Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

‘It’s good,’ I said, with a nod to the wine glass.

Joe filled a second glass for himself, then he sat down, huddled into his jacket, cradling the glass in his hands.

‘I never knew about that picture scratched on the bedroom wall,’ he said.

My shoulders tensed, only slightly, at this reminder of Anna’s existence.

‘I’m surprised you don’t remember Matilde Romano,’ I said. ‘She’s quite distinctive.’

‘You know me,’ Joe said, ‘observation isn’t my strong point.’

He swirled the wine around his glass. It coated the sides; such a deep red, it was almost black.

Joe and I were silent for a long while, then we both started to speak at once, then we both stopped, embarrassed.

‘You go first,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ said Joe. ‘It’s just… well. I’ve been thinking.’

‘About the villa?’ I asked. Hope fluttered in my heart.

‘Yeah. The thing is, Edie, no bank would give us a mortgage, not in the state the villa’s in. So if, theoretically, we did decide not to sell, how would we afford the renovations?’ He stared into the wine glass and answered his own question. ‘There’s the car, I suppose, although that wouldn’t nearly cover it.’

‘Don’t get rid of the car,’ I said. ‘It meant so much to Daniel.’

Joe flinched at the mention of our son’s name.

‘It’s all we have,’ he said.

‘Let me show you something.’

I reached for my phone, lying on the table, and flicked through saved images until I found the screengrab from the auction house catalogue. I passed the phone to Joe. He stared at the Reni Annunziata and read the description and price. I saw his eyes widen.

‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured. ‘Half a million euros!’

‘There must be places we still haven’t looked for the Madonna,’ I said. ‘It can’t have vanished into thin air.’

‘I’m beginning to think it must have been stolen,’ Joe said.

‘Let’s look again, tomorrow. Perhaps we’ve overlooked something.’

‘I don’t think we have. I’m going to go to the police,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll report the painting missing. At least, then, if it does turn up at some auction house somewhere, we’ve got a chance of getting it back.’