The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [85]
With an effort Julia smiles at him. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose and turns the pushchair, glad to have her back to the chill wind. A swoop of starlings passes overhead, a dark trembling cloud that forms and re-forms against the dull, grey backdrop, before plunging suddenly in a fluid waterfall of flight to the small fields in the valley below. There is no hint of spring in the moisture-laden air; no sign that these short dark winter days will ever end. Yet far out to the west, over the sea, a gleam of sunshine suddenly pierces the sullen clouds and strikes downwards; a shaft of light that irradiates the silvery horizon and touches Julia's heart with faint hope. Calling to Charlie and the dogs, smiling at Zack, she begins to walk briskly home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
2004
It was the newspaper, flung down casually on the kitchen table, that reconnected Julia's memory. ‘GIGANTIC ART FRAUD’ announced the headline, printed in bold type alongside the photograph of an elderly man. Julia glanced at it, turned away and then swivelled back to look at it more closely. She remembered that it was Charlie's newspaper, lying just so on the table at breakfast, that had first aroused the uneasiness: but why? She bent forward, both hands resting on the table, reading the newsprint. A medieval bronze bought by an American museum had been discovered to be a fake; further investigation now showed that this was simply one of several frauds. Tristan Stamper, the owner of a famous French gallery, had copied the originals, which he had kept for his own private collection.
Tristan Stamper. Julia bent closer, heart hammering, peering at the photograph. It must have been the name that had first alerted her subconscious. Was it possible that there could be two Tristan Stampers who had art galleries in Paris? Julia's thoughts darted forward, this way and that, trying to see how the arrest of Tiggy's father might have any effect upon them. Only she and Pete knew that he existed; he had no knowledge of his grandson. As far as he was concerned Tiggy had died in a car accident and that was the end of it. He couldn't have known about the baby: not even Tiggy's grandmother had known about the baby. Julia stared at the photograph of Tristan Stamper. The eighty-year-old man bore no resemblance to the young father she'd occasionally seen at school events. She thought about Zack. There was nothing to connect him to this; nothing. Yet, her heart raced and her stomach churned as she imagined how Zack would feel if he were to be confronted with this article and told that the man was his grandfather. All his life he'd assumed that Tiggy and Tom were orphans; how would he react to the truth?
She told herself that he need never know; who would tell him? There was nobody who would make the connection. Nevertheless, she had the feeling that she was missing the point; that there was something she'd overlooked that could give the game away. There was something nagging at the back of her mind: ever since she'd seen the headlines in Charlie's kitchen, and then the old VW camper at Eype, she'd been conscious of Tiggy at her elbow.
‘For God's sake,’ she said aloud, ‘get a grip. This is crazy.’
She wondered if she dared confide in Aunt Em.
‘Don't tell anyone,’ Pete had said long ago. ‘If only you and I know who Tiggy was then nobody can spill the beans by mistake.’
It was as if Tiggy was trying to tell her something, to warn her; Julia sat down at the table and put her head in her hands.
1977
January passes slowly with spells of drenching rain and blustery winds; skies of uniform grey cloud lour, pressing down upon the land, rolling in from the Atlantic and drifting in the valleys and across the moors, enveloping the house and misting the windowpanes. On a particularly bleak morning, Julia has a visitor. She's been on her knees, fishing with the broom handle for one of Charlie's little cars which has run beneath the dresser, when