Restless Nights

by Catherine George

  Sitting up in bed later, with the radio on high to drown out the creaks and groans of the old timbers as they adjusted to the falling temperature, Gabriel promised herself that when Adam Dysart arrived in the morning she would be all sweetness and light. Otherwise he might complain to Harry Brett. Who would give his daughter hell for alienating someone who was not only his favourite client but his benefactor, and endanger his own recovery in the process.

  Gabriel was up early next morning, after her usual restless night, and by eight-thirty she was zipped into a fresh white cotton coverall, her hair pinned up under the baseball cap, face bare of anything other than moisturiser, and looked a lot different from the ‘vision’ of the night before. She opened up the barn, prepared her workbench with a thick, doubled blanket, and laid out the tools of her trade alongside a book sheet magnifier mounted on a wooden stand, ready to receive Adam’s mystery lady. Afterwards she went back to the house to unlock the vault in the cellar, and took out the prints Wayne and Eddie had been working on the day before. Both young men were only a couple of years out of art college, but to her relief the work they were doing under Harry Brett’s tutelage was of a standard high enough to please even his daughter’s demanding eye.

  When both young men arrived on Wayne’s beloved Harley-Davidson, they were pleased, and not a little startled, to receive warm praise for their work of the previous day.

  ‘Thanks, Gabriel,’ said Eddie. ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘Better. Much better,’ Gabriel assured him, smiling.

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Wayne with relief. ‘In that case, could we pop in and see him for a minute on the way home?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Do him good to talk shop with you two. Oh, and by the way, I told him about Adam Dysart. And you were quite right.’ She pulled a face. ‘Feel free to crow. Dad insists I start work on the latest Dysart find right away, and leave the rest until I’ve finished it.’

  ‘We’ll do anything we can to help,’ said Wayne eagerly.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll need all the help I can get,’ said Gabriel ruefully, then looked up at the sound of a car approaching. ‘Right. Whose turn to make the coffee?’

  A workmanlike estate car cruised slowly down the lane and came to a halt outside the barn. Adam Dysart got out, dressed in conventional jacket and tie in contrast to the night before.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Brett,’ he said coolly.

  ‘Good morning,’ returned Gabriel, wrong-footed by his formality. ‘Have you brought the portrait?’

  ‘Why else would I be here?’ he countered, and bent to remove the swathed canvas from the car.

  Right. Forget sweetness and light. ‘Would you bring it inside?’ Gabriel directed him to the padded table under the north light. ‘Lay it down gently, please.’

  Adam gave her a scathing look. He removed the covering and laid the painting down, then moved slightly so that Gabriel could stand alongside him to look at the portrait.

  She scrutinised it carefully for some time, then took a hand magnifier and made a closer inspection. After a lengthy interval she turned the picture face down on the blanket.

  ‘Would you take some notes, Eddie?’ Gabriel asked. ‘The canvas is dark and grimy, but fine-woven, and the stretchers are good quality, straight-grained wood. The frame is contemporary, but with no labels or indications as to origin.’ She turned the painting back again and with infinite care rubbed the extreme corner with a gentle fingertip. ‘The paint is dry and flaky, remains matt, and the painting as a whole has many fine, random cracks. This rules out acrylic, and confirms age.’

  ‘So it could be 1820s?’ said Adam.

  ‘Possibly,’ Gabriel said cautiously. ‘Eddie, note that the subject occupies only half the canvas, the rest of which is obscured by thick dark paint applied by a different hand. As though someone wanted the rest of the painting obliterated.’

  ‘So you agree there may be something—or someone—else under there,’ said Adam with satisfaction.

  ‘Otherwise it’s certainly a great waste of canvas,’ agreed Gabriel, and gave him a polite smile as Wayne came in carrying a tray. ‘Will you have some coffee, Mr Dysart?’

  ‘I won’t, thanks. I must be off. I’ll be at Dysart’s all day, so ring me there if you need to contact me. Otherwise I’ll be home about seven.’ Adam took a card from his wallet and handed it to Gabriel. ‘All three numbers on that, Miss Brett, including my mobile.’

