The Cornish Knot

by Vicky Adin

“I’ve a surprise and wanted to tell you in person.”

  Now she was intrigued. “Another one? I’m not sure I like all these surprises at my age. I’m not convinced they’re good for one’s health,” she teased.

  He chuckled again.

  Megan looked at the creases around his laughing eyes, the slight flush on his face and the warmth of his smile and relaxed. In the space of one morning, she had gone from deciding to dismiss him from her life completely to being delighted to see him, fickle as that seemed.

  “Ah, Megan. I’m so glad to see you again. You do make me laugh. Something I don’t do often enough.”

  Megan privately agreed; neither did she. Maybe that was his secret weapon – he made her laugh. Out of the blue, she remembered what Rosemary from the Swiss train trip had said about laughter: we grow old when we stop.

  “I was just on my way out, but there’s no reason you can’t come with me. Let’s go, we can grab a bite to eat first.”

  Automatically, Megan headed the car towards the beach and her favourite café.

  They chatted easily on the journey. Even though they had issues to resolve, it didn’t stop them being friends in the meantime.

  “So what is this surprise you’ve come all this way to give me?” she asked, when their lunch had been ordered.

  “I’ve found a drawing of Isabel.”

  “What!”

  “I read a report in a scholarly journal about the recent discovery of a charcoal sketch. The authors were researching its provenance but had few clues to go on. They believed it might have a New Zealand connection. Of course, that alone stirred my interest, so I phoned the gallery and the curator told me what she knew.”

  “I can hardly take it all in. Every time I think I’ve come to the end of the story, there are more surprises. So tell me more.”

  “Well, there was a small motif drawn on the back of the sketch. They thought it a Maori design, as it was similar to tattoos seen in C F Goldie’s works. That was the gallery’s sole clue.”

  “So was it Maori?”

  “Yes, mostly, I think. Although it was clever. When I saw it, I thought there was also a small Celtic knot worked in the centre. But I’ll come to that later. The curator said the woman was definitely European and appeared to be either seated or possibly kneeling and holding an infant. The faces were detailed but the form was mostly free-flowing lines that gave shape without definition, which didn’t sound typical of either Goldie or his mentor’s work. At first, when she was describing the drawing, I thought it sounded very like a sketch by one of New Zealand’s great artists, Frances Hodgkins – pity she had to spend most of her life in Britain – but the motif on the back was not at all like her work.

  “Anyway, by the time the curator and I had finished the conversation, I wanted to see this sketch. I took the next flight and arrived on her doorstop in Cornwall within twenty-four hours.”

  Luckily for him, his standing in the art world opened doors, and they had invited him into the inner sanctum of the gallery. In typical Paul fashion, he would not hurry a story. Megan was amazed how quickly they slipped back into their easy-going friendship as they talked, each ready to laugh at the smallest comment. Once again, she found herself happy to listen as he described the place in detail, not at all bored by his way of telling a story within a story.

  “They gave me gloves and a magnifying glass so I could inspect the sketch laid out on the table. I recognised her instantly, but held my tongue. An unsigned painting of a house near Cadgwith, where the person once lived, had been gifted to the gallery as part of a deceased estate. The art directors decided to clean the painting before putting it on display, which is when they found the packing inside.

  “The beneficiaries believed the painting had been in the family for a long time, but no one knew who the artist was, although there was some speculation it could be Jane de Glehn because of its location. There was nothing to say where it came from or what its New Zealand connections were.”

  “And you are sure it’s Isabel?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Megan was desperate to know more, but she’d been glancing at her watch for a while, conscious of her appointment with the property agent. She was running out of time.

  “Look, I have to go. I’m meeting someone to see a place Jason is interested in renting, but ...” she tailed off, coming to a conclusion. “No. I tell you what – come with me. We can talk on the way. I’ve got so many questions.”

  On the way back to the car, Megan was so preoccupied Paul had to steer her around a sign she would otherwise have walked into. She stopped to take a second look up at the three-storeyed building beside her and on the spur of the moment decided to view it. She checked her watch again; there was just enough time if they hurried.

  “Paul. Stop a minute. This property is for sale. I’d like to have a quick look.”

  Paul talked with the man at the door took while she rushed through the rooms noting the modern yet classic and stylish décor. The beachfront apartment had a comfortable and homely feel about it and she was quite taken with it.

  “Nice place,” said Paul once they were in the car on their way into the city. “Thinking of buying?”

  “I wasn’t. I’ve been quite happy living at Sarah’s. It’s worked out very well, but I will need somewhere of my own sooner or later. That one just caught my eye.” The coincidence that she should find it today seemed extraordinary, but aspirational. “But right now I have to focus on somewhere for Jason and Trina.”

  Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a parking building and walked to the low-rise Newmarket apartment block that Jason liked.

  If Megan thought her day so far was unusual, it wasn’t over yet.

  An hour later, instead of signing Jason up for a rental agreement, she had bought a city-side apartment. Not for her to live in, but another. One she had different plans for. And she still hadn’t talked any further with Paul about his astounding discovery.

