A Trick of the Light

by Ali Carter

  The sooner Jane was gone the better and good luck to her trying to sell those diamonds on the open market.

  Fergus and Haggis appeared from inside and joined Zoe and me, all ready to wave goodbye. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder, the engine of the minibus started and all three of us threw our arms up in the air. No sooner had it left the yard than I dashed upstairs to get my stuff.

  I returned the heater to the broom cupboard and picked up my suitcase as well as the Edith Wharton novel. I must remember to put that back.

  I said a fond goodbye to Mhàiri and then found Zoe and Fergus in the library, slumped on the sofa with Haggis between them.

  ‘We were just enjoying a bit of time to ourselves,’ said Fergus, getting up. ‘It is nice to think we’ll be back to our usual routine soon.’

  ‘I bet it is.’

  Zoe got up too and Haggis stretched his legs out, making the most of the extra space.

  ‘Thank you very much for inviting me here. I could not have enjoyed it more and you organised and ran it all perfectly.’

  Fergus beamed and Zoe said, ‘It was nice you and Louis got on so well.’

  I blushed. ‘Isn’t he lovely?’

  ‘We both thought so too,’ Zoe smiled at Fergus.

  ‘Now, now,’ he said, ‘let’s not talk about people behind their backs. Susie, I’ll take your bag.’ He stretched out an arm. ‘If you’re going all the way to Sussex you must get on the road.’

  ‘Haggis,’ said Zoe. ‘Time to say goodbye to Susie.’

  She kissed me in the hall. ‘Thank you so much, Susie. Safe journey.’

  ‘Thank you for having me. I’ll be in touch about the drawing.’ I bent down to give Haggis a cuddle.

  ‘Oh yes, I can’t wait to see it.’

  Fergus opened the front door and out we went.

  ‘I do hope you’ll make it home okay in this weather, Susie,’ he said as he put my suitcase in the car.

  ‘I’ll go slow. It’ll be fine.’ I kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

  I waved goodbye as I left the yard and headed off down the long bumpy drive. Over a humpback bridge I went, saying a little prayer, Oh Lord, give the Muchtons strength to bear the bad news…and help me please work it out.

  You never know, I might just crack it before Jamie Tumbleton-Smith visits. Easter weekend’s in my favour – national holidays and all that.

  ‘ENGLAND,’ I shouted out loud in my car. I’d crossed the border, it was time for a break. At last the outside temperature has risen above zero, the roads are motorways from here on in and, Yes, I’m definitely going to make it home tonight.

  My most recently downloaded music has been on a loop, me singing and dancing in the driving seat, celebrating my first tutoring job. Will I do something like that again? Probably. The money’s good and although I’m jolly glad it’s over I did love spending time living with strangers.

  A sign for a service station popped up and I took the next exit. The massive billboard in the car park boasted First farm shop in the UK. So, with my handbag over my shoulder I rushed in to find what goodies they had inside.

  ‘What can I get for you, duck?’

  ‘One of those sausage rolls, please. They look amazing.’

  ‘Don’t they just. Anything else for yourself? Slice of cake? Bit of flapjack? Double chocolate brownie? We have all sorts of beautiful things for yourself to choose from.’

  ‘A bottle of fizzy water and that’s all, thanks.’

  ‘Right ye are then. Enjoy. Michelle will take your payment at the till over there.’

  I smiled. Why is it northern service stations have such friendly customer service? Perhaps it’s because there are fewer people in these parts and therefore those in services can keep up a fresh and friendly hello all day.

  I paid Michelle and found a window seat. It looked out over a very muddy pond and on the vacant next-door table I spotted a coffee-stained business paper. I reached across and helped myself, hoping I’d find the Froglan-Home-Mybridge report.

  I flicked the sheets – here we go. Lord Froglan-Home-Mybridge, husband of Patricia and father to Jonathan, Araminta and Harry – he was Minty’s father. It was too much of a coincidence not to be true. I thought as much, but looking at it here, reading like a death notice, filled me with shock. My stomach plummeted. I’d read enough. Poor Minty.

