Priceless (12 page)

“Nat,” she murmured close to his ear.

“Mmmmm?” he responded dreamily.

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she continued in a whisper. “About the first time that you and I made love. The thing is, Nat. I know you’re going to think this is silly. You may not even believe me. But the first time that you and I … well …”

She paused. Seconds away from revealing the truth. But the dramatic silence was interrupted by a snore. Nat Wilde was asleep.

CHAPTER 14

T
hat same day, Julian Trebarwen was in Cornwall. He received the detailed results of the Ludbrook’s sale via email.

“Well,” said Julian when he called his brother, Mark, who was in Singapore again. “I hope you’ve got the champagne on ice. Nat Wilde sold everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yep, absolutely everything, from that hideous credenza to our mother’s fake pearl earrings.”

“Fantastic.”

“I think you’ll be pleased with the figure.” Julian recited the digits.

“What? That’s incredible!” It was far more than either of them had expected.

“I know. But there were obviously some good lots in there. Apparently those nasty gold earrings in the shape of frogs were actually Cartier, which made a big difference. And can you believe that old painting of the greyhounds made twenty-five grand?”

“
Old
painting?” said Mark.

“Yeah. Can’t say I’d even noticed it before the funeral. It was hanging over the fireplace where that awful daub of you and I used to be. I think Mother must have brought it down from some room in the west wing to piss you off last time you were there for dinner.”

“Oh, it pissed me off all right,” said Mark. “But are you sure it went for twenty-five grand?”

“I’m quite sure. Incredible, eh?”

“Yes,” said Mark, “because it wasn’t an old picture at all. It was painted just this year.”

Julian was confused. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s true. Mother had her next-door neighbor paint her bloody rescue greyhounds.”

“What? Which neighbor?” Julian couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“The one with the tits and the hair.”

“You mean Serena?”

“She the brunette?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the one.”

“But … but. She didn’t tell me.”

“Mother told me the last time I saw her. Shortly before she told me that she wanted to skip a generation in her will and leave Dad’s Patek Philippe to my youngest. I assumed you knew.”

“I had no idea. And neither did Nat Wilde’s team. They attributed it to some Victorian. Follower of Stubbs.”

“Should we tell Wilde?” Mark asked.

“Mark, are you insane?”

“He’ll want to know.”

“Sure. But it’s too late. We’re talking about a painting that sold for twenty-five grand. It was one of the biggest lots in the sale.”

“But it was a fake.… It’s less than a year old.”

“And we didn’t say otherwise. We didn’t say anything about it at all. Nat Wilde’s the one who made the mistake. And the girl he sent down afterward should have spotted it was new. The way I see it, we’re in the clear. We’ve done nothing wrong. I say we treat this as a little windfall and keep quiet.”

“Are you serious?”

“I need the cash.”

“Oh, sod it. You’re right,” said Mark, giving in quickly. “So do I. We’ll keep quiet. I’ve got school fees to pay. But bloody hell … twenty-five grand. Mother gave nearly that much of our inheritance to the dogs’ home anyway.”

“Fuck, yes. It’s our right to claw some back.”

“I’ve got to go,” said Mark. “Give the missus the good news.”

“Don’t tell her about the dogs. The fewer people who hear about this the better.”

“She’s only interested in the money. Though she’ll probably blow the lot on some more bloody designer orthopedic shoes. I’ll call you tomorrow to talk about the house. I was thinking we could try to rent it while the market’s so flat.”

“Good for me,” said Julian.

“Twenty-five grand for those dogs. Un-bloody-believable.” Mark whistled through his teeth.

Unbelievable indeed. When the conversation ended, Julian paced the empty room, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He’d been trying to give it up for a long time but he’d found that having a fag in his mouth helped him to think, and right then he was having some particularly interesting thoughts.

He grabbed his coat and went next door.

CHAPTER 15

J
ulian hadn’t told Serena he was going to be in Cornwall that week, so she was a little shocked but pleased, he fancied, to see him when he rang her doorbell at ten to ten.

“I’ve got something really important to talk to you about.”

Serena put her hand to her throat in surprise.

“It’s ten o’clock at night!” She wasn’t sure she should accept a booty call. “You might have phoned.”

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t tell you about this now.”

Serena’s face fell. Julian looked anxious. Had he come to break up with her already?

“Can I come in?” he asked again.

Might as well get it over with
, Serena thought. “Of course,” she said. She led him into the sitting room. The atmosphere between them was heavy, as though he were a debt collector turning up to take what he was owed, rather than her lover.

“Can I have a drink?” he asked.

“Sure.” Serena poured the last of her whiskey. Julian had finished off most of the bottle on his last visit.

He took a sip and seemed to relax a little.

“So, tell me what this is about,” said Serena. Having agonized while she rinsed out a glass for the whiskey about which chair she should sit in, Serena chose to sit down next to Julian on the sofa. She pondered putting
her hand on his, but decided against it. Hopefully her decision to sit next to him would make it easier to come out with what it was he wanted to say.

“I know it’s a bit much coming around here so late at night. You’ve got to get up early to take Katie to school. But this thought popped into my head today and I’ve just got to put it out there.”