  The two young men discreetly retreated to a far corner of the barn with their coffee, leaving Gabriel in unwanted privacy with Adam.

  ‘I’ll make a start straight away,’ she said briskly. ‘But, as you well know, initial cleaning can be a painfully slow process.’

  ‘Take as much time as you want. One thing, though. Your father’s accustomed to frequent visits on my part to check on the work in progress.’ He looked down at her quizzically, obviously expecting her to object. ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘Come whenever you like,’ she said indifferently. ‘By the way, if this picture turns out to be as valuable as you think, will you be taking it away every night? Or will you trust it to Dad’s new vault in the cellar?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve always done in the past. Harry takes out hefty insurance, so I’d rather you kept it here to save time.’ Adam’s eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Unless that’s a problem for you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Good.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for taking the work on.’

  ‘No need for thanks.’ Gabriel shook his hand briefly. ‘I’m just following orders.’

  His jaw clenched. ‘You make that blatantly obvious, Miss Brett.’ He called a goodbye to the boys, nodded formally at Gabriel and strode from the barn.

  She stared after him for a moment, then turned her attention to his painting. She began by removing the nails rusted into the frame, using pincers and painstakingly gradual leverage to avoid harm to the stretchers. Then she got to work on the brass securing tacks, which were green with age and so deeply embedded it took patience and time before the canvas was free. To Gabriel’s relief there was no sign of the mould which could lift paint film from its support. But neither was there any sign of a signature or framer’s label.

  ‘No clues at all,’ she told her hovering aides, ‘other than its obvious age—’

  ‘How old?’ said Wayne eagerly.

  ‘Too early to say. But probably early nineteenth century, as Adam hopes. And the original work is definitely by a skilled, professional artist. Unlike the paint slapped on the rest of the canvas.’ Gabriel smiled at them. ‘Right, then, let’s take it out into the sun. You hold it while I peer through my trusty magnifying glass.’

  Satisfied that there were no gashes, or signs of old restorations, Gabriel took a photograph of the painting, then retired with it to her corner of the barn under the north skylight and set to work. She supported the canvas with blocks of plywood secured with carpet tape, pulled on a builder’s mask and the binocular headband, then moistened a cotton swab in white spirit and made a start on the preliminary cleaning.

  By the time the boys were finished for the day Gabriel was surrounded by a sea of used swabs, her eyes and back ached, and both Wayne and Eddie were disappointed that she had so little to show for her labours.

  ‘I’m just taking off the dirt, remember. A couple of centuries of it at a guess,’ said Gabriel, yawning. ‘You’ll only see a difference when I get to the overpaint.’

  Wayne and Eddie had accompanied her to the cellar vault with the portrait, along with everything else valuable enough to need security, before Gabriel remembered Adam Dysart’s request to inspect her progress. Too late now everything was locked up for the night and she was alone. She’d surrendered about giving Adam priority, but otherwise he’d have to play to her own rules. Her working day at Brett Restorations ended at five-thirty sharp, to give her time for a bath and some glamourising before she paid her nightly visit to Pennington General. If Adam wanted to check
on his property he’d just have to make time during his own working day.

  Armed with the cookies, and dressed in a yellow shirt and a short denim skirt which displayed the tan her legs had acquired over the weekend, Gabriel breezed into the four-bed ward later that evening to find that her father already had a visitor. Adam Dysart rose to his feet, with a smile that dared her to object to his presence.

  ‘Hello, there,’ said Gabriel brightly, and bent to kiss her father. ‘And how are you today, Dad?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you, pet.’ Harry patted her cheek. ‘You’re late. Not that it matters. Wayne and Eddie dropped in, then Adam came to entertain me with tales of his latest find.’

  ‘I’ve had a busy day working on it, which is why I’m late.’ Gabriel smiled sweetly, then turned away for a word with Mr Austin as usual, before taking the chair Adam pulled up for her.

