Summer of Secrets (14 page)

She blew her nose and looked at Caitlin intently.

‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘That’s silly,’ Caitlin said. ‘She must have been so proud––’

‘Anyway, the pictures – they are good, aren’t they?’ Summer broke in swiftly. ‘I mean, it’s not just my imagination?’

‘They’re
incredible
– well, at least these two. I’m not so keen on the pretty one.’

‘Too ordinary, right?’ Summer observed. ‘But still good. Look, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to blub. You look pooped.’

She stacked the pictures back in the cupboard as Caitlin, relieved, turned to go.

‘Just one more thing,’ Summer went on. ‘Alex told me today, that he was in Vernazza with his grandparents the other day and there’s a new gallery there. He’s pretty
certain that one of the pictures in the window is Mum’s.’

Her face brightened and she grabbed Caitlin’s hand.

‘Tomorrow we are going there, just you and me.’

‘But the boat trip . . .’ Caitlin’s heart sank but she checked herself, realising that her disappointment was pretty selfish considering what she’d just heard.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Summer said, smiling. ‘We’re still going on the trip with the others. But this is the plan . . .’

  CHAPTER 6  

‘How many were the examples to justify even the blackest suspicion?’

(Jane Austen,
Northanger Abbey
)

C
AITLIN RUBBED SUNSCREEN ON TO HER ARMS AND
stretched out on
Gina
’s deck.

As they motored along past villages that clung to the hillsides like lopsided cardboard houses in a children’s art display, Summer sat beside her, lost in thought, her knees tucked under
her chin. Ludo had handed the controls over to Jamie, who had been very enthusiastic at the start, but was now, Caitlin noticed, anxiously looking over his shoulder every few minutes to the back of
the boat where Izzy and Freddie were laughing and joking as if they’d known one another for years.

‘Who’s for a dip?’ Gabriella called, pulling off her sarong to reveal a gold and silver tankini. ‘Last one in the water’s a sissy!’

Jamie killed the engine and she executed a perfect dive, swam under the boat and emerged the other side, laughing and beckoning to them to join her.

Ludo pulled off his T-shirt and dived in beside her.

‘Come on, you two,’ he called to Caitlin and Summer.

Summer shook her head and waved him away. Caitlin hesitated.

‘I can’t dive,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘And – well, I’m not that strong a swimmer out of my depth.’

She could have kicked herself for being so totally uncool.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Ludo assured her. ‘Sit on the edge and slide in. I’ll catch you.’

She eased herself gingerly into the cool water, grasping his hand as she did so. As she let go of the boat he caught her and pulled her close and for the briefest instant, their eyes met and his
face approached hers, his lips parting slightly.

‘
Yow-eeee!
’

A huge splash engulfed them as Freddie dived into the water, closely followed by Izzy, who managed only a cracking belly flop. Caitlin could cheerfully have murdered him. By the time she’d
wiped the water from her eyes, Ludo was powering towards the beach, cutting through the water with all the grace and ease of a dolphin. Izzy and Freddie were splashing one another like a pair of
hyperactive five-year-olds and Jamie, still at the helm, was starting to look decidedly petulant.

‘Bring the boat in, Jamie,’ Ludo yelled. ‘We can picnic here.’ He gestured to a wooden landing stage a hundred metres or so up the beach. Caitlin knew there was no way
her uncoordinated breast stroke would get her that far; she pulled herself back on to the deck and sat splashing her feet in the water as they drifted to their anchoring spot.

‘Listen,’ Summer hissed at her, pulling her to one side. ‘As soon as we’ve eaten, we say we’re going for a walk, OK? There’s a path from the landing stage
that goes round the headland right into Vernazza village.’

Despite wanting to stay as close to Ludo as possible, Caitlin couldn’t help feeling a frisson of excitement at the thought of what lay ahead. Those wild paintings by Summer’s mum
were clearly in a class of their own. It was a crime to have them hidden away from the public. But, she thought, smiling to herself, if her plan took off, Summer’s mum wouldn’t be a
complete unknown for much longer.

And Caitlin Morland would also be celebrated – as the person who brought the work of Elena Cumani-Tilney into the public domain. The art project was just the start.

‘It’s not there.’

Summer stared disconsolately at the window of La Galleria Lorenzo. None of the four canvases on display bore even the vaguest resemblance to the ones in her bedroom.

‘Wait!’ Caitlin urged, as Summer turned away. ‘Let’s go in – they might have changed the window display since Alex saw it.’

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed open the door, ducking under the tendrils of vine trailing over the entrance.

‘Buongiorno, señorita. Benvenuto alla mia galleria piccola.’
The guy who greeted Caitlin was about her father’s age, and twice as large.
‘Che cosa posso
fare per voi?’

‘Um –
mi dispiace
, but I don’t speak Italian,’ Caitlin stammered. ‘Do you speak English –
parla inglese
?’

‘I speak a little, but no very good,’ he replied. ‘You want picture?’

‘I think you have a painting by Elena Cumani-Tilney,’ she said.

The guy frowned and eyed her suspiciously.

‘You are from the family?’ His voice suggested that if this were so, she could leave right there and then.

‘Oh, no,’ she said innocently, as the bell on the door clanged and Summer peered in and then gingerly entered the shop.

‘I’m an art student over from England – oh and this is my friend. Our tutor knows this area well and mentioned the work of this lady and said we should try to see some of it
while we were here.’

She paused. ‘We thought we saw one of the paintings in the window a couple of days ago.’

The guy nodded slowly.

‘Is right,’ he said, ‘but now – is gone. Sold.’

‘Sold?’ Summer gasped. ‘I don’t believe it.’

She hooked her hands behind her neck and banged her elbows together in frustration.

