by Amy Myers
‘Not much.’ He gave her a disarming smile.
It didn’t succeed. ‘Then I’ll hold on a while before taking advantage of your offer,’ she replied. Like when hell freezes, she thought savagely. Still, it had given her an opening to return to Antonio on the question of Lance.
‘If you believe Lance could have been murdered, both the painting and the goblet could have been reasons for it.’
Antonio chuckled. ‘You think I killed him because of that painting? That I stole this Ruskin letter and script?’
Damn. That wine had not been a good idea, and she was covered in confusion. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’
‘I forgive you. We wicked Benizi brothers go in with our guns going pop, pop, pop. This is how we live every day, don’t we, Magdalena?’
‘Of course.’ Madeleine laughed. ‘And I don’t blame Georgia for believing it.’
The sticky moment had passed. ‘Do you know who Lance bought the picture from?’ Georgia asked hastily.
‘He say it came from the Milot family,’ Antonio replied promptly. ‘They owned it from the time Rossetti painted it. The family ran the cafe in the Place Pigalle, and kept the picture. When the Milots became rich, they bought a chateau near Orléans and there Lance found the painting.’
‘Did he tell you he thought it was genuine, as Jago recalls?’
‘Jago wrong. Lance was not sure at first. We both thought there would be a big market for it if the rumours about the goblet were true, whether the painting was fake or genuine. So I asked Lance to buy it. You know King Arthur was a French king?’
‘I didn’t.’ Once more Georgia was taken off guard.
Madeleine laughed. ‘The Grail story originated in Europe, so naturally the French would like to think him French. Historically, as Jago would confirm, one theory of Arthur is that he was actually a king of Brittany, or more particularly of the British colony in the peninsula. He was called Riothamus, and popped over with his troops to give the Britons a hand in fighting off the Saxons.’
‘Is that included in Jago’s thesis?’ Georgia asked. It didn’t ring a bell, but would fit his story well.
‘Probably, since he was lecturing in Paris at the time, and was getting very excited over Gawain’s bones. I don’t think Lance ever showed him the paintings. He was—’
‘Eh, Magdalena,’ Antonio interrupted chidingly. ‘You bore our guests with talk of Arthur.’
‘And you also, Antonio,’ she shot back.
‘Only because, cara, Lance brought Arthur to me.’
Jago described Madeleine as temperamental, Georgia remembered, and for a moment she had seen a brief suggestion of it. ‘So didn’t Lance want Jago to see the Rossetti?’ she asked, to break the pause that followed. Had she misheard, or had Madeleine referred to paintings in the plural, just as Jago had?
‘I think not,’ Madeleine replied promptly. ‘Lance said he wanted to find the Ruskin evidence before he got Jago too excited over the painting. We and Lance were at one over Jago. We refused to accept balderdash from him about King Arthur.’
‘So neither of you believed in the golden goblet?’ Georgia’s head began to spin in earnest. ‘And yet you bought the painting.’
‘Caught you, Magdalena,’ Antonio chortled.
‘I did believe in it. I still do,’ Madeleine replied calmly. ‘As much as I believe in the golden statue of Woden. All legends have a basis of truth, so Jago could be right. Lance doubted it, but nevertheless he brought that picture to show us, just in case.’
The story was circling back again, and Georgia knew she had to break through it. ‘Everyone seems a cog in the story of Lance Venyon, not a principal, so who would want to murder him?’
‘Perhaps,’ Madeleine pointed out gently, ‘no one did. The fact that Antonio and I could believe it happened doesn’t make it a fact.’
‘That’s what my father and I have to sort out,’ Georgia said ruefully. She decided to take a risk. ‘Would anyone else have known about Lance’s work? Venetia Wain, for example.’
Madeleine stiffened, as only an affronted Englishwoman can. False step, Georgia realized – or perhaps not. ‘Venetia was the sort of woman who would claim to know everything and in fact understand nothing,’ Madeleine declared.
Antonio laughed delightedly. ‘Magdalena not like Venetia. Me, I love her.’
‘Nonsense,’ Madeleine replied calmly.
