by P A Latter
Julia had little reason to care about the woman, but she fervently hoped nothing had happened to her. The mystery was yet another reminder of the Assassin’s Curse - if it had ever existed.
This in turn reminded Julia that she was supposed to be finding wall-space to give a permanent home to the Assassin.
Rather than disturb the arrangement in the main gallery, the portrait might be accommodated in one of the first floor rooms.
She paced slowly through each room trying to consider where they might place the picture, but instead found herself imagining the Assassin - the supposed 18th century Venetian nobleman - tracing her footsteps.
He would surely have viewed the Seckfields as bumpkins. A Seckfield daughter might be pretty enough to catch his eye for an evening’s flirtation, or he might make a protégé of a son, in order to enjoy the boy’s adulation.
He would have been much more at home down the road at Knole - playing cards in the grand salons or riding in the deer park with the aristocratic Sackvilles.
Moving the picture was a decision that could now be left to the incoming curator. However, the current temporary exhibition was overdue for a change and Julia had trawled through the inventory to select the next pictures for display.
She hoped to coax a couple of volunteers to help her take down and re-hang pictures immediately after the date of the MJL reception, but the Assassin might as well stay put - with the protection of the motion sensor - for the time being. Perhaps she had actually become accustomed to its presence, a matter of a few yards from her office.
~
The week before the reception, Ken James met up with Julia at a coffee shop midway between MJL and Fathon House. They discussed the final details for the reception. The event was booked to capacity, but Ken James looked slightly troubled.
‘How are you getting on at the museum? More exciting than MJL, I imagine.’
‘It’s certainly different, but I could have done without some of the excitement.’ Julia was deliberating whether to confess that she was resigning, since it would sound as if she was angling to get her old job back.
‘I spoke to Hugh last week - he had to cancel our golf date. He told me you’re quitting as curator.’
She should have realised that men gossip at least as much as women. She nodded her confirmation.
‘He’s disappointed. He said you were doing a good job.’
‘That was very generous of him. To be honest with you and it sounds a bit pathetic, but I couldn’t cope with the internal politics. Dealing with the trustees felt impossible.’
‘You surprise me. You always managed to keep our clients happy.’
‘Looking after the MJL clients - Barry Ferrers excluded - was a pleasure. Even the occasional disgruntled ones that couldn’t reach Stephen when he didn’t feel like talking to them.’ They exchanged a conspiratorial grin.
‘Julia, would you consider coming back to us? Would it be too dull?’
‘I… I thought the latest temp was going to stay on.’
‘She decided she wanted to keep temping. Fortunately as it turns out. She has a few annoying habits.
ook, the job’s yours if you want it. Please think about it.’
‘I will… and thank you. I hadn’t given any real thought to what I might do when the new curator is appointed. I felt I ought to move on.’
We can give you more responsibility if you want it. But we do miss having you as part of the team.’
Julia was touched by his appeal and promised to give an answer within the week. Part of her longed to turn the clock back to the time before John Carmichael fell ill, when her time at the museum was free from responsibilities of any kind and her work at MJL straightforward. She would be hard pressed to find another part-time job that paid so well.
She told Penny of MJL’s offer, airing her misgivings that it was a cowardly retreat. Penny challenged her memory of unexciting routine, as an illusion created by the contrasting stresses of recent months at Fathon house and told her bluntly that if she still wanted a job with time for volunteering, she’d be a complete idiot if she turned them down.
After a further day of dithering, Julia accepted the offer to rejoin the business.
~
The MJL reception ran without a hitch. Nearly all the registrants turned up, so the Specials gallery was well-filled and the supply of alcohol they had laid on no longer seemed excessive. Volunteers had pitched in and were attentive hosts. The MJL team made the guests feel at ease.
The attendees proved receptive to Julia’s introduction to the museum: three couples signed up direct debits to become Friends of Fathon House on the night. Others promised to visit shortly to see the rest of the collection and hinted at further support.
Hugh dropped in as they were packing up for the night; handing out MJL’s take-home gifts of Fathon House shortbread to the departing guests and carrying trays of glasses to the kitchen. He sent the volunteers home with grateful thanks and the last of the unopened bottles. Julia and Hugh finally waved the MJL partners off and went back into the House for a final check that everything was tidied away, before re-setting the alarms for the night.
‘Sorry I didn’t have time to come earlier. It looked like a definite success. I reckon a timely follow up will reel in some more regular supporters.’
Julia thought Hugh looked tired, but he wouldn’t thank her for drawing attention to it. ‘I hope it will be as valuable for Ken and Stephen and Mike.’
‘Mike told me he was confident they’ll get at least five new clients.’
‘It does feel like a satisfying conclusion.’
‘Look, Julia - I understand you won’t change your mind about the permanent position. But you’ve done a bloody good job and I’m sorry if I haven’t had much time to devote to Fathon House recently.’
‘I know you have your own business to take care of.’ Julia tried to dismantle the trestle table they had set up for drinks. She had positioned it in front of the Assassin as a barrier, to block its magnetic pull and switched off the proximity sensor for the evening.