The guy stared at her for a moment and then shrugged.

‘But I have more of Elena’s work,’ the man said. ‘You want I bring them?’

‘Yes, please!’ Summer and Caitlin gasped in unison.

‘You wait – they are in the storeroom. By the way, I am Lorenzo Bastellado – I own this gallery.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Caitlin said impatiently.

Within moments Lorenzo was back, carrying two canvases covered in bubble wrap. He laid them on a table in the back corner of the gallery and beckoned them over.

‘There is this one,’ he said, placing a very small painting of a lemon grove in the conventional, pastel-coloured style on the table. ‘And then . . .’

He turned over the second canvas with a flourish.

‘There is this one!’

‘Oh – that’s stunning!’ Caitlin cried, her eyes feasting on the exuberant colours and abandoned brush strokes. The painting was of a moonlit sea, jagged rocks and
towering cliffs. But the focus of the picture was a rowboat, being tossed on the waves. In the prow of the boat stood a woman and in her arms, lifted high into the air, was a small child. The woman
was painted in dark colours but the child was almost luminous in quality – pale, glowing and ethereal like a ghost or spirit.

‘Summer, this is amazing,’ Caitlin breathed. ‘Look at the way the moonlight hits the water . . .’

She turned excitedly to Summer and stopped short.

Tears were pouring down Summer’s cheeks and she was shaking from head to toe.

‘Summer? What’s wrong?’ Caitlin looked anxiously at Lorenzo, trying to think of a reason to explain away her friend’s tears.

Lorenzo touched Caitlin’s arm.

‘Let her cry,’ he said softly. ‘Why not? You also would cry if you see your dear, late mother’s work, no?’

‘How did you know who I am?’ Summer asked a few minutes later when she had managed to compose herself enough to speak.

‘That way you banged your elbows,’ Lorenzo said, laughing. ‘So like your mother – I see that – how you say? – that
gesture
, many times.’

‘You knew my mum?’ Summer gasped. ‘How come?’

Lorenzo sighed.

‘Some years ago – maybe three now – I plan to exhibit her pictures in my gallery in Genoa . . .’

‘It was you?’ Summer exclaimed.

‘Ah, but it was not to be.’ Lorenzo shrugged. ‘Your father – it was felt not, how you say,
appropriate
. He was probably right . . . but a shame.’

Lorenzo’s voice trailed off and his tone changed.

‘She was so talented, was she not? Such vibrancy . . .’

‘But the two styles are so different,’ Caitlin observed, glancing from the chocolate box lemon grove to the passion and fire of the seascape.

‘It is true,’ Lorenzo agreed. ‘All her work is good, of course – but the pieces she painted at the abbey – oh! They are, how you say –
meravigliosa
!’

‘The abbey?’ Summer exclaimed.

Lorenzo frowned.

‘You remember – when she have to take time out, to go away, to––’

‘Oh, you mean her painting trips! Right – so this abbey was one of the places she went?’

Lorenzo looked away and busied himself with folding up the bubble wrap. ‘Sure, that’s right.’

‘It figures,’ Summer said, nodding. ‘Loads of her paintings have ruins in – Dad didn’t like them, said he preferred houses with roofs on!’

‘But I am being rude,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You would like a drink, yes? Is warm day.’

Summer nodded and Lorenzo disappeared down the stairs.

‘Shall I take photos of the pictures?’ Caitlin whispered. ‘I could blow them up really large . . .’

‘Yes, go for it,’ Summer urged her. ‘Quickly.’

By the time Lorenzo reappeared Caitlin had taken half a dozen shots and was stuffing her camera back in its case.

Lorenzo tossed a can of lemonade at each of them. As she yanked at the ring-pull, Caitlin noticed Summer’s hands were shaking.

‘What was the other picture? The one that was sold?’ Summer asked.

‘This is it.’ He laughed, pointing to the painting of the moonlit sea. ‘When I had to sell it, I realise I cannot part with it. And now I know why – you must have it. It
is only right.’

He gazed at the picture for a long time.

‘Your mother, she gave it to me as gift,’ he explained. ‘But I feel it is right for it to go to you.’

He walked briskly over to a cabinet and pulled out some fresh bubble wrap.

‘I can’t take it with me now,’ Summer said. ‘My father . . . well, will you keep it for me?’

‘Of course,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘And at home, I have something else you might like. I will make sure you get it.’

‘You want my address?’

‘I know your address,’ he said laughing. ‘Everyone know the Tilneys of Casa Vernazza, no? I will have it delivered, OK?’

‘
Allo moto, allo moto!
’ Caitlin’s phoned blared, shattering the peace of the gallery.

‘Yes? Oh, hi Ludo. Er – no, no we’re on our way back – what? Oh, OK then. Hang on.’

She pulled a face at Summer, who was staring at her open-mouthed.

‘It’s Ludo for you,’ she said. ‘He tried your phone but it’s off. Izzy gave him my number – sorry.’

Summer snatched the phone from Caitlin’s hand.

‘We’re coming, OK? Like what’s the rush? Oh well, I might have guessed it would be her. Caitlin’s just sketching something and then we’ll come.’

She thrust the phone back into Caitlin’s hand and turned to Lorenzo.

‘I’ll be back for the painting just as soon as I can, OK? And thanks, thanks so much.’

Summer was walking so quickly that Caitlin could hardly keep pace with her.

‘Isn’t it brilliant that you’re getting the picture?’ she said. ‘When are we going to be able to come back for it?’

‘
We
? Get real! From now on it’s just me – not you. I thought I could trust you.’

‘What?’ Caitlin demanded. ‘You can! What have I done? It’s not my fault Ludo got hold of my number.’