McCalliog and his hens (4)

I phoned Tilly straight away, as soon as I left Meirson’s. 

“The McCalliog?” she said. “What’s a McCalliog?” 

“The painting. The painting of ducks that used to hang above the fireplace in our parents house.” 

“Oh, that old thing? What about it?” 

“It turns out it’s valuable,” I said, an understatement. 

“Really?  But we never had ANYTHING valuable. I’m sure that Malcolm checked.” 

“They’ve suddenly gone up in value, apparently. Two billionaires bidding against each other to snaffle them all up.” 

“Gosh. So when you say valuable ...” 

“The most recent one sold made $700,000.” 

“Good lord.” 

“So, what happened to the painting? Have you still got it?” 

“I assume so.” 

“You assume so?” 

“We couldn’t keep everything in the house. Malcolm put everything that didn’t fit into storage, a veritable clutter-buster is Malcolm.” 

“Well it  turns out that in this instance he’s busted the wrong clutter.  Can you get it out of storage, there’s a McCalliog expert I’d like to get a valuation from.” 

“I can’t, I’ve the golf club charity gala tomorrow night and I’m doing absolutely EVERYTHING.  Why don’t you go, you’re a gentleman of leisure.” 

“I could I suppose.  Where is it exactly?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Malcolm took care of it." 

“Is Malcolm there?” 

“Of course he isn’t here, it’s a Tuesday.  Tuesday is bowls.” 

“Right, can I ring him?” 

“Of course you can ring him, he’s playing bowls, he’s still on planet Earth, he has his phone with him.” 

However, it turns out Malcolm switches his phone off when he’s playing bowls. I left numerous messages for him, but by the time Miss Armitage arrived for our meeting, he’d still not responded.  

“Well?” she said. 

“Tilly’s husband put it in storage. I don’t know where, I haven’t been able to get through to him.” 

“Does he know what it’s worth?” 

“No, I’ve not been able to get through to him. I’ve left numerous messages, but he’s playing bowls.” 

She frowned at this information. 

“Well, tell me everything about the painting. What you can remember. You say it was ducks, are you certain they weren’t chickens.  What breed were they?” 

“They were just the common sort, you know, Mallards. A pair, one of each.” 

“Interesting, and what were they doing?” 

“They were standing by a lake, or a river, looking in the water. You could see their reflections looking up at them.” 

“That’s interesting, there’s a water-reflection in his other non-chicken painting as well, Woman With Swan.” 

“And that’s valuable, you say?” 

“The estimate now is in the range of £1 million, but who knows, it’s a one-off, these bids can go crazy.  It could be the same with your ducks, if they’re genuine.  I need to see them as soon as you hear.” 

“I’d like to see this Woman With Swan.  Do you have a copy?” 

“I’ll send it to you.” 

We sat and talked for an hour, but there was no word from Malcolm and Miss Armitage had to go. 

Before leaving, she gave me all of her phone numbers, home, mobile and gallery, and email addresses, home and gallery.  “Message me the second you hear anything,” she said. 

“I will.  And send me the Swan picture.” 

“I will.” 

With no reason to stay in town, I returned home. My wife was waiting for me and I updated her on the situation. There was still no word from Tilly and Malcolm. 

About 2.00 pm an email arrived from Miss Armitage, with a copy of Woman With Swan. 

“Good Lord!” I said. 

“What is it?” my wife asked. 

“It’s this McCalliog Miss Armitage has sent me, the only other painting without a duck in it, Woman With Swan.” 

“What about it?” 

“Look at the woman in the picture.”  I passed her my phone. 

“Heavens. It’s the living spit of your mother.” 

“So that explains where our painting came from. She must have known McCalliog. She must have sat for him.”