‘So quiet, so sweet, so—’
‘Catlike,’ his wife finished for him. ‘In Lance’s Garden of Eden that Eve didn’t need a serpent to tell her how to cause trouble.’
‘Trouble for Lance or for others?’ Georgia had nearly said rivals, but fortunately caught herself in time.
‘The same thing. For Mary, certainly.’
‘Could Mary have thought Venetia murdered Lance?’
Madeleine shot her a glance and Antonio was frowning, unusually for him. ‘I can’t say. I hardly knew Mary,’ Madeleine said at last. ‘And she’s no longer alive, you say.’
No, Georgia thought with resignation, and yet Mary was the only reason that she was sitting here today. If Lance’s murder was fantasy on Mary’s part, then there was no case to answer. Apart from the mysterious and probably innocent visitor he was meeting that afternoon, there wasn’t an atom of evidence that Lance had died other than by accident. The creepy atmosphere in the churchyard bore no connection to him, and even if Gawain himself lay buried deep beneath its ground, there was little Marsh & Daughter could do to avenge his death.
And then she saw Zac was about to speak. Trouble?
‘Exciting life you lead, Georgia.’
‘A thrill a minute,’ she cautiously agreed.
‘What about current crimes? Have you heard the big story about the art thefts in Kent?’
She racked her brains in vain. ‘No.’
‘That’s what I’m working on,’ Zac said nonchalantly, one arm hooked over the back of his chair. ‘There’s a scam in progress. The latest thing is not merely stealing the originals, but replacing them with copies so good they’ll never be questioned. There’s a break-in, one or two minor originals are pinched but left unreplaced so that it looks convincing but the real aim is the switch of the major paintings.’
‘How do they get exposed as copies?’ she asked.
‘Tests, Georgia dear. At any point suspicion could arise, and then the tests are made. That brings an insurance problem because it can’t be proved when the switch was made. It could be years later the query arises. Sometimes, like Antonio, the owners don’t care if it’s fake or genuine and keep it anyway, but sometimes they’re extremely narked.’
‘Naturally enough. How is the job planned?’
‘Sometimes with some insider help, but usually through scouts passing information.’
‘But if they go to the trouble of breaking in, why not take all the originals?’
Zac looked at her pityingly. ‘Elementary, my darling. It buys time to get the hot stuff away and sold before the news hits the hot list. If they’re unlucky of course they switch paintings only to find the original was a fake too.’
She wouldn’t mind betting that Zac himself had fallen foul of that. ‘How do the copyists get to know the picture so well that they can copy it to that standard?’
‘Preparation, preparation, preparation in tracking down who has pictures famous enough to be in good reproduction, somewhere. If it’s a house or museum open to the public one browses round, first with one’s Aunt Agatha, secondly with one’s squalling kids, thirdly in a tourist group; that gives an indication of the true colours and condition of the painting, and then the reproductions kick in as guides.’
‘And how did you get drawn into this?’
‘Believe it or not, Georgia, because I was a suspect.’
She began to laugh. Then he looked so indignant that she couldn’t stop. ‘I do believe it.’
‘It’s not a joke,’ he replied crossly. ‘I was questioned by the Art and Antiques Unit in the Specialist Crime
Directorate, part of the Metropolitan Police, on the grounds I was the inside man. I do valuations for insurance companies and auction houses.’
‘You mean you’re living in Kent?’ she asked, aghast.
‘Sussex.’
Relief, close though Sussex was. ‘Did they arrest you?’
‘Naturally I was able to prove my innocence.’
‘That’s a change.’
‘I offered to help them, to keep my nose to the ground.’
‘Does it sniff anything?’
‘Of course. You don’t believe me, do you?’ He put his mysterious look on. ‘Well – and this goes no further, you understand – the centre of suspicion is a chap called Roy Cook.’
‘In Dover?’ She was jolted out of her afternoon stupor. This was getting very close to home.
‘Do you know him?’
‘Of him,’ she said guardedly. ‘I met his wife.’
‘You know darling Kelly? Well, well, what a small world.’
‘I’ve met her, but your secret’s safe with me. How are the Cooks linked to the thefts?’
