Up To No Good

by Victoria Corby

  ‘Thanks.’ She took an appreciative sniff and stag­gered. ‘I’ll see if Mum’s got a Tupperware box she can lend me.’ Inside, we found Robert in the kitchen surreptitiously feeding bits of chocolate cake to a surprised but pleased ginger cat on his knee. My mother was bustling around asking him questions in her normal seemingly inconsequential way, but which as I knew to my cost, was in fact a highly efficient information-gathering technique.

  ‘It’s very good,’ he said in an undertone as I slid in the seat next to him, ‘but this is the third slice she’s insisted on giving me, and they aren’t getting any smaller.’

  Mum broke off from finding out about Robert’s credit card details, or something of the sort, and threatened me with a piece of cake too. I said I’d share Robert’s and pulled his plate towards me, for which I got a grateful smile, the type which made me look away for a moment so I could sort myself out. Orlando didn’t look so thrilled though.

  ‘No thanks, no coffee for me, or I’ll be stopping at every service station between here and Birmingham,’ said Min as she rootled in the cupboard under the sink and came up with an old ice cream box, putting the cheese in it, then wrapping it in several plastic bags until she was satisfied it was sealed as tightly as an airlock on a space station. ‘I’ll go and put this in the car, lest I forget,’ she said as she drifted out again, turning to say over her shoulder, ‘you and I ought to leave soon, Nella. My car may be reliable but it doesn’t like to go too fast.’

  ‘That should suit you just fine,’ Robert said with a sardonic grin as he got up, firmly refusing further offers of food and drink and saying he mustn’t hold my mother up any longer.

  She looked as if there was nothing she’d like more, especially as I gathered from her frus­trated air that he had deployed an expertise in dodging her questions she wasn’t used to encountering.

  Even so, disappointment didn’t stop her from looking after his departing car and saying in an approving voice, ‘Oh Nella, I am glad I’ve met him at last. He is nice, isn’t he?’

  a smile, I said in as offhand a tone as I could manage, ‘You know, Mum, there are many words I’d use to describe Robert,’ - infuriating, opinionated, clever, impatient, forceful, generous, devastating, didn’t want to think about that - ‘but nice isn’t one of them.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked, dropping her voice to a horrified whisper. ‘Is it something to do with his habits?’

  I laughed genuinely, jolted out of the forlorn mood I’d been in since I waved goodbye to him. ‘As far as I know his habits are perfect, and no, I don’t know precisely what they are these days, sorry to disappoint you.’

  She smiled, well used to being teased by her children, and I took advantage of her temporary silence to say, ‘And he’s already got a girlfriend - a tall, beautiful redhead who used to share a flat with me. Venetia would have come back with us except she’s helping out an old family friend with a domestic emergency.’

  Wow! I deserved a pat on the back for that. I know that you aren’t supposed to lie to your parents, but surely you can mislead them a little. Besides, I didn’t know what the precise situation was between Robert and Venetia; they could still be an item, couldn’t they?

  Needless to say I didn’t get away with this sort of smokescreen with my sister, largely because she’s had far more experience at pulling the wool over the parental eyes than I have and can recognise a half-truth from a thousand paces. However, there are other sorts of smoke­screen, and in a story as complicated as this one it was quite easy to ‘lose’ a few details, especially the ones concerning my ignominious flight into my bedroom last night. ‘Fancy letting a chance like that slip through your hands!’ she’d have said. The fact that I agreed with her wouldn’t have made it any more palatable to hear.

  ‘Oh, what a shame. I hoped that you two might be getting back together again,’ she sighed. So had I - well, not hoped, that was going too far - but I’d dreamed about it a little.

  ‘Are you suggesting I should ignore your often given advice about not having anything to do with men on the rebound?’

  ‘With someone like Robert it’d be a case of do as I do, not as I say,’ Min replied seriously. ‘Besides, when have you ever taken my advice? You certainly don’t seem to be doing it with this Charlie bloke.’

