Restoring Grace (20 page)

As Ellie's course didn't run to a weekend trip
to Rome to see for themselves, the words hadn't meant as much to her and her
fellow students as they should have; but remembering her tutor gave her the
idea that he might know of a picture restorer, or know someone who did.

Ellie made a decision. She would have a quick
drive
round the immediate countryside looking
for likely
houses to paint – there was a very sweet little village not
far away that could be a source of several commissions,
especially if she started with the pub – and then she would
go back to her own college and track down Mr
McFadden.

Grace got back from town
a couple of hours after Ellie
had left. She went in through the
back door, and called, 'Hi! Anyone in? I've got milk and some more bread.’

When there was no response she experienced a moment
of desertion,
then she saw the note on the table.
I've gone
out to take some photos and to track
down my History-of-Art
tutor. Oh, and your
sister rang. Can you ring her straight
back? It's urgent.

Demi ambled in. She was
wearing a dressing gown and
her head was wrapped in a towel.

‘Hi, Grace. I'm just been putting some streaks
in my hair.'

‘
Oh. Right.'
Grace tried to appear positive. 'I look
forward to seeing it when it's dry. Now I've got to ring
my
sister.'

‘Oh pooh,' said Demi sympathetically. 'I'll
leave you to
i
t.'

‘Thanks,' said Grace with a laugh, and then
pulled a chair, now decorated with one of Ellie's bright crocheted cushions,
near to the telephone and settled down for a long harangue.

Chapter Eight

 
Ellie had set off in the direction of Bath, to see if she could
track down her old History-of-Art tutor. She had a feeling
that he'd left the college but she was sure someone there
would
have an address or a telephone number for him.
She felt her mission to be urgent. If the paintings stayed
in
their current condition for much longer, they would
deteriorate even more, and now they had been exposed
to the light,
there might be a risk of further fading.

It took her a tiresomely long time to track
down the
university secretary who, after a
lot of pleading, gave Ellie
an email address for her ex-tutor.

‘I'm sorry,' the woman explained. 'It's more
than my
job's worth to give out a tutor's
home address to a
student.'

‘
I'm not a student here any more. I left a while
ago.'

‘
Even worse.' Then the woman softened. 'You can use one of
these computers, seeing as it's lunchtime. Good
ness knows how often he signs on. And that email address
may be
old.’

After Ellie had finally
managed to send her email,
'What do you want him for?' asked
the secretary.

‘
I need a
picture restorer. I thought he might know one.'

‘
Well,
have you tried the
Yellow Pages?'
The
woman
produced a ragged copy. 'It's always
worth a look. And
if there's nothing in there, you could try the art
galleries or antique shops. They're bound to know of picture restorers.'

‘
You're a genius,' said
Ellie. 'Why didn't I think of that!
I forgive you for not giving me Mr
McFadden's telephone number.’

Once Ellie had found the right section, she
discovered several picture restorers. She glanced at the woman,
toying with the idea of asking if she could use
the phone,
but as she had her mobile with her, she decided not to push
her luck.

When she had eventually found somewhere in the
college that was both quiet and had good reception, she looked at the list of
numbers she had made. It was sort
of
embarrassing, ringing someone to ask advice. It would
have been fine if
she'd just been researching the best person for the highly skilled and delicate
job of restoring
Adam and Eve to their
former glorious salaciousness, but
it
was more difficult asking to pick the brains of someone
who'd probably
trained and practised for years, just so she could try her amateur hand at what
they did for a living.

And she couldn't even say
why she was doing it. If she
had been allowed to, she would have
appealed to them
on the artistic version of
humanitarian grounds – 'Please
tell me how to save these fantastic works
of art' – but
Grace's neurotic insistence
on secrecy forbade that. She'd
just have to think of something else.
Seeing a group of students walk by and hearing a snatch of their conversation
gave her the answer.

‘
Hello,' she
said to the very up-market-sounding
person who answered the telephone at
the first number. 'I'm an art student and I need to study a few basic
techniques about picture restoration. Would it be—'

‘We don't have time to talk to students. Sorry.’

When the next two numbers produced similarly
negative results, Ellie changed her tack.

‘Hi, I'm an art student looking for a work
placement.
You don't have to pay me and I'll
work for nothing for
two weeks. I'll do anything.’

There was a
long silence, then a sigh. 'Well, my studio needs clearing out. Will you do
that?'

‘Yes, as
long as I get the opportunity to get some idea of how to restore pictures.'

‘
Why? Are you thinking of going into the business?'

‘
It's an
option,' said Ellie, who'd had lots of opportu
nity to think of the reply
to this obvious question. 'After all, it's very difficult to make a living in
Fine Art.'

‘Hmph. I don't think of what I do as second
fiddle to
pickling sheep.' God! The man did
sound hostile! 'What
I do is an art and a science in itself.'