‘I’ve a theory, not yet proven, that he’s the organizer or at least a high-up operator. I’m pretty certain he arranges the painting of the copies.’
Mike’s words came back to her with sickening clarity: ‘He’s an excellent copyist, his tutor said.’
‘By Sandro Daks?’ she asked warily.
He looked impressed. But then Zac was good at that. ‘Yes, the poor chap who was murdered. Did you know him?’
‘No.’ She swallowed. ‘I found his body.’
‘My poor Georgia,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry. What a shock. It had occurred to me,’ he added, nose almost visibly twitching, ‘that his death could be something to do with the thefts.’
What on earth was she doing discussing this with Zac? Ten to one it hadn’t occurred to him until she put her big foot in it by mentioning Sandro. ‘Could he have been one of Cook’s copyists? I know Cook sold his tourist drawings.’
‘I’m sure he was. I met Sandro once. Didn’t take to him. Bit of a chancer, I’d say.’
‘Pots calling kettles black, Zac?’
‘I’m never underhand,’ he said, with dignity.
No. That was the trouble. He just forgot to mention things. He steamed ahead without thinking round or through a problem. That was why he was so incompetent. If the Arts and Antiques Unit was using him its success ratings would seriously decline.
‘Are you interested in the Daks case, Georgia?’ Zac continued casually.
She recognized this move. ‘To some extent.’
‘Because you found the body? That would be just like you.’
Trust him to guess. ‘No. Because he told someone he wanted to find Lance Venyon.’
It was a risky comment but even so she hadn’t bargained on the response. There was an instant stillness at the table, and it wasn’t caused by Zac. As in the Benizi bedroom she had that same feeling that something was going on here from which she was excluded. Madeleine and Antonio said nothing, looking at her with politely bland expressions. It was Zac who broke the silence.
‘That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?’ he said brightly.
Chapter Seven
‘You’re pulling my leg.’ Peter stared at her in amazement – and she could hardly blame him. She’d kept the news about Zac until last. More important (for Marsh & Daughter) was to tell Peter who the Count and Countess of Orvona were, and even more importantly that they, as Mary Venyon, believed that Lance could have been murdered. Then, as casually as possible, she had told him about Zac.
‘Do I look as if I’m joking?’ she asked flatly. ‘It was Zac. And he hadn’t changed.’
‘That sounds credible.’ Peter grimaced. ‘What doesn’t is that you’re still relatively sane about it. Tell me all.’
She did – nearly all, at any rate. She kept to herself the frisson that seeing Zac had given her. It had almost disappeared overnight in the normality of relating some of the day’s events to Luke plus a night’s sleep. ‘Do I accept Zac’s kind invitation to introduce me to Roy Cook and Co. in Dover?’
‘Dover,’ Peter repeated thoughtfully, and she could see exactly where this was leading.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Not Dover Castle on a nostalgia trip in the steps of King Arthur. This would be a visit to a twenty-first-century art gallery.’
‘Bound up with a crime, if Zac is to be believed. Do I have to remind you all this could be his fantasy? It’s only because we know about the Daks connection that you’re taking it seriously.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Georgia said. ‘We should hand the lead over to Mike in case it’s new to him.’
‘You think Zac would want to take Mike rather than you?’
Caught off guard, she laughed. ‘You’d be surprised. Zac claims he sometimes works with the goodies, the Art and Antiques Unit of the Met. He tells me that as a former suspect in these art thefts, so he had some claim to credibility.’
‘Knowing Zac, he’s probably lying over that too.’ Peter hesitated. ‘It’s your business, Georgia, but is Luke going to clap his hands in joy at the idea of your going on little jaunts with Zac?’
‘I doubt it.’ Knowing Luke he’d clam up, not try to stop her going. He was too fair for that, especially if it was work-related. Nevertheless he wouldn’t like it one little bit. That was a given; what was not a given was how she herself would feel about it. If she were honest and stopped trying to dismiss the thought, she had found being with Zac all too easy, despite every hackle in her body being raised in self-defence. It was hackles, wasn’t it? Nothing else. No refiring of old embers, no lingering wish for yesteryear?