  I dug my mobile out of my bag. I’m not the most communicative of people when it comes to modern means, but two days without reception and I was excited to see who might have been in touch.

  1. Vodafone with an offer.

  2. Friend, Sam, saying my mum’s invited him for Easter and will I please answer him.

  He’d left a voicemail and two texts…You’d think he would have twigged I was out of reception. I’m sure I told him I was going to Scotland, but then again, we haven’t spoken for a while. I’d better send him a text…

  Hey Sam, I’ve been away, heading home now. You must come for Easter lunch. It’s not like you haven’t been for the last 4 years. Speak soon, Susie x

  3. An excellent message from Jenny, a really great high-flying friend who’s been working abroad for the last eight years.

  Susie!!! I’m home. In London. For good. Let’s meet up v v v v v v soon. SO much to tell. Hugs and kisses. J

  Jenny and I go back years, all the way to junior school, and ever since then she’s had her head down. I cannot wait to see her. Oooh, I wonder if her on/off boyfriend is coming over too. I’ll be so happy if they’ve finally made it work.

  4. A text from Toby…

  My sausage roll was more tempting than reading this right now so I turned my phone over and took a big greedy bite.

  Arghhh, the friggin’ thing was absolutely piping hot. I spat into my napkin and looked around, luckily no one else was watching.

  Bzzzz, bzzzz, my mobile vibrated.

  1 new message Sam

  Just thought you might not want me this year. I’ll say yes then. Please call soon, it’d be good to have a chat before x

  Urgh, Sam. Why do you have to make it complicated? I knew exactly what he was getting at…our drunken kiss before Christmas, standing on the pavement as I was waiting for a bus. It wasn’t a long-drawn-out passionate number. Just a sort of whoopsie we-shouldn’t-be-doing-this affair. It’s never happened before, and why then, who knows? But surely we don’t have to discuss it? N.B. call him tomorrow.

  The sausage roll was delicious but I’d finished it. Time to get going. I weaved my way through the stationary cars and jumped back into the driving seat with a rush of energy for the next leg. I slipped my mobile into what used to be called the ashtray and, just before the engine started, I had a reconsidered thought: Toby’s message was playing on my mind, it would be safer to read it now than resist it while driving. I picked up my phone. My fingers trembled as I unlocked the screen.

  Susie, I know you’ll be on the road south when you get this but I’d really like it if you called. We need to talk. Toby x

  I chucked the mobile back and started the car. Oh heck, the engine let out an unpleasant roar as I missed the gear. Grrr, Toby, it’s all your fault, your unbelievably manipulative text has got under my skin.

  I looked at the dashboard. It’s just after two. If in a moment of clear thinking he was going to call me, it would have happened in his lunch break, which is over now. Phew, I really don’t want to talk to him and for at least the next three to four hours he’ll be too busy working for anything else.

  Radio 4 played for a change. Two theologians were discussing the meaning of Good Friday. Blast, I’d completely forgotten it’s a public holiday…Toby won’t be in the mortuary today. But a split second of thought and I concluded – he was never going to call me. His text was a fine way of turning the tables. The ball was in my court. He’d made darn sure if we never speak again then it’s all my fault.

  I give up. Stuff him. I don’t need you in my life, Toby.

  I turned the radio off – debating Good Friday isn’t
my kind of thing. And as I drove in silence, munching up the miles in the fast lane, I pin-pointed everyone’s reason for being at Auchen Laggan Tosh. I have to make sure no one else was acting with Ewen. I can’t just assume he was in it alone.

  I remember a similar case of art fraud I’d heard of before. It happened in Ireland years ago, when a chauffeur faked a Canaletto under his employers’ noses, selling the original and hanging the copy. Not that I think Mhàiri, Donald or Stuart are involved. Employee teaming up with a family member, no, I don’t think so.

