Читать книгу All the Little Lies - Chris Curran - Страница 16
ОглавлениеEve
Alex had emailed the Baltic to say he was researching a book and wanted to include some details about Stella Carr. He had kept it as vague as possible.
They arrived with an hour to spare. It was cold and drizzly but, despite the gloom outside, the gallery was full of light and space. When they left the glass elevator on the third floor, Alex wandered straight into the exhibition. Eve stood at the entrance reading the information on the partition.
The Baltic is especially glad to welcome the works of Stella Carr because she was born in Newcastle in 1966. The Tyne Bridge is clearly recognizable in one of her earliest paintings.
Nothing is known about her father, and her mother, Karen, died when Stella was only nine years old. From then on she lived with her grandmother. She attended Newcastle’s Bath Lane College of Art until she won a scholarship to St Martins in London.
Eve looked over towards Alex. So Stella was actually from Newcastle. Alex was a student here during the Eighties and later taught at the university. She wondered if anyone he knew from that time had ever come across Stella.
She read on:
The painting, Nana, shows Stella’s grandmother when she was in a nursing home suffering from dementia.
Stella’s only exhibition during her lifetime was at the Houghton Gallery in 1986. Five of her paintings were sold, but Stella refused to part with Nana. She moved to Italy the following year and was tragically killed when a fire destroyed her studio. Some of the paintings in our exhibition are from the original London show, but a number were produced during her final weeks in Italy. These have never been shown before. They survived because the studio was too small to store her finished works and they were kept in the main house.
So the studio was separate from the house. Surely that would have made it easier to escape from. She wondered what it was like. Needed to find out.
She walked into the exhibition space, her breath caught, and she couldn’t move. It was like being inside a kaleidoscope, not just because the colours were so vivid, but because she felt as if they were whirling around her as she tried, and failed, to focus on any single painting.
She walked to the glass case in the middle of the room where the catalogue for the Houghton exhibition was displayed. The photo of Stella that she’d seen on the Internet was on the front cover. A second copy of the catalogue was open at a two-page spread. On one side was Stella with another small and slender young woman. It was obviously the photograph that had inspired the painting of Maggie and Me that Eve had seen in the original article. They were wearing the green and blue dresses in what looked like a courtyard with white walls. The caption under the photograph read:
Stella Carr and Maggie de Santis.
So this was the friend she had lived with.
On the opposite page were four smaller pictures of the other artists: all young men. Eve took out her notebook and wrote down their names. Then began to walk around the room. The first painting was Nana and Eve looked into the lined face trying to see something of herself in the woman who was her great-grandmother. The old lady’s short neat hair was completely white, so if she had been a redhead it was impossible to tell. Above all Eve could detect love in every brushstroke. Stella had loved her nana very much.
Next was Maggie and Me. The two young women just as they were in the photo, but surrounded by dark woodland. It changed the character of the picture completely, making it almost sinister. She saw now that the girls were holding hands and an alternative title came into her head: Babes in the Wood.
She must have said the words aloud and became aware of Alex behind her, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder.
‘All right?’
‘Just thinking.’
‘You should look over here.’
He led her to one of the smallest paintings. It was of a young woman seated in a rowing boat surrounded by water that glinted with blues, greens and purples. The sky was heavy with clouds. Her red hair fell over her face as she looked down at a bundle that suggested a baby. It was called Madonna?
Eve was grateful for Alex still behind her because she felt as if she might fall. He pointed at the caption on the wall.
The woman is probably Stella’s mother – apparently Stella owned a photograph of herself and Karen in a similar position. However there have been suggestions that the mother is Stella herself. Rumours persist that she had a child that she gave up for adoption a few months before her death. The question mark could support this interpretation.
Alex said very softly, ‘Shall we take a moment before our meeting?’
They went down to the café. The rain had stopped and the glass-fronted room was bright. Arrows of sunshine split the clouds above the river. Not quite sure how she got there, she found herself at a table with a cup in front of her and a slice of cake on a striped plate.
She broke off a chunk of cake and swallowed without chewing or even tasting it. The coffee was only lukewarm, but it helped to bring her back to reality. She looked up at Alex. ‘That baby was me. And Stella was so unhappy. You could see that too, couldn’t you?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Look, I know what we want to ask, so why don’t you stay here, or go back to the hotel and let me see the curator. This is too much for you.’
She pulled away. ‘No, I’ve got to be there.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And we’d better go now.’
Stella
Ben opened his desk drawer and pulled out a folder, which she recognized as hers. It was the one he had picked up by mistake when they brought over her paintings. The one with her drawings in the style of George Grafton: the East End artist from the 1930s and ’40s.
‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bit naughty, but you did agree to us selling your work, didn’t you?’
She wondered where this was going. ‘Yes, all except the picture called Nana.’