‘I'm sure it is,' went on Ellie. 'Which is why
I want to
study it.' She crossed her
fingers. 'I was sorry to give
up science at school, and want to do
something more scientific.’

There was another grunt.
'Well, you'd better come over
and I'll have a
look at you. But I haven't got time to
babysit
you. You'll have to be able to work on your own.'

‘Clearing out your studio?'

‘Not the studio I'm working in at the moment, obviously.’

Ellie mouthed an obscenity into her mobile
phone.

‘
Do you want
to come, or not?' demanded the man,
who perhaps had picked up the
four-letter word.

‘
Oh, yes.
Please,' said Ellie, abandoning her plan to try
some galleries to see if she could find someone a bit more forthcoming.
It would be better to be actually in the same place as the work, especially as
it was possible she would
have to give up two weeks to studying it.

‘You'd better come now, then. I'm busy later.’

This wasn't quite what
Ellie wanted to hear but as she
might not get a better offer, she had to go
with it. 'Oh, good. Where are you?’

There followed a stressful few moments, during
which Ellie had to run back to the helpful secretary for a piece of paper on
which to write down the myriad directions
how
to get to the unhelpful man's house. But at last Ellie
said, 'I'll be
there in an hour, then.'

‘
An hour!
It's only twenty minutes away, for God's
sake!' And he put the phone
down.

As she walked back to the
car park, having thanked the
helpful secretary (whom she might
very well need again)
and checked the
address, Ellie seriously considered aban
doning the hostile picture
restorer who lived at such a
complicated
location and looking for someone more
willing
to share their secrets. After all, he didn't have any
information about her, like her name or, more
importantly,
her telephone number. But by the time she reached her
2CV she had decided against
^,
this
softer option. The world
of picture
restoration was bound to be small and cliquey.
If Mr Nasty was remotely
put out by Ellie's non-appear
ance, it was
almost bound to get around that she was unre
liable. She'd better pitch up, even if it was a waste of time.

She got there in
thirty-five minutes, which she felt was
pretty
good, considering the complications of Bath's one-
way system and the narrowness of the streets. Even more
extraordinary
was the fact she managed to find somewhere to park really nearby.

She knocked on the door of
one of Bath's huge
Georgian houses, most of which had been divided
into flats. This was no exception, but as it was definitely the address she had
been given she just assumed that he
worked
from home and that picture restoration didn't
take up much space.

The man who opened the door was surprisingly
clean.
For some reason Ellie had thought he
would look like an
artist: streaked
with paint. He was tall and thin with black
hair streaked with grey, and
he still appeared hostile; it
might have
taken Ellie thirty-five minutes to get there, but
that hadn't been long enough for him to become
welcoming
and pleasant. 'You've come to do work experience?'

‘No!' Ellie put her hand in his, determined to
turn his
mood around. She smiled, making
sure she captured his
attention with her eyes. 'I'm Ellie Summers. I'm
offering
my services to you as unpaid labour
for two weeks. Work
experience is what you do at school.’

Her silent insistence that she was offering
something no sane man would refuse made him smile, obviously against his will.
It was, Ellie was forced to acknowledge, a very attractive smile.

He shook her hand.
'Randolph Frazier. Sorry, you look
about
seventeen. You'd better come in. Coffee?’

‘
I'd
rather have tea.'

‘Come through, then.’

It was a huge, loft-like space, which was
surprising after such a traditional exterior. Natural light flooded in
through the many, tall windows and she realised
that he
must have knocked out every wall in the place, and
possibly had extended into next door. Beyond the
windows,
which still retained their original dimensions, Ellie glimpsed a wonderful view.

Ellie was accustomed to being in artists'
studios: cluttered, often untidy spaces, their floors, walls and doors covered
in paint. The space he led her through to where a small kitchen lurked under a
window was more like a laboratory than a studio. It was immaculately clean and
tidy. A couple of easels stood with paintings on
them, one
obviously halfway through being cleaned, and another
which looked perfect. There were two huge tables
as well,
and on one was another painting, lying on its back.

‘Wow,' said Ellie, drawn to one of the easels.
It was a picture of a St Bernard dog, and could have been an old master, it was
so vivid, so fresh. She went close up to it and peered at the beautifully
painted fur, the softness and nobility of expression in the huge dog's eyes,
the brightness of the brass ring in the collar. 'That's really lovely.'

‘A touch sentimental for my personal taste,'
said the
man, who had presumably restored
it. 'It was quite badly
torn and some
of the paint was flaking. The frame was
in a bad condition too.’

Ellie peered closer. 'Where was the tear?'

‘Can't you see?'

‘No.'

‘
Try these.'
He handed her a pair of magnifying glasses
with lights in them. 'Right.
Look over there.'