‘Condolences on the loss of your father,’ said the solicitor through the thicket of his beard. ‘Now for the tricky matter of the painting. Hmm.’
Jayne tugged at her navy skirt, watching as his eyes darted across some papers. They called her Miss Navy Blue at school because she was dull.
‘The matter of the Highland Cattle painting,’ he pushed a photograph across the desk,’ was not made clear in the will. Your brother is insisting, shall I say demanding that it should be sent to him in America. The painting itself is worth very little.’
Jayne’s eyes barely flickered. Mr. Sharpe frowned.
‘Why shouldn't he have it? You have the other two paintings. Much more valuable.’
Jayne allowed a smile to flicker at the corner of her lips.
‘Because…’ she relished the words as they foamed gently on her tongue.
‘He’s dead. I killed him. In Baltimore. Yesterday.’