Dalziel And Pascoe: Pictures Of Perfection Part 31

Halavant's cabriolet was coming sedately down the drive. In the centre of the rear seat, looking like a Head of State showing himself to the people, was the patrician figure of Edwin Digweed. But it was Caddy Scudamore in the pa.s.senger seat who drew most eyes. Her wind-tousled hair, the glimpse of brown thigh as she vaulted over the car door, the fullness of her lips, the glow of her skin, the untrammelled motion of her body beneath her paint-stained smock, and perhaps above all her total lack of self-consciousness about her beauty, acted on the other two women like sunlight on candle-flames.

Digweed got out too. He had a piece of paper in his hand and to Wield's a.s.sessing eye he looked full of news. But as he took in the composition of the scene before him, he clearly decided it could wait.

Halavant had walked round the front of the car and held out his hand to Caddy. She put out her tongue, but took it, and swinging their hands between them like children, they advanced to the steps.

'Good day to you all,' said Justin brightly. 'Harry, there you are. How nice to see you.'

And Caddy, looking straight at her sister, said, 'We're going to be married.'

Lillingstone turned pale and swayed. Kee seized his elbow and held it tight.

Dalziel said, 'Congratulations. You'll let us know if you're honeymooning abroad?'

'Will I?' said Halavant. 'Why so?'

'Don't want a trial with our star witness and one of the defendants out of the country, do we?'

'What trial would that be?' said Halavant courteously.

'The trial of Mr Bendish and Miss Harding for stealing your painting. The trial of Mr Lillingstone for harbouring Mr Bendish, knowing him to have stolen your painting. And the trial of Miss Scudamore, for forging a copy of your painting knowing it was to be used in furtherance of a felony.'

He was having a bad day in his efforts to shock.

Halavant merely smiled and said, 'I fear you may have been misinformed, Superintendent. It's true my fiancee did make a copy of a painting that used to be in my possession. I have it here as a matter of fact.'

He opened the boot of his car and produced the picture in its oval frame that Pascoe had last seen on his wall.

'A marvellous copy, you must agree, fit to fool any but the most expert eye. Fortunately, as you can see, my talented fiancee has signed it, so no confusion is possible.'

Proudly he pointed to the flowing signature.

'And the original, sir?' asked Pascoe, seeing that Dalziel might be on the point of saying something Dan Trimble would regret.

'Why, the original is, I believe, in the possession of its rightful owner. I was merely the fortunate borrower of it for a while.'

He smiled pleasantly at Fran Harding, inviting her to share in their mutual triumph over the forces of law and order. But the girl wasn't smiling back.

'You b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she said.

Now there was evidence on Halavant's face, if not of shock, at least of mild surprise.

'Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, Fran,' he said. 'I renounce all claim to the painting. I acknowledge you have full t.i.tle in it. I believe your purpose is to sell it and donate the proceeds to saving the school. If it is what I believe it may be, it should fetch enough not only for that admirable project but to provide you with a considerable dowry beside ..'

'If it's what you believe . .. ! Hypocritical b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

The young woman's face was mature with anger.

Kee said, 'Fran, what's the matter?'

'This is the matter!' cried Fran Harding, going to her Beetle and pulling her 'cello case out. She flicked its catches open, raised the lid and pulled out an oval of canvas which she flourished in Halavant's face.

'I've been to town this morning to see an expert from Sotheby's. He had come all the way up from London, and you know what, he wasn't pleased. Not to come all that way to see a fake!'

'I don't understand,' said Lillingstone, whose colour had slowly returned. 'I thought this was the forgery?'

'That's right,' said Caddy, clutching the framed portrait protectively.

'The copy, she means,' said Halavant. 'No, Fran, your so-called expert's got it wrong ...'

'I don't think so,' said Fran. 'When did you sell it, Justin? What happened to the money?'

Everyone looked at Halavant. He was either innocent or a tremendous actor.

He said helplessly, 'I'm sorry, I can't explain . ..'

Digweed, like the three policemen, had been reduced to the role of neutral spectator. Now he coughed drily. He may not have practised for long but to Wield it sounded like a true solicitor's cough, bringing the family at war over a will to order.

'If I may . . . ?' he said. 'Fran, what, precisely, did your disappointed expert say?'

'He said that it was definitely not eighteenth-century but a very competent nineteenth-century portrait in the manner of Reynolds. It could possibly fetch between eight and fifteen hundred at auction ...'

'That puts me in the clear, I think,' interrupted Halavant. 'I may look antique to a child like Franny, but I was not around in the nineteenth century to commission forgeries!'

