Chapter 17 Dorothea
Dorothea
Two Years Before
‘Can you be persuaded to come out of retirement and do one last collection?’
Dorothea’s heart sank at Gabe’s question.
She could almost hear him holding his breath on the other end of the line.
She glanced around her studio at the half-finished paintings and sculptures.
At one time you couldn’t move in here for all the canvases and the art paraphernalia, but these days the studio was mostly used as a garden room, somewhere she sat with a cup of tea and the wireless radio that Rosemary had given her for her birthday, looking out over the garden with Solly at her feet.
Her fingers weren’t as supple as they used to be, despite all the cod liver oil tablets she washed down her throat.
But more than that, she had nothing left to say.
‘I don’t know, Gabe …’ The truth was she didn’t need the money and she enjoyed her quiet way of life.
She still saw the girls – they were always the girls, despite being in their seventies – their bond could never be broken.
And she enjoyed pottering in her garden, going for walks with Dennis and the dogs.
It was a life she felt lucky to have. In her heyday she’d made Gabe a lot of money, and he still benefitted from her royalties, but she knew she remained his biggest client.
Of course he’d want her to continue working, and he knew a brand-new collection could fetch a great price.
He’d become her agent when she was about thirty and noise had begun to surround her creations.
He’d visited the gallery in London where some of Dorothea’s work was being exhibited and had given her his card.
He’d been up and coming himself back then, five years her junior but hungry for success.
They’d risen through the art world together and as a result they’d formed a close working relationship.
She thought of Gabe as the younger brother she never had.
He had been the one who had suggested the name change all those years ago; it had come at just the right time.
‘It would be amazing. A new collection after all these years. Just imagine how surprised and pleased your fans would be.’
She had to put a stop to this. She didn’t want to hear Gabe waxing lyrical about what could be. ‘Let me think about it,’ she said curtly. That was the best way to handle Gabe.
‘Do you mean it? You’ll really think about it?’
‘I said so, didn’t I? Now I have to go. I have a paper to read and you’re disturbing my morning routine.’
She could almost see him rolling his eyes in mock frustration. ‘Have it your way,’ he chuckled.
It was peaceful in the morning, her favourite time of day, the grass ice-tipped and crunchy, the sun low in the sky, making the trees in the wood look black. Gabe was disturbing all that with his talk of new collections.
‘One more thing …’
‘Gabe.’
‘It’s important, Dot.’
‘Fine.’ She suppressed a sigh and smoothed down the newspaper that she’d laid across her lap.
‘A man has called here a few times, asking questions about you.’
She froze, alarmed. ‘What? Who?’
‘His name is Sidney Crane and he says he’s writing a biography.’
‘A biography? Whatever for?’
‘Money, I suppose. He wants information. Obviously, I haven’t given him any.’
‘I should hope not.’ Her mind raced. Why now?
Could this biographer have found out what she had done?
Images from that terrible night flashed through her head: the chip in the glass ashtray, that spot of blood on the mushroom-coloured carpet.
And then an even more horrifying thought occurred to her.
If he knew about that, did that mean he also knew what happened afterwards?
‘And it’s doubtful he’ll find anyone to talk to,’ Gabe continued, and Dorothea had to zone back in to what he was saying.
‘But maybe you should warn Annette, Maisie and Rosemary. Just in case he tries to harass them.’
‘You don’t have to worry about them,’ she said confidently. She trusted the three of them with her life. ‘Thanks for letting me know. Now, can I get back to my paper?’ She tried to sound nonchalant, but she felt sick.
‘Absolutely. Remember to think about the collection.’
‘Goodbye, Gabe.’
Her heart was still thudding as she ended the call, and she placed a hand on her chest and breathed deeply.
She needed to find this Sidney Crane. She couldn’t allow that book to be published. She had to put a stop to it at once.