False Picture by Veronica Heley Page A

expect to get more than a few hundred there, if that. I think he might take it to one of the smaller antique shops in Kensington Church Street.’ He stopped and looked at Bea, waiting for her to follow his lead. So what did he expect her to say?
    Piers said, ‘Would you be prepared to help us by making some enquiries in that direction?’
    â€˜Me? Oh, no!’ A saintly shake of his head by way of reproof. ‘I wouldn’t dream of getting mixed up in anything shady. You should go to the police.’
    Impasse. They couldn’t go to the police. Or not yet, anyway.
    Bea said, ‘If you could help us to trace the lad, I’m sure the family would be grateful.’
    It was the olive branch the old man had been waiting for. He smiled. ‘Of course. Anything to oblige. If I did by any chance happen to hear something, I would be delighted to pass the news on to you. Meanwhile, I’ve made a copy for you of the relevant page in the catalogue which features the picture. Poor quality, I’m afraid, but it may help.’
    The picture was that of a young girl with bold eyes and long fair hair in a dark dress. As Crispin had said, it needed cleaning. The frame was indeed elaborate.
    Mr Goldstone ushered them to the door, jabbing numbers at a concealed panel to deactivate the alarm. ‘The question is; who really has title to the picture? If we have to deal with whoever has inherited the Farne collection, I assume the family’s gratitude would be, um, muted?’
    Bea gave him a thoughtful look. She didn’t know who would inherit the Farne collection, but she knew a man who did. In fact, she would very much like to pin him to an upright chair, shine a bright light in his eyes and give him the third degree at this very moment. Given that he was on the point of death, this did not seem likely to happen. But perhaps Velma knew more than she was saying? Now there was a thought.
    Bea pressed one of her business cards on Mr Goldstone. ‘Keep in touch?’
    â€˜Rest assured, dear lady. And here is one of my cards. Ring me at any time, day or night.’
    As Piers and Bea went out on to the pavement, the door shut and was locked behind them. The grille slid across.
    â€˜Taxi!’ Piers had the useful gift of being able to find a taxi at any time, anywhere. ‘Do you fancy something to eat, Bea?’ He turned his wrist over to look at his watch as he spoke.
    â€˜You’re supposed to be somewhere else this evening?’
    He gave an almost convincing impression of a man with time to spare. ‘Oh, perhaps later on.’
    â€˜That’s all right, Piers. You’ve done enough and I’ve eaten already. Drop me off at the hospital, and I’ll see how Velma’s getting on.’
    Bea thought he’d probably got a date with a woman. Tomcats don’t change their stripes. Whatever.
    It took time to run Velma to earth at the hospital, but Bea did eventually do so. No visitors, except family. The glimpse Bea had of Sandy through the window into a small room showed him looking much the same, but a monitor above his bed was angled so that the nursing staff could check on him all the time.
    Velma came out to speak to Bea, shifting from one foot to the other, her attention still on her husband. There were shadows under her eyes.
    â€˜Before you start,’ said Velma, ‘I’m not leaving him. Every now and then he opens his eyes and looks up at me, and I need to be there. He’s frightened, poor lamb. Well, so am I, but I can act as if I’m not, right?’
    Bea thought that Velma was a pretty good actress, but this was not the time to say so. ‘I understand. You’ll need some things from home?’
    Velma handed over her keys, pointing out which were needed to get into her home, adding a list on a page torn from her diary. ‘This is the code for the burglar alarm, and a list of the things I could do with. Oh, and if you’ve time,