Money or Love

by Barbara Cartland

  Because he spoke so sternly, Alena answered him without thinking,

  “My brother and I had no idea that the caretakers had left. We also thought that, as the house was empty, no one would be interested in our possessions.”

  “Anyone with any sensibility and education would be fascinated by your pictures. I have come here a dozen times and no one has ever repaired this window by which I let myself in, nor, for that matter, locked the doors.”

  He turned to look at the picture by Raphael of St. George and the Dragon on the other side of the fireplace.

  “Have you any idea what that wonderful picture is worth?”

  “It is one I have always loved,” she responded.

  “Then you should take more care of it!”

  Then quite unexpectedly, he laughed.

  “Are we really having this conversation? Perhaps it would be polite if we introduced ourselves. I am Vincent Thurston and I would willingly sacrifice an arm and a leg if I could draw and paint like Raphael.”

  He walked a little further into the room as he spoke and Alena rose from behind the writing table.

  “My name is Alena Dunstead, and you may know that my brother, Sir Robin, owns this house.”

  “Then why does he not look after it?”

  “Because he has been serving in the Army in India and our father has just died.”

  “Oh, that explains it. Quite frankly it has worried me that your magnificent art collection might be snatched away from you.”

  “There were servants here at one time, I believe,” Alena explained almost apologetically.

  “It would require more than two old caretakers to guard these treasures,” he persisted. “If they were mine, I would require a regiment of soldiers to guard them by day and night!”

  Alena sighed.

  “I think it would be too expensive for anyone. But I promise you they will be safe in the future.”

  “That means, I suppose, that you will have a lock on the window, which incidentally I did not break but found broken, and I shall have to go round to the front door now and beg you on my knees to let me come in.”

  Alena laughed because it sounded so funny.

  “Perhaps, if you ask me very nicely, I will invite you as a guest.”

  “Now that is a different idea altogether – suppose we sit down and talk about it.”

  “I think that firstly you should tell me why you are here and how you have managed to come so often without anyone finding you,” Alena questioned him.

  She settled down on the sofa and he sat facing her in one of the armchairs.

  “I have been trying for years,” he began, “to be an artist. Although I have a little talent, I know when I look at one of your masterpieces how very inconsiderable it is.”

  “But how have you managed to look at our pictures without being discovered?” enquired Alena.

  “I think it must have just over been a year ago that someone was talking about the Dunstead art collection, and telling me that half of the pictures were in the house in the country and the other half here in London.”

  “That is indeed true.”

  “Because I was curious, I came over to look at this house and found that the front windows were all shuttered meaning the owners were not in residence. And there were only two elderly people going in and out of the basement.”

  “The caretakers,” murmured Alena.

  “Of course. When I made enquiries of my friends, they told me that the owner of Dunstead House and the art collection I was interested in was living in the country.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “A few nights later I climbed into the garden at the back of the house, which was not difficult as the mews was also empty. Then I came through the garden the same way as I did tonight.”

  He paused again and Alena murmured,

  “Do go on, I am interested.”

  “I saw that the windows at the back of the house were not shuttered and thought I would peep through one of the ground floor windows, which actually looked into this room and hoped there would be a chance of catching sight of one of the many masterpieces.”

  “And you found that the catch was broken. How extremely careless of us.”

  “That is exactly what I thought,” he agreed. “And being naturally inquisitive I let myself in.”

  “If the caretakers had seen you, I would suppose they would have sent for the police.”

  “I made quite certain that they did not see me, although I soon suspected as I came over and over again, that they seldom left the kitchen and if they did, they never bothered to go up to the next floor.”

  “So you went straight to the Picture Gallery?”

  “I went everywhere! I could never have believed a house with such wonderful pictures could be so shamefully neglected.”

  “My father was ill and you must not blame me or my brother. I was in Italy being educated and Robin was in India where he was on the Viceroy’s staff.”

  “You are making me feel I was very stupid not to have put a Van Dyck or a Frans Hals in my pocket!”

  “I can give you a firm answer to that,” Alena cried. “You are a gentleman, so you would not be silly enough to steal as another man might have done.”

  “Even gentlemen can cheat if it is made too easy,” he remarked, “but very fortunately for you all I wished to do was to sit and copy some of your pictures, which gave me the greatest pleasure I have ever known.”

  “So that is why you are here tonight – ”

  “Exactly, and I have now managed to copy quite a number of your beautiful, marvellous and unique treasures. The one I am actually working on at present is the most difficult one yet. It is The Piazza San Marco painted by Francesco Guardi.”

  “I love that picture,” enthused Alena, “but I would be far too hesitant to try to copy it.”

  “I have been rather successful with some of them,” Vincent said, “at the same time, when I compare them with the original, I feel depressed.”

