Tom turned it over.
‘Another painting,’ said Stella. ‘I don’t think that’s Ben Palmer, it’s too messy. Maybe it’s by another artist?’
The picture on the back wasn’t completely finished, but they could see that it was painted in a more brutal style: energetic brushstrokes and thick daubs of dark paint were emphasized with bright flesh tones and bottle greens.
‘That’s odd, isn’t it? Why would someone paint on the back?’
Stella thought for a moment.
‘Do you remember Dad saying that Ben Palmer was really poor? Didn’t he say he used to paint on anything he could find lying around the studios? Why don’t we show this to him? I bet he’ll be interested.’
She reached into her bag, took out the camera she carried everywhere and snapped both sides of the painting.
‘He loves Ben Palmer’s stuff. When he gets some money from his exhibition maybe he could buy it.’
Tom put the painting back in the space shuttle. ‘It’s stuffed in here so she probably won’t want much for it. He’s got a computer, hasn’t he? Why don’t you send over the photos and see if he likes it?’
She turned and gave him a long kiss.
‘What’s that for?’
‘For being nice about Dad. And for the Space Shuttle.’
Tom beamed.
‘O K, enough romance, let’s scarper,’ he said quickly. ‘Jacques will get all queeny if he thinks we’ve been mucking about in here.’ Stella was spending a relaxing evening in front of the fire with Tom after their chilly Oxford trip. They were just reading magazines and sharing a bottle of Chardonnay when the phone rang.
‘Hello, Stella, it’s your father,’ said a rich baritone at the other end of the line.
‘Oh, hi, Dad. How are you?’
‘Muddling through,’ he said grumpily, but Stella could detect a slightly more upbeat tone in Christopher’s voice.
‘Have you heard from Chessie?’ she asked gently.
‘A few letters from the lawyers,’ he sighed. ‘Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be OK, sweetheart, don’t you worry.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Stella, smiling into the phone. ‘Anyway, did you get the images I sent you?’
‘Yes, I did and that’s what I’m calling about,’ said Christopher. ‘Where did you find this painting again?’
‘In Julia’s gallery. We thought it might be by the same artist as the ones you have at Trencarrow.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is; I’m certain it’s Ben Palmer. Have you asked Julia about it?’
‘Not yet. Did you like it?’
‘First of all, are you entirely sure it is Julia’s to sell?’
‘As I said, we haven’t spoken to her about it. Why?’
‘Well, if it’s Ben’s work, then I’m certain it belonged to Saul,’ said Christopher cautiously. ‘Bless him, but Ben didn’t sell very many paintings, so I doubt they’re from the open market. I certainly know Ben gave Saul some paintings at about the same time as me in about 1959 or 1960. I’m convinced this is one of them.’
Stella moved off the sofa and went to sit on a chair by the window, out of earshot of Tom.
‘Do you think Julia was willed them in Saul’s estate? Or perhaps Emma has given them to Julia to sell.’
‘Well, whoever owns that painting has something very valuable on their hands; something very valuable indeed,’ said Christopher.