  Chapter 31

  “What do you mean, you bought it?”

  Sarah had been bad-tempered and in no mood to talk anything through sensibly for the best part of a week, but Megan decided she couldn’t leave it any longer. She had to tell Sarah or risk alienating her further, even if the girl was still cross and in no better frame of mind.

  “I know you’ve had a bad time lately, honey, with work not going well. And I’m worried about you, too. You don’t seem your usual self,” soothed Megan. “Now’s not the time to talk about this in detail. Let’s wait until you feel better.”

  “It’s him, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have done this otherwise. What’s he doing here anyway?”

  Sarah was being unreasonable, and both mother and daughter knew it. Since Paul’s arrival a week earlier, Megan had seen quite a lot of him, and Sarah’s antagonism had risen as each day passed.

  “I told you because I thought you’d like to know. It’s a good investment and will solve Jason and Trina’s accommodation issue until they are ready to find something else. Now, how about you take a shower while I see to Bella? You might feel better after.”

  Megan knew the conversation was not over. So far she’d not mentioned her liking for the beachfront property, but she hadn’t forgotten about it, nor would it be the right time to tell Sarah Paul had, indirectly, influenced her decision to buy the city apartment as an investment.

  When she and Paul had met the agent, the one he showed them was a rear unit, much smaller than it appeared in the photos on their website and with less light. Megan turned it down as unsuitable for Jason and Trina, but just as they were leaving, the agent had a suggestion.

  “If you’re not in a hurry, I may have something else for you. The owner of another unit nearby is moving. I could ask if they want to rent it out, if you are interested.”

  Megan agreed.

  “Let me make a phone call.”

  A few minutes later, the agent escorted them to a neighbouring building and into a front corner apartment. Im
mediately the feel of the place was different. Of much higher quality, with full-length ranch sliders on both sides of the corner that opened onto a balcony, light filled the large, open-plan space.

  “This would make a great art studio,” Paul said casually, as he looked up at the white walls and high ceiling. “There’s so much reflected light.”

  Megan stared at him in surprise. He had, unwittingly, just provided an answer to her subconscious dilemma. She quickly checked the rest of the apartment to make sure it would be suitable for Jason before she made her final decision.

  “I’m sorry. It seems I’ve wasted your time,” said the estate agent, hanging up the phone, “but I can’t persuade the owner to rent it. He wants to sell.”

  Megan never acted impulsively, but her instinct said ‘buy it’. This time she knew it was the right thing to do. She put in an offer on the spot, complete with furnishings.

  “I’m not sure what you’ve done or why,” said Paul as they stepped into the street, “but I think you should celebrate.”

  A few minutes later, they sat relaxed in armchairs next to the fireplace at a nearby bar, with a glass of wine. “I feel I have to do something productive with Constance’s money.”

  Paul liked her idea.

  “But how does buying the apartment help with that?”

  “Your comment about it making a great art studio.”

  Paul listened as Megan explained. He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “You are amazing.”

  * * * * *

  Sarah certainly didn’t think she was amazing. Despite the refreshing shower, a great dinner – from a recipe that Megan had mastered on her French cooking course in Nice – and Nick surprising her with flowers, Sarah was still down in the dumps. While Nick put Bella to bed, Sarah bombarded Megan with more questions about why she’d bought the Newmarket place.

  “We are just covering the same ground,” said Megan, doing her best to appease her. “I gave you my answers. I don’t know what you want me to say differently.”

  Neither did Sarah, apparently. “I still think this is all to do with Paul.”

  Whether it was partly guilt that she hadn’t told Sarah the whole truth or whether Megan was learning to stand up for herself, she didn’t know, but she was finally tired of Sarah’s distrust.

  “I don’t know what’s got into you. You don’t seem to agree or approve of anything I do these days.”

  Sarah’s face changed and anger flared. “What’s got into me? That’s rich. It’s more like what’s got into you. All I hear about is Paul this and Paul that.”

  “So what? Paul is a friend, and I value his opinion. But this isn’t about Paul. This is about me doing the things I want to do.”

  “So you don’t value my opinion now, is that it? His is more important, it seems. You never listen to anything I have to say any more.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Sarah. Of course I listen, but in the end I need to make my own decisions. I can’t spend the rest of my life relying on you, or anyone else for that matter, to do it for me. I’d just like to be able to do something without it becoming a battle between us all the time.”

  Sarah started to say something in retaliation but plainly thought better of it. She turned back to the kitchen bench to finish clearing up.

  “I think it’s time I moved into my own place. Me being here is spoiling things between us.”

  “I should have known,” snarled Sarah. “You’ve been back less than a month and you can’t wait to move.”

  Megan couldn’t quite understand. “Known what? What are you talking about?”

  “You. Settling down.”

  “But that’s the whole point. I do want to settle down, but I need my own place to do that. You and Nick and Bella have your own lives to lead. You don’t need to worry about me all the time.”

  “You promised.”

  “Promised what?”

  “Not to do anything rash. But here you are rushing off to do who-knows-what with him.” Sarah almost spat the word.