  ‘That’s different,’ I said defensively. ‘He’s not on the rebound. He and Sally are drifting apart - he told me so.’ She raised her eyebrows eloquently. OK, so I knew perfectly well that men aren’t always absolutely truthful about that sort of thing, but I believed Charlie. Decent men like him didn’t mislead you like that. ‘Anyway,’ I went on, ‘Sally’s much better suited to George. They go very well together.’

  ‘So by moving in on her boyfriend you’re actually doing everyone a favour,’ Min concluded and laughed as I stuck my tongue out at her.

  The subject of her wedding kept us fully occupied for the rest of the journey. My grandparents had arranged for their large visiting family to be billeted for the weekend on various friends in the neighbourhood: Granny and her old friend Mrs Hudson were being distinctly competitive over who would be the first to have a great-grandchild and I was amused to see that my hosts had four un­married sons, even if the youngest was only nineteen. Min was taken in to have a drink while one of the sons helped me with my luggage and took it up to my room. He stumped off upstairs with my two suitcases while I went to get the pictures out of the car.

  I opened the boot and froze. Underneath the garment bags with Francis’s suit and a dreamy little number from Ghost for Min there should have been two picture cases. I blinked and looked again. I wasn’t wrong. There were three of them.

  ‘Min!’ I hissed from the drawing-room door and beckoned her out to the hall. ‘We’ve got one of Robert’s pictures in the car. How did it get in there? I know I only put my two in.’

  She cleared her throat, looking unusually self-conscious. ‘I was meaning to have a word with you about that.’

  ‘Word about what?’ Then light began to dawn. ‘Are you telling me that you deliberately took one of Robert’s pictures? Oh Min, how could you!’ A huge lump of dismay settled like a stone in the pit of my stomach. ‘Don’t you think I’ve already been accused of picture theft quite enough times in one week?’

  ‘Don’t be silly! ’Course he isn’t going to think you’ve stolen it,’ she said robustly. ‘He probably hasn’t even noticed it’s gone yet. All you’ve got to do is ring him at that gallery of his and tell him I made a mistake and put it in my car. I’m quite prepared to take all the blame.’

  ‘How very generous of you,’ I said faintly. ‘But I don’t understand why you want a canvas you haven’t even set eyes on.’

  ‘I don’t, stupid. I did it for you. Look, you might say that there’s nothing going on between the two of you, but you were looking at him in the kitchen as if he was your last Rolo and you’d just been forced to offer it to that Maggie. I didn’t hear any stuff about seeing each other in London, or even exchanging phone numbers, and well... I couldn’t bear to think you were going to let him go again without a fight. When I was putting the cheese in the car I saw you’d left his keys sticking out of the boot and it occurred to me there was something I could do.’

  She shrugged. ‘If I’ve got things wrong there won’t be any harm done, will there? If I haven’t... as you’ve got his picture you’ll have to make contact at least once, won’t you?’ She grinned. ‘No need to give you any advice on how to make the most of that particular opportunity.’

  I stared at her, torn between outrage and admiration. She looked relieved, as well she might be, when I burst out laughing and hugged her. ‘Minerva Bowden, you are completely outrageous. Did you use a trick like this to snare Francis?’

  ‘Didn’t need to,’ she said smugly. ‘Though I had to remind him that he wasn’t the only pebble on the beach on one occasion. Cost me a fortune, what with the escort from the agency - an underwear model and very tasty - and dinner and champagne
in the restaurant Francis and I usually go to, but it worked. The engagement announcement was in The Times three days later.’

  I waved her off and rang Robert at the gallery, the only place I knew to get hold of him, speaking, to my mingled relief and disappointment, to his partner who was unfazed by being one picture short. He said he’d get Robert to ring me. From then on I was kept so busy by my lively hosts who believed that if you were having a party weekend you should make the most of it that I didn’t have time to wonder more than about twice every minute what Robert was going to think of his picture mysteriously moving over to Min’s car, especially after I’d assured him I’d checked I’d got the right ones. My mood see-sawed between fear that he must be smell­ing a super charged rodent about this and a bubbly feeling that even if he was, it didn’t matter. I was going to see him again. I refused to even contemplate the idea he might send a messenger rather than pick it up himself.

