By a Hand Unknown, page 26
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it shows how desperate he’s become. Anyway, I can’t find anything else.’
‘That just leaves Alan.’
‘You can’t simply go waltzing into his cottage.’
‘I have no intention of waltzing.’
*
Alan’s car wasn’t in the car park and Nathan was almost disappointed: it would have stopped Hannah venturing further. As it was, she insisted on going to the cottage alone. Grace might be there, she said, and she knew Hannah; Nathan’s presence would only complicate the issue.
‘She’s nervous,’ said Hannah. ‘And given the way he treats her, I think she’d feel happier talking to me. Not a man. No offence.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Nathan.
‘Then go back inside. Do you want this resolved or not?’
The answer to that was too complicated. ‘I’ll wait in the car. Be careful.’
She gave him a baleful look and walked purposefully away.
He sat in his car, tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel with agitated fingers and glancing regularly in the rear-view mirror at the tree-lined path towards the cottage.
Hannah was insane. What did she hope to find? Whoever was swapping pictures in and out wasn’t going to leave anything lying around for just anyone to find. Though she had been clever to work out the ballet man clue, he conceded.
If she was right.
Though the more he thought about the ingratiating, smooth-talking man who ran the gallery, the more he thought she might be. But if so, how did that play out? And where would that leave Sam? His thoughts drifted away again, back to an old, worn cruiser on the river at Pollersby and a man he wasn’t sure he knew any more.
He caught a movement in the mirror and looked up. Hannah was already coming back down the path. Time had moved on without him realising.
‘Well?’ he demanded as she got in the passenger seat.
‘No joy. Grace was there, doing the cleaning. Alan had gone out saying he might be back for dinner but not saying where he was going. Apparently he does that all the time and she doesn’t dare ask any more. She let me look round. He has a little back room he calls his office and there’s paperwork in there but nothing that I could see that linked him to the fraud. Or Carrie.’ She frowned. ‘He’s a mean man, Nathan. I wouldn’t put anything past him. I wish Grace would leave him. Why does Mortimer employ him?’
‘Because he does the job that’s required of him and says the right things when he needs to. People like that are clever and devious. He even puts on a smarter voice when he’s in the office, have you noticed?’
She nodded, looking despondent. ‘He’s got a strongbox in his office that’s locked. She’s pretty sure that when he bought it there were two keys. She thinks he keeps one on him and hides the other one but she doesn’t know where. I couldn’t find it anyway. She said she’d keep looking.’
‘But if he finds out she’s been looking for it…’ He didn’t finish the thought.
‘I know. I did warn her not to take any chances. Anyway, I’m going in. I need some lunch.’
‘I’ll be in in a minute.’
‘You OK?’
‘Sure.’
He watched her walk back up the path to the manor. It was at least a quarter of an hour later when he went in to the kitchen and began making himself a sandwich. Then Netta bustled in and fussed over whether he had everything he wanted.
‘And by the way Mr Nathan, a letter came for you this morning. I didn’t know where you were so I pushed it under the door of your room.’
He thanked her and took the sandwich upstairs. The letter might be from his mother or more likely it was a boring bill or advert that had been forwarded on.
But it was neither. The address had been hand-written in blue ink in an ugly, uneven hand and Nathan felt his skin prickle as he read it. He recognised the writing: disguised and painstakingly produced, done with a left hand by a right-handed person. Sam used to do it as a kid for fun.
The sandwich forgotten, he ripped the envelope open.
Chapter 20
On the Monday morning, Hannah left the silence of the workroom and made her way to the kitchen. There was no-one there and she put the kettle on, dropped a spoonful of instant coffee in one mug and a tea bag in another, then leaned against the units to wait. She had slept lightly and was tired. She was dejected that her bright idea of searching the rooms had come to nothing, frustrated that Nathan had come back and caught her doing it, and now irritated that he didn’t appreciate that she was trying to make his position easier. She wanted to help.
If they had some evidence, surely it would work in some way to sort out the situation with his brother? It might even prove he wasn’t involved. OK, so that wasn’t likely. Sam had all the necessary materials to do the forgeries and clearly knew too much about it. But surely it would be better for Sam if the issue were brought to a head sooner rather than later? He was going to sink into ever deeper trouble the longer the scam went on. And if he’d been coerced into doing the work, admitted it and expressed his regret, the judiciary would be likely to treat him more leniently.
This had been the thrust of her argument to Nathan on the Sunday morning but he’d refused to discuss it with her, got cross and rudely told her to back off. Whereupon she’d informed him – among other home truths – that he was being obstinate, short-sighted and foolish, and they had barely spoken again for the rest of the day. And now the atmosphere in the workroom was thick with resentment. She’d apologise, except that she still didn’t think she was wrong. Neither the problem, nor his anxiety and distress, were going to go away by Nathan sticking his head in the sand. But maybe she shouldn’t have lost her temper.
She yawned as Alan walked into the kitchen, turning just in time to see him pointedly close the door behind him. He didn’t speak, crossed to take a mug out of the wall cupboard, put a spoonful of coffee in it and turned to face her, legs apart and challenging. For a full minute he silently stared at her.
