The Legacy by Craig Lawrence Page A

gardening and yoga were equally unexpected.
    â€˜I’ll give you a tour if you like,’ said Harry, surprised that Lucy appeared to be taking such a close interest in his books. ‘This is the sitting room and through here is the kitchen.’ He led the girls into a large, modern and well equipped kitchen.
    â€˜Wow,’ said Isobel. ‘Not what I would have expected from a bachelor boy!’
    Harry smiled sheepishly. ‘I like to cook,’ he said simply. The kitchen was well organised with plenty of worktops and a central island. Racks of herbs and the specialist nature of some of the utensils suggested that Harry’s claim had substance. A double door led from the kitchen into his study. The walls were lined with bookshelves, but only to waist height. The wall space above the bookshelves was hung with paintings and, on one wall, several collections of framed photographs.
    Isobel noticed two large oil paintings either side of the fireplace. She went closer to inspect them. They were both nudes, one of a man and one of a woman. The bodies, which were painted from the rear, were superb anatomical studies and seemed to be stepping into the dark canvases. The muscles and sinews of their bodies appeared to have real life in them. ‘These are amazing,’ said Isobel. ‘Where did you get them?’ she asked, noticing the small kingfishers painted in the bottom corners of the pictures.
    â€˜A friend of mine did them,’ he replied. ‘She’s called Camilla Holt. She’s based in London and becoming rather well known now. Did you spot the kingfishers in the corners?’ he asked Isobel. ‘She puts one in every painting instead of a signature but they’re normally much harder to spot.’
    â€˜Like Cuneo,’ suggested Isobel. ‘He always painted a mouse in his pictures. The problem is that once you know where they are, you’re always drawn to them and not to the painting itself.’
    Harry laughed. Cuneo’s military paintings were famous and he’d spent many an idle hour looking for mice when visiting different regiments and admiring the pictures in their officers’ messes. Lucy went over to the photographs. Many were clearly taken in Africa, some in the mountains of Nepal and others in Afghanistan. They were mainly of people, close ups of faces, each full of character. The photography was very good indeed and wouldn’t have looked out of place in National Geographic .
    â€˜Did you take these?’ asked Lucy.
    â€˜Yes,’ replied Harry. ‘I’m a keen photographer as well as a keen cook!’ Lucy wasn’t sure whether Harry was being deliberately succinct in his answers but she wished he’d add a bit more detail. She was intrigued by him. He seemed to have a depth that she didn’t expect in an ex-soldier. People were like onions, she often thought. Getting to know them was like peeling away the layers. It took time but it was invariably worth the effort, even if you eventually decided you didn’t like what you’d uncovered. She’d tried explaining this to Isobel who, whilst she listened sympathetically, didn’t agree. Isobel was a pragmatist and saw the world in black and white terms. She made snap judgements about people based on her first impressions and she seldom changed her mind. Lucy’s other bit of wisdom that Isobel frequently disagreed with was that life was about the journey and not about arriving at the destination. Lucy couldn’t remember where she’d read this but the older she got, the more it struck her as true. Whereas Lucy enjoyed the things that happened to her as she worked towards her goals, Isobel wanted to move on as quickly as possible, impatiently ticking off each milestone before moving on to the next.
    Harry gave them a few minutes and then led them out of the study and up a broad wooden staircase to the next floor. ‘Bedrooms and a bathroom,’ he