Page 32

Penzance

I picked up a letter from the top of the box. There had to be a link. This was the thing I was good at – sensing a connection and then finding it. I owed it to Sheba and Viv.

My mother’s voice carried from the garden. She must be on the phone. As much as I longed to solve this puzzle, she came first. Tomorrow I had a meeting with Tash’s dad, Jack Thomas – our solicitor. It should be a box-ticking exercise. Of course, he wouldn’t know there was no money left.

Before that meeting, Tash and I would head to the office at four in the morning and continue to go through the accounts.

‘Bye,’ my mother said loudly. Almost immediately, my phone rang. Paul. Had Mum been talking to him again?

‘Hello,’ I said, walking into the kitchen.

‘At last you bother to answer the phone. If it weren’t for your mother, you could be dead for all I know.’

I took a deep breath, then said calmly, ‘I’ve tried to ring but you haven’t picked up.’

‘I’ve been very busy,’ he said.

‘So have I.’

‘There is nothing more you can do there.’ He paused, and I braced myself. ‘Come back here now, my love.’

My first instinct was to hang up, but that would make things worse. ‘Paul,’ I said in my most reasonable voice, ‘you know I can’t. There is probate involved, and the fact is that Mum isn’t . . .’ I paused to check she wasn’t in hearing distance, ‘coping at all, let alone well.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not.’ I rested my head against the cool glass of the window. Outside, my mother was checking the bird feeder. Daffodils peered back at me. They looked ridiculously happy.

‘She tells me she’s great and going out every day.’

I laughed bitterly. ‘Yes, out the back door then back inside again. She isn’t even getting dressed unless Meg or I help her.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

I sighed. ‘You may not, but you’re not here to see the truth yourself.’

‘I can’t be there,’ he said, and I pictured the tightness around his mouth from the clipped sound of his words. ‘I have work that keeps me here.’

‘It’s Easter break. You could come.’ As I said the words, I knew it was the last thing I wanted.

‘You’re being selfish expecting me to go somewhere I can’t work, and where frankly there is no one and nothing of interest.’

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. We’d been over this ground so many times before. ‘Fine, don’t come, but . . .’ I paused to be sure the words wouldn’t be lost, ‘I can’t come back yet.’

‘I don’t see why not. You have a solicitor who can do all the necessary things, including selling your mother’s and your share of the business.’

He had no idea and I didn’t have the energy to explain it to him. The timer on my phone sounded.

‘I have to rescue dinner. Bye.’ I hung up before he could say another word.

Was he right about my mother? She hobbled back inside and I jumped into action, taking the chicken out of the oven.

‘Who were . . . you speaking with?’ she asked as she sat down.

‘Paul.’

She smiled. ‘You are so . . . lucky with him. So clever.’

I didn’t reply as I drained the broccoli.

‘Make sure you don’t mess it up. He makes you better and keeps you stable.’

I swung around. Those were very odd statements. But as I opened my mouth to question them, she winced.

‘Are you OK?’ I rushed to her side.

She nodded. ‘Just a twinge.’

‘It looked like more than a twinge.’

She shook her head and her expression said no more questions .

I put plates of chicken and veg on the table and sat opposite her.

We used to have a good relationship. Not as wonderful as the one I’d had with my father, but good nonetheless.

The woman sitting opposite me wasn’t like the mother I’d confided in and the one I’d counted as a friend.

I wasn’t sure if it was her or me who had changed, but we needed to sort this somehow.

I cut into my chicken and watched her try to do the same. That had to be hard. She had been so capable, and yet even this was a monumental task now. I was about to offer to help when she looked up and caught me watching her.

‘You won’t be here for ever, so I have to do this myself.’

‘You’re right, I won’t be here for ever, but I’m not rushing away.’

‘Paul is missing you.’

‘I know, but he’s capable of lasting a month or two without me.’

‘What about your job?’ she asked.

‘I can do that from anywhere.’ The further this conversation went, the more I wanted to know exactly what Paul had been telling my mother and what his motives were.

‘He said you needed to be in London.’

‘No need. Most things are online these days, and I have friends and colleagues who can check any specific items for me if I need something that’s only available in London.’

She looked down, then her head shot up. ‘But you’re not capable of doing what’s needed.’

I blinked. Did she just say what I thought she said? ‘Are you implying that I can’t catalogue a house?’