She felt a chill of apprehension but levelly met his gaze.
‘Morning,’ she said.
‘You’re leaving soon, I believe.’
‘You are correct.’ Nothing gets past you, she thought of saying, but didn’t dare.
‘Good.’
The kettle boiled and he immediately grabbed it and poured the hot water into his own mug then threw the remaining water down the sink, flicking her a twisted smile, daring her to protest. It was so petty, she didn’t bother.
‘It’s as well for you that you’re going,’ he said, stirring his coffee. ‘I heard last night from a friend that you’ve been trying to get pally with my Grace. He’s just got back from a trip but he tells me he saw you in the village with her a couple of weeks ago. Having a very intense conversation you were, he said. So what was that about?’
‘Do you know, I can’t remember. But it can’t have been that intense. We’d just bumped into each other.’
‘Don’t try to be smart with me, Hannah.’ His eyes narrowed and he looked her up and down, lip curled. ‘Her mixing with you explains a lot. She’s changed lately, getting all independent and answering back. And I don’t like that. Friends like you she can do without. I’ll not have you go putting ideas in her head. I’m warning you: keep away from her.’
‘You are mistaken.’ She spoke slowly, measuring each word. ‘I don’t know Grace well enough to call her a friend. We’ve seen very little of each other. But surely it’s up to her who she chooses to have as friends?’
‘Much more of your lip and you won’t just be falling from a bridge. Stay away from her. I won’t tell you again.’
The kitchen door opened and Sidony looked in.
‘Am I disturbing something?’ she said.
‘Not at all,’ said Hannah. ‘Did you come for coffee?’
‘Yes.’
Alan left with a curt nod in Sidony’s direction and, while Hannah refilled the kettle and put it back to boil, Sidony put coffee in another mug.
‘Everything OK?’ She studied Hannah with shrewd eyes.
‘Absolutely fine.’
Sid glanced towards the door which had now been left ajar. ‘Alan’s not always easy to work with. He’s er… moody, I suppose you could say. Don’t take it personally.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Good. You know, I was watching you and Nathan this morning, over breakfast.’
Hannah frowned. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘Have you worked together long?’
‘A little over a year. I moved from somewhere else; Nathan had already been at Blandish a while.’
‘So you were the new girl?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘I thought so. That can make things a bit tricky to start with can’t it?’
Hannah objected to Sid’s maternal tone. Still rattled from the confrontation with Alan, it was the last thing she needed.
‘Are you trying to make a point here? Because if you are, I’m afraid I’m not seeing it.’
‘Not really. It’s just that I’ve watched the two of you together while you’ve been here and I can see you both sparring and jostling for position. You really don’t need to. Don’t look at me like that – I’m only trying to be helpful. People on the outside can sometimes see more clearly. Nathan likes you, that much is obvious. The way he looks at you sometimes…’ Sidony pursed her lips up as though she might whistle. ‘Why do you fight him so?’
‘I don’t fight him.’
‘Of course you do. But he seems like a nice guy and he’s good-looking and smarter than average, I’d say. Why not go with it and see where it leads? You like him, don’t you? Come on, Hannah, don’t be coy. Life’s too short not to take these opportunities when they present themselves. Old rivalries are foolish. You’re not star-crossed lovers, for heaven’s sake.’
Hannah didn’t reply. The kettle boiled and she turned away, pouring the hot water into the three mugs in turn. She held up the milk bottle to Sid who nodded and she added milk to both coffees, then removed her teabag and added a drop to the tea as well.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I don’t think it’s any business of yours how Nathan and I interact – or don’t. And secondly, given the relationship you’ve got with Mortimer, I don’t think you’re in a position to hand out advice.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean that Mortimer thinks the sun shines out of you, has done for years and probably always will. I gather you were an item once upon a time then you dumped him for Toby but, let’s face it, that clearly didn’t work out, did it? And you’re still incredibly fond of Mortimer, aren’t you? You watch out for him and warn other people off hurting him. I’ve seen you fuss over him and straighten his clothes. You don’t fool me.’
‘I wasn’t trying to fool you.’ Sidony sounded cross now. She frowned. ‘Mortimer still cares for me? I didn’t know. Did he tell you that?’
Hannah nodded. ‘But it’s as plain as the nose on your face anyway. Don’t you give me advice about relationships, Sid.’ And she picked up her two mugs and returned to the workroom.
Nathan looked up as she came in, muttered a terse thanks for the coffee, and went back to work. Nathan likes you, that much is obvious. Really? thought Hannah. Could have fooled me.
She installed herself back at her work table and tried to concentrate. The cleaning had transformed the Guardi but it had revealed some areas that required attention. And she needed to find a piece of canvas from the supply in her work trunk that would be a good match in order to patch it.
Her mind struggled to focus though. She was worried about Grace. While she would escape back to Oxford, Grace would be forced to endure the brutish behaviour of that excuse for a human being.
And maybe she’d spoken out of turn to Sid. But that she didn’t regret.
*
The note Nathan had received in the post lingered in his mind like an exam question you realise too late that you misunderstood. He was confused and uneasy and didn’t know what to do about it. But if he asked Hannah’s opinion she’d start off on her soapbox again.