  My grandparents’ party went with a bang - literally, since two cousins set off sixty rockets at midnight. Every­body was in the best of moods, my grandfather made a speech about Granny still being as lovely as she was sixty years ago, and best of all from my point of view, Min had been unusually discreet. My parents were still labouring under the impression that I’d spent the last two weeks or so peacefully sunbathing by the edge of a pool so I hadn’t had to spend most of the evening dodging behind my grandfather’s prized potted palms to avoid being flapped over because of my horrible experiences.

  And as I had hoped, prayed for given the current state of my bank balance, Nick thought it an excellent idea to be saved the trouble of looking for a suitable wedding present for Min by going halves with me over the pictures. He appeared to be happy to give me a cheque there and then and leave it at that. I promptly pocketed the cheque (slipped it in my bra, actually) but said didn’t he think he ought to come over and take a look so he actually knew what he was giving his sister. Nick didn’t agree that this was strictly necessary but said he’d drop by sometime in the morning. He and his girlfriend, an annoying silly girl called Lucinda, didn’t turn up until just before lunch so I had to rush him up to my room for a quick viewing, Lucinda following in his wake.

  I unwrapped the newspaper from around the first picture and drew out the vendangers returning home at the end of the day. ‘Hey, this is nice,’ he exclaimed, taking it from me and giving it a close look. ‘Wouldn’t mind it myself. What’s the other one of?’

  ‘Everyone getting very merry at a fête du vin.’

  ‘Sounds right up my street,’ he grinned and handed the picture back. ‘Min’ll really go for these. Well done, Nellie the Ellie.’

  I screwed up a bit of newspaper and threw it at him; he dodged it, laughing. I hadn’t noticed that Lucinda had also been busy unpacking until she said in a surprised voice, ‘This one’s really nice too, but I don’t know why you think it’s a pair to that other one. It’s nothing like it.’

  I was in the middle of doing the vendangers up again and I could see its companion, still wrapped, on the floor in front of me. ‘You must have unwrapped Robert’s picture. Can you put it back?’ I said sharply. ‘It got put in Min’s car by accident and God knows what it’s worth. I don’t want to be held responsible for any damage to it.’

  ‘OK,’ she said amiably.

  I caught a glimpse of gold out of the corner of my eye as she began to slide it back and my head jerked up. Staying her hand, I stared incredu­lously at a glowing vivid picture, one I knew well; a sunlit beach under a jewel bright sky, a little boy playing in the sand, and Venetia’s double, hair streaming in the wind, triumphantly holding a whorled shell up in the air.

  CHAPTER 24

  All I could think of was that I had to get Nick and Lucinda out of my room as quickly as possible. ‘Um, on second thoughts, I don’t think we should get the other picture out after all,’ I said, amazed that my voice sounded even remotely normal. ‘The frame’s even more fragile than this one. I’ll take them both to a repair shop - you can have a proper look once it’s been done.’

  ‘Fine,’ Nick said agreeably. ‘But don’t get them over-­restored. You know how Min likes her things artfully distressed.’

  ‘Genuinely distressed in this case,’ I said, forcing a smile to my lips as Lucinda, who might have been a dab hand at giving the impression that she had cotton wool between the ears but knew a good picture when she glimpsed one, started saying that if that was the sort of picture Robert sold she’d certainly go along to his gallery. My heart missed a beat as Nick brightened with interest, saying he’d like to have a quick look too, then added that he and Lucinda had better get going; they were already late. Since they were supposed to have been somewhere for lunch twenty minutes ago, he was dead right. I hung around on the drive for what seemed like hours, and was probably only five minutes, saying my goodbyes and see you soons. Nick left at last and, pretending I hadn’t heard my hostess say we’d better go in to lunch ourselves, I shot back up to my room and drew Robert’s picture out of its sleeve.