Here, let me help with that.’ After Hugh had folded the table legs flat, Julia noticed he was looking at the portrait. ‘Our noble friend would have been right at home tonight, mixing with all that money, don’t you think?’ Hugh walked up to the painting.
‘If he really was an aristocrat, he might have found tonight’s guests a bit nouveau riche.’
‘Possibly. Although the rich and the powerful have always been drawn to each other.’
Hugh had been leaning down to pick up the folded table. He straightened up and with his free hand, patted the picture proprietorially. ‘I’m thinking about fixing up another evening event.’
‘Oh, that would be good.’ Julia began to answer and then faltered.
She stared at his hand resting on the frame.
Chapter 17
Julia tried to dismiss her consternation over Hugh’s contact with the Assassin. She had never brought herself to admit that she believed in a curse, so how could she believe they had broken it?
After using the image of the Assassin’s hands and then in the relief of relinquishing the curatorship, she had felt free of that indefinable oppressiveness pervading the museum. So what was she worrying about?
Others - she herself - had touched the picture and were fine - no ill effects at all. She couldn’t phone Hugh up to ask if he was possessed by an evil spirit.
However, she could ask about the ideas for a further event he had mentioned. She convinced herself it was a perfectly valid reason to call.
He sounded pre-occupied, but that wasn’t unusual if she was interrupting him at work.
‘What do I need to know about the soiree that you have in mind?’ She asked.
‘Nothing that can’t wait. I’ll email you the details.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have called. Are you OK? Bad day or not feeling a hundred percent?’
‘I’m just busy.’ She thought he was going to hang
up, but then he spoke again. ‘Actually it’ll be quicker to tell you now.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Julia wasn’t reassured that Hugh was unaffected. He was rarely so brusque with her.
‘This is all confidential stuff, so don’t say anything to the team yet. Chevening House is hosting a European trade meeting. They want to keep a low press profile, but they’re having a fancy dinner at Knole to close the meeting.’
Julia knew that Hugh was well-connected politically as well as commercially. ‘You’re arranging for them to come here too?’
‘Yes, a pre-talks drinks reception. Plus discussion of some serious business deals. If I get the go-ahead, we’ll refresh the selection in the gallery for these guys.’
‘It’s certainly overdue for a change, but why particularly? I’d like to think they’d be interested, but I’m sure they’ll all be too busy schmoozing to notice what’s on the walls.’
‘Politicians and business magnates aren’t all complete philistines. My Foreign Office contact has requested that British art is on show.’
‘OK, I’ll go through the inventory and put a display together.’ Julia was excited at the prospect of choosing the works.
‘Just make me a list and I’ll select what we put up. Some landscapes; some of the mediaeval subjects; nothing too Italianate.’
She was surprised and disappointed, but if she wasn’t to be the curator, she couldn’t complain. ‘OK, Sublime or Romantic rather than Picturesque.’ Julia was well-versed in the ways of viewing art as prescribed in the 18th century.
‘Perfect, but more recent stuff would be fine too. Oh, while I think of it, there’s another thing. The job applicants. Can you make me a list for interviewing?’
‘You want me to select the candidates for the curatorship?’
‘You’re pretty well-qualified to evaluate them. Now, I really have to get back to work. When you’ve made the lists, send them to me. Email, Julia.’
Julia rang off. At least Hugh didn’t sound ill. If he had been terse, it was no doubt because she had called him away from his wheeler-dealing.
Her habit of worrying must have become so ingrained that when Hugh touched the painting, she had talked herself into another thing to worry about.
She set to work to compile a selection of paintings that would provide a suitable backdrop for the political soiree.
It was a rather more appealing task than looking at the job applications and it didn’t take long to assemble a long list and then refine it to a suggested complement that would fill the Specials room.
She hoped her choices covered a good range, but would still look like a coherent display. However, she sent the long list to Hugh along with her own selection.
When she turned her attention to the job applicants, she felt a reluctance to look at them. She thought about contacting Hugh to say it was inappropriate for her to see personal information about anyone who might become her boss.
But he had made it clear he didn’t have time for her agonising right now. When the new curator started work, Julia wouldn’t be an employee and the appointee could choose if they didn’t wish her to continue as a volunteer.
Despite the role being neither well-paid nor especially prestigious, there were a lot of applicants. Julia had hoped the adverts would attract people who would be like her colleagues: dedicated and passionate about the museum.
Instead, she encountered careless applications from individuals even less qualified than herself. She also - guiltily - rejected many who were desperately keen but lacked expertise - too much like herself.
She sorted them into a short list for interview and a couple that she was in two minds over. Before she had time to email all the attachments, Hugh dropped in to pick up the hard copies.
He sighed when he saw the piles of papers. ‘I do trust your judgement, you know. I’m sure we don’t need to interview too many.’
‘I didn’t want to second guess what the trustees are looking for.’ As Julia spoke, Hugh was leafing through the “not sure” pile she had set aside.