“You’ve met someone else,” Serena jumped in.

“What?” Julian was taken aback by Serena’s assumption.

“I understand,” she continued. “I’m a single mum. I’m pushing forty.”

Julian took her face in his hands. “Serena, I don’t want to stop seeing you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Far from it.”

Then what did he want?

“It could be that what I’m about to say to you is pure madness, in which case, I’d be grateful if you could promise me before I put my proposal to you, that if you’re not interested, you will never, ever tell anyone we had this conversation.”

“Of course not,” said Serena. What was going on? Julian had on his face a look that Serena had seen on a man’s face only once before. When Tom had proposed. “Go ahead,” she said. “It’s just me here. Katie’s asleep.”

“Okay.” he took a deep breath. “I want you to go into partnership with me.”

Well, that was a very formal way to put it, but a smile still spread across Serena’s face.

“I’m not yet divorced,” Serena reminded him.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, my still being married. If you’re happy to wait. Tom is certainly keen to untangle himself as soon as possible, and I … well, I thought I
would never want to look at another man so long as I lived, but then you arrived next door and …”

Julian cocked his head to one side. Confused.

“Oh. Er … Ha! You thought I meant … Oh, God. No. No, no, no. Business partnership, Serena. I want to go into a
business partnership
with you.”

“Right,” she said. “That’s what I thought.”

She got up on the pretense of stoking the fire. When she sat back down again it was in the seat opposite Julian.

“Carry on,” she said. Though she couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of business he thought they would go into. Open Trebarwen as a B&B perhaps, with Serena doing all the donkeywork, changing the beds and cooking the breakfasts, no doubt. She might have known that Julian Trebarwen saw her only as a skivvy.

“What is it you want?”

“You remember that painting you did for my mother?”

“The dogs? Yes.”

“I’ve got a confession to make. I didn’t know you were the artist behind that painting. I assumed it was something that had been in the family for years. And so, when Nat Wilde sent those kids from Ludbrook’s down to value Mother’s estate, I had them value that painting along with all the others. And they attributed it to Richard Delapole, which is how it ended up in the auction along with Mother’s genuinely valuable paintings and eventually sold for twenty-five thousand pounds.”

“What?” Serena blinked at the mention of one of the region’s most famous early-nineteenth-century artists. “They thought my painting was by Delapole? That’s ridiculous.”

“Apparently not. It was bought by an American collector. He paid another thirty thousand for a painting of my mother’s rather stern-looking maiden aunt. There is
no accounting for taste. Which is not to say that your painting wasn’t good. Obviously, it was excellent. It fooled Nat Wilde, who has, so I was always led to believe, the best eye on New Bond Street.”

“So, you told him he was fooled—”

“Of course not! No. I mean, what good would that do anybody? Wilde’s reputation would be ruined. The American buyer would feel embarrassed. Who would benefit? As it stands, Nat’s reputation is intact and the buyer is probably very pleased with his new purchase. I bet he loves it.”

“Where is this going?”

“I want you to paint another picture of Mother’s dogs,” said Julian, coming to the point at last.

“For you?”

“No. I want to sell it.”

“Ha! This is all a joke, right?”

“I’m deadly serious. Nat Wilde fell for it. Other people will too. I’ll make it worth your while. Look.” Julian reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a wedge of fifties. “Here’s an advance on half my share of the dog picture proceeds, minus the seller’s premium. We can cut the same deal on everything else. I know you need the money.”

Serena recoiled from the cash.

“What kind of person do you think I am? What you’re proposing is illegal. You could end up in a lot of trouble.”

“I won’t try to pass your stuff off as antique. I’ll just take it along to a few dealers or auction houses and say I found it in my mother’s attic and have no idea who it belongs to. The way I see it, if they spot that it’s a new painting the minute they see it, I just look like someone who doesn’t know anything about art. If it’s not spotted until after the painting goes to auction, then it falls on the auction
house’s head, as far as I can see. And it’ll never be traced back to you.”

“How can you be sure?”

“If you don’t tell anyone, I certainly won’t. You’ll paint the pictures in your attic and I’ll find them in mine. What do you say? If we could sell even two paintings a year for as much as the one you did for Mother, that’d make an enormous difference to you and Katie, right?”

Serena looked down at the coffee table, where Julian had put the cash. He was right. It would make a big difference to her life, but she couldn’t take it. She shook her head.

“Just think about it, okay?” he said. “You don’t need to give me an answer now. And you can keep that cash regardless. Because it was your talent that earned it. And because I wish I could give you and Katie more.”

That last sentence surprised her. Serena looked up and into Julian’s eyes. His expression was serious and sincere. Serena felt herself melting.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” she said.

After Julian had gone, Serena went up to her studio. She took the cash with her and hid it inside a paint box along with the engagement and wedding rings she no longer wore. She still had the sketches of Louisa’s dogs pinned to her wall. Serena looked at them closely. She knew that the dog painting had been one of her better efforts, but the idea that it had fooled an expert in old masters was quite incredible. She would never have believed it. Though in fact, as an art student, she had been stung by a tutor’s assessment that she could copy
anything
. The implication being that she would never find a style of her own.