  There’s nothing like having your very worst fears confirmed. I’d been hoping that what I’d seen had been a figment of my imagination. It hadn’t. I shoved it back with shaking hands, doing the flaps up so no one else could possibly get a glimpse, and wondered what the hell I was going to do next.

  After lunch, I was given a lift back to London by two of the brothers; mercifully, since I was incapable of making even the most basic sort of conver­sation, they appeared to think my shell-shocked state was the result of a mild hangover and let me sleep it off in the back. I stared unseeingly out of the window, thinking, thinking, thinking. Why had Robert stolen the picture? I’d heard him referring to the fortune his partnership in the gallery had cost him and how he was mortgaged up to the hilt, but surely he wouldn’t have resorted to theft to pay off his debts? Or had it been Venetia’s idea, and she’d persuaded him to take the picture to England to divert suspicion from her? Did it matter? I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. What did matter was that I’d let my dreams and hopes carry me away to a ridiculous extent, and I minded them being dashed more than I did the realisation that, at the very least, Robert was an accessory to theft. Anxious not to alert the two men in the front to my tears, I did my best to sniff silently, which wasn’t easy.

  The picture had to go back to Janey and Tom, obvi­ously, but how could I return it without letting them know how it had come into my possession in the first place? On second thoughts, I didn’t want them to know it had anything to do with me. It wouldn’t be surprising if they started thinking that maybe the local police had been on to something after all and I was acting from a belated fit of conscience. I certainly wasn’t taking the rap for someone else. For a horrible moment I began to wonder if that was what Robert had intended all along, a truly ingenious, not to say fiendish revenge, and felt my precarious composure start to wobble violently; that was one notion I really couldn’t cope with. Except he wouldn’t do that. A few hours ago I would have said confidently that he wasn’t into theft either, but I was still certain about this one. Anyway, we all knew it was Maggie who’d shopped me to the police and if I was sure of one thing it was that she and Robert weren’t in cahoots. So I could go back to thinking about what I was going to do with my unwanted parcel.

  The simplest answer was post it, label done in anonymous block capitals naturally. But mightn’t it get damaged or pinched? Besides, it would probably need about fifty quid’s worth of stamps and, call me mean, I strongly begrudge spending my money on covering up somebody else’s crime. If I sent it by carrier wouldn’t I need to give a sender’s address? Did they check these things? And that pretty well ruled out depositing it at a police station, saying that it was a stolen picture which needed returning to its owners. Even the most dozy copper was going to ask a few questions about that. What about taking it to one of the auction houses and leaving it there for a valuation? Then I could send an anonymous letter telling Tom and Janey where the picture was. Of course, I’d have
to work out some form of disguise so that the person behind the desk at the auction house couldn’t give a too accurate description of the mysterious woman who’d brought the painting in, but didn’t Felicity still have the red-haired wig she’d bought after a particularly brutal cut last summer?

  It wasn’t perfect but it might do. By the time we reached my flat I had pulled myself together enough to be able to converse quite lucidly with the two brothers, though I was relieved when they refused my offer of a drink. Just as well, too, since the only alcoholic substances in the flat were half a bottle of cooking sherry and one can of lager. Once they’d gone I roamed around my stuffy, dusty flat, at a loss what to do next. I turned on the radio for company, and hid the picture behind the sofa, where it was out of sight but not out of mind. The answerphone told me I had thirty-four messages. How on earth could I have thirty-four? Did I even know that number of people?

  The first message was Oscar, saying he was back safely and to give him a ring when I had the time. The second from my mother said much the same, so did the third from Min. My telephone bill was going to be astronomical with all these call backs, I thought as I dialled up number four and froze as Robert’s voice came out of the machine. I cancelled it as quickly as I could, then sat there cursing myself for not having at least listened to what he had to say. But he couldn’t have an excuse for what he’d done; there wasn’t one, I reminded myself sternly, trying to ignore the warm friendliness I’d heard in his voice. How many of the remaining thirty messages were from him? I stared at the machine, horribly tempted to do a quick race through every one.