‘These are your second choices?’ Hugh pulled one out. ‘This one’s included a photo - Cassandra Neville. Hmm. She seems to have done her homework on the collection.’
‘Yes, she appears keen and has the right background which is why I didn’t discard her, but she’s a bit young and her specialism is authenticating 20th century watercolours. Not much use for that here.’
‘I think she’s worth a look.’
‘Because she’s a 29 year old blonde? You’re putting her on the interview list because you fancy her.’
‘No. Because you wouldn’t have put her application in front of me unless she was worth interviewing.’
Julia felt conflicted. Had the attractive photo or “the right background” prejudiced her against the candidate? Julia dropped the argument and changed the subject.
‘I should have a paper for the café scheme complete in a few days. Do you want to check it over before I circulate it to the trustees?’ Preparing a financial evaluation for establishing a café at Fathon House had been occupying much of Julia’s time.
‘Yes, please. But I don’t need to check it. I just want to be forearmed before the shit hits the proverbial.’
‘We could actually accommodate the café without losing gallery display space if we could only afford to renovate the second floor room.’
‘Julia - don’t start lobbying. Just lay out the pros and cons of all the options and leave it for the trustees to wrangle over.’
They reverted to arrangements for the interviews, which Hugh and Mary Bedford were to conduct together, with Julia providing a short tour afterwards, to see the candidates in a less formal situation.
~
The morning of the interviews, Mary Bedford called to apologise that she had a stomach bug and would be unable to attend.
She sounded more annoyed than actually sick. There was half an hour before the first candidate was due to arrive, so the probability of locating one of the other trustees and of them being able to step in, was low.
However, Julia was in luck: a single call secured Colin Harper from the Sevenoaks Council offices, willing to abandon a dull meeting and help out.
After she showed each interviewee out of the building, Julia returned to the main office to give Penny her impressions. When Sam came down for a coffee break, she demanded a run-down.
‘The first one expected to have a large staff of highly trained minions. She didn’t look too impressed when I told her that - present company excepted - the team were part-time volunteers with boundless enthusiasm but few relevant qualifications.’
‘Doesn’t sound right for us,’ Penny said.
‘No, but she did loosen up a bit when I took her into the Specials room.’
‘Did the Assassin freak her out?’ Sam said.
‘Not at all. She went all girly. I think she found him - it - sort of sexy.’
‘What a weirdo. Definitely not for us.’ Penny again.
‘The second one was friendly enough. He knew his stuff, but he was a bit … stodgy.’
‘Stodgier than Dr Carmichael?’ Sam asked.
‘Sam, really. Dr Carmichael wasn’t stodgy, he was … dedicated.’ Julia felt she had to defend him.
‘Museum curators aren’t celebrated for their sparkling dynamism.’ Penny added.
‘Perhaps I just took against him because he commented on the theft of the Romney portrait and was snide about our security,’ Julia said.
Penny shook her head, ‘You are so defensive about that. I expect he just wanted to show he was paying attention to what’s happening here.’
‘I saw the third one,’ Sam snorted, ‘He looked about a hundred and three.’
‘That’s ageism, young person. However, I have to say he spoke as though Fathon House would be an interesting retirement hobby.’
‘If he wants a retirement hobby, he can come and volunteer. Oh, sorry, Julia, I didn’t mean volunteers are all old.’
‘It’s OK. I know anyone over 35 is pensionable from your perspective.’
‘Who’s left?’ Penny asked.
‘The one from the Arts Council - Cassandra Neville.’
The young woman that Julia had nearly excluded from the short list. Julia had anticipated Cassandra would be confident, radiate entitlement, with her Arts Council credentials and - Julia suspected - an affluent family steeped in arts philanthropy. When they shook hands, Julia faced a serious individual - obviously ambitious - but difficult to read.
After she had left, the trustees invited Julia to join them and give her perspective of the candidates. She was aware of the risks of making negative comments about someone who could shortly be in charge of Fathon House and she was determined to sound as neutral as possible.
She was fairly certain they would eliminate the third candidate, but couldn’t predict what they would have thought of the other three.
She wasn’t surprised that Hugh and Colin were agonising over the decision.
‘I think the first lady could be a real asset. Full of ideas and energy. She could raise the profile of the House - make it a bigger attraction to the area.’ Colin Harper was clearly convinced.
‘OK. We’ll offer her the post,’ Hugh said.
Julia could tell Hugh had some reservations, but couldn’t determine whether they were about the woman herself or about the likelihood of her accepting the job.
She was still uneasy that Hugh wasn’t quite his usual self. If she had felt more comfortable, she might have mentioned her concern that the candidate expected to find a large team ready to carry out her ideas.
‘We can rule out the third one, but don’t send rejections to the others, until we get a confirmation.’
Julia became convinced that the trustees’ favoured candidate would refuse. They would appoint the stodgy, dull character and Fathon House would continue to bumble on as a minor museum of local interest, struggling to survive on visitor numbers provided by its proximity to Knole.
