The Girl You Left Behind

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 as
The Girl You Left
     Behind
was 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 Honour, 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, an historic
     resentment, we will never know. The salient point here, however, is that this painting,
     which, as we hear, was almost destroyed, was a
gift
.
    ‘Your Honour, 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 bestpart 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 that
The Girl You Left
     Behind
must remain with its current owner. To remove it surely makes a mockery
     of the law.’
    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.
    The court adjourns for lunch. Marianne is
     smoking on the back steps, her blue handbag looped over her elbow, gazing out on to the
     grey street. ‘Wasn’t that marvellous?’ she says conspiratorially, when
     she sees Liv approaching.
    ‘You were brilliant.’
    ‘Oh, my, I have to confess – I did
     enjoy it. They’ll have to eat their words about my mother now. I knew she would
     never have taken a thing that didn’t belong to her.’ She nods, taps the ash
     off her cigarette. ‘They called her “The Fearless Miss Baker”, you
     know.’
    Liv leans over the rail in silence. She
     pulls up her collar against the cold. Marianne smokes the rest of her cigarette in long,
     hungry gulps.
    ‘It was him, wasn’t it?’
     Liv says finally, looking straight ahead.
    ‘Oh, honey, I promised I
     wouldn’t say a word.’ Marianne turns to her and pulls a face. ‘I could
     have kicked myselfthis morning. But of course it was. The poor man
     is nuts about you.’
    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
     towards the door. She cannot think what she will say to him.
    ‘It’s an extraordinary gift to
     accept without knowing who 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 – only found
     them last night.’ Her gaze briefly flickers towards 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