Page 109 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
‘You told me, remember?’ I say hurriedly. ‘When we had dinner.’
‘Oh yes, so I did. Golly, it seems all I do is pour my heart out to you, Kate.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I assure him. ‘I want to help. So, why did he go?’
‘I really don’t know. I think he wanted to try selling his art somewhere else … and it worked! He became very successful very quickly. I don’t think the Americans had seen anything like my father’s work before then.’
I nod taking all this in. ‘So when did he buy the cottage you were in the other day? Did he do that with the proceeds of his sales, or did he buy it before he left St Felix?’
Luckily, Julian doesn’t seem to think this an odd question. ‘Oh no, he didn’t buy the cottage until the early sixties when he’d sold a lot of his work and started to make a bit of money. I think it was a B&B before.’
‘Must have been a pretty small one? That cottage only had a couple of rooms upstairs.’
‘Yes, I suppose it must. I believe there were a few properties down the street that were B&Bs back then. If I remember rightly they were bought one by one by a London firm then run by a single landlady. I suppose her guests simply all breakfasted together of a morning in one of her many properties!’ He smiles at his little joke, then shakes his head, ‘Anyway none of that matters now.’
‘No, it doesn’t. I just wondered why your father would buy an old fisherman’s cottage when he was living in America?’
‘Memories, perhaps?’ Julian says. ‘Or more likely, knowing my father, he saw a good business opportunity. Wasn’t it in the sixties that people began to holiday abroad for the first time? I bet the B&B wasn’t doing too well and Dad swooped in and bought it at a bargain price. That sounds like him.’
I just smile. This still wasn’t getting me anywhere with Freddie’s pictures. It was simply painting a not very flattering picture of Winston James.
‘I was in the gallery the other day,’ I tell him casually, as I stir my coffee spoon around my now half-empty cup. ‘And I was looking at your father’s work again.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Julian says, finishing off his own coffee. ‘Were there people fawning all over it, gushing about how wonderful it all is?’
This almost sarcastic tone doesn’t sound at all like the Julian I’d originally met – the one who had bigged up his father’s paintings at the opening of the exhibition. That Julian had been full of himself and his father’s work, but the Julian I was with now with was a much different character, one who wanted to be redeemed of his many failings and removed from those of his father.
‘No,’ I tell him, ‘it was only me taking another look. Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn here, but the way you describe your father doesn’t seem to fit at all with his style of painting. I mean it’s so …’ I choose my words carefully, ‘… simple and pure, and you describe your father as a bit of a …’ I hesitate, but Julian finishes off my sentence for me.
‘A bit of a bastard? Will that do as an adequate description?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘He was though,’ Julian insists. ‘All my father ever thought about was money and how he could make more of it. He never really cared about me or anyone else for that matter. I imagine my mother was simply a trophy wife to him. She was very beautiful in her day – and as I’ve already mentioned she was from an extremely wealthy family. That’s why Father was so interested in her. Like I said, he loved money.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘It is, Kate. Whatever I did was never good enough for him. Giving me the position in his company wasn’t because he trusted me to do it, it was so he could keep an eye on me, make sure I didn’t do anything to embarrass him and his name. I’m surprised he actually left me in charge of the business when he died. I might have been better off if he hadn’t. At least I’d have had to stand on my own two feet then.’
‘Your mother – is she still alive?’ I ask delicately.
Julian shakes his head. ‘No, she died five years ago.
‘So it’s just you? No brothers or sisters?’
Again, Julian shakes his head.
‘This might sound like an impertinent question, but did you inherit your mother’s wealth?’
Julian stares at me for a second. ‘Yes, why?’
‘And is it separate from your father’s business assets?’
‘Totally. I’ve always kept it that way. Just between you and me, Kate, I’m only employed by the company. I don’t even own any shares in it. When my father died, I chose to keep it that way. It seemed simpler to continue taking a generous salary than anything else.’
‘Good,’ I say, nodding as I think this through. ‘That’s very good.’
‘Why?’ Julian looks puzzled. ‘What are you suggesting, Kate?’