She nodded.

My own mother had just called me incompetent.

It took everything in me not to walk away and leave her to it.

Using the old trick of counting to ten again, I spoke calmly.

‘I’d been doing just that with Dad since I was eleven.

You know he trained me in the business from a very early age.

I’m now thirty and I know a lot more about art and antiques than I did then.

I am capable.’ I sat back, realising what I’d just said. I’d said I was capable and meant it.

‘Paul says you need his assistance all the time on your research. He said you wouldn’t have a job without his help.’

I ground my teeth, wanting to scream, but instead I asked, ‘What else has Paul said?’

‘That you’ll have another breakdown with all this stress. He said that was why you didn’t want to finish your master’s.’

‘Did he?’ There had been nothing I wanted more. That work was so important to me. I’d had so much to say, but he had claimed it wasn’t good enough. The argument wasn’t strong enough. Was he right about me not being able to handle this? Doubt crept in, swamping my anger.

She stretched out her right hand and put it on mine. ‘He also said you haven’t been able to conceive. I’m so . . . sorry.’

This was news to me. I was on the pill; I wasn’t trying to conceive.

‘Thank you,’ I said. Now was not the time to set the record straight. I needed to do that directly with Paul.

‘So I think it’s best if you head back to London and continue trying. You weren’t cut out for the pressure of the business world.’

I opened my eyes wide.

‘The way you flaked out over your master’s . . . after you didn’t recognise the Cézanne for what it was and nearly cost the auction house its reputation.’

My shoulders fell. Here we go again. ‘Dad agreed with what I’d done.’

‘Of course he would. He adored you.’

‘And I him.’ What I wouldn’t do to have him here now.

‘But because of that, neither of you could see things the way they were. It’s thanks to your uncle’s brilliance in the furniture sales that the business is worth anything.’

I had no proof yet, but I had a feeling that my uncle was the cause of the current state of affairs with the empty bank accounts and the dodgy accounting.

My mother had no money, and my partner thought I was on the verge of a breakdown and that everything could be sorted out by a solicitor.

He was wrong on both counts. This was something I had to fix.

My mother needed money, and she had none unless I started selling my parents’ art.

The landline rang and I went to answer it.

‘Ren, you aren’t answering your phone.’ Tash sounded breathless.

‘Sorry, I put it on silent.’

‘I’ve been going through the info at Companies House.’

‘And?’ I sank into the chair beside the hall table.

‘Barton’s hasn’t been submitting their full accounts.’

‘Is that illegal?’

‘No, but it’s questionable. Haven’t you looked at this stuff before?’

‘No.’ I pushed my hair back. Here was something else I’d ignored, and I shouldn’t have.

‘You’re listed as a shareholder and director.’

I sighed. ‘I should have taken more interest, but let’s be honest, no one wanted me near the business.’

‘Whether they did or not, you are involved.’

‘Shit.’ I exhaled. ‘OK, are you still up for meeting at four?’

‘You bet.’

‘So, no detailed accounts. Are they required?’

‘Possibly not for a business of this size. And the summary accounts for the last financial year don’t have to be filed for months yet.’

I picked up a pen and twirled it through my fingers.

‘Could you be wrong?’ I scanned the hallway, hoping it would provide me with answers. But all I saw was a gilt mirror, and I didn’t like the reflection of the person looking back at me. Tash was right. I did look middle-aged. My hair was neatly pulled back and the small pearl earrings dated me.

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘Have you ever been wrong before?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘I thought not. See you at four.’

When I walked back into the kitchen, Mum wasn’t there.

I found her in bed, fully dressed and sound asleep.

I pulled a blanket over her and walked back to the kitchen.

What the hell was going on? My mother thought I was incapable.

And she might be right, but mums were not supposed to think that about their children.

Paul was feeding her a bunch of lies. But more pressing was that the business was bust and my father’s accounts were empty.

How was I going to fix this? Was it even possible?

After I’d cleared up in the kitchen, I went back into the study. The box of letters and diaries beckoned. My brain was spinning over the same things, and at least looking through these might give me something else to think about, otherwise I wouldn’t sleep at all.

The first few letters were from Sheba’s grandfather. Nothing of great importance, but thanking her for her visit and the gift of the painting of Kensington Gardens. He mentioned missing her company but understanding her need to be in the Hampstead area to be surrounded by other artists.