The Girl in the Picture by Kerry Barrett

Author:Kerry Barrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Ltd
Published: 2017-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

Present day

Ella

It was strange being back in London. I’d not been away that long, and we’d been into Brighton a few times so we were hardly country mice, but already I’d got used to our slower pace of life in Sussex.

It was nice, though, to be on the train by myself. I read my book, drank a coffee, and stared out of the window.

George was coming to London for some lecture at one of the universities. He had booked himself on an earlier plane so we planned to go to the private members’ club and see Violet’s painting for ourselves. I’d brought all the sketches I’d found, and George was confident that he could determine if the same artist had created them and the painting in the club.

I got on the bus from Victoria, enjoying watching London slide past the windows, and jumped off at Piccadilly Circus. I was meeting George at the café in the big bookshop there but I knew he was bound to be late, so I settled down with an iced bun and another coffee and waited.

He rang me, ten minutes later, flustered and full of apologies. ‘I’m stuck on the bloody train,’ he said. ‘I knew it was a mistake to fly into Luton. Where is Luton anyway?’

I giggled. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I can wait.’

‘No, darling, you go ahead and charm their socks off and I’ll meet you there. I’ll be about an hour max. The manager is a guy called Scott something – I’ll forward you the email so you’ve got all the details. He’s expecting us.’

I shrugged. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let me know if you’re going to be any later, though. I need your expert eye.’

I waited for the email to arrive, then I drained my coffee, pulled on my cardigan – summer was definitely in its last gasps – and wandered out of the shop’s back door on to Jermyn Street.

The club was in a white stone building, with steps leading up to the entrance, flanked either side with pillars, and a heavy, black front door.

‘Crumbs,’ I said. It was very imposing. I wondered if Violet had ever been here but I thought she probably hadn’t. I imagined she stayed in Sussex most of the time, and I didn’t think establishments like this were very welcoming to women back then.

Nor, I quickly discovered, were they welcoming to women now.

The front door was open, so I went straight in. Inside it looked a bit like a hotel reception, with a heavy wooden desk to my left where a youngish man sat at a computer screen. In front of me were two glass-panelled doors and through them I could see a dining room straight ahead, what looked like a bar to the right, and a large sweeping staircase on the left, lined with paintings. I felt a glimmer of excitement that I was going to see Violet’s finished work in the flesh.

‘Can I help you?’ the man at the desk said.

I smiled at him.

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