‘Because we might need to stay over, depending on what we find?’ Mariana asked.
‘Exactly.’
So in the middle of Monday morning—after Nigel had visited the painting and told Mariana it was going to be the star of the next series, whatever they found—they drove to Norfolk.
The cottages on New Road were still there; Mariana took a couple of shots of them. As Angelo had discovered on the Internet, the Red Lion was now a private house. The farmhouse was just outside the village, down a long, narrow drive lined by lime trees.
‘Let’s go and see if the owners are in,’ she said. ‘If not, we can leave a note. I’m sure they’ll be interested that their house is part of our mystery and they’ll contact us.’
Even though her ex had crushed her belief in herself personally, Angelo thought, she believed in herself professionally. And that confidence made her shine.
This was strictly work, he reminded himself, and he parked on the gravel next to a large four-by-four, then followed Mariana to the front door and knocked.
A woman answered. ‘Sorry, I don’t buy at the door,’ she said, looking wary. ‘And the dogs aren’t keen on strangers.’
There was a deep bark from behind her, to back up what she said.
‘I’m not selling anything,’ he said. ‘My name’s Angelo Beresford, and I’m a solicitor. This is Mariana Thackeray. We were wondering if you could help us with some information to try and track something down.’
‘Mariana from Hidden Treasure! I love your programme,’ the woman said. Her countenance changed completely. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you on my doorstep!’
‘I’m sorry we didn’t write to you first, but we’re checking out some hunches about a lost painting,’ Mariana said. ‘It belongs to Angelo’s grandfather and I think your house might be a piece of the puzzle.’
‘Come in and I’ll put the kettle on. I’m Aggie Fryer,’ she said. ‘John, John, come and see who it is!’
Once they were settled with a cup of tea, and the two black Labradors had sprawled at Mariana’s feet to have their tummies rubbed, Mariana explained about Carulli and showed the Fryers the photographs.
‘That definitely looks like our house,’ Aggie said.
‘My grandfather visited the area when he bought the painting, back in 1963,’ Angelo said. ‘Did the house belong to your family?’
‘No, we moved here ten years ago.’ John said. He smiled at Angelo. ‘Fancy our house being painted. Your grandfather doesn’t want to sell the picture, does he?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Angelo said.
‘And, because it’s you,’ Aggie said, looking at Mariana, ‘that means the painting’s worth a lot more than everyone thinks it is, doesn’t it?’
Mariana nodded. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s just—oh, my days. How amazing,’ Aggie said.
‘We bought the house from Billy Reynolds,’ John said. ‘He retired to a cottage in the middle of the village.’
‘Do you know if he’s still there?’ Angelo asked.
‘Sorry, I’m afraid we don’t,’ Aggie said.
‘We’re also looking for whatever would’ve been known as the big house,’ Mariana said.
‘Barrington Manor,’ John said promptly. ‘It’s past the church on the other side of the village.’
‘Do let us know what you find out,’ Aggie said.
‘We will,’ Angelo promised.
Back in the car, he said to Mariana, ‘You can do the knocking at the big house. You’re the celebrity.’
She gave him a speaking look. ‘Hardly. I’ve done sixteen television programmes over the last three years. I’m more of an art historian than a broadcaster.’
‘But Aggie Fryer recognised you, and that’s why she was willing to talk to us,’ Angelo said.
‘I guess.’
‘And you’re good with people,’ he added. ‘It makes sense to use our team’s strengths.’
And how bad was it that the tiny spark of light in her eyes made him feel warm all over?
At Barrington Manor, the owners had the same reaction as the Fryers.