The Ladies of the Secret Circus Constance Sayers (e books free to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Constance Sayers
Book online «The Ladies of the Secret Circus Constance Sayers (e books free to read .TXT) đ». Author Constance Sayers
âYes, thatâs about right.â
âThis would be the correct time frame as well as the correct location for Giroux. Itâs just thatâŠâ He stopped and turned his head, looking at the painting at an angle. âAgain, I highly doubt it. This painting was probably some street artist, but there were rumored circus paintings by Giroux. Lost paintingsâthree of themâLes Dames du Cirque Secret. Itâs an odd coincidence.â
âYouâre saying this painting might be famous?â
âPerhaps,â he said. âIâm going to contact Edward Binghampton Barrow to see if the paintings are all accounted for. The lost thing is always a bit of an exaggeration. Usually theyâre just in some private collection. This is probably just a cheap copy.â
âEdward Binghampton?â Lara laughed out loud struggling to recall the third name.
âBarrow,â said Gaston, clarifying. âBinghampton Barrow.â
âThatâs a ridiculous name.â
âTroisiĂšme,â he said, smiling. âOr is it quatriĂšmeâas you say it, âthe fourthâ? I can never remember. Anyway, thereâs a whole mess of Edward Binghampton Barrows, but this particular one has done most of his work on French Jazz Age painters. A few years ago, he wrote the only biography that exists of the painter Ămile Giroux. So if anyone will know if this painting is one of his, it would be Teddy.â
âHow do you know him?â
âWe studied at the Sorbonne together. His mother was a famous Nigerian model who used to hang with Warhol. In our youth, his motherâs cachet could get Teddy and me into some terrific parties in Paris. His father, the rather stodgy Earl of Campshire, would often have to get us out of any trouble, but it was a marvelous existence.â Gaston grinned, turning the painting over and bending over it, again studying the frame carefully. It was gold-carved with inlaid flowers that looked to have once been red but were now faded brown. âWhile Iâm not a fan of this frame for this picture, I think it might be quite valuableâan original even.â
âLet me know what you find,â said Lara. âI think Iâd like it more if it was framed in something like this.â She pointed to a simple gold frame.
He nodded. âIâll call you when I hear something from Teddy or have something to show you.â
Hearing the bellâs off-key clang, Lara turned to see a petite chestnut-haired woman making a beeline toward Gaston. Recognizing her as Marla Archerâthe recent ex-wife of police chief Ben ArcherâLara stepped out of the way as the woman approached Gaston and gave him a kiss on each cheek. Marla Archer quickly shifted her gaze to Lara as though she were a potted plant that was in the way.
âHello,â she said brightly. âSo sorry, I didnât see you there.â
âThis is Lara Barnes,â said Gaston.
âOh,â said Marla in that tone. Her eyes softened. It was the look of pity that Lara was used to by now.
âWell,â said Lara, giving a final nod to Gaston. âCall me when you find out something, Gaston.â
âThatâs quite a painting,â said Marla, pushing her shoulder-length hair out of the way to get a closer look at it.
âIt needs a new frame,â said Gaston. âBut weâre taking care of that.â
As Lara turned the knob, she heard Marla exclaim, âThatâs gorgeous.â Lara turned to see that Gaston was holding up a frame with one of her recent photographs, the painting now forgotten. Marla was one of only two photographers in Kerrigan Falls. That Marla had taken her high school graduation portrait and still didnât recall her until Gastonâs prompting didnât exactly make Lara feel memorable. Over the years, sheâd been introduced to Marla several times, but it seemed the woman didnât recall her until the connection with Todd was made. It was tough when the only thing you were known for was not getting married. But her mother was right. Lara came from a long line of strong women. She would weather this. Thinking about the painting, Lara realized she really would like to see it hanging in her dining room.
As she shut the door behind her, she wondered what she would do if she found out the painting was valuable.
Only in the quiet of the night, when Lara worked alone at the radio station, did she feel sheâd learned the rhythms and creaks of the place, the music of old boards and rusted nails giving way. It was only then that she felt it was truly hers. After the sale, and at the urging of her father, sheâd stopped doing the overnight shift to focus on the business side of thingsâwhich had sorely needed her attentionâbut she liked to do the occasional night and overnight shifts. Now her day was a constant stream of spreadsheets and advertising numbers, so she liked to get behind the booth and remember why she loved this station. Tonight she was filling in for the seven-to-ten shift.
As she came through the door, she was surprised to find her father still in the studio. He was sitting on the floor, a fan of albums spread around him.
âLooking for something?â
âIâm doing the Laurel Canyon sound tomorrow night.â There seemed to be an order to the scattered albums, and he kept swapping them out. He looked like a teenager on his bedroom floor.
âNot enough David Crosby?â
âToo much Crosby,â said Jason, his face stern. âNot enough Joni Mitchell.â
Lara made a face behind his back. She wasnât as big a Joni Mitchell fan as her father. âHow about Buffalo Springfield? Maybe âExpecting to Flyâ? Havenât heard that one in a while.â
From the corner of her eye, she could see him smile. He was always proud when she knew her music.
Jason stood up, knees cracking, and plunked himself heavily in his desk chair, which faced hers.
Housed in the old Main Street pharmacy, 99.7 K-ROCKâs focal point in the office was a giant stained-glass mortar and pestle that had once been centered over the bar. At
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