‘And so?’ he asked.
‘I’d go if Mike agreed.’
‘I’m glad you remembered this is Mike’s case. What if I came too?’ he threw in casually.
Clever, she thought. ‘Is this a test, father dear?’
‘It is.’
‘Then yes, come by all means. Or take my place.’
‘Neat, Georgia. I’ll ring Mike. Let Zac stew for a while; we’ve other fish to fry.’
‘What breed of fish?’’
‘You helped catch them,’ he pointed out. ‘You ought to know. Firstly, Venetia Wain is in our sights. She rang me, and we’re going to the seaside next week. Won’t that be nice?’
‘Splendid. Madeleine is cagey about her, perhaps naturally if she feels proprietorial over Lance’s favours. Antonio is cagey too. Could be something there, especially since they aren’t fans of Jago either?’
‘Why not, I wonder?’
‘Largely because he married Jennifer, I suspect,’ Georgia said. ‘She was Madeleine’s flatmate.’
‘Ah. Even more interesting. That has some ballast with it.’
Georgia groaned. ‘In the shape of King Arthur galloping in with hidden treasure stories and paintings? Incidentally Madeleine, like Jago, referred to paintings in the plural, but all they discussed was the one I saw.’
‘You did well in getting them to show it to you.’
‘It was more that they decided to show me,’ she said fairly.
‘Why should they do that?’
‘Because it might have been the reason that Lance was killed. And,’ she continued crossly, ‘here we go again. Every time we follow a lead about Lance Venyon it lands up with King Arthur. I know this pleases you, but nevertheless it could be just a wild-goose chase to deflect us from the people involved. Like Venetia Wain.’
‘Has it occurred to you that the reason for King Arthur’s frequent appearance is that he really was the cause of Lance Venyon’s death? I had a merry time on the Internet yesterday, with one blog in particular. Jago was right. Theories are buzzing to and fro like hornets, and just as potentially dangerous. I suspect that Jago is working under the not very complicated codename of Badon because his current hobby horse is the Battle of Badon Hill, Arthur’s big battle – if we assume he is Gildas’s Ambrosius Aurelianu
s, who routed the enemy Saxons, and gave peace to the land for many years. Although Malory’s story of Arthur’s fight with Mordred on Barham Downs doesn’t describe a decisive battle, Jago is convinced that it was here that the historical – if I might use that word – Battle of Badon took place rather than in the many other sites in the British Isles suggested for it. Jago is convinced Badon is simply a word-of-mouth mishearing, a contraction of Barham Down. The theory has a few dating problems, to put it mildly, but Jago has an answer to them all.’
‘Which is?’
‘If you’ve a day or two to spare, I’ll tell you.’
‘Most kind of you. I take it Barham was a Saxon or Anglo-Saxon word, not Celtic?’
‘Yes. Jago eagerly points out that the Saxon for bear was bera, and the name Arthur, originally Irish, also means bear. The snag, which Jago’s opponents point out with relish, is that the Saxons would be unlikely to name a hill after the chap who slaughtered their mates.’
‘What about the goblet?’
‘Whispers, whispers. Some think it’s somewhere on Barham Down, and nothing to do with Gawain. Others that it’s at Richborough or Eastry.’
‘But it is thought to exist?’
‘The consensus is yes,’ Peter said cautiously.
‘Based on what?’ she whipped back.
‘Don’t be fierce, Georgia,’ he replied mildly. ‘There are references to Ruskin, for instance—’
‘Yes, Antonio mentioned that too.’
‘Antonio? You do seem to have struck up an accord.’
‘I can still tell a hawk from a handsaw,’ she replied, nettled at this implication.
‘I’m not sure Hamlet could, in fact.’
‘In any case,’ she continued firmly, ‘that’s only one line. We gave it precedence because we began the investigation with Jago – whose passion is King Arthur. We’re not getting to the man himself, where Lance is concerned. It’s time to move on.’
‘And Sandro Daks?’
‘The only link we have is that Lance was a friend of his grandfather’s. Like most young men, he took this so seriously he didn’t even bother to contact Lance’s daughter.’
