Page 106 of Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop
The builder shrugs. ‘Nope, we’ve been hired by some company in London. We’re Penzance-based as a rule.’
‘I see. Well, thank you for your time,’ Arty says, pulling on Maggie’s hand for them to leave.
‘But where are Freddie’s paintings?’ she cries, staying put. ‘Have they been thrown away?’
‘No, I’m sure that hasn’t happened, Maggie,’ Arty says gently. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find them.’
‘You could ask George along at number ten,’ the builder suggests, regarding Maggie with concern. ‘If there was something important here, maybe he would know?’
‘George?’ Arty asks.
‘He was the landlord here beforehand. Even though he’s sold the place he’s still overseeing the building works for the new owner. He’ll come and check on us occasionally.’
‘Right, we’ll do that. Thank you again.’ Arty pulls on Maggie’s hand again and this time she follows him.
‘Where are Freddie’s paintings, Arty?’ Maggie asks again.
‘I don’t know, Maggie,’ Arty replies with determination, ‘but we’re going to find out.’
They knock on the door of number ten and a man wearing a white vest, braces and slippers opens it.
‘Yes?’ he asks suspiciously, ‘What is it?’
‘Good morning,’ Arty says confidently, assuming this must be George. ‘I believe you used to be the landlord of number three, back along the road?’
‘Yes, who wants to know?’
‘We were friends with the man who used to live there – Freddie …’ Arty says, suddenly realising he didn’t know Freddie’s last name.
‘You mean Wilfred,’ George says. ‘That was his proper name. He let children call him Freddie because he reckoned it was friendlier. Weren’t you at his funeral?’ he asks, looking at them both.
‘Yes, we were. So must you have been then?’
‘Yeah, I look a bit different in me suit, I do,’ George says, running his hand over his receding hair. ‘Thought someone should go as I didn’t expect many people would show up, and I was right. Why are you asking about Wilfred?’
‘We wondered what happened to his paintings when he passed on?’ Arty asks. ‘I know you’ve sold the house now, but before the builders arrived did you clear the house at all?’
‘It’s funny you should ask that,’ George says, his brow furrowing, ‘because I was wondering the exact same thing. One day old Wilfred was in there painting away and the next he was carted off by the undertaker. When I went to check on the house a few days later to make sure it was still locked up, all his paintings were gone.’
‘Gone!’ Arty repeats. ‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know. It was odd, it was. Nothing else seemed to have been taken, not that the old fella had a lot – just the paintings. They weren’t worth anything so I didn’t bother the police. Maybe someone took a shine to them … Dunno why though – some of them looked like they’d been done by a child. No offence, lovey,’ he says to Maggie.
Maggie just stares up at him.
‘When did you get the offer for the house?’ Arty asks.
‘Few days later. Came out of the blue, it did, but it was too ’andsome an offer to refuse. It’s given the wife and me a nice little nest egg, it has.’
‘Do you know who bought it?’
‘Some company – London-based, I think they was? I don’t know much about this sort of stuff so my son helped us out with all the documents and complicated stuff to make sure it was all above board. He’s works in a bank, you know,’ George says proudly. ‘Ever so clever.’
‘I’m sure,’ Arty says, nodding. ‘And you got paid all right. The money all came through?’
‘Yep, sitting in me brand new bank account. My son opened it for us.’
‘That’s wonderful. Good for you,’ Arty says, feeling totally dismayed. The chances of finding Freddie’s paintings were fading fast.