Fran looked ready to dispute this, but Digweed said, 'It occurs to me that the original portrait was out of the hands of the owner, Edwina Guillemard, for a lengthy period in the eighteen-eighties. This was when my grandfather Ralph was painting her portrait to match the one of Frances Guillemard she already had.'

'Edwin! You're not saying that your grandfather ...'

'No, of course not,' said Digweed indignantly. 'Anyone who's seen his picture of Edwina can see that while he was a reasonably competent oil painter, he was far from possessing the skills necessary to fool all the sharp-eyed people who've been fooled since.'

'What, then?' said Halavant.

'There were two reasons Ralph needed the portrait. One, to help him in his task of painting Edwina. Two, in order to get both portraits put in matching frames. I know from his journal that he used a friend in the art business to do this, and he became rather concerned at the length of time it took to get the frames prepared.'

There was a moment of puzzled silence, broken by Wield who said, 'This friend of your granddad's wouldn't have been Jeremy Halavant, would he?'

Digweed smiled warmly at him.

'That's right. Jeremy who had just recently had his half-built new house burned down, almost certainly at the instigation of the Guillemards, though no one could prove it. It cost him a considerable sum to put it right. How might he have felt if suddenly he found himself in temporary possession of what proved to be a very valuable painting belonging to the family who in his eyes owed him a considerable debt? He would have had the contacts to get a first-rate job done. And once back on Edwina's wall, if anyone ever did detect a difference, they would probably put it down to the cleaning and reframing which had taken place.'

'But that would mean Job Halavant got taken in by his own grandfather's fake!' exclaimed Lillingstone.

'Not just Job,' said Kee, looking significantly at Justin. 'Justin too!'

'And not just me,' said Justin, smiling fondly at Caddy, who shrugged and said, 'There's no such thing as fakes, just good paintings and bad paintings.'

Halavant began to laugh, Kee and Larry Lillingstone exchanged smiles, Digweed winked at Wield who looked away, Dalziel was looking as if someone had s.n.a.t.c.hed an apple pie out of his mouth and given him a turnip instead. Only Franny Harding looked unhappier than the Fat Man.

'It's not funny,' she said, half sobbing and leaning against Bendish who patted her legs comfortingly, 'It's all been for nothing and we're nowhere nearer saving the school.'

Digweed coughed again. The group were fast learners. This time he got even quicker attention.

He held up a sheet of fax paper and said, 'Things are not quite so black as they seem, perhaps. There could indeed be peace in our time.'

'You've heard from your lawyer friend,' said Kee.

'Indeed I have. Larry, that For Sale sign outside the vicarage. It may be that your masters are trying to sell what is not theirs.'

'Not the old gift thing again, please, Edwin! A gift's a gift. You don't retain rights in it, especially not after two hundred years!'

'If you're a hard-headed Yorks.h.i.+reman, you may do,' said Digweed. 'The gift was made in consideration of the annual remission of t.i.thes. It was a quid pro quo. Since the t.i.the Act of 1936 it seems the Church has had the quid without the village getting its quo. The deed is clear on this point, that possession is only vested in the vicar so long as the Church keeps its side of the bargain. It is learned counsel's opinion that the vicarage may well belong to the village, not the Church.'

'But that's marvellous!' cried Fran, 'It must be worth .. . how much were they asking, Larry?'

Lillingstone was looking less than happy at the news. He said, 'This will need some sorting out.. .'

'It's all right, Larry,' said Digweed, 'I'm sure the Parish Council will sell it back to the Church at a very reasonable rate. Then they can turn the new bungalow into the first of this low-cost housing they're always preaching about. But I'm not done yet. I dug the school records out of the Council archives and sent them to my friend at the same time.'

Don't tell me we own the school too?' said Kee.

'If it ceases to be a school, we could do,' said Digweed. 'Stanley Harding saw to that. The land it was built on was part of the Green. The labour was the village's, the materials were paid for by local subscription, not least your dad's conscience money, Justin. And when the Local Authority took it over, Stanley Harding made d.a.m.n sure, like the chap who drafted the deed of gift for the vicarage, that we didn't lose all rights in it.'

'So if they closed it, the County Council wouldn't be able to sell the site and building off ?' said Kee.

'Right. And that might just upset their calculations a little bit,' said Digweed.

Fran Harding threw her arms round his neck and hugged him joyfully. Over her shoulder he caught Wield's eye and grinned rather sheepishly.

