Andrews”…’
‘Who they?’ asked Detective Constable Crosby predictably.
‘A nouveau riche couple – he married money – wanting the world to know how well they’d done,’ said Fixby-Smith.
‘There’s a lot of that about,’ said Crosby.
Not as much, thought Sloan to himself, if the Proceeds of Crime Act got to them first. He had high hopes of this new piece of legislation – and the Assets Recovery Agency – succeeding with the fraud case he was working on now. When he could get to it, that is.
‘In 1748 in the case of the Andrews,’ added Fixby-Smith, pedantically. ‘I’m not sure offhand of the date of Peter de Vesey’s portrait of Sir Francis Filligree.’
‘Nothing changes, anyway,’ said Crosby, patently unimpressed.
Hilary Collins kept her gaze on the damaged door to the gallery. ‘I believe the view of the house in the painting was thought to be an unusual one. We will have a photograph of it in our records – I’ll look it out for you, Inspector.’
Detective Inspector Sloan looked up alertly. ‘Unusual?’
‘As Mr Fixby-Smith has pointed out,’ she said with careful loyalty, ‘it was – I mean, is – typical for its time but I see fromtheir notes that there was something our predecessors here in the museum found noteworthy when they accessed it all those years ago…’
Detective Inspector Sloan listened with attention as Hilary Collins balanced the difficult tightrope between tact and toadying. The curator obviously hadn’t found anything interesting about the portrait at all.
‘It was the particular view of the house,’ she said. ‘Apparently Tolmie Park couldn’t be seen in the ordinary way later – certainly not in our time – from the aspect in the painting.’ Unlike that of the curator, Hilary Collins’ mousecoloured hair didn’t need tossing about to make a point. ‘Not afterwards.’
‘Afterwards?’ queried Sloan.
‘After some subsequent improvements by Humphry Repton,’ she said.
‘And the Victorians,’ snapped the curator. ‘Mustn’t forget them. If they could ever be said to have improved anything.’
‘Later drawings and photographs always show the front of the house flat on,’ persisted Hilary Collins in a detached way.
‘Full frontal,’ murmured Detective Constable Crosby almost – but not quite – inaudibly.
‘And the view in the portrait?’ asked Sloan swiftly. Informality might be the watchword for today’s policing but it could go too far.
‘If my memory is right, Inspector,’ said Hilary Collins, primly ignoring the detective constable’s observation, ‘that showed the house as seen from the south-east as it was in the beginning.’
‘Before Humphry Repton got his hands on the landscape.’The curator reasserted himself with practised ease. ‘There should be one of his little red books about it here in the museum somewhere.’
‘Really, sir?’ The only little red book that Sloan knew about had political rather than architectural connections but all information was grist to the police mill. He tucked the fact away in the back of his mind. ‘Now, about your alarm system here…’
Hilary Collins waved a hand in the direction of the window but before they could get near enough to look at it Detective Inspector Sloan’s personal mobile telephone started to ring.
It was Superintendent Leeyes from the police station at Berebury on the other end of the line. ‘Get yourselves over to Tolmie Park as quickly as you can, Sloan,’ he commanded. ‘The house there is on fire.’
CHAPTER TWO
Somewhere where they most definitely did think of change as progress was at the firm of Berebury Homes Ltd. The local development and construction company had its offices in Berebury’s business quarter down by the river. A Project Team meeting was in progress there now.
There were four people present. One of them, Robert Selby, their financial controller, was in full voice. As was usual with those of that ilk, the money man was
‘Who they?’ asked Detective Constable Crosby predictably.
‘A nouveau riche couple – he married money – wanting the world to know how well they’d done,’ said Fixby-Smith.
‘There’s a lot of that about,’ said Crosby.
Not as much, thought Sloan to himself, if the Proceeds of Crime Act got to them first. He had high hopes of this new piece of legislation – and the Assets Recovery Agency – succeeding with the fraud case he was working on now. When he could get to it, that is.
‘In 1748 in the case of the Andrews,’ added Fixby-Smith, pedantically. ‘I’m not sure offhand of the date of Peter de Vesey’s portrait of Sir Francis Filligree.’
‘Nothing changes, anyway,’ said Crosby, patently unimpressed.
Hilary Collins kept her gaze on the damaged door to the gallery. ‘I believe the view of the house in the painting was thought to be an unusual one. We will have a photograph of it in our records – I’ll look it out for you, Inspector.’
Detective Inspector Sloan looked up alertly. ‘Unusual?’
‘As Mr Fixby-Smith has pointed out,’ she said with careful loyalty, ‘it was – I mean, is – typical for its time but I see fromtheir notes that there was something our predecessors here in the museum found noteworthy when they accessed it all those years ago…’
Detective Inspector Sloan listened with attention as Hilary Collins balanced the difficult tightrope between tact and toadying. The curator obviously hadn’t found anything interesting about the portrait at all.
‘It was the particular view of the house,’ she said. ‘Apparently Tolmie Park couldn’t be seen in the ordinary way later – certainly not in our time – from the aspect in the painting.’ Unlike that of the curator, Hilary Collins’ mousecoloured hair didn’t need tossing about to make a point. ‘Not afterwards.’
‘Afterwards?’ queried Sloan.
‘After some subsequent improvements by Humphry Repton,’ she said.
‘And the Victorians,’ snapped the curator. ‘Mustn’t forget them. If they could ever be said to have improved anything.’
‘Later drawings and photographs always show the front of the house flat on,’ persisted Hilary Collins in a detached way.
‘Full frontal,’ murmured Detective Constable Crosby almost – but not quite – inaudibly.
‘And the view in the portrait?’ asked Sloan swiftly. Informality might be the watchword for today’s policing but it could go too far.
‘If my memory is right, Inspector,’ said Hilary Collins, primly ignoring the detective constable’s observation, ‘that showed the house as seen from the south-east as it was in the beginning.’
‘Before Humphry Repton got his hands on the landscape.’The curator reasserted himself with practised ease. ‘There should be one of his little red books about it here in the museum somewhere.’
‘Really, sir?’ The only little red book that Sloan knew about had political rather than architectural connections but all information was grist to the police mill. He tucked the fact away in the back of his mind. ‘Now, about your alarm system here…’
Hilary Collins waved a hand in the direction of the window but before they could get near enough to look at it Detective Inspector Sloan’s personal mobile telephone started to ring.
It was Superintendent Leeyes from the police station at Berebury on the other end of the line. ‘Get yourselves over to Tolmie Park as quickly as you can, Sloan,’ he commanded. ‘The house there is on fire.’
CHAPTER TWO
Somewhere where they most definitely did think of change as progress was at the firm of Berebury Homes Ltd. The local development and construction company had its offices in Berebury’s business quarter down by the river. A Project Team meeting was in progress there now.
There were four people present. One of them, Robert Selby, their financial controller, was in full voice. As was usual with those of that ilk, the money man was
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