Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
V iola sipped at her coffee, ignoring the voice suggesting she add something stronger to it to help her situation. She knew by now that wouldn’t make anything better.
Staring out of the kitchen window, she contemplated calling Caroline. She needed to talk to someone, and there only was Caroline for that purpose. Forty-four years old with the sum of one friend — who was technically her agent. Her friendship with Gillian had proved it was possible to make new friends past forty, though. Should she be more trusting? She sighed. People weren’t trustworthy; her past proved that. But Gillian was different — a smile reached her lips — so very different. She’d never met anyone like her before. To say she was unique was an understatement.
A pain tugged inside her. Now she’d lost her. Had she pushed too hard? Expected too much? Asked for too much? She only wanted the best for Gillian, for her to find herself and be free of the shackles she seemed so willingly enslaved to.
She knew coming out wasn’t an easy task. It wasn’t even something she had found the courage to do herself. Someone else did it for her in the end. It may have hurt at the time, but she didn’t regret it. Being true to yourself is vital for a healthy body and mind. She couldn’t imagine what living as someone else your entire life would feel like.
All she felt now was lonely, almost as lonely as she had been when she first arrived at Kingsford. She thought the feeling had left her or lessened at least. Now she wondered if Gillian had helped mask those emotions or distracted her from them. It had been many months since her mum passed away, and her body and mind were getting used to her not being there; that much she felt. That pain resided deeper inside her now.
Now there was a new pain sitting on her surface. Her body and mind had been growing used to someone else being there, but now she was gone too. Why was she foolish enough to allow it to happen? She tried to be kind to herself, to tell herself she couldn’t have predicted this, that she would fall for the unobtainable in the wake of her grief.
The countryside had grown on her, too, but for a city girl, its vast contrast left her yearning for the buzz of urban life. As much as she appreciated its tranquil charm, the absence of familiar sounds and scents made her long for the bustling streets and the familiar pulse of London. Was it possible to be suffocated by nothingness? Clean air and silence? Maybe she should sell up and go back to the city, forget all about Gillian Carmichael.
As a tear rolled from her eye, she picked up the phone and called Caroline. She sniffed away her emotions as she picked up the call.
“I was about to call you,” Caroline greeted her. “We need to discuss the idea of extending the tour. Are you up for it? I’ve had a huge amount of interest across the States. I can have you there as soon as January. I need a hard yes as I need to get the team on promo ASAP. We’ll start on the West Coast and end at Carnegie Hall, then move on to Europe in the spring.”
Viola smiled at her use of the word ‘we’, knowing Caroline wouldn’t be there, leaving it all to the tour manager. Maybe it would be best to keep busy until she could get over Gillian. Some distance between them would help. A few thousand miles should do it.
“Sounds great,” she found herself saying before she could think any more about it. “Let’s do it.”
“Excellent. I’ll start the ball rolling. The reviews for the Proms are all positive. Returning to live performances will please a lot of your fans.”
“Mmm,” Viola hummed.
“Are you okay? You were happy with your performance, weren’t you?”
“Yes, all that was fine. It was in the dressing room when Gillian kissed me that things started to go awry.”
A spluttering, gargled noise, followed by a coughing sound, came down the line.
“She kissed you?” Caroline finally said, her tone hovering between shock and fascination.
“Yes. Then she ran away.”
The sound of Caroline sucking in a breath came down the phone, followed by, “Oh.”
“Mmm,” Viola murmured again, the memory of Gillian’s taste mingling with champagne lingering on her lips, not to mention how hard she had fought to resist the temptation of finishing the bottle alone.
“Have you spoken to her since?”
“Yes. She wants us to be friends.”
“Ouch.”
Viola sensed the vibration in her throat coming to hum again. She stopped herself, knowing it was a numbness coming over her and taking her power of speech. She needed to think clearly and act. To look after herself; protect herself.
“I’m thinking of selling Kingsford. It was always meant for Mum; I was only ever going to be here on and off. It’s too painful to stay; it would be easier to be in love with Gillian somewhere else entirely. Australia is beginning to feel like the perfect destination.”
“How does Gillian feel about you selling?” Caroline asked, confusing Viola with her concerned tone.
Viola huffed. “What has it got to do with her?”
“Considering you are selling to run away from her, and it’s her house, then I’d say it’s got everything to do with her.”
“I’m not running away, and it’s not her house!” Viola’s voice sharpened, the words escaping before she could stop them. She paused, trying to regain control of her emotions.
“You know what I mean,” Caroline insisted.