'Well, I'm glad that's all sorted,' said Halavant. 'You know, it must be about a century and a half since a Halavant attended a Reckoning. I think I might just look in and see what all the fuss is about.'

'Oh G.o.d, the Reckoning!' shrieked Fran. 'Girlie will kill me. Harry, darling, you'll be OK? I have to go.'

She rushed away round the side of the house towards the lawn. The others too, reminded that they had civil and social responsibilities, began to follow.

'Sir,' said Pascoe. 'I think they're beginning to escape. What shall we do?'

'That'll likely be where the grub is, round there?'

'I expect so.'

'Then what are we waiting for? Hot pursuit, lad. Hot pursuit!'

CHAPTER II.

'I am afraid the young man has some of your family madness.'

And now the villagers began at last to sense that this year's Reckoning might hold some surprises, though none as yet could guess their full extent.

The first hint came when Girlie appeared and instead of taking her customary place in the factor's chair stood to one side. Behind her, looking very old, and a.s.sisted by Guy the Heir, came the Squire. Normally he didn't appear till the business was transacted and the feasting began. Now he allowed himself to be led to the table, seated himself in the only chair and watched with grey indifference as Guy somewhat officiously laid the estate ledgers before him and opened them at the requisite page.

Then Fran Harding appeared, and the villagers realized that they had missed seeing her hurrying around at Girlie's beck and call.

Her cousin watched her breathless approach with a stony face.

'Nice of you to come,' she said. 'I don't know how we've managed without you, but we have.'

'Oh, Girlie, I'm sorry ... I can explain .. .'

'What's to explain? You're a free agent. Obligations, responsibilities, desert, what the h.e.l.l do things like that mean at Old Hall?'

There was a bitterness here which went beyond simple rebuke. Fran's attention had been so focused on her cousin that she hadn't noticed the Squire's presence till now.

'Girlie, what's happened? Why's Grunk collecting the rents?'

'He's ent.i.tled. They're his tenants, aren't they?'

The Squire had noticed Fran's arrival. He spoke briefly to Guy who came towards them.

'My favourite cousins!' he said with gus.h.i.+ng mockery. 'Doesn't it give you a sense of the continuity of things, all the living Guillemards gathered here for this ancient ceremony? And I do mean all of them! I do so love history, the old traditions, that sort of thing. You too, I bet, Girlie?'

'Within reason,' she said with cold control.

'But reason has prevailed, hasn't it, my sweet? Good try, though. I'd say better luck next time, only I don't think there's going to be a next time. Fran, the Squire was a tad distressed to find himself deserted by his little accompanist on this important day ...'

'Yes, I'm sorry, I'll go and tell...'

'No need. He's asked me to say that your services won't be required as he has decided to dispense with the promised performance of his ghastly ballad. Good Lord! What's he doing here? And him? And them?'

His voice rising in an accelerando of indignation was clearly audible in the hush which the latest arrivals had caused.

First, and the object of greatest amazement, was Justin Halavant. That he should be here at all was astounding. That he should be here hand in hand with Caddy Scudamore was as far beyond explanation as it was precedent.

Alone, the limping figure of Harry Bendish might have raised a groundswell of speculation. In the wake of history-in-the-making, he barely occasioned a ripple.

As for Kee, Larry, and the three policemen trailing along behind, they went almost unnoticed till the Vicar detached himself from the group and approached Mrs Pottinger with his message of hope. Soon the news was buzzing round the crowd. The vicarage belonged to the village .. . the school belonged to the village ... the Morris and Hall belonged to the village . . . the greater part of Mid-Yorks.h.i.+re belonged to the village! But not for this did the Ens...o...b..ans, who were quite capable of juggling three or even more rumours in the air at once, cease to conjure up speculation about Justin and Caddy, while still a.n.a.lysing the reasons for the unusual arrangements behind the big oak table.

Halavant, whose air of sang-froid concealed an uneasiness at the risk he ran of inspiring another Guillemard rebuke to match that which Jake had taken so badly all those years ago, advanced to the table, decided against offering his hand, but instead raised it and gave a cross between a friendly wave and a military salute to the Squire.

The old man gave him a puzzled frown and looked questioningly towards second slip. The village held its breath. The old man's gaze swung back, his hand rose to ear level, and the fingers twitched in a respondent wave.

The village breathed again, and voices rose up even more strongly as favourite theories were advanced and demolished. Then they were reduced to silence again as Guy the Heir banged his fist on the table and proclaimed that the Squire was now ready to collect his rents.

There weren't many of them and much of what there was was hardly worth collecting.