  ‘Am I allowed to ask how you’re getting on?’ he asked.

  ‘Very slowly.’

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t been round to check, Adam,’ said Harry. ‘You’re always breathing down my neck.’

  Adam gave Gabriel a wry look. ‘I think your daughter would object if I tried breathing down hers.’ He stood up. ‘Time I was off. I’ll look in again, Harry.’

  ‘Before you go—Adam,’ said Gabriel, determinedly pleasant, ‘when you do come round to check on the portrait could you make it before five-thirty? We pack up for the day then.’

  Her father looked at her in surprise. ‘As early as that? I usually put in another couple of hours after the boys go. The light’s good at this time of year.’

  But she’d have to go down to the cellar on her own afterwards. ‘If I did I wouldn’t make it here to see you,’ she said lightly.

  ‘True,’ he said, sobering. ‘Anyway, pet, how is the work coming on?’

  ‘I’m just removing the first layer of dust and grime.’ She looked at Adam. ‘Not much to show yet.’

  ‘I’ll come round tomorrow,’ he said promptly. ‘If that’s convenient—Gabriel.’

  ‘Of course.’ She gave him a smile so honeyed it won a cynical look from him before he left her alone with her father.

  Harry Brett shook his head in disapproval. ‘What is your problem with Adam?’

  ‘What problem?’ she said innocently.

  ‘Come on, this is your old dad you’re talking to! For some reason you don’t like Adam. Why?’

  ‘I don’t have to like your clients to work for them.’ She patted his hand. ‘It’s nothing personal, Dad. I suppose we rather got off on the wrong foot because he expected me to drop everything to work on his precious sleeper. If that’s what it turns out to be,’ she added.

  ‘Do you think he’s right?’ said Harry.

  ‘Quite possibly. The canvas is certainly old enough. I’ll report my progress tomorrow night.’ Gabriel looked at him in appeal. ‘Dad, I’m sorry I can’t make it in the afternoons as well—’

  ‘My dear child, you’re doing far too much as it is. Don’t worry. Mrs Austin’s daughter brings her in every afternoon.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘The ladies see I’m not neglected.’

  ‘Did they bring you that enormous basket of fruit over there?’

  ‘No. Adam brought that—plus a new thriller. And now you’ve got that look on your face again,’ he said, shaking his head at her.

  ‘Sorry, Dad. He lends you money, brings you expensive presents—I suppose I’m just plain jealous.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Actually, it was very good of Adam. Though his offerings rather put my homemade biscuits in the shade.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Harry, so lovingly Gabriel had to swallow a lump in her throat and pretend interest in the new novel to disguise it.

  ‘How are things?’ asked Laura Brett later, during their nightly phone call.

  ‘Dad’s looking good, but—’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I had a word with the ward sister on my way out. If Dad does come home next week it’s vital he has complete rest.’

  ‘And we both know that the moment he’s back at the ranch he’ll be out in that barn, getting up to all kinds of mischief instead of behaving like a sensible invalid.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Let me think about it for a while. Maybe I can help.’

  ‘Don’t offer money, Mother!’

  ‘As if I would,’ said Laura, laughing. ‘Besides, Harry’s not that broke, surely?’

  Gabriel hoped not. ‘His restoration work certainly doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘So what are you labouring on right now?’

  ‘I’m restoring a portrait for Adam Dysart.’

  Her mother whistled inelegantly. ‘Are we talking about the Adam Dysart?’

  ‘The one and only. Dad’s blue-eyed boy.’

  ‘So you’ve met him again at long last. What’s he like?’

  ‘Tall, dark, and full of the self-confidence you’d expect from the man who has everything.’

  ‘You don’t like him, obviously. But then, your father’s been singing his praises to you for so many years you’re bound to be prejudiced against him.’

  ‘Adam was there in the ward when I visited tonight. Took Dad an enormous basket of fruit and a brand-new thriller,’ said Gabriel, depressed.