  “I’m not being rash. Nor am I rushing off anywhere. And leave Paul out of this. He has nothing whatsoever to do with it.”

  Not to be placated, Sarah stormed off to bed in tears. Megan thought there had to be something more to why Sarah was behaving so strangely. She hoped the girl would confide in her one day, when she was ready.

  * * * * *

  Megan decided not to ask Sarah if she could invite Paul to the house, even if she wasn’t there. The disagreement between them bubbled away under the polite silences that avoided another outburst like the last one, but it still needed to be resolved once Paul left the country again. In the meantime, Megan met Paul away from the house. If he noticed, he never commented. By the end of the second week of his visit, their easy companionship was restored.

  They’d wandered along the beach in the late winter sunshine, chatting, just as she and Tony had done, resolving issues and agreeing on so many topics. Often they found a café and ordered lunch, or later, wine and some nibbles, and kept talking. They had even managed a pleasant couple of evenings together, conversing for hours over dinner. In hindsight, she realised they had discussed many of the things they had separately been uneasy about. Not least of which, what they expected from each other.

  “I hope you understand, Paul, but the rawness of Tony’s death is still too fresh. It hits me at unexpected times. I really can’t consider a deeper relationship yet. I hope we can continue to be friends, though.”

  “Of course. I value your friendship too, but I’m far too set in my ways to change. I need the freedom to come and go as I please without feeling I’ve let someone down. We both have our own ways and need our own space.”

  Her money also stood as a silent barrier between them, and they didn’t want to complicate matters.

  “Here’s to friendship and a few laughs.”

  “And the joys of sharing mutual interests.”

  With those ideals paramount in their thoughts, other tensions faded away.

  Even so, there was one tricky conversation that she still hadn’t been sorted to her satisfaction – why he had left Florence so suddenly and never returned. And then there was that kiss.

  Paul was clearly offended. “Kiss? What kiss? I have never kissed a student in my life.”

  “What you saw,” he stated adamantly, after she explained further, “was my research assistant presenting me with some excellent news. I simply said thanks in the typical European way. Cheek kissing happens every day on every street corner. You should know that. You would have seen enough of it with Trina’s family.”

  She conceded she had seen many such occasions and was reassured she had misinterpreted his actions. “What was the news that made you so happy?”

  As soon as she had opened her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t have asked the question. It was none of her business. Paul suddenly became reticent again and only answered half of it.

  “Just something to do with work.” He shrugged one shoulder and coolly changed the subject. “That image,” he said, reverting to their earlier conversation about the sketch discovered in Cornwall, “could be one of the marks used by the Louis John Steele studio, or at least within a small group of his students, to identify their work.”

  What was he hiding?

  “Didn’t you tell me there is considerable conjecture about the authenticity of these marks as identifiers?”

  “Yes. Some professionals dismiss the idea completely, but I wasn’t necessarily interested in one particular artist – unless it was LJS himself, of course – but rather in ascertaining whether Isabel was part of the studio in some way.”

  “Could Steele have been the artist?” asked Megan, eyes alight with possibilities.

  “Unfortunately, no.” Paul was adamant. “Steele’s technique was quite different. By this time, he enjoyed painting early Maori scenes. In fact, if anything, the sketch looks more in the style of Nerli. But I think this one was drawn by someone – possibly a student �
� seeking to find his own expression, or else by someone in love with this woman.”

  “You mean Isabel had a lover?”

  The idea Isabel may have had someone who cared for her after all, Megan found heartening.

  “Maybe. This one was sketched in a hurry, beautifully and with great skill, but I don’t think the artist told her how he felt. If he had shared his passion, why did it end up as packing somewhere overseas?

  Megan, who really wanted to believe Isabel had a lover, didn’t agree. “I think Isabel was given the sketch. Why would he draw her, if not as a gift?”

  “Who knows? I tried to trace how the sketch might have ended up in Cornwall, but none of the options seemed to fit.”

  “Could Isabel have sent it to Constance? That would explain it, even if it doesn’t explain how it got in the back of another painting.”

  Megan’s idea certainly had merit and made more sense than some of their other notions.

  Despite or maybe because of their shared enthusiasm to find Isabel’s friends of the 1920s, she felt more content when she was with him and worried less about the events happening all around her.

  “Your family are there for you, so don’t worry. From what I’ve seen of Sarah and Trina you have two strong women in the family. Everything will work out perfectly. You wait and see.”

  Megan told Paul about the two remaining clauses in Constance’s will and her despair at not finding anything useful so far. Paul had some ideas. If Megan thought she knew a few things about researching the past, given all she’d learnt recently, then Paul’s knowledge and expertise left her agog, especially when it related to the art world.

  Together they spent hours digging for clues. With so many places to visit that might have a snippet of information, Megan could hardly keep up. Sometimes they went together to the art gallery, the archives, the museum library or the council, and sometimes they went to separate places. They peered at faded microfiche and pored through endless files, sometimes coming up with nothing, sometimes with a gem worth following. He also visited the lesser and more obscure art contacts he’d discovered, in the hope of finding another connection.