studied the paintings intently.
‘What do you think?’ Ben stood beside his friend, head on one side and lips pursed in critical concentration.
‘They’re beautiful, especially the full-face portrait.’
‘Hmm. I like that too. What do you think I could get for them?’
‘What did you say her name was?’ Howard tapped the newspaper against his leg.
‘Amy Carter.’ Ben shot his friend a curious look. ‘Why so interested in who she is?’
‘There might be a good reason for that. Do you know where she lives?’
‘Farthing Street, Wapping. Don’t know the number though.’
Howard let out a slow whistle. ‘In that case don’t sell these yet. They could be worth a fortune in a little while.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ben laughed. ‘I know they’re some of my best work, but—’
‘Read this.’ Howard unrolled the newspaper and thrust it at him, pointing to a section at the top of the page. ‘They mention that the man has a daughter called Amy.’
Leaning against the bench, Ben began to read an account of a trial taking place at the Old Bailey. When he’d finished he bowed his head, remembering the young, innocent girl sitting by the river and smiling at him. Pity swamped him.
‘Oh, hell!’
Howard shook his arm to gain his attention. ‘Do you think it’s her father?’
‘She told me her father was in the merchant navy and had gone to Australia this time.’
‘That’s it then.’ Howard was now pacing the room. ‘Hang on to those paintings.’
Ben erupted in fury. ‘Of course I’m hanging on to them! I can’t sell them now. Probably not ever.’
‘Yes you can. When the trial’s over.’
‘I never thought you were a callous sod, Howard.’ Ben had rounded on his friend. ‘What do I show them as, huh? Buy a painting of a murderer’s daughter?’
‘Sorry.’ Howard held up a placating hand. ‘I didn’tmean it to sound like that. He might not be found guilty, and even if he is, you’ll be able to sell them after a year or so. They’re too good to stay under the sheet, Ben.’
‘No, I can’t sell them.’ Ben shook his head sadly. ‘She was such an intriguing girl. Poor little devil. Things could get tough for her.’
‘We might be jumping to conclusions.’ Seeing his friend had calmed down, Howard slapped him on the back. ‘Come on; let’s go for a drink. All we can do now is wait and see what happens.’
‘You’re right.’ Ben ran a hand through his untidy hair. ‘I could use a pint or two.’
Still in their old working clothes, they got in the car and Ben headed up the road.
‘Hey!’ Howard exclaimed. ‘We’ve just passed the Hare and Hounds. Where are we going?’
‘Wapping. There’s a pub there called the Lord Nelson. It’s a bit rough, but the regulars are bound to know the man on trial.’
‘How do you know this place?’
‘Saw it on one of my sketching trips.’
Howard shrugged. ‘You do go to the oddest places.’
‘You know I like to draw things with character.’ Ben grinned at his friend. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe, especially if we buy a few drinks.’
‘At least at six feet four you’re big enough for me to hide behind.’
‘Coward.’
‘You bet.’
*
The pub was crowded but strangely subdued when they arrived.
‘Two pints of your best bitter, landlord.’ Ben leant on the bar and gazed around, then back at the man pulling the pint. ‘Have one for yourself.’
‘Thanks, mate.’ The landlord put the overflowing glasses on the counter and pulled another for himself. ‘Haven’t seen you here before.’
‘We’re just passing through and felt thirsty.’ Ben drank down half of the pint in one go and rolled his eyes. ‘You serve a good beer.’
‘Best in the area,’ the man said proudly.
Ben nodded. ‘No wonder you’re so busy.’
‘It’s usually livelier than this, but when they’ve got a few pints down them they’ll forget about the murder.’
‘Oh?’ Ben looked
‘What do you think?’ Ben stood beside his friend, head on one side and lips pursed in critical concentration.
‘They’re beautiful, especially the full-face portrait.’
‘Hmm. I like that too. What do you think I could get for them?’
‘What did you say her name was?’ Howard tapped the newspaper against his leg.
‘Amy Carter.’ Ben shot his friend a curious look. ‘Why so interested in who she is?’
‘There might be a good reason for that. Do you know where she lives?’
‘Farthing Street, Wapping. Don’t know the number though.’
Howard let out a slow whistle. ‘In that case don’t sell these yet. They could be worth a fortune in a little while.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ben laughed. ‘I know they’re some of my best work, but—’
‘Read this.’ Howard unrolled the newspaper and thrust it at him, pointing to a section at the top of the page. ‘They mention that the man has a daughter called Amy.’
Leaning against the bench, Ben began to read an account of a trial taking place at the Old Bailey. When he’d finished he bowed his head, remembering the young, innocent girl sitting by the river and smiling at him. Pity swamped him.
‘Oh, hell!’
Howard shook his arm to gain his attention. ‘Do you think it’s her father?’
‘She told me her father was in the merchant navy and had gone to Australia this time.’
‘That’s it then.’ Howard was now pacing the room. ‘Hang on to those paintings.’
Ben erupted in fury. ‘Of course I’m hanging on to them! I can’t sell them now. Probably not ever.’
‘Yes you can. When the trial’s over.’
‘I never thought you were a callous sod, Howard.’ Ben had rounded on his friend. ‘What do I show them as, huh? Buy a painting of a murderer’s daughter?’
‘Sorry.’ Howard held up a placating hand. ‘I didn’tmean it to sound like that. He might not be found guilty, and even if he is, you’ll be able to sell them after a year or so. They’re too good to stay under the sheet, Ben.’
‘No, I can’t sell them.’ Ben shook his head sadly. ‘She was such an intriguing girl. Poor little devil. Things could get tough for her.’
‘We might be jumping to conclusions.’ Seeing his friend had calmed down, Howard slapped him on the back. ‘Come on; let’s go for a drink. All we can do now is wait and see what happens.’
‘You’re right.’ Ben ran a hand through his untidy hair. ‘I could use a pint or two.’
Still in their old working clothes, they got in the car and Ben headed up the road.
‘Hey!’ Howard exclaimed. ‘We’ve just passed the Hare and Hounds. Where are we going?’
‘Wapping. There’s a pub there called the Lord Nelson. It’s a bit rough, but the regulars are bound to know the man on trial.’
‘How do you know this place?’
‘Saw it on one of my sketching trips.’
Howard shrugged. ‘You do go to the oddest places.’
‘You know I like to draw things with character.’ Ben grinned at his friend. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe, especially if we buy a few drinks.’
‘At least at six feet four you’re big enough for me to hide behind.’
‘Coward.’
‘You bet.’
*
The pub was crowded but strangely subdued when they arrived.
‘Two pints of your best bitter, landlord.’ Ben leant on the bar and gazed around, then back at the man pulling the pint. ‘Have one for yourself.’
‘Thanks, mate.’ The landlord put the overflowing glasses on the counter and pulled another for himself. ‘Haven’t seen you here before.’
‘We’re just passing through and felt thirsty.’ Ben drank down half of the pint in one go and rolled his eyes. ‘You serve a good beer.’
‘Best in the area,’ the man said proudly.
Ben nodded. ‘No wonder you’re so busy.’
‘It’s usually livelier than this, but when they’ve got a few pints down them they’ll forget about the murder.’
‘Oh?’ Ben looked
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