False Picture Read Online Free PDF

sighed.
    â€˜I’ll sign up at the gym he visits, see if I can get close to him there. Just in case he is gay.’
    Bea blinked. What had brought this on? The idea of this under-sized geek working out in a gym had its funny side, but for the life of her she wouldn’t hurt his feelings by showing amusement. Now she came to think of it, this was a better solution than she could have thought up by herself to get him out of the house.
    â€˜It’ll be pricey, but yes; you do that and I’ll pay the fees.’
    Oliver shook his head. ‘Let me. I’d rather.’
    Bea stifled an impulse to tell him not to be silly. She reminded herself that he was growing up, a bit. Now and then. She must let him pay for himself if he wished to do so. ‘Very well.’ She shuffled the paperwork back into its envelope. Now she’d manoeuvred Maggie out of the house, she was inclined to think she’d done the wrong thing. ‘I wonder if I ought to have asked Maggie to do this. I suspect she’ll fall in love with Philip because she likes his looks and thinks we’ve got a “down” on him.’
    â€˜You can’t stop her now.’
    Bea knew she couldn’t. She rose to her feet, stretching her back, grimacing. This damp weather reminded her to keep doing her exercises, or she’d get sciatica again. ‘Oliver, do you know anything about pre-Raphaelite painters, Millais in particular?’
    His head snapped round to her, and he gnawed at his lower lip. ‘There’s a good reason? I’ll look him up on the internet.’
    â€˜You might try looking up Lady Farne at the same time, and perhaps even more important, see if you can track down any of the purchases her husband made, antiques, pictures, that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Pictures equals Millais?’ He stood, his movements precise. He looked like an office boy on his first day in the job and could have walked into a position at NASA if brains were the only criterion.
    Bea nodded. ‘Pictures equals Millais. Specifically portraits in oils. I think perhaps I might take a trip to the library, see if I can track down a book with some reproductions in it, while you research the Farne collection.’
    Dark eyebrows peaked. ‘The burglar stole a Millais?’
    Bea backtracked. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. We need more information about – oh, everything. Meanwhile, is there anything I ought to know about on the agency side? Complaints, letters missing, solicitors in a rage, that sort of thing?’
    He reached in his pocket for his notebook, snapped back the band, frowned at the notes he’d made. ‘Well, yes …’
    She had second thoughts. If she told him the stupid thing she’d done with the tax return, he’d never look up to her again. ‘Oh, never mind. Agency stuff will have to be put on one side for the time being. Maggie’s been keeping the filing under control, hasn’t she? Oh, and she did say she’d got some quotes for a make-over down here. Will you get her to give them to me before she goes?’
    Oliver frowned at his notebook. ‘There is just one thing I wanted to ask you about—’
    Bea tried to sound off-hand. ‘How are we fixed for cash, in case a big bill comes in?’ The bill for income tax, for instance.
    Maggie erupted into the room. ‘Ta-da! Will this do?’ She struck a pose to show off enormous dark glasses, a blonde chin-length wig, a beaded black top, rather too skimpy for her slender figure, and what looked like a short evening skirt in fuschia pink. She glittered with excitement.
    Bea restrained an exclamation of horror and aimed for a kind, affectionate tone of voice. ‘I think that might be a bit overwhelming, don’t you, Oliver? Maggie, you’re meant to be a professional woman. A good white T-shirt and jeans, perhaps?’
    Maggie’s face disintegrated. Was she going to cry? ‘Is it the wig?