It was Tuesday and they were still barely talking. And she was behaving oddly. While preparing a patch for the Guardi, teasing out the weave of the canvas to stop it leaving a hard edge, every so often her eyes would glaze over, the regular bobbing of her head to her music would stop and she’d stare into space. What was going on in that overactive, too eager brain of hers?
It wasn’t until the end of the afternoon when she suddenly became galvanised. She’d been staring into mid-air again then nodded, just the once, waving the tweezers she was holding.
‘Star-crossed lovers,’ she exclaimed.
‘What?’
She looked round and pulled an earpiece out. ‘Hm?’
‘What did you say?’ said Nathan.
She stared at him as if she barely saw him.
‘It’s just…’ she said dreamily. ‘I think I’ve… Yes.’
She checked her watch, pulled the second earpiece out and dumped the stereo on the table.
‘They’ll all still be working.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ve just got time.’ She surveyed the disarray around her then turned to face him. ‘Look, I need to go. I’ll sort this out again. If I can find some real proof, will you listen to me then?’
‘Proof of what exactly? How? Where are you going?’
‘I’ve figured it out. I know where there might be something.’
Nathan glanced at his watch. ‘It’s too late to go poking about their rooms now. They’ll be finishing any moment.’
‘I won’t be long. If I’m right, I won’t need to be.’
‘No, you’re being rash.’ He stood up, reaching out a warning hand. ‘Don’t…’
But she’d already grabbed her bag, marched to the door and glanced out into the passage. A moment later she’d gone, closing the door behind her and Nathan stood, open-mouthed.
*
It was half an hour later and Nathan was back in his bedroom when he heard a soft knock on his door.
He walked slowly across and opened it to find Hannah standing outside. He pulled the door back and she came in, stopped at the end of the bed and turned to face him.
‘You’re all right then,’ he said coolly.
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And I think I’ve got something important. Are you prepared to listen?’
‘Try me.’
She fixed him with a look. ‘OK. I worked out the clue: BAON. It’s kind of oblique but it’ll make sense to you when I explain.’
And she did, showing how she got there, who the initials referred to and why.
He regarded her sceptically. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Look at these. They prove I’m right. Once I worked it out I knew where to find them.’
She had a sheaf of papers in her hand and thrust them at him.
Nathan frowned and read the top one out: ‘RUNNING LATE. CUTTING IT FINE. USUAL PLACE FRI 12.30.’ He shuffled to the second one: ‘THERE MAY BE PROBLEMS. SPEAK SOON.’ And the third: ‘SUN 1 PM. NEED TO TALK. That’s clearly an assignation.’ He scanned through the remainder.
‘You see. They’re from Edgar.’
‘You can’t be sure of that. All capitals and nothing personal about any of them. They could mean anything. If this was Edgar Thayne he was being very careful not to give himself away.’
‘Look again at the one at the bottom of the pile.’ She poked a finger towards the note. ‘See? He used the back of a sheet from an invoice pad – well, part of it anyway. Look at the other side of it. The printed columns? And there’s the slight imprint of some writing from another sheet and a price.’
Nathan brought it closer and peered at it. ‘Yes. There’s something. It says… “…lour.” Watercolour maybe. Then “…ing Broad” and, yes, that might be a price.’
‘You see? I’m sure if you compare it to the copy of the invoice Edgar gave you when you bought your watercolour, you’ll find it matches.’ Hannah sat down on the end of the bed. She looked weary suddenly. ‘But you’re right, he was being careful. He realised his mistake and didn’t use any of that paper again. I checked.’
He grunted. ‘It’s hardly proof though. Lots of people in small businesses use the same kind of invoice pads.’
‘I know. He’s shrewd. He’s very guarded with his language. But it’s enough to show the police, to open their eyes to what might be going on.’ She paused, looking down and picking at the ends of her fingers where bits of the resin adhesive she’d been using on the canvas patch still stuck. ‘Nathan, I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you. I do. I just thought…’
‘I know. You don’t have to explain.’
He walked across to his bedside table, picked up the paperback on it and pulled a small piece of paper from between its pages. It had clearly been torn from a larger sheet. He held it out to her.
‘Read this.’
‘It’s almost illegible.’ She peered at it then read aloud: ‘The “new” Michelangelo will be returned on 12th July.’
She frowned then turned the paper over to look at the back. It was blank.
‘Where did this come from?’
‘It arrived in the post on Saturday. I don’t know what to make of it. Is it help, or is it a warning? It’s from Sam, I suppose you’ve realised that. That’s his “disguised” writing. I’ve seen it before.’
‘I wondered.’ She read the note again. ‘The “new” Michelangelo. The forgery presumably.’ She looked up. ‘I think it’s help. He’s telling you that the forgery will be put back on the twelfth.’
‘Friday.’
‘Exactly. He’s put the ball in your court.’
‘Great. Really helpful. But how does he know that?’
‘Maybe because he’s going to hand it over at the last minute. The syndicate insist on pictures being replaced in a certain timescale, isn’t that what you told me?’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated. ‘But it might be a trap.’
