by SL Beaumont
Chapter 13
Stephanie enlarged the thumbnail of the painting on the screen. It looked exactly like the painting that was hanging in the library at Knox Manor. She had commented to James about it, the evening he had shown her the photos he had found of Edward and Sophie. She looked closely at the screen – there was no way that could be the same painting, was there? She would need to have another look at it to be sure.
She clicked into the detail of the painting. It was a self-portrait entitled Painter on the Road to Tarascon and the artist was none other than Vincent van Gogh. Stephanie did a double-take. She read through the history of the painting. The painting had originally hung in the Kulturhistorisches Museum in Magdeburg in Germany. From there the Nazis had confiscated it, considering it degenerate in 1938, and it hadn’t been seen since. It was assumed to have been destroyed in the Allied bombing of Berlin in 1944.
Stephanie sat back, unsure what to do. Surely the painting hanging in the Knox library must be a copy, although James did say it was very old. Pity he was being so difficult or she could go back to the manor and take another look at it. One thing was certain; she would need to ensure it was the same painting before saying anything.
She had to think this through carefully, rather than run off and make a fool of herself.
Stomach rumbling, she skipped downstairs to have a late breakfast.
I wonder if Alex Knox’s business has a website, she thought an hour or so later, her mind wandering. Back in her bedroom, she opened up Internet Explorer on her laptop and did a Google search and sure enough, there it was; www.knoxantiques.co.uk.
She clicked onto the website and spent the next ten minutes reading. It looked very legitimate – well of course it would, she thought. She noted that his area of expertise was late 19th and early to mid-20th century art and antiques. It appeared that he ran the business out of a shop in Green Park in London. She took a mental note of its location – could be worth a visit sometime.
Stephanie was interrupted a little while later by a visit from Michael. He arrived at the same time as a courier, who handed him a large bouquet of flowers.
“Hi, Steph,” he called knocking quietly and poking his head around her open bedroom door. “Here, these were just delivered for you.” He handed her the flowers.
Wow. Maybe James has gotten over his mood after all, Stephanie thought. She felt her own mood lift and her breath hitch. She laid the flowers on the end of her bed and pulled out the card.
Sorry about Friday. Look forward to seeing you again soon. Love Sam
Stephanie let out the breath she had been holding. She felt disappointed and then immediately annoyed with herself.
Michael watched the myriad of emotions cross her face.
“Not from the person you hoped?” he asked with surprising insight.
She shrugged, but didn’t answer. She tossed the card aside onto the bed. It landed face up and Michael saw Sam’s name on the bottom.
“I thought I’d check you were okay after last night. I know you and James argued and you looked upset when you left,” he said, shuffling uncomfortably.
“I’m fine,” she said, dismissing his concern. “It seems that James and I have agreed to disagree on just about everything – especially when it’s to do with to our families.”
“James is really sensitive about his family. He was absolutely devastated when his father died. Not only were they really close, but I think he protected James from his brother,” Michael said. “Alex has beaten the crap out of James on several occasions since then. He’s got a foul temper.”
“What about his mother? Surely she wouldn’t let that happen?” Stephanie said.
“She hasn’t been around much of late. She remarried fairly quickly and he hates his stepfather,” Michael said. “I think James feels pretty betrayed and abandoned by her, although he puts on this tough front.”
Stephanie looked away. Great. Her natural instinct was to feel sad for James. Don’t make me feel sorry for the arrogant little git.
Michael perched on the arm of the sofa beside Stephanie’s desk. Her laptop was open with the Knox Antiques home page displayed.
He looked at her quizzically. “So what does Alex Knox’s antiques business have to do with the search you have me running for you?” He picked up Sophie’s journal and turned it over in his hands. “What are you up to, Steph?”
Stephanie blushed. “I’m not quite sure yet. Can you trust me for a few days, if I promise to tell you once I have uncovered a little more? It might be nothing.” She carefully took the diary from him.
“Okay – I will hold you to that promise though,” Michael said.
After Michael went home, Stephanie felt restless. Despite what he had said, she refused to allow herself to feel sorry for James. He’s made his feelings for me pretty clear. I need to just move on, she thought.
