with a variety of skill sets. The colors were beautiful, and parts were supremely accomplished; others, more childlike, but not without perspective. It was a fascinating piece.
“Paint Britain,” came Richard’s voice behind me, and I turned to see him staring up at it as well. “I made it with several of the children.”
“It’s really special,” I said sincerely. “Almost a shame to keep it hidden.”
“I like it here,” he said.
Richard’s gaze was still fixed on the painting, so I took the second to stare at him. It was such a challenge to burrow inside his façade. He’d been, in turns, unpleasant and manipulative and cruel; the same man who’d embraced Paint Britain, an organization I’d helped cofound, had also removed me from it when he’d decided I was a liability.
“I’m glad Paint Britain is in the hands of a patron who cares about it,” I said, and meant it. “I miss it. And I’d really like to be involved again whenever you think it would be appropriate.”
Richard looked at me then. The one thing we had in common was a love of art, so I knew he was aware how much it hurt me to be elbowed aside. He also knew what it was costing me to ask a favor of a man who viewed them as debts to be paid.
“That can be arranged,” he said, and I was so surprised that I beamed at him.
“Let’s get this done, Dickie, I haven’t got all day,” Agatha said as she stomped in and dropped her tote on the table. “I’m going to a workshop about the female orgasm at three.”
“Bravo! You found the flyer I left you,” Elizabeth said, sweeping in with Edwin in tow.
Richard turned green and excused himself to, presumably, go call and yell at the tardy solicitor. Edwin stared mournfully at his phone.
“Scrabble decided she’d been idle too long and conceded our last game to me,” he said mournfully. “She’ll be idle forever now. I hate it.”
“It is really weird going to visit Eleanor and having her not there,” I said. “She was in one of those chairs pretty much every day.”
Agatha dabbed at her eyes. “They were very close,” she said.
I heard Eleanor’s hiss in my head, clear as a bell. I’ll never forget. But I’ll never forgive, either.
“They did seem devoted to each other,” I said casually. “But they’re both such strong personalities. I’m sure they had some epic arguments in their time.”
“Eleanor doesn’t argue,” Elizabeth said as she poured the first of five Splendas into her tea. “She simply says things, and lets you decide whether you want to be wrong or not.”
“I walked in on a real cracker of a fight once,” Edwin said. He absently fiddled with his gold cufflinks. “I had gone in to look for my blankie and they were shouting at each other.”
Agatha swiveled her head around. “When was this?”
He flushed. “Gosh, clearly ages ago. Something about Auntie Georgina being terribly vain, perhaps?” He furrowed his brow. “And something about Scotland? I chucked up my breakfast all over the floor right then, so I don’t remember much. But I do know it was wretched seeing them so furious. I never saw it again.”
Agatha’s face was frozen in a skeptical expression.
“I could’ve misheard,” he allowed. “They were very bad sausages.”
I had no choice but to file away that nugget without a follow-up, because Richard charged into the room with the apologetic solicitor, a balding gentleman with an egg-shaped head and oval glasses and a nervous habit of tenting his fingers in front of his mouth as he spoke. This had the unfortunate effect of creating a triangular megaphone, which made it hard not to react as he began his lengthy presentation by blasting us with the words “ALLOW ME TO EXTEND MY SYMPATHIES.” Edwin, never one to manage his emotions adeptly, kept giggling at the solemnities; Agatha’s knuckles were white as she clutched at her bag.
Marta, as the daughter of the Swedish king and the wife of an English one, had a fair bit of personal fortune and property to mete out. Dunheath Castle, her beloved private retreat, was willed to Edwin and Elizabeth, under the assumption that Eleanor’s Balmoral would eventually pass to Richard. He got the ski lodge up in Jämtland, Sweden, unused by anyone but him for nearly a half century now, with the intention of it eventually going to Freddie. Nick and I were willed an estate outside of Stockholm that had housed some distant relatives until