Chapter 32

The following morning I bumped into Jim when we were both coming out of our front doors. I hadn't seen him since Saturday morning, after Miles's visit, but had heard him return from Samantha's the night before. Here was my opportunity to ask him about the gamekeeper's cottage.

‘Morning, Claire,' he said.

‘Morning, Jim. Did you have a good time with Samantha?'

He nodded and smiled.

‘Do you mind me asking if you know anything about a gamekeeper's cottage?'

‘Sure, why?'

‘Helen and I went to see Margaret yesterday, the woman who wrote the letter, and she mentioned that Lady Violet did some painting there.'

‘It hasn't been used since the war, but I can show you now if you like. It's in the bluebell woods, about a five-minute walk from the lake.'

We followed the lawn down to the lake, the grass, white with frost, crunching beneath our feet. It was quiet, apart from the distant hum of a car, one of those crisp winter days, and the sky was deep blue with wisps of cloud. A sheet of ice covered the lake, and a couple of ducks waddled about, quacking. The trees surrounding the lake were whitened with frost and it looked like a winter wonderland. Being outside in the countryside was uplifting, and I inhaled the clean air.

Jim led me to a stile and took my hand, helping me over. In the field, a group of brown Jersey cows huddled at the other end.

‘That big old oak tree is my favourite on the property,' Jim said. ‘Over two hundred years old.'

The tree was majestic, with its thick trunk and branches creating a vast canopy. Jim seemed to be truly passionate about his job.

‘Wow, amazing,' I said, thinking about all the people who would have walked past it in that time.

‘This is Long Meadow,' Jim said. ‘And that's the Dairy Field. Beyond you'll find Home Farm.'

Home Farm, mentioned by Margaret, where Luca had apparently been living and working.

On the right was a gate with a sign saying bluebell woods. He lifted the latch on the gate, and we entered the woods.

We followed the path, the deep blue sky visible through gaps in the trees above, the sun casting dappled light onto the path. It was so quiet, apart from birds calling to each other and the occasional squawk from a pheasant. Ahead, I spotted a small cottage built from red brick, with a chimney. It was straight out of a fairy tale.

‘There it is,' Jim said. ‘The Earl of Elmbridge had it converted into an art studio for Lady Violet after the gamekeeper went off to fight in the war. It hasn't been touched since she died, I don't think. There isn't a path leading to it as there's nothing for visitors to see.'

This was an exciting development and I caught my breath. What mysteries could be found there if it hadn't been used since Lady Violet's death in 1941? Would any of her paintings still be there?

‘Can we take a closer look?' I said.

‘I don't have a key with me, and I'll have a job finding it.'

‘Can I have a peek through the window, at least?'

‘Okay, go on then,' he said.

He picked up a big stick and used it to bat the ferns out of the way. When we reached the cottage, I peered through one of the windows, taking in the grand fireplace with a Persian rug in front of it. Dust sheets covered a couple of armchairs, and what looked like a chaise longue. Then I spotted the easel. On it was a portrait of what appeared to be a man, but I couldn't make out much. Could it be Luca?

‘I need to find out where the key is,' I said. ‘But what if you can't find it?'

‘If going inside will help with your exhibition, we can always break the lock, if we have to,' Jim said.

His radio buzzed, and he removed it from his belt.

Jim, we've got a ewe stuck in some barbed wire, over in the Dairy Field. Over, came a voice.

‘All right, I'll be there shortly. Over,' he said into the radio, then turned to me. ‘I have to go, Claire.'

‘Okay.'

When we reached the gate, I thanked Jim for showing me the cottage. We parted company, and he headed off towards the field in the distance.

As I walked back to the office, I couldn't get the gamekeeper's cottage out of my mind. Could that really be a portrait of Luca that I'd seen through the window?

Later, I sent Jim a text asking if he'd had a chance to find the key to the cottage yet. After a bit of a search, he found it in a cupboard in the shed, and left it on my desk with a note while I was at lunch. I seized the opportunity to go straight down there. When I unlocked the door and stepped inside, I was met with a damp, musty smell. I switched on the light and the bulb glowed a little, making a light fizzing noise. My eyes were drawn again to the painting of the man I had seen through the window. He was dark, and very handsome, and he wore a white shirt open a few buttons at the neck. The signature said Violet Grant: Grant must have been her maiden name as I'd read in the guidebook that the earl's family name was Wentworth. Maybe she'd wanted to use a different surname for her identity as an artist.

