44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [41]
Matthew said nothing. “They could have taken the Peploe. In fact, I reckon that’s what they were after.”
Pete looked up. “The one worth forty grand?”
“Yes,” said Matthew. “They must have been after that. All the rest is rubbish.”
Ronnie looked thoughtful. “That character wanting to buy the painting the other day – he must be the one. Who else knows about it?”
Matthew frowned. “Nobody, as far as I know. Just us.”
“Then, it’s him,” said Ronnie.
“Or one of us,” said Big Lou, looking at Pete. Nobody spoke. Big Lou turned to make Matthew his coffee.
“Not a serious remark,” she said. “It just slipped out.”
“Weakness of the will?” said Ronnie.
33. Peploe?
“This is no time for levity,” said Matthew. “The fact is, somebody is after my Peploe.”
“If it’s a Peploe,” interrupted Ronnie. “You don’t know, do you? So far, the only person who’s said it’s a Peploe is that girl, Pat. And what does she know about it? And you know nothing, as we all know.”
“All right,” said Matthew. “We’ll call it my Peploe? That is, Peploe with a question mark after it. Satisfied? Right then, what do we do?”
“Remove it from the gallery,” suggested Pete. “Take it home. Put it in a cupboard. Nobody’s going to think there’s a Peploe?
in your cupboard.”
Big Lou had been following the conversation closely and had Peploe?
85
stopped wiping the counter. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “If this person – the one who was interested in it – is really after it, then he’ll have found out who Matthew is. Are you in the phone book, Matthew?”
Matthew nodded.
“Well, there you are,” said Lou. “He’ll know where you live. And if he was prepared to break into your gallery, then he’ll be prepared to break into your flat. Take the Peploe? somewhere else.”
“The bank,” said Pete. “I knew this guy who kept a Charles Rennie Mackintosh bureau in the Bank of Scotland. It was so valuable that he couldn’t afford the insurance. It was cheaper to keep it in the bank.”
“What’s the point of that?” asked Lou, frowning. “What’s the point of having a bureau if you can’t use it?”
“They’d keep kippers in it up in Arbroath,” said Ronnie.
“Smokies even.”
“What do you know about Arbroath?” asked Lou. “You tell me. What do you know about Arbroath?”
Pete answered for him. “Nothing. He’s never been there.”
Matthew was becoming impatient. “I don’t think that we should be talking about Arbroath,” he said, irritably. “You two should stop needling Lou. The real question is: what do I do with my Peploe??”
They sat in silence, the three of them at the table, and Lou standing at her counter. Ronnie glanced at Matthew; he might have arranged the break-in to claim insurance. But if he had done that, then why had none of the paintings disappeared? There were several possible answers to that, one of which was that this was just the cover – the real stealing of the painting would come later. But if the Peploe? were to prove to be a Peploe, then why would he need to have it stolen in the first place? He would get his forty thousand or whatever it was by taking the picture to an auction. Why go to all the trouble of claiming the insurance, particularly when he would have no evidence of value to back up his claim?
Lou, too, was thinking about the situation. Pete had been right to suggest that the painting should be removed from the gallery. 86
Peploe?
But they would have to ensure that it was kept somewhere else. Should she offer to look after it for him? It would be safe in her flat, tucked away behind a pile of books, but did she want to have something so valuable – and so portable – sitting there?
Forty thousand pounds could buy a perfectly reasonable place to live in Arbroath. No, it would be better for the Peploe? to go elsewhere.
“Pat!” she said abruptly. “Get that girl to take the painting back to her place. She’s the one who identified it. Let her look after it.”
“John won’t know who she is,” said Pete. “She won’t have told him . . .”
Matthew turned to Pete.