  “I think it is very brave of you to care so much for your art that you risked being dragged off to prison if you were caught. Were you really coming to work here this evening?”

  “Only for a little while. I had been to a party that ended later than was expected. Actually I was on my way home when I thought I would just take a last look at The Piazza San Marco.”

  Alena laughed.

  “I suppose, if I behaved generously, I should permit you to go upstairs to the Picture Gallery now.”

  “I am perfectly content to sit here looking at you. I don’t believe that you are real and I am not dreaming. You must have stepped out of one of your own pictures!”

  “That is such a lovely compliment,” Alena blushed. “And I am sorry it’s not true.”

  “How is it possible,” asked Vincent, “that one man could be fortunate enough to own the most marvellous art collection in the world – but also to own you!”

  Alena laughed again.

  “I don’t think my brother would compare me with his pictures and please don’t put the idea into his head. He might be disappointed and he is currently planning to give a ball for me.”

  “A ball here? You will have to do something about the ballroom.”

  “I know, but my brother has had the brilliant idea of making it a Moonlight Ball, so that no one, except you if you come, will ever realise what we are trying to conceal.”

  “Am I being invited to your ball?”

  “I think it would be very ungenerous of me not to do so, knowing what you could have taken without anyone finding out, but I think in future I will invite you in through the front door!”

  “That is exceedingly kind of you and it is an offer I do gladly accept with great pleasure. Please may I then continue to copy your pictures? It means more to me than I can put into words.”

  “I am sure you will be able to do so, but I do think it would be a mistake for my brother to find out that you have been in the house without anyone
being aware of it.”

  She was thinking that it would also be a mistake for him to tell his friends about the terrible condition the house was in –

  Or how it seemed strange that Sir Robin was so rich and yet had neglected to preserve his art collection.

  There was silence before Alena suggested,

  “I think perhaps if you call on us tomorrow and tell my brother how interested you are in his art collection, he would be delighted to give you permission to copy some of the pictures.”

  “And naturally I will feel very privileged if I am introduced to Sir Robin’s beautiful sister!”

  He smiled as he was speaking and Alena thought he was definitely the most handsome man she had ever seen.

  “Why are you so anxious to become an artist?” she enquired.

  “It’s a long story. My father wanted me to go into the family Regiment when I left Oxford, but I had no wish to do so. I told him, as I am so interested in art, I wanted to go round the world and view all the great art galleries.”

  “Is that what you are doing now?”

  Vincent smiled.

  “I only have a small studio because my father says I must earn some money first. I have sold quite a number of minor pictures that people have commissioned really out of kindness to the family.”

  “And you painted them?”

  “Mostly their children, their stallions, their gardens and their dogs. It’s something people like to have to keep, so my father cannot complain that I am not making a living even if it is not a very significant one.”

  “I cannot believe many people want to buy copies of pictures.”

  “Frankly I am not really good enough to copy the best ones. I only copy them for myself as I love them and because I am hoping that one day I shall become a real artist.”

  “I am sure you will if you try hard enough, but you have set yourself a most difficult task.”

  She was thinking of the Francesco Guardi and she had always thought that it was a very beautiful although complicated picture.

  “There I agree with you,” replied Vincent.

  “You are reading my thoughts!” Alena exclaimed.

  “It is what a great many people have thought before you and now I am determined to start on something very much easier, which I might do well enough to sell.”

  “Why not a Gainsborough?” Alena asked. “I have always thought that some of his paintings are so lovely and romantic and would beautify dull rooms.”

  “Very true. I had not thought of that myself, but I will try it. Perhaps his landscape with the mother carrying a baby and the reclining peasant would be a best-seller.”

  “I am sure it would be,” Alena said enthusiastically. “And why not the landscape The Cattle at the Watering Place?”

  Vincent wrinkled his nose.

  “Not cattle – horses, yes. I would love to become another Stubbs. What I would really like to do, and to do it for you, is The Little Girl with the Dog and the Pitcher. Do you remember that one?”

  “Of course I remember it. It’s upstairs, but not in the Picture Gallery. It is actually in my bedroom.”

  “That is why I missed it. I had thought if I went into any of the bedrooms, it would be intruding on my host who did not know I was an uninvited guest. So I kept to the Picture Gallery and reception rooms upstairs.”

  Alena thought this was nice of him and she smiled,

  “When you are ready to do that particular picture, I will have it moved. Then you can sit in front of it for as long as you like and no one will disturb you.”

  “This is really one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me. I can only thank you from the very bottom of my heart and hope you will forgive me for frightening you by coming in so surreptitiously.”

  “I would have been very much more frightened if you had been a burglar and I will have the window mended tomorrow morning.”

  “Then I shall have to ring the front door bell!”

  “And you will be welcomed every time as soon as you have called on my brother.”

  “But I am not to say that we have already met?”