She did. Kingsford would always be Gillian’s, regardless of who owned it.
“Have you told her you are considering it at least?” Caroline continued.
“No. It only just came to me, and if I will be touring a lot next year, it makes sense. I should leave whilst the pain is so strong.” Looking out the window, she added thoughtfully, “This place sucks you into its little universe, and I’m not sure it ever spits you back out again. It would have been perfect for Mum.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I need you back at work,” Caroline said, adding more cautiously, “Surely if you sell, then Gillian will be at the mercy of someone else. Someone who may not be as sympathetic to Kingsford as you have been.”
“Is that my problem?” Viola sniffed.
“I thought you cared about her. Perhaps even loved her.”
“I do, but I can’t dictate my life around some of her emotions while she ignores others. She’s doing everything she can to push them away.” Realising how much frustration was in her voice, Viola took a breath, only to find her voice wavering as she continued. “I can see how she feels about me. She says it with her eyes, even if she won’t admit it.”
There was a soft sigh on the other end before Caroline’s voice came through, filled with quiet sympathy. “You know you can’t force these things. If it’s meant to be, it will be. You must give her space and hope she comes around.”
“I know.” Viola sighed. “I said as much to her.” Her phone vibrated against her ear to indicate another call on the line. A glance at the number set her heart racing. “I’m going to have to phone you back. The Courtauld Institute are calling about that painting.”
“Which painting?”
“The one I hung up that Gillian disliked,” Viola confirmed.
“What did they want with it?”
“I hope I’m about to find out. I’ll call you back.” Viola hung up and accepted the incoming call before she lost it.
“It’s Georgina, from the Courtauld Institute.”
“Hi,” Viola replied.
“We’ve looked at your painting and carried out some sympathetic tests.”
“Great,” Viola said, gripping the phone. “What’s the conclusion?”
There was a brief pause before Georgina spoke again, making Viola nervous. “Have you heard of the artist Artemisia Gentileschi?”
“Only recently, from Arte, Charlotte’s wife. Seventeenth-century artist, right? Not bad for a woman in that era.”
“Correct. She was very much a modern woman in a patriarchal world. A lot of her early work ended up attributed to male artists or even her father as their styles were similar, so we’ve only recently begun cracking open the world of Artemisia in some respects. She came to England in the 1630s and worked alongside her father in the court of Charles I. Seven paintings by her are recorded in the inventories, and only one was thought to survive. Following the king’s execution, we suspect that many were sold off and scattered across Europe. Another similar painting was recently discovered in the store at Hampton Court Palace, having been attributed to someone else. This painting holds a CR brand. Any idea what that means?”
“No,” Viola said, eager for the woman to continue.
“Carolus Rex. King Charles, Charles I specifically, in this case. It was one of the lost paintings. We’ve uncovered a CR branding under a couple of layers of backing material of your painting. It was very faint, but the imaging techniques we use revealed it.”
The penny dropped, and Viola quickly asked, “You think mine could be one of these lost paintings?”
“From what I’ve seen, I’m one hundred percent sure. Some notable experts on Gentileschi’s work have looked it over. We all agree it is an original. We tested some flecks of paint and one in particular interested us called lead antimonate yellow . It’s an unusual pigment particularly associated with her work. The nature of the painting, with the young woman stabbing the man in the back, is very much her style, I’m afraid to say. A lot of her work depicts very dramatic scenes, some very violent towards men. She was raped as a young woman, and men aren’t portrayed favourably in her art. She was quite the feminist. You own a very important piece of art. Thank you for bringing it to our attention.”
“What do I do now? Is it still mine, or should it be returned to someone?” Viola asked, realising she was completely clueless when it came to such things.
“No, it’s yours. It’s lost, not stolen. We’d like to know more about the provenance, but there is no doubt about what it is.”
“Do lost paintings often come with a provenance?”
“Yes and no. Some lost paintings aren’t actually lost but misattributed and have a provenance. With a painting that has disappeared completely, like in this case, provenance is trickier. Where did you find this?”
“It came into my possession with a house purchase; they were left in the attic. I do know the previous owner; it was her late husband that bought it.”
“It’s so often the case that these paintings come to light following deaths and house moves. I expect she will want it back.” Georgina chuckled.
“I expect so too,” Viola agreed.
“I can put you in touch with someone who can help you with everything. He’s a renowned art dealer and has experience with paintings of this level of importance.”
“Thanks,” Viola said, massaging her temples as she tried to take everything in. “That would be great. How much is it worth? Thousands?”
