A Family Affair by Michael Innes

Author:Michael Innes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: A Family Affair
ISBN: 9780755120949
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2012-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

11

The interruption might well have been fatal. For one thing, Bobby felt he ought to make noises deprecating the notion of his staying to lunch at all. For another – and when this had been briskly brushed aside – it became evident that Billington was to remain in attendance throughout the meal. It seemed possible that this might exercise an inhibiting effect on the flow of his employer’s reminiscences. But nothing of the sort occurred. For Billington was very much a confidential retainer. As well as rivalling Sir Thomas as a connoisseur of Rugby football, it soon appeared that he was something of an oracle on Carrington family history as well.

‘Fact is that I possessed a Stubbs,’ Sir Thomas said. ‘Ought to possess it still. But there was this damned joke. That right, Billington?’

‘Well, Sir Thomas, we can’t be all that clear. About the picture ever having been genuine for a start, that is. We have to recall your late mother’s temperament, in a manner of speaking. And very rum it was, sir, to speak with all respect.’

‘Perfectly true.’ Sir Thomas paused to consume several spoonfuls of soup – a feat which the character of his moustache rendered one of considerable virtuosity. ‘My mother had a very good seat, mark you, and could take her fences with the best of them. But she was certainly rum. Billington – that’s a very good word for her. Rum.’

‘Thank you, Sir Thomas.’

‘Finished in Paris, you know, Appleby. Regular thing. None of those damned Swiss places in her time. But she broke out. With the drawing master, it seems. And the interest never left her. Always dabbling with her paintbox. Jokes, too. Painted something deuced indecent once – a couple of heathen goddesses quite starkers – and passed it off as by some desperate old Italian.

‘But nudes,’ Bobby said, ‘aren’t really indecent, are they?’

‘My dear boy, they are when cooked up by a Victorian baronet’s lady. That right, Billington?’

‘Undoubtedly, Sir Thomas.’

‘So in the end I couldn’t be quite certain about this Stubbs. It was my mother who came on it, you see, poking around in the stables.’

‘The stables?’

‘Right place for a painting of two uncommonly fine Arabs, I’d say. Take the kitchen at Christ Church. Had a splendid painting of a butcher’s shop in my day, by some top-ranking painter of the Resurgence.’

‘The Renaissance,’ Bobby said automatically – for he had lately been tending to pick up some of his tutor’s habits.

‘That’s right. And an inspiration to the college chef, if you ask me. Not there now, I’m told. Shoved into some picture gallery. Billington, what was I talking about?’

‘The unfortunate matter of the George Stubbs, Sir Thomas.’

‘So I was. Perhaps we ought to get back to Rugger. Interest you a good deal more – eh, Appleby?’

‘I’d like to hear about the end of Stubbs first, sir.’

‘Not much to tell. We all liked this picture my mother had found – or said she had found.’

‘You were doubtful about that at the time?’

‘Lord, no. She was an old woman then, and the notion of one of her jokes never entered our heads.

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