You have to go on talking to me. Say it again.’ Saul sprawled in Thomas’s winter chair. It was upholstered in brilliant, faded blue, with scuffed arms and like most objects in this house, seemed to have an independent life of its own. ‘I’ve been halfway party to this plan,’ she said. ‘But not all the way.’ ‘You couldn’t be,’ Saul said. ‘Because you kept on thinking that one day Gayle and Beatrice were bound to inherit the finer qualities of their father and understand his passions. Can’t imagine why you did.’ ‘Because I wanted to.’ ‘Because you think you inherited your own saving graces?’ ‘Some. A talent for concealing things. And I’m handy with a knife.’ ‘We stray from the point,’ Saul said, carefully. ‘Thomas and I hatched a plan to save this collection from the threat posed by his children, who are led by Edward, who in turn clones his own bitterness. He’s a failure in life who’s wrecked his career by serial dishonesty and he has something to prove.