  “No, you must not. I had not been in London for a long time until I came here recently with Robin. He knows I have not seen my father’s and mother’s friends for years.”

  “Very well, I will be a complete stranger. But I am sure I can say that my father was a friend of your father.”

  “Yes, of course, and then there will be no further difficulties.”

  Alena rose to her feet.

  “Don’t forget when you do call tomorrow morning, that you have come to ask my brother if you can see his pictures, as you are so interested in all you have heard about them and you particularly want to view the Raphael.”

  She pointed to it with her finger as she spoke.

  “Who could not want to see anything so brilliant?” Vincent asked. “I have often imagined myself riding on a white horse and killing the dragon that has prevented me from doing everything I really want to do in life.”

  “And what is your particular dragon?”

  “I suppose it’s lack of money – ”

  It was with difficulty that Alena prevented herself from telling him it was her dragon too.

  “It has prevented me from going round the world as I wanted and visiting Venice and all the other places that are so brilliantly depicted here.”

  “I am sure if you are clever, Mr. Thurston, you will soon make enough money to be able to do so.”

  “I hope you are prophesying truly for me and that I will not be disappointed.”

  Vincent had risen with Alena.

  Now he bent forward and took her hand in his.

  “Thank you, thank you. You are just an angel from Heaven or a Greek Goddess from Olympus come to help me when I most needed it and I can only say that I am most indebted to you.”

  He kissed her hand as he finished speaking and she actually felt the touch of his lips on her skin.

  “I think it would be a mistake, in case anyone sees me, for me to leave by the front door. It would be safer for me to go back the way I came in, unless you have any deep objections.”

  “No, of course not, and I am sure you are right in thinking we should not take any risks.”

  “I would never want anything I did to hurt you,” he said, “because you are so beautiful, so kind and so perfect in every possible way. And I am going to stay awake all night wondering how I could ever be skilful enough as an artist to depict you on canvas.”

  Alena smiled at him.

  “At least you can try, but not for the moment as I am far too busy.”

  “I am prepared to wait. In the meantime thank you again, I am so grateful, much more grateful than I can put into words.”

  He walked over the room and sprang athletically onto the window ledge and then opening the window he let himself out the way he had come.

  Once outside, he closed the window very carefully.

  Then he saluted Alena as a soldier might have done before he turned and walked away.

  She had a strong feeling that he would look back, but he did not.

  She watched him until he had disappeared behind the trees, knowing that he would find the door leading into the mews that was supposed to be locked, but it had been left open, as there was no one to attend to it.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she thought, ‘I must have the window mended.’

  At the same time she could not help thinking it had been a most unusual experience.

  She had met someone who cared deeply for their pictures – an artist to whom they meant as much as they meant to her.

  ‘I want to talk to him again,’ she told herself as she went upstairs to bed. ‘I can only hope he does not forget to call as we planned.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There was no sign of Vincent Thurston the next day.

  Alena felt unexpectedly depressed.

  She had looked forward to seeing him and talking to him about the pictures.

>   It had been such an amusing incident – the man she thought was a burglar had turned out to be an artist!

  She had, of course, said nothing to Robin.

  She had merely waited for the doorbell to ring and when it did not, she was disappointed.

  The following day Robin left the house early.

  He was intent on making arrangements for the ball, especially the electric light he was determined to install.

  When he returned, he was in very good spirits.

  “Everything is arranged,” he crowed, “and the man who will work the electric lighting for me says there will be no trouble. Later I am going to have the main rooms in the house wired and we will be completely up-to-date.”

  “I hope it’s not too expensive,” Alena remarked.

  Her brother ignored her and she therefore knew it was very expensive, but he did not want to admit it.

  He signed the letters of invitation to the Moonlight Ball. Alena stamped the envelopes and took them all to the Post Office.

  ‘Now we will await the replies,’ she mused.

  She hoped that some of her mother’s friends would come, if no one else.

  Robin was certain that everyone they asked would come, especially the Americans.

  “I have heard of a few more,” he told Alena, “from my friends at White’s and I would like you to write to them mentioning how I had obtained their names.”

  This meant more letters, so Alena again spent the afternoon in the study.

  Already the house was beginning to look its old self now that it was clean and polished with Burley providing them with new servants almost every day.

  Certainly everything looked very different.

  *

  It was teatime and Alena and Robin were taking it in the drawing room.

  They were doing so because they wanted to discuss what should be done to improve the room.

  As Robin had said, it would be most noticeable on the night of the ball.

  The maids had already cleaned it, flowers had been placed on some of the tables, but the whole room really needed completely repainting.

  That Alena thought would be obvious to the guests when they arrived.

  “We will have to receive them here,” said Robin. “The decorators want to do only the ground floor, but I will tell them to work on this room as well.”