  ‘Is he married?’ asked Laura.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? But as it happens he isn’t. He’s just broken off a relationship with someone.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Then you must have had some conversation with him.’

  ‘He came round last night to ask after Dad. And this morning to bring the picture. And he’ll be back tomorrow, and every other tomorrow until I’ve finished, to check on the work in progress.’

  ‘In that case, darling, make sure you charge the earth for your services. It sounds as though you’ll earn it!’

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY LATE afternoon next day Gabriel’s efforts had removed much of the grime from the painting. A check on the back of the canvas in the first stages had confirmed that there was no serious cracking, and she had completed a second round of cleaning by the time Adam Dysart appeared, just as her henchmen were clearing up for the night.

  This time Gabriel was so weary she greeted Adam without hostility or emotion of any kind. She took off her baseball cap to thrust a hand through her hair, conscious that she must reek of white spirit as she beckoned Adam across to the painting lying tilted slightly on its stand.

  ‘I’m sure you know that at this stage our mystery lady looks rather worse than when I started, because the spirit leaves white patches as it dries,’ she began, and he nodded, unconcerned.

  ‘But she’s waking up,’ he said with relish, his eyes drawn in fascination to the face now more visible in the painting. The girl’s violet eyes shone out from the murky background, something in her expression rousing such a discernible response in the man looking at her that Gabriel eyed him curiously, wondering if Adam Dysart always felt this way during the restoration process. He dragged his eyes away from the painted face with effort, and glanced down at the sea of cotton wool swabs surrounding Gabriel’s bench. ‘There was obviously a lot to clean off.’

  She nodded, eyeing the canvas speculatively. ‘But oddly enough not what I’ve come to expect. A painting of this age—and it is old—has usually suffered from the effects of coal fires, candles, soot, tobacco—sometimes even grease from cooking. But not this one. You mentioned attics, and I bet that’s where our lady’s been hiding, accumulating layers of dust and cobwebs in the process ever since she was painted. I’m beginning to think that she’s never seen the light of day—or any other kind of light—until the house clearance.’

  Adam’s eyes, bright with speculation, met hers. ‘Do you think the subject hid it in the attic herself?’

  ‘Or someone else did, maybe out of malice.’ They turned to gaze down at the face in the painting as though expecting an answer from it.

&nb
sp; ‘I’ve discovered where she came from—a small manor house in Herefordshire,’ said Adam, his shoulder in contact with Gabriel’s as they leaned over the portrait. ‘It was sold recently to start a new life as a retirement home. An elderly lady lived alone in it the last few years.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Gabriel with feeling.

  Adam eyed her sharply. ‘Is living alone here getting to you?’

  ‘A little, yes.’ She shrugged. ‘Thank goodness it’s summer, and the evenings are long.’

  ‘Does Harry know you feel like this?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ She speared him with a cold blue look. ‘And please don’t tell him.’

  ‘Of course I won’t tell him,’ he snapped. ‘Adding to any worry for your father is the last thing I’d do. I’m very fond of him.’

  ‘He’s fond of you, too,’ she said, resigned.

  ‘And you take exception to that.’

  Gabriel was saved from lying by the reappearance of Wayne and Eddie with the safe keys.

  ‘Shall we take the portrait now?’ asked Wayne.

  Gabriel looked at her watch in remorse. ‘No. I’ll see to it. You two get off. I didn’t realise it was so late.’

  ‘I’ll help Miss Brett lock up,’ said Adam. ‘I trust that meets with your approval, too?’ he added belatedly as the motorcycle went roaring off down the lane.

  ‘Of course,’ said Gabriel carelessly. ‘It’s your property we’re stowing away. At least you’ll be sure your lady is safe for the night.’ And as long as someone went down with her to the cellar she didn’t care who it was. Even Adam Dysart.

  Adam not only accompanied Gabriel down into the cellar, but helped her clear up and went the rounds of the barn afterwards to check that all was secure for the night before he left.