them and their mother, who was always high on drugs, or out cold. It was Annette who had taken her hand, and her mother’s bit of jewellery hidden under the floorboards in their room, and led her out of that awful flat. Together they had run away, gone to Aunt Sylvia’s home in Twickenham. A good woman, she had taken them in, and with loving kindness. A widow, with some private means, she had been able to support them financially.
Thank God Annette kept me safe; thank God Aunt Sylvia took us in without a second thought and sent my sister to art school, where she belonged. Laurie swallowed, fighting back the incipient and unexpected tears.
They had never gone back to their grandfather’s house in Ilkley, nor did they ever see that ineffectual man again. He died alone in that silent house of gloom.
Laurie sat bolt upright in her wheelchair, recalling Knowle Court and their trip there last Saturday. She had taken a dislike to the place at once, and now she knew why. It reminded her of Craggs End, where their grandparents had lived all of their married life, where their mother had dumped them after their father’s death.
Architecturally, they were totally different – Craggs End was much smaller, not like a castle at all. Yet curiously the atmosphere in both places was the same. An icy coldness and a sense of evil pervaded them.
Dragging her thoughts away from that dark and silent house in the north of England, she focused on the paintings of Manet, one of the founders of the Impressionist Movement. And she was able to lose herself in his genius, the enormous beauty of his art.
It had been worth waiting for, this astonished look on Marius’s face, which instantly changed to total disbelief and then unadulterated pleasure. He stood staring down at The Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer, and it was quite obvious to Annette that he had been taken by surprise … by the statue … by her. The latter was something of a novelty in itself, since he could usually second-guess her.
When he finally looked up, stared at her, a silver brow lifting, and asked, ‘Where on earth did this little beauty spring from?', she simply smiled enigmatically.
Walking over to stand opposite him, the glass coffee table and the Degas bronze between them, she said, ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
He seemed puzzled, pondered for a moment, then responded in a doubtful tone, ‘It couldn’t possibly have come from Sir Alec Delaware’s art collection, could it?’
‘Aren’t you the clever one! However did you guess, darling?’
‘Because I usually have my nose to the ground, sniffing out art, as you well know, and there have been no strange whispers about a Degas dancer on the float. And since you represent Christopher Delaware, I simply made a quick assumption. But why didn’t you know about it before?’
‘Even he didn’t know he had it, because it wasn’t on view in the house. However, he’d begun to poke around in boxes stacked in the attics several weeks ago, and came up with this, and thought it was nothing of importance. Actually, he didn’t tell me about it until last Saturday, when we went to Knowle Court for lunch. And even then he was awfully dismissive. He didn’t think it was worth anything, because it was old and dirty … that was the way he put it.’
‘Silly bugger, but, as my mother used to say, it takes all sorts to make a world.’ Marius strode around the table, stopped next to Annette, took hold of her and hugged her to him. Then, a split-second later, he held her away, as he so often did, his dark eyes roaming over her face. Gazing at her, his face suddenly filled with adoration, he murmured, ‘You look very beautiful tonight, my sweet. Stunning.’
‘You don’t look half bad yourself, either,’ she answered, gazing back at him. He had caught the sun in Barcelona, had acquired a deeper tan that showed up well against his silver hair. Also, he appeared to be slimmer. ‘Have you lost weight? You’re extremely trim,’ she announced in an approving tone.
‘A little bit, and you would’ve too, if you’d been scampering around the Picasso Museum, up and down stairs and through large exhibition halls.’ He released his grip on her shoulders and confided, ‘But I’m pleased I went, because it refreshed my memory about Picasso’s earlier works now lodged there permanently. I’ll tell you something else. I thought it was rather useful to meander through the city where he lived for so many years, and where his family remained after he went to Paris. I got a good sense of the place. It was truly a good trip, and totally necessary for the book.’
‘So it’s full speed ahead now, right?’
Marius nodded, his eyes still on her, his expression warm. ‘So, continue with your tale about Christopher’s find.’
‘You know everything. There’s not much else to tell. Except that I did ask for the provenance, which he didn’t have. Fortunately we found it in the cardboard box where the bronze had been stored.’
‘Good to have, obviously, but there wouldn’t be much doubt about its authenticity. This is too famous as a piece of sculpture. I’m assuming Laurie has examined it?’
‘She did, and she says it’s the genuine thing.’
‘So you’re going to put it on auction fairly soon, are you?’ he asked, his curiosity aroused.
Annette nodded, walked over to the drinks table, poured two glasses of champagne from the bottle she had opened a few moments ago. She carried them over, handed him one.
Marius said, touching his glass to hers, ‘Congratulations, my darling. Here’s to you.’
She smiled at him lovingly. ‘And to you, Marius – you who taught me everything I know.’
He laughed a little dismissively. ‘Well, not quite, let’s say almost everything.’ As he spoke he sat down on the sofa, and focused on the sculpture again. ‘What an amazing life this little dancer has had … let’s hope you can sell her to a collector who will keep her and keep her safe.’ There was a pause, then he asked, ‘When do you plan to hold the auction?’
‘I’ll tell you over dinner, Marius,’ Annette answered, and continued rather swiftly, ‘I’ve booked a table at Mark’s Club, because it’s quiet and we can talk. I know you prefer more jazzy places, but I’ve lots to tell you.’
‘I like Mark’s well enough, and it’s a good choice for this evening. By the way, I saw the folder of requests for interviews with you on my desk in the den. You’ve caused quite a sensation, haven’t you?’ He grinned at her, his delight in her sudden fame apparent, and shook his head. ‘Over one hundred and fifty requests. Talk about the new movie star in town …’ He chuckled.
‘I suppose some people would find it flattering. However, I don’t. It worries me. Even agreeing to do a few of them would take up too much of my valuable time. I’m very busy at the moment. And anyway, you know I don’t like talking about myself. I’m rather a boring person.’
‘Come, come, Annette, don’t be so modest!’ he exclaimed, eyeing her oddly. ‘You’re not boring … you’re a talented woman – gifted, in fact, and you can hold your own with anyone in business and socially, and in any conversation.’
‘As long as it’s about art,’ she countered quietly.
‘No,