‘Good and we’ll make sure we get the best possible price for them. I know you’re not like Maggie, born with a silver spoon and all that.’
Stella shifted in her seat feeling embarrassed.
‘Don’t look like that, sweetie. You have everything except money. Beauty, style and above all talent, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
She opened the folder hoping it would make him get a move on, but it was empty and she looked up at him.
‘The thing is, Stella,’ he said, ‘I’ve taken a bit of a liberty and sold those drawings already.’
‘But they weren’t for the show. They don’t reflect my work at all.’ Now she felt angry.
‘Don’t worry. You didn’t sign them, so no one will connect them with you. But I happened to know a collector who is mad about the East End group, and George Grafton in particular, so I couldn’t resist showing them to him. He was amazed at how well you’d caught George’s style and he just had to have them. You’ve made him very happy.’
He passed her the empty portfolio. ‘And if you feel like doing a few more, he’d love to buy them too.’
She didn’t know what to say. ‘He bought them?’
‘Absolutely. And I thought you’d prefer the money in cash, so here you go.’ He pulled an envelope from the open drawer and held it out to Stella.
All she could do was stare because it bulged with notes. ‘How much is it?’
‘Five hundred pounds and I suspect he would have paid more if I’d pushed him.’
‘Five hundred pounds for a few practice drawings?’
There was that big laugh again as he leaned back in his chair and shook his head at her. ‘Ah, the innocence of youth. I’m savouring it while I can. You’ll soon learn how the art world works. If a collector really wants something there’s no limit to what they’ll pay. So take the money and go celebrate with that naughty Maggie. I’m sure she’ll help you spend it.’
Eve
The curator was a tall woman around Eve’s age with dark hair in a shiny bob. Her white shirt and loose black trousers looked very elegant. She shook Alex’s hand. ‘Good to meet you, Alex. I’m Miriam.’
Alex said, ‘And this is Eve.’ They had decided he wouldn’t introduce her as his wife so their interest would initially seem completely professional. Eve had pulled her hair into a bun at the back of her head to minimize the mane of red that was so like Stella’s.
Alex explained they were researching Stella’s life, but knew little more than the information displayed outside the exhibition room.
Miriam shook her head. ‘That’s a shame. To be honest we were hoping you might shed some more light on her for us.’
‘What about the collector or collectors who supplied the new pictures?’
Eve was glad he was getting straight to the point.
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there except to say that we believe they belong to one person. We’ve only dealt with a firm of solicitors.’
Eve couldn’t hold back. ‘And these solicitors are?’
When Miriam turned to her something seemed to spark in her eyes. She had seen the likeness. ‘They’ve asked us to keep them anonymous too.’
There was nothing to lose. Eve sat up straight and took a deep breath. ‘I should tell you that I’m actually Stella’s daughter and was adopted by David Ballantyne: Ben Houghton’s partner.’
The curator stared. She half rose then sat down again and carried on looking at Eve for long seconds. When she spoke her voice was breathy. ‘Oh my word. We actually have a note in the gallery about the rumours that she had a child –– but no one seemed to know whether there was any substance to them.’
‘For various reasons I didn’t discover the truth myself until recently, but now I’d like to find out as much about my mother as I can. For instance, these rumours about her having a child: where did they originate?’
‘As far as I know they were simply a response to the Madonna? picture. The mother figure looks more like Stella than her own mother, Karen, for one thing.’
‘And I read somewhere that Stella was depressed just before her death. Have you heard anything about that? Or about any suspicious circumstances around her death?’
Eve felt Alex shift beside her. He obviously thought she was being too forceful, but the curator gave her a sympathetic smile and shook her head.
‘Not really. Most of the reports I’ve come across call it a tragic accident. There are always conspiracy theorists on the Internet, but I don’t take much notice of that kind of thing.’
‘I read in the gallery that Stella worked in a studio separate from the house. Do you have any information about it?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’
Eve could sense Alex was about to speak, but she came in with: ‘The main reason I’ve come to see you is that I’m hoping the owner of the newly discovered pictures might be able to help me. It might even be someone who knew Stella.’ Eve could hear her own voice becoming breathless, but she forced herself on. ‘So I’d like you to give my details to their solicitors and ask them to contact me.’
Miriam looked down at papers on her desk tapping them with a pen.
Alex spoke quickly. ‘You can assure them we have no intention of making any claims on the estate. As I said we just want to find out as much about Stella as we can. Eve obviously never met her mother. And her adoptive parents know very little about her.’
When Miriam spoke her tone was careful – guarded – was the word that sprang into Eve’s mind.
‘I see, yes. Well I’m afraid I can’t guarantee anything, but if you email me your details, and some evidence of your identity, I’ll see what the solicitors say. And obviously, if you discover anything you’d be willing to share with us we’d be very glad to hear it.’
