, far ranging, drifting back to a past he had chosen not to think about in a long time. It occurred to him that he'd been naïve not to realise this might happen.
‘Penny for them?’
He frowned and looked round, dragging himself back to the present. Hannah had put a glass of white wine down on the table and was slipping her slim frame into the seat opposite. Her short, spiky dark hair, still wet from the shower, had been towel-dried and roughly fingered up into floppy peaks.
‘Hi. Room all right?’
‘Yes thanks. Basic but clean. Yours?’
‘The same. I’ve stayed in a lot worse.’ He glanced out of the window again. ‘I was just thinking about holidays. Family holidays. We used to come here a lot when we were kids. Not to this village exactly but to the Broads. It’s such a network of rivers and lakes, we used to love it, me and my brother.’ He nodded, unconsciously smiling as the memories began to play again. ‘Dad would hire a boat and we’d mess about for hours on the water.’ He looked away abruptly, picked up the two menus propped up in a wooden holder on the table and handed her one. ‘Let’s order, shall we? I’m starving.’
They spent a few minutes in silence studying the menus then Nathan went to order at the bar. He returned with a wooden order marker, shaped like a sailboat, resumed his seat and picked up his beer.
‘So… here we are. Again.’ He took a mouthful and sat back, looking at her across the table. ‘Hopefully it’ll be less eventful than our stay in Provence.’
‘I hope that’s not why he’s put us together again: so you can keep an eye on me.’
‘Don’t be absurd. It’s just basic job planning.’ He shrugged and took a pull of beer.
‘I won’t be watched and spied on, Nathan.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, I’ve got better things to do.’
There was a charged silence.
‘Timothy seemed to think it would be eight to ten weeks work,’ said Nathan. ‘From what we saw this afternoon, that’s probably fair.’
‘Maybe. Though a couple of the paintings look as if they might be time-consuming.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Timothy doesn’t judge so much on the time he thinks it’ll take as the time he’d like it to take.’
He gave a wry grin. It was true. ‘What did you make of Mortimer with that grey ponytail and a cardigan that looks like it was knitted for a seven-foot giant? It nearly came down to his knees.’
‘I liked him. Living in a place like that all your life might make you a bit odd.’
‘I’m not sure. I think maybe he likes the image. His eyes look alert enough to me. I suspect he doesn’t miss much when he chooses.’
They were both silent again. Nathan reflected that they hardly ever agreed on anything.
‘You know the best places to go then,’ Hannah remarked. ‘I’ve never been to Norfolk before.’
Nathan pulled a face. ‘Not any more I don’t. It’s been years.’
He saw Hannah planning to respond and he guessed what she might ask next. He regretted ever mentioning his brother and those family holidays. He didn’t want to talk about it.
‘Carrie seems to know her stuff,’ he said instead. ‘I thought she was quite impressive.’
Hannah grinned. ‘I’ll bet. And it helps that she’s pretty.’
‘Is she?’
‘Oh come on, don’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.’
‘OK, yes, so I’d noticed. But I was more struck by something else. Didn’t you see it? Something was bothering her.’
‘What?’
‘How should I know?’ Nathan tried to find the best way to describe his impression of her. ‘She looked edgy. Preoccupied. Maybe Mortimer isn’t as easy-going a boss as you think he is.’
‘You’re imagining things.’
‘I might have known you’d say that.’
‘Maybe she’s done something she shouldn’t have and keeps thinking she’ll be found out.’
Nathan shook his head. ‘Nah. It wasn’t guilt. It was more like she was scared or confused… Oh good, here comes our food.’
The conversation lagged and they never returned to it. But, going to bed that night, the young curator drifted back into Nathan’s thoughts. Of course she was pretty. But it was the expression in her eyes that had stayed with him. Hunted, he realised, that was the word that described it. She looked hunted.
*
There were four oil paintings and eight drawings needing attention. On the Friday morning Hannah and Nathan picked up where they’d left off the previous afternoon, assessing the work involved, taking photographs and making notes. With their trunks open beside them, hinged vertically like a door, they had access to a wide range of equipment. The workroom was a good space: large and rectangular with two decent-sized tables and one west-facing window. Hannah had chosen the table nearest the window, claiming her greater need for natural light since she would have to colour-match any infill painting. They both had lamps in their kit but she wanted to take advantage of the daylight and, for once, Nathan didn’t demur.
Hannah appreciated both the airiness of the room and its position. It was in a kind of no man’s land, off the rear vestibule and away from the noise and bustle of the public rooms. And Mortimer had encouraged them to use the door under the staircase to access the family kitchen.
‘Make yourself hot drinks when you want them. Netta won’t mind. She’s our housekeeper and cook,’ he’d added fondly. ‘Been with us for years. Very accommodating. I’ll introduce you just now.’
He hadn’t introduced them – he’d probably forgotten as soon as he’d said it – but, half way through the morning, Hannah found her way to the kitchen and made coffee for Nathan and a mug of tea for herself. There was no sign of Netta and she took the drinks back to the workroom to find Carrie there, talking to Nathan. He was smiling idiotically back at her as if he’d just been promised his all-time dream holiday.
Carrie looked round, suddenly awkward.
‘Oh, hi Hannah. I’ve just brought the keys for you.’ She gestured towards a small ring of three keys, lying on Nathan’s table. ‘And I was asking if you could make sure you draw the curtains before you leave so no-one can see what’s in here.’
‘Sure.’ Hannah set Nathan’s mug of coffee down.
‘Mortimer’s kind of… well, he doesn’t always consider security.’
Carrie produced a forced smile and slipped back through the door. Like a sylph, thought Hannah: insubstantial and soundless. It wasn’t hard to see why Nathan liked her: she was charming and vulnerable with her floaty dresses, her pale skin and wistful expression. She was the sort of woman every man wanted to fuss over and protect. A perfect model for a Pre-Raphaelite painting.
‘See,’ said Nathan. ‘Edgy.’
Hannah shrugged and regained her seat.
‘Come on, it’s hardly surprising that she worries about security. I mean, just look at what I’ve got here.’ She gestured a hand to embrace the work put out for her. ‘Perugino, Rubens, Bazille, Guardi. What about you?’
‘Ottavio Leoni, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Turner, Ruskin, and many more.’
‘Exactly. Quite a responsibility.’
‘I suppose. She was just filling me in on the family. You know Mortimer’s brother Toby that we met yesterday? The publicity man? He was married to Sidony, the woman organising the guides. They’re divorced now. And that young woman in the office, Rose, is their daughter. And they all live here too. Cosy, huh?’
‘Sounds like a recipe for trouble to me.’
By late that afternoon, they’d finished their assessments and, while Nathan faxed them through to Timothy from the office and made a call to order the mountboard he needed, Hannah took the opportunity to have a look around.
