A Trick of the Light by Ali Carter (surface ebook reader txt) 📕

first one, Early Morning Stags on the Moor. Oliver thinks this is genuine. Perhaps I should too. I need a prototype to start from.

My eye was drawn to the heather again and you know what, on second thoughts, to use it as a background for the Auchen Laggan Tosh Painting Residency website is a bit of a cliché. I laughed at myself agreeing with Zoe and Louis now. I guess I’d been jealous at the time of my Louis siding with Zoe.

The next painting, Rutting Stags, could be a copy. Though it looks a pretty brilliant piece of painting to me. The foreshortening of the deer, I wish I could do that. Oliver thinks it’s been hung a little low, so I bent down to test his point.

The buff, virile beast burst out the canvas. Oliver’s right. The picture came alive from this angle.

I looked up at the hanging chain. There’s plenty of space between it and the light; this painting could so easily be higher. Hang on a sec, look at that, perfectly obvious in artificial light, there’s a strip of faded silk above the frame. It’s very similar to the green patches in the drawing room downstairs. Rupert drew attention to them on the orientation tour and Zoe said they’d recently moved the pictures to some of the spare rooms. How long does silk take to fade? I reckon a year or two. But with the curtains closed in here, it would be even more. Nevertheless, Rutting Stags at some point must have been re-hung, the s-hook joined fractionally too low down the chain. I quickly checked above the other paintings. There was no more faded silk.

Is Rutting Stags a copy? Oliver left a crack open for the real expert but I’m now thinking he’s right. I mean, art fraud – it’s as if the stars are aligning to get me on board. Giving me permission to play amateur detective again.

I touched the frame, dust came off on my fingers. It wouldn’t take long for it to settle in this room but it does mean the painting’s been on the wall a while.

I went back to the first picture. There was even more dust on its frame. The third, Horses at Bay, was dusty too. The last, Dogs in the Moonlight, had a little bit on the frame but as I moved my fingers along the bottom ledge there were obvious patches where no dust lay. Slightly bigger than the palm of my hand. It’s as if someone’s been clutching it recently.

I looked up at this painting of two spaniels, a greyhound and a terrier of sorts. They’re gathered on a clump of grass next to the stump of a felled tree. Oliver suspects this one’s a copy too. He’d banged on about the brush strokes but if I want to prove it, I have to find some firm evidence tonight.

I leant my body up against the wall and pulled the picture out a little. It swung ever so gently on the chains. I didn’t want to pull it away too much. So I shone my torch behind it to see. There weren’t any cobwebs but this doesn’t exactly tell me much. If Oliver were here I wonder if he’d notice something unusual about the stretchers? Me, I have no clue. The wood is pine to avoid warping. It’s what I use.

I released the picture carefully back against the wall and stood in front of it, scanning the brush strokes. I’m still struggling to work out exactly what it is I’m looking for. But if this picture is a copy I must have something in my armoury to winkle out the truth. Well, modesty aside I do have a keen eye and a bit of a knack for thinking laterally.

The dogs’ fur is perfectly depicted. Each hair an individual stroke. So delicately painted. If only my drawings could be as subtle as this.

My eyes moved on to the stump of the tree. I counted the rings; this oak was some age. Landseer has picked out every wrinkle in the bark. His attention to detail is phenomenal. I can even see where he’s painted a knot. The cracks are interwoven in a natural pattern. I’ve learnt a lot about trees this week. Giles is an authority and Fergus an enthusiast. Maybe I should think of planting some at home. I don’t have an enormous garden but space for a maple at least or an outdoor Christmas tree, that would be nice. I’ve always found woods difficult to paint. I guess Landseer can teach me a thing or two. I stared at the colours. He’d used far more sienna yellow than I ever do. I must remember that. The knot on the stump is even lighter. I bet it’s mixed with zinc white. But how did he get the balance with the cracks so right? What colour are those cracks? Hang on a minute…this is very odd. Two letters are forming. I can see an E and an H within the pattern. Very subtle, but I can definitely see them. E… H… Are they initials? Landseer’s? No, he’d be E L H, Edwin Landseer Harris, or E L at least.

E… H… E… H…E… H…

My lips wobbled as I mouthed the words Ewen, Ewen, Ewen Hewson.

I rushed along the wall to Rutting Stags. My whole body was trembly and overexcited. Are there initials hidden in this painting too?

My eyes darted all over the canvas. A subtle E H must be in here somewhere. I crouched down. I bet you they’re hidden on the chief stag. Ewen, leaving his mark on the supreme being.

Its front hoof was poised on a rock and the misty bands of keratin covering were carefully depicted, stretching across the cloven foot. There it is. I can see it now. An E and an H in the strokes. The cross-bars of the letters in black, the stems in off white, each one slotted within the layers of the