“Millions, more like. Although the lack of provenance could affect the price.”
Taking a moment to absorb the enormity of the figure, her thoughts went to the other paintings. “Are the other paintings worth anything?”
“No. There was nothing of value amongst the rest, unfortunately. I wouldn’t call any art worthy of the bin, but in the case of those…” She let out a light chuckle. “I can see why they were left in the attic. The Gentileschi on the other hand, someone missed a trick.”
“Indeed.” Viola smiled, thinking of Gillian’s disdain for it just because her husband had bought it.
“We’re happy to temporarily store the Gentileschi here if you wish. I’m assuming you don’t have insurance since you didn’t know what it was.”
“No, I don’t. I would be grateful if you would, thanks.”
The thought that Gillian had likely thrown the painting in the attic, where it lay discarded for however long, made her shudder.
“No problem. When you’ve decided what you want to do with it, we can arrange transportation. We can also prepare it for sale if you want to go down that route, as it needs some cleaning and restoration.”
“Thank you,” Viola answered, trying to keep track of the conversation even as her head was buzzing with it all.
“One last thing. The painting will garner interest from the media and the art world. Are you happy for us to announce its discovery and handle any PR?”
“Please do.”
“We’ll keep your name out of it,” she confirmed.
Having said goodbye to Georgina, she dialled Caroline, who answered immediately.
“And?” came the immediate demand.
“Erm, it’s an Artemisia Gentileschi.”
The line went quiet. Viola checked her phone to make sure they were still connected. Caroline eventually spoke.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, have you heard of her?”
“Of course.” Caroline scoffed. “You know, she has quite a story.”
“My contact at the Courtauld Institute mentioned she was raped.”
“Yes, by a family friend. Her father took him to court for damages done to his ‘property’; she was then tortured to make sure she was telling the truth. The case was found in her father’s favour, but the perpetrator never served his five-year banishment from Rome, and in the end, she was the one who left.”
Viola rolled her eyes. “Typical.”
“What are you going to do? Sell it?”
“I can’t. It’s not mine, is it?”
“Whose is it?” Caroline questioned.
“Gillian’s. You think she would have left it in the attic if she knew what it was?”
“I guess not, no.” Caroline paused, then continued, “You know what this means?”
“No,” Viola replied, not having had a second to think about anything.
“If you do sell Kingsford, Gillian could be in the market for a new home, or an old one. A Gentileschi could be worth a fortune.”
“Millions, according to my contact,” Viola corrected.
“There you go then. Gillian will be overjoyed. Everything will be as it should.”
How would everything be as it should if she didn’t have Gillian?
“I better go. I need to digest this and work out what I’m going to do.”
If the summer ball and the photoshoot for Country Life had taught her anything, it was that Gillian belonged at Kingsford Manor. Viola had spent months trying to shake off the guilt that buying the place crushed Gillian even when the wheels had been in motion long before she purchased it from her. It was Gillian’s circumstances that had led to the loss. If she’d known about the painting, then she wouldn’t have lost anything. The thought of never having met her hit Viola hard in the chest.
Opening her phone, she searched through her emails from the solicitor. There was one document she needed to check — the covenant placed on the property when she bought it. In it was a schedule with an itemised list of contents to be included in the sale which were to remain with the house in the event of any future sale.
She skimmed through it. Not seeing what she was looking for, she gave it another more thorough check. There was no mention of paintings in the attic; the twelve listed she could place in the house. Gillian must have viewed them as garbage not to list them. If the Gentileschi wasn’t amongst the paintings on the covenant, then legally they passed into her possession upon the sale. Morally, however, they belonged to Gillian.
Her mind raced with possibilities. Gillian would be able to afford to buy the estate back if she decided to sell it. There wasn’t any choice other than to sell it; Kingsford Manor must be restored to its rightful owner. If she couldn’t convince Gillian that she should find peace with herself, she could at least help restore order to her life.
As for herself, she would make a quiet retreat into the shadows. She had no intention of sticking around whilst Gillian insisted on play-acting in her own life. She would miss Kingsford Manor and its quirky little village, but now it served as a reminder of how she didn’t fit in. She’d come to see through the changes her mum envisaged, and they had been accomplished. She’d dragged the building out of the last century, where Gillian left it — along with herself — to languish, and she’d allowed it to breathe.
Picking up her phone again, she dialled Walter’s number. She would have to make sure everything was in order before speaking to Gillian. Despite needing some distance from the woman responsible for the sharp, gnawing pain in her broken heart, Viola knew that their paths were going to cross sooner than she expected.