A Postcard from Italy. Alex Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘How about your nephew? The one in America?’ she suggested hurriedly, pivoting to face Larry again. Her mind was working overtime now in figuring out the quickest and best way to find Connie Donato, who was clearly a woman of considerable means … if the jewellery was genuine.

      ‘Ellis?’

      ‘Yes, doesn’t he work at an auction house?’ Grace looked at Larry.

      ‘He does!’ Larry jubilantly lifted the jewellery box up, as if in celebration of this fact. Something to set them on the right path in tracking down Mrs Donato.

      ‘Then perhaps he can tell us if the jewellery is real … or if it’s just paste with pretty coloured plastic bits and nothing to get excited about after all.’

      Larry brought the jewellery box back down as he added, ‘Ah, but Ellis works in the Fine Art department. He won’t know about diamonds and suchlike.’ And he turned to leave with a deflated look on his face.

      ‘But … hold on.’ Grace darted around the back of the chaise longue. ‘Maybe he can take a look at these instead.’ She gestured to the framed paintings. ‘I can take photos of them and you could email them to Ellis.’

      ‘Yes. Good thinking, Grace, you’re always full of good ideas.’ Larry put the jewellery box back on the dressing table and walked over to where she was standing by the paintings. He lifted one out to take a look. ‘Now I’m no art dealer but this looks pretty impressive to me. None of your mass-produced printed stuff here! You know, the kind of thing that you find in IKEA. No … this is a proper oil painting. And thankfully we have the correct climate control in all the units, even the older ones such as this, as I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for such a wonderful work of art getting ruined with mould or mildew. It’d be a travesty.’

      He carefully touched the corner of the canvas with a look of relief on his face. An exquisite scene of Venice’s famous Grand Canal was displayed before them, with tall, creamy-caramel-coloured buildings flanking either side of the water’s edge. Gondolas on glittering blue water under an atmospheric cloud-streaked sky led up to two marble domes with delicately intricate detailing. ‘And a skilled artist by the looks of it … see how he or she has captured the detail of the cornicing on the domes right there?’ Larry paused to point at a beautifully impressive building in the top right corner of the painting. ‘The famous Salute. It’s a church. And built as a thank you when the plague ended in 1630, if I’m not mistaken.’

      ‘Gosh, that must have taken the builders years to create. It’s incredible.’ Grace studied the picture; it reminded her of the 1950s film, Summertime, starring Katherine Hepburn. She’d only watched it again a few months back and had been swept away in the gorgeous, romantic scenery of Venice’s magnificent waterways.

      ‘It’s breathtaking up close,’ Larry said, carefully placing the painting on the chaise longue.

      ‘Have you actually seen it in real life then?’

      ‘Oh yes, I took Betty there on a mini-break back in the day. We were young and carefree, and this was long before the nippers came along and you could just up and do all that spur-of-the-moment stuff.’ He smiled wistfully, as if remembering the lovely time he’d had with Betty in Venice. ‘And we hadn’t been married long, so it’s a wonder we saw anything much at all outside of our hotel room,’ he added, doing an exaggerated wink. Grace put a hand over mouth to stifle a giggle as she really couldn’t imagine Larry and Betty cavorting in bed all day and night long. ‘Ah, those were the days.’ He pondered quietly for a moment before rubbing his palms together. ‘Anyway, enough of the melancholy – shall we make a start in snapping some pics then?’

      Grace lifted her phone up and took several pictures of the Venice Grand Canal painting, wondering if she should put some filters on to enhance the scene, but thought better of it as Ellis would most likely need to see the original work in all its naked glory. She repeated the process with all the paintings, and there were a dozen at least, many in the same style. They couldn’t make out the marking in the bottom right corner; it wasn’t even a proper signature and gave them no clues as to whether Connie herself was the artist. The thought had crossed Grace’s mind, though, after reading her diaries – the imaginative style of her writing showed that she clearly had a creative talent. Perhaps painting was in her repertoire, too, and that’s why she went to Italy … to capture its beauty on canvas.

      Twenty minutes later, and Grace had photos of every painting.

      ‘I’ll email them to you,’ she told Larry as he stowed the last painting back in its place.

      ‘Thank you, Grace. I’m so pleased we have you here with all the good ideas,’ he said kindly.

      ‘Really?’ she said without thinking, unused to impromptu praise.

      ‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘And don’t be worrying about being late now and again, I know it’s hard for you at home.’ A silence hung in the air between them as Grace studied a fingernail. ‘The important thing is that we have you here.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed quietly, fearful now that Larry being nice might make her emotional.

      As if sensing this, he jovially added, ‘So how about we have a lovely cup of tea?’

      ‘I’d like that,’ she breathed, grateful to be talking about something else. ‘And Larry …’ She hesitated, wondering if he would agree to another idea.

      ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

      ‘Well, I was wondering if I could take some pictures of Connie’s diaries and letters too? I know I can’t take the originals home, but I could read through them when I’m up in the nigh—’ She stopped talking. ‘Um, if I get time,’ she added. Larry looked at her, momentarily hesitating, as if he wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure if he should.

      ‘Grace, you can read through them here tomorrow,’ he settled for a few seconds later. ‘There’s really no need to take on more work, I’m sure you have enough to be getting on with at home as it is …’

      ‘But I’m not sure I can wait until then. Please Larry, it will give me something interesting to do …’ She looked away, disliking how desperate she sounded. But it was the truth. The thought of delving into Connie’s life gave her a sense of purpose, and it would be a break too from the monotony of her usual night-time routine of waiting for her mother to fall asleep … just so she could do something for herself, if only for a short while, uninterrupted, and without fear of being bellowed at and then chastised for not coming to her aid fast enough.

      ‘Well, in that case, I’ll get the jewellery box into the safe while you get cracking on reading more of that diary to see if you can spot some clues.’

      A little while later, Larry returned with two mugs of tea.

      ‘Betty made it just how you like it,’ he said, handing a mug to her. ‘And said to give you this too.’ He pulled a bundle wrapped in kitchen towel from his pocket. Inside was another generous slice of Betty’s delicious babka. ‘She also said I was to give you a hand with going through Mrs Donato’s things and she’ll take care of the invoice letters.’

      ‘Oh, that’s kind of her. And thank you, Larry.’ Her eyes lit up as she took the cake. She hadn’t had time again to eat a proper lunch, just half a homemade ham sandwich on the bus back to work. But at least Cora had agreed to serving herself a cheese ploughman’s with a big buttered baguette and tomato soup from a flask while Grace had Googled local СКАЧАТЬ