A WORK IN PROGRESS
Against the odds, will Aunt Jemima’s ugly bequest turn out to be cash in the attic for her niece’s family?
Look what we found under all the junk in the attic!” My partner Jay and my five-year-old daughter Lucie, both festooned in cobwebs and dust, are holding a large and very tatty canvas between them.
Even under the grime, it looks as if it’s seen better days. Bounding around, his fur matted with cobwebs is Monty the spaniel.
“I reckon this is one of your Aunt Jemima’s paintings.” Jay ignores my sarcasm. “It’s got the initials JS painted on the bottom right-hand corner. Her name was Jemima Southern, wasn’t it? She was well known back in the day. If I remember rightly. Made a bob or two with her art, by all accounts.”
In spite of myself I can’t help sensing a bubble of excitement as the four of us inspect the painting closely. Monty’s the first to sniff it before deciding it’s boring and wandering off.
“It’s not very pretty,” says Lucie unhelpfully. “I don’t like it either.”
“It’s a washed-out still life of some fruit in a bowl, looking rather jaded now,” I say, “but it’s definitely one of Aunt Jemima’s. She and I didn’t get on well so that’s probably why she left me an eyesore!”
“We could take it to the art gallery in town,” says Jay, ever the optimistic one. “They often have experts visiting and you never know, one of them might be interested.”
“OK. If you insist,” I say, but privately I reckon they won’t want it either.
Hey, I’ve got some good news,” Jay says a few days later. “It says in the local paper that an art expert is coming to town and he’s offering to visit anyone who thinks they might be harbouring a masterpiece. He must know it’s not a good idea to move precious art, so that’s why he’s willing to come to see it. I’ll get in touch with him.”
“I somehow don’t think we’ve found a masterpiece in our attic,” I laugh, “but your optimism is cheering me up after the disappointment of finding that dreary painting.”
Jay has propped the offending item up on a low shelf in the lounge. There’s a light above it, but even though we pop in and out to look at it a few times for a day or two to see whether we change our mind, the picture definitely doesn’t improve with keeping.
Acouple of weeks pass and we forget all about the painting, becoming used to it in our lounge, but one morning Jay makes an announcement.
“David McKenzie is due to visit today,” he announces over breakfast.
“And who is David McKenzie?” I enquire. “If it’s one of your golfing mates I can easily rustle up a casserole before this evening…”
“No, nothing like that,” laughs Jay.
“It’s the art expert who’s coming to value the painting. He hopes to be here around ten this morning.”
I spend the first part of the morning making shortbread to offer our visitor by way of taking his mind off the embarrassment we’re about to experience. I half expect Lucie and Monty to appear as the delicious smell of baking wafts over the house, but they’re both occupied in Lucie’s room, which is just as well as they’re both better out of the way for the time being.
On the dot of ten the doorbell rings. Jay answers it and a moment later David McKenzie is ushered into the hallway. I can’t help thinking he looks like a no-nonsense person and dread the idea that we’re wasting his time.
After they’ve chatted for a few minutes, Jay shows Mr McKenzie to the lounge. He pauses at the door.
“I’ll leave you to look at the painting,” Jay says to the art expert. “You can’t miss it, propped up in there.”
“Thank you,” says David McKenzie and disappears out of sight. Jay and I stand in the hall waiting to see what will happen next but to our surprise we hear laughter. The art expert is clearly amused.
We go into the lounge. There before our eyes is the painting, except that now it’s a picture of some highly unusual red, yellow and blue wobbly flowers painted unsteadily and one corner is missing with a jagged edge.
Suddenly Lucie’s beside us.
“Do you like your new painting?” she says cheerfully. “I wanted you to have a picture you like, so I got my poster paints and did it especially for you. Monty wanted to help, but he ate the corner before I could stop him!”
“It seems you have a modern artist for a daughter,” says David McKenzie.
“Can we have some of that shortbread you’ve been making?” says Lucie.
“Well, it certainly smells like a work of art,” says David and we all laugh as we tuck in.
To our surprise we hear laughter. The art expert is clearly amused