While she arranged Sam’s flowers in a large vase, the painting in the library continued to play on her mind. If only she could get another look at it. The seed of a plan began to grow in her mind. However, it depended on James’s whereabouts. She wandered into her wardrobe and selected a casual hat. She piled her hair up on top of her head and pulled the hat on. The brim partially covered her face. She grabbed her bag and car keys and ran down the stairs to the front door.
“Just popping to the village,” she called and let herself out the front door.
The Fiat was parked in the front of the house, where she had left it the night before. She drove into the village and along the main street, slowing as she approached the pub. Through her open window she could hear music coming from the café across the road. As it came into view, she scanned the car park. There it was. The red Porsche 911. That meant James was with Andy and his brother was out of town again. Two out of the way. She took the next right turn and headed out of the village and up the valley towards Knox Manor.
A few minutes later she pulled her car over to one side of the driveway under a large oak tree and took a deep breath as she got out and looked up at the imposing house.
She walked cautiously up to the front door and rang the bell.
Please don’t let it be the old man, please don’t let it be the old man, she recited under her breath.
Her assumption that someone like him wouldn’t stoop so low as to answer his own front door bell, was a good one. The housekeeper, Grace, opened the door.
“Hello?” she smiled when she saw Stephanie. “James isn’t here, love.”
“Actually I didn’t come to see him. It’s just that I think I must have dropped an earring in the library the other night. You haven’t found it by chance? They were a gift from my grandmother and rather special to me.” Stephanie held up an earring to show Grace. Its mate rested securely in her pocket.
Grace opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come in for a look, dear,” she said kindly.
Stephanie cautiously stepped through the door, her heart racing. Today, the dark foyer seemed menacing and she suppressed a shudder as Grace led the way up the staircase to the library. She held the library door open for Stephanie.
“Now where were you sitting?” she asked.
Stephanie walked over to the desk, glancing up at the painting. Her hand itched to pull the printout of the missing work from her pocket and compare the two, but Grace was watching her from the door.
“Well, we were here and then sat over there,” she said, reluctantly turning her back on the painting and looking around the armchairs that they sat in. She straightened up.
“No, it’s not here either,” she said. Stephanie took a long look at the painting. She would love to have touched it to see if it was original. It certainly looked it. But one thing she was now certain about was that it was the same painting mentioned in the missing art list. Maybe it was a copy? Although James said that it had hung here since his grandfather had been given it just before the outbreak of World War II. And her research had shown that the original hadn’t been seen since 1938.
There was the sound of a door opening in the distance. A deep authoritative male voice called, “Grace.”
Stephanie jumped, alarmed. It was Charles, James’s grandfather.
“Coming,” Grace called. She hesitated.
“It’s okay – I’ll let myself out. I’m just going to crawl under the desk in case it fell under there,” Stephanie smiled at her. “Um, Grace, James and I have had a bit of a falling out – do you mind not telling him that I was here – I feel a bit stupid now that it looks like I’ve lost the earring somewhere else,” Stephanie said, trying to look embarrassed.
“Of course, dear. It’ll be our secret,” she said, patting Stephanie’s arm. “Just close the library door behind you. The front door is straight down the stairs.”
“Thanks,” Stephanie said and smiled gratefully at her. Grace hurried out of the room and along the corridor away from the library.
As soon as she was out of sight, Stephanie pulled the chair from the desk over to the wall and stood on it, carefully lifting the painting down. It was heavy. She stepped off the chair and laid the painting gently on the desk.
Needs an expert, she thought shaking her head. She reached out and tentatively touched a corner of the canvas – it was definitely not a print, but the signature was not neat, it was half scrawled, difficult to make out. I need to rehang this before I get caught, she thought anxiously.
Heart racing, she cast a surreptitious look at the library door, as she carefully lifted the painting up, turning it so that she had it in the right position to rehang. Writing on the back of the canvas drew her attention. She balanced the edge of the painting on her knee and leaned in for a closer look, gasping as she noticed a distinctive mark on the back – a black swastika.
