Page 116 of The Girl You Left Behind
As I looked, she wiped at her eyes with the back of a hand. “If you don’t want to take it,” she spat, “then burn it.”
I took it. What else could I have done?
I don’t know why I didn’t tell Danes about the painting. I suppose I should have, but it didn’t belong in the darn warehouse, after all. That old German woman couldn’t give two hoots what happened to it as long as it wasn’t looking at her anymore.
And you know what? I secretly like the idea that you could have a painting so powerful it could shake up a whole marriage. I can’t stop looking at her. Given everything else that seems to be going on around here, it’s nice to have something beautiful to look at.
•••
The courtroom is in complete silence as Marianne Andrews closes the journal in front of her. Liv has been concentrating so hard that she feels almost faint. She steals a look sideways down the bench and sees Paul, his elbows on his knees, his head tipped forward. Beside him, Janey Dickinson is scribbling furiously into a notepad.
A handbag.
Angela Silver is on her feet. “So let us get this straight, Ms. Andrews. The painting you know asThe Girl You Left Behindwas not inside, and never had been inside, the storage facility when your mother was given it.”
“No, ma’am.”
“And just to reiterate, while the storage facility was full of looted works of art, stolen works of art, this particular painting was given to your mother, not even within the facility.”
“Yes, ma’am. By a German lady. Like her journal says.”
“Your Honor, this journal, in Louanne Baker’s own hand, proves beyond doubt that this painting was never in the Collection Point. The painting was simply given away by a woman who had never wanted it.Given away.For whatever reason—a bizarre sexual jealousy, a historic resentment, we will never know. The salient point here, however, is that this painting, which, as we hear, was almost destroyed, was agift.
“Your Honor, it has become very clear these last two weeks that the provenance of this painting is incomplete, as it is for many paintings that have existed for the best part of a turbulent century. What can now be proven beyond doubt, however, is that the painting’s last two transfers were untainted. David Halston bought it legitimately for his wife in 1997, and she has the receipt to prove it. Louanne Baker, who owned it before him, was given it in 1945, and we have her written word, the word of a woman renowned for honesty and accuracy, to prove it. For this reason, we contend thatThe Girl You Left Behindmust remain with its current owner.”
Angela Silver sits. Paul looks up at her. In the brief moment that he catches her eye, Liv is sure she can detect a faint smile.
•••
After a break for lunch, Christopher Jenks stands. “Ms. Andrews. A simple question. Did your mother ask this astonishingly generous old woman her name?”
Marianne Andrews blinks. “I have no idea.”
Liv cannot take her eyes off Paul.You did this for me?she asks him silently. Oddly, he no longer meets her gaze. He sits beside Janey Dickinson looking uncomfortable, checking his watch, and glancing toward the door. She cannot think what she will say to him.
“It’s an extraordinary gift to accept without knowing whom you are getting it from.”
“Well, crazy gift, crazy times. I guess you had to be there.”
There is a low ripple of laughter in the courtroom. Marianne Andrews shimmies slightly. Liv detects unfulfilled stage ambitions.
“Indeed. Have you read all your mother’s journals?”
“Oh, good God, no,” she says. “There’s thirty years’ worth of stuff in there. We—I—found them only last night.” Her gaze briefly flickers toward the bench. “But we found the important bit. The bit where Mom was given the painting. That’s what I brought in here.” She places great emphasis on the word “given,” glancing sideways at Liv and nodding to herself as she says it.
“Then you haven’t yet read Louanne Baker’s 1948 journal?”
There is a short silence. Liv is aware of Henry reaching for his own files.
Jenks holds out his hand, and the solicitor hands him a piece of paper. “My lord, may I ask you to turn to the journal entry for the eleventh of May 1948, entitled House Moves?”
“What are they doing?” Liv’s attention is finally drawn back to the case. She leans in toward Henry, who is scanning the pages.
“I’m looking,” he whispers.
“In it Louanne Baker discusses her household move from Newark, in Essex County, to Saddle River.”
“That’s right,” says Marianne. “Saddle River. That’s where I grew up.”
