Stella frowned and glanced over at Tom, who was engrossed in his magazine.
‘You’ve always said that the Palmer painting is only valuable for sentimental reasons.’
‘My Palmer painting, yes. But the work you sent me …’ and he paused. ‘You saw the painting on the back?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sure it’s the work of Francis Bacon.’
‘The Francis Bacon? Really?’
‘Yes. Bacon worked in the Porthmeor Studios in St Ives for a short period around the same time as Ben gave us his paintings. Ben was very hard up and used to paint on whatever he could find: boards, card, even other artists’ canvases. Bacon was famous for destroying or throwing away anything he wasn’t happy with and I’m sure he’s painted on some of Bacon’s discarded work.’
‘Why would he give a valuable Bacon painting away to Saul? If Ben was so hard up, why didn’t he keep it for himself?’
‘Who knows? Ben never thought much of Bacon’s work, called him a “dauber” and anyway, he might not even have identified it as Bacon’s work. Bacon was in quite an experimental stage when he worked in St Ives and the painting is barely finished. Certainly, none of us had any idea how valuable his paintings would become decades later.’
‘So you think it is valuable?’
She heard her father laughing slowly down the phone.
‘The price of Bacon’s work has gone through the roof. Ten, twenty million or more. As I said, Bacon’s work in St Ives was an important experimental period for him, so even though it’s unfinished, it’s of huge cultural and developmental significance. Even if it doesn’t get authenticated by the Bacon estate, I’m sure someone, somewhere, will pay a f
ortune for it.’
66
Cassandra had spent the day quietly, reading and thinking; thinking about the past and particularly about the future. The fire had been a wake-up call for her in too many ways to count. She realized now that losing her job had hit her harder than she’d been able to admit. Before that terrible moment in the Ivy, Cassandra Grand had been indestructible, a goddess on her throne; nothing could touch her and everything she did turned to gold, assuming, that is, that gold was the colour of the season. She had spent so long going up, up, up, that when her wings melted, her fall was wounding and complete. She hadn’t just lost her job, she’d lost Max, she’d lost her dream of building a Cassandra Grand empire and most importantly, she had lost her elevated place in the world. And now, looking back at it from the ruins of her once-glittering life, she realized that she had lost a lot more along the way. She’d lost her friends, her family and a little piece of her soul. But Cassandra was a survivor and nothing had made her realize that more than the Stables inferno. She’d survived literally. It was surely a sign that she had to pick herself up and get back on track. Cassandra had settled down into the sofa with a notebook and a Mont Blanc pen to begin planning her fightback when the phone went.
‘Miss Grand. It’s Miss Broughton at Briarton School,’ said the anxious voice of Ruby’s head teacher.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’m afraid Ruby has disappeared from her room,’ said the teacher.
‘Well, where has she gone?’ snapped Cassandra, her heart suddenly beating faster.
‘Nobody has seen her since supper. Her friends Amaryllis and Pandora are also missing.’
‘And have you phoned their parents?’
‘Yes. They are in Athens and had assumed the girls were at school.’
‘Well, I’m assuming they’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me,’ snapped Cassandra.
‘We think they might have slipped out of the grounds …’
‘Can’t you look after your pupils properly?’ Cassandra shouted down the phone.
‘We have procedures that usually work,’ said Miss Broughton sounding unusually flustered. ‘Of course we can’t keep the girls on a twenty-four hour watch.’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘It’s only been a couple of hours.’
Cassandra inhaled sharply to compose herself. She thought back to her own time at school. In every year there were the fast girls in class; the ones who smoked before everyone else, partied before everyone else, had sex before everyone else. She shuddered. Ruby was only just fourteen.
‘I don’t know if this is relevant,’ said Miss Broughton cautiously. ‘But we’ve interviewed all the girls’ friends and apparently Amaryllis had been talking about going to “the Brits”?’ She said the last phrase as if she was trying to pronounce an obscure town in Africa. ‘I believe it’s some sort of musical shin-dig or something.’