  Very quickly names began to fall off the suspects’ list. Jane’s mission was to steal the necklace, Felicity her veil. They cancel each other out. Minty was a pawn in her father’s plan and Giles, not the sharpest tool in the box, was sent by his mother to practise his art in the hopes he’d get at least one A at A Level. We can set them both to one side. Shane and Lianne were awarded scholarships so couldn’t possibly have orchestrated their place and had Rupert been involved I have absolutely no doubt he would have accidentally let it slip. So, we can put him to bed too. Fergus has far too much pride in his art collection and surely wouldn’t have risked exhibiting the copies. He’s not a part of it. Louis, I fancied…but now I know he has a girlfriend Toby’s words, ‘I don’t think you should trust that man…he’ll hurt you’, couldn’t be more on message. We are a good team. But I bet you he’d never see it like that. Did Louis really pay over the asking price to get his place? Or had Ewen whispered he was a friend in Zoe’s ear and she accepted him to keep the peace?

  Bring, bring. Bring, bring. My mobile rang through the loudspeaker. A Sussex number flashed up, I better answer. I was just passing Birmingham on the M6 Toll, making good progress, well over halfway and predicting I’d be home just before seven.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Susie, is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Lavender Bell.’

  ‘Lavender, hello. How nice to hear from you.’

  Lavender is a friend, well, an absent friend really, of my mother’s. Going back to when they were teenagers – that period in life when one has a large group of unidentifiable muckers. Mum’s often talked of her but hasn’t seen her for many years, the reason being my parents got married very late for their generation, and by then their contemporaries had drifted away. They were out of step. Almost all of their friends had entered into the complacent stage of marriage, done with popping out children and no longer keen on spending time with those in nappies. When I was born Mum had plenty of eccentric spinsters around to keep her vaguely sane, but I do feel a bit sorry for her, looking back.

  Anyway, shortly after I’d made the move to Sussex, three years ago now, Mum told me Lavender lived there too. Something to do with her marrying a banker and bankers apparently – according to Mum – like to settle in Sussex. Property’s expensive, this boosts their image and there’s nothing like a national park to make them feel they own the land. Mum passed on my number to Lavender and ever since she’s invited me for dinner twice annually. Full points to her for trying and nil points to me for genuinely never being able to go.

  ‘Susie,’ she squawked, ‘I left a message about dinner on your landline. I’m sure you’ve put the date in your diary and just forgotten to let me know?’

  One, I don’t have an answering machine, but there was no point going into that right now, and two, I couldn’t possibly refuse again…

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said out loud in the car, ‘I’ve been away. But I’m heading home now.’

  ‘Oh, jolly good. That means you’ll be able to come.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’ I yelped but it fell on deaf ears. Literally. Many of Mum’s age group are by now.

  ‘Yes, come for seven forty-five, no need to wear anything dressy.’

  ‘I might not…’

  She cut me short. ‘I know you might not know anyone but don’t worry about that. They’re very nice. There is someone I think you’ll get on particularly well with, a much younger friend of mine, George, Georgina Foss. I’m sure you’ve come across her? She is, or at least she’s about to be, on TV. Now, you know where I am, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Other side of Lewes from you, a Tudor cottage in Berwick.’

  ‘Got it. Thank you. Bye.’ I cancelled the call.

  I don’t have a clue who Georgina Foss is. I’ve never owned a TV and I often wonder when those who do have the time to sit down and watch it. Either George, as Lavender had so affectionately called her, is my age, or she has something to do with the art world.

  Mum’s friend has me hook, line and sinker. With only moments at home for a quick change I’ll then be back in my car and off to dinner. Unpacking will have to wait until tomorrow and, as for a night off, that luxury has gone out of the window. Harrumph. Having promised Mum and Dad I’d be with them on Saturday and already predicting they’ll guilt trip me into staying longer – ‘Susie, I feel you just squeeze your father and me in when you can – It’s not like you ever spend more than two nights with us – It would be good if you could stay till Wednesday – give us all time to rebuild our relationship as a family’ – there wasn’t going to be a moment to reflect. I must use the rest of this journey wisely. I have two and a half hours from here on in. I have to stick with art fraud while it’s fresh in my mind.

  Collins English Dictionary, Puzzle: Solve or understand something by thinking hard.

  Think hard I did, as Banbury, Bicester, High Wycombe and Crawley passed.