The man in the painting looked familiar, and I felt as though I knew him, but couldn't work out why. Perhaps he looked like someone famous. I used my phone to take a photo of the portrait; then, picking it up, I looked on the back, and there it was: Luca Mancini, November 1940. Margaret had said he was living with the Marshalls on the farm, but weren't the Italians the enemy? I knew from history lessons at school that they changed sides at some stage, but at the beginning of the war Italians would probably have been considered for internment.

Looking around the cottage, it was as if no one had stepped inside since Lady Violet's death. The guidebook said she'd died while staying at her house in Suffolk in July 1941, of influenza. It did seem strange for someone in their early twenties to have died in that way. Perhaps Margaret would know more about what had happened. On our next visit to Hyacinth Place, would she tell us more?

I opened the drawers in the desk to see if there might be something interesting inside, such as a letter or a journal. But I found they were all empty. Disappointed, I studied the other paintings lined up on the floor, by the wall, one by one, in case doing so gave me any clues to the mystery that seemed to be unfolding. They were all still lifes – one was of a bowl of fruit – and the only portrait was the one of Luca. Who was he to Lady Violet?

I closed the door, locked up and headed to Jim's shed to return the key. On the way, I spotted Helen with a man taking photos of the house, and I presumed he was Ed, who she'd mentioned that night at the Old Fox.

Approaching them, I said, ‘Hello, there.'

‘Hi, Claire,' Helen said. ‘I was going to bring Ed over to your office to introduce you, but you've saved me a trip.'

Ed continued to snap away, his face scrunched in deep concentration, and didn't acknowledge me.

I told Helen about my discovery at the gamekeeper's cottage and showed her the painting on my phone.

‘That's a wonderful portrait,' she said. ‘Lady Violet was talented.'

‘She was indeed. He seems familiar though, doesn't he?'

Helen looked at the photo again. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. Can't put my finger on it though.'

Ed came over and Helen introduced us. He had floppy dark hair and was older than me, probably in his forties. He wore a jumper with a V-neck and jeans.

‘Pleased to meet you, Claire,' he said, proffering his hand. I shook it.

‘Hi.'

‘Claire will need photos taken of the below stairs rooms when they're ready for the exhibition,' Helen said.

‘No problem, just let me know when you need me,' Ed said.

‘Okay, thanks.'

He smiled. ‘My pleasure, Claire.'

There was something about when a man used your name unnecessarily, almost as if to make his mark on a sentence. It was kind of flirtatious.

‘Claire recently split up with her boyfriend,' Helen said.

What was Helen doing?

‘Oh right,' Ed said.

‘You should really do the decent thing and take her on a date.'

What was Helen thinking?

‘You don't have to do that,' I said with a nervous laugh.

‘That wouldn't be a problem,' Ed said. ‘Do you like parties, Claire?'

Nodding, I said, ‘Yes.'

‘Maybe you can come to an event in London with me some time soon?'

‘Sounds good,' I said.

‘I'll get your number from Helen after and message you.'

‘Okay,' I said.

‘Well, we need to get these photos up on the website, so see you later,' Helen said, walking away.

‘Bye.' I gave them a wave.

‘See you later, Claire,' Ed called after me.

Helen had embarrassed me so much, but I knew her heart was in the right place. Ed was probably just being polite, and I doubted he'd get in touch.

I took the key to the gamekeeper's cottage back to the shed. Jim was at his desk, talking on the phone. He looked over his shoulder and winked at me. Smiling to myself, I sat down and waited for him to finish. Jim ended his phone conversation and swivelled round in his chair to face me and said, ‘Was it worth the trip down there then?'

I pulled up the photo of the portrait on my phone. ‘Look what I found,' I said.

He leant forward and did his best to appear interested. It wasn't his kind of thing but still, I was proud of my discovery and wanted to show it to him.

‘You seem very pleased,' he said.

‘I can use this in the exhibition and hopefully it will help with my search for Tabitha,' I said.

‘Good stuff,' he said, and turned back round to face his computer.

Maybe showing Margaret the photo of Luca's portrait would jog her memory. I hoped so much that it would.