  For Ewen, who knew that a medical procedure – the caesarean – could have such a profound effect on the inheritance of an ancient title? Copying and selling a few pictures would be a great way of taking revenge on his brother and getting his fair share, as he liked to put it, money being the main objective.

  Ewen’s a painter but realistically could he pull off the job without an accomplice? For one, swapping over the paintings alone seems pretty impossible. How do you hang a picture on two chains without someone to hold the other half? And as for the painting, did he copy it from life, set up his easel in the locked wing when Fergus and Zoe were away? No, far too much of a palaver getting all the equipment in…Much more likely via photographs.

  He’d said himself, ‘If I learnt to take good pictures of paintings, I could then work from them back home… understand the technical details.’ Then he’d admitted, ‘despite doing a course, I’m not very good at photography.’

  Ah ha…I’ve seen Louis’ work, he has talent and if he was working together with Ewen, his friend, there would be no better combination for art fraud. A skilled photographer and an accomplished artist.

  Let’s say they hit it off on a photography course seven years ago. Ewen’s father then dies and Fergus inherits. Ewen thinks, how can I make a lot of money for myself? He comes up with a plan and gets in touch with his mate Louis. They strike a deal to become partners in crime.

  Louis told me he’s been to Auchen Laggan Tosh twice before. I reckon the first time was to photograph Rutting Stags so Ewen could set to, painting a copy. The second visit was planned for when Ewen’s equivalent Landseer was finished. Done and dry. Together they carried out a swap with the original, at the same time giving Louis an opportunity to photograph another, Dogs in the Moonlight. With only one elderly woman, the Dowager Countess of Muchton, in the house I assume it was a pretty easy thing to do.

  The first original was sold, the transaction worked smoothly and Ewen got a taste for it all. But I think Zoe caught him out with his second copy. The day she referred to, stumbling into his studio. And although I hate to think Zoe’s involved, going behind her husband’s back, it is beginning to look likely to me. Everything from seeing her in the corridor on Monday night to not wanting the paintings to go on loan. I reckon she blackmailed Ewen to cut her in on the deal. We all know accountants are brilliant at hiding illegitimate cash on their tax return, and Fergus had proudly told us his wife had ‘taken the es
tate’s accounts in hand’. She wasn’t ever planning to tell her husband.

  Next step in the plan, Ewen’s completed Dogs in the Moonlight: he needs a suitable moment for his photographer friend to return. The art residency was ideal. ‘Now’s our chance to swap the paintings and collar another.’ I can hear Ewen saying it. ‘You can stay in the main house with a bunch of strangers. No one will suspect a thing.’ Zoe then sneaks Louis onto the course and their operation is under way. I’ve been suspicious of Zoe’s friendship with Louis all along, and she boasted of getting on well with Ewen. All three of them, I’m now sure, are in this together.

  I have to get my theory absolutely straight. So, going back to the start of the week I’ve decided the real reason Louis came late to the very first life drawing session on Monday is because he’d been down the back drive at Ewen’s cottage, helping him carry a copy of Landseer’s Dogs in the Moonlight from the studio to the van.

  Now I think about it, when Louis asked Rupert to park the minibus away from the house on Monday afternoon on our way back from the river, he could have been making space for Ewen’s van, later. It had to be right up close to the steps so as in the night, once the house party had gone to bed (when I saw a light on in the locked wing), this pair, supervised by Zoe, could swap an original for a copy. Dogs in the Moonlight, the painting with very little dust on its frame. Maybe Louis had pulled a muscle in his arm during the hanging. What’s more they’d need a spirit level to get it straight. The one I’d found under the hall table. One of them must have dropped it by mistake.

  I can practically hear Ewen reassuring his accomplice, ‘I’ll send Fergus to sleep with Piriton, he’ll never hear a thing.’ Ewen must have crushed up a tablet when I’d caught him filling the water glasses before dinner. He’d even made a point later of confirming the drugs were Zoe’s. She’s involved, I know it. She’d even covered up the fact Fergus had overslept the next morning. With everything going on in the night, no wonder Haggis was shut away downstairs.