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value."
     
    "When you say enormous sums, what do you mean, exactly? I mean, how much will this go for?"
     
    "I've no idea."
     
    "A guess."
     
    "Well . . ." Olivia turned down her mouth, considering. "Maybe . . . two hundred thousand."
     
    "Two hundred thousand? For that?"
     
    "Give or take the odd twenty pence."
     
    "But why?" Nancy wailed again.
     
    "I've told you. Rarity value. Nothing's worth anything unless somebody wants it. Lawrence Stern was never a prolific painter. If you look at the minute detail in that picture, you'll see why. It must have taken months to complete."
     
    "But what's happened to all his work?"
     
    "Gone. Sold. Probably sold straight off the easel, with the paint still wet. Every self-respecting private collection or public art gallery in the world will have a Lawrence Stern somewhere around the place. It's only every now and then that one of his pictures comes on the market nowadays. And don't forget, he stopped painting long before the war, when his hands became too crippled even to hold a brush. I imagine he sold everything he could and was glad to, just to keep himself and his family alive. He was never a rich man, and it was fortunate for us that he inherited a huge London house from his father, and then was able, later on, to buy the freehold of Cam Cottage. The sale of Cam Cottage went a long way towards educating the three of us, and the proceeds from Oakley Street are what Mumma's living on now."
     
    Nancy listened to all this, but not with her fullest attention. Her concentration wavered, as her mind went off at a tangent, exploring possibilities, speculating.
     
    She said, sounding as casual as she could, "What about Mother's pictures?"
     
    "The Shell Seekers, you mean?"
     
    "Yes. And the two panels on the landing."
     
    "What about them?"
     
    "If they were sold now, would they be worth a lot of money?"
     
    "I imagine, yes."
     
    Nancy swallowed. Her mouth was dry. "How much?"
     
    "Nancy, I'm not in the business."
     
    "Roughly."
     
    "I suppose . . . close on five hundred thousand."
     
    "Five-hundred-thousand." The words made scarcely any sound. Nancy leaned back in her chair seat, utterly stunned. Half a million. She could see the sum written out, with a pound sign and lots of lovely noughts. At that moment, the waiter brought their coffee, black and steaming and fragrant. Nancy cleared her throat and tried again. "Half a million."
     
    "Roughly." Olivia, with one of her rare smiles, shunted the sugar bowl in Nancy's direction. "So you see why you and George need have no fears on Mumma's behalf."
     
    That was the end of the conversation. They drank their coffee in silence, Olivia settled the bill, and they got up to go. Outside the restaurant, as they were travelling in different directions, they ordered two taxis and, as Olivia was pushed for time, she took the first one. They said goodbye on the pavement and Nancy watched her go. While they lunched, it had started to rain, quite heavily, but Nancy, standing in the downpour, scarcely noticed it.
     
    Half a million.
     
    Her own taxi drew up. She told the driver to take her to Harrods, remembered to tip the doorman, and clambered aboard. The taxi moved forward. She sat back in her seat and looked through the streaming windows at passing London, her eyes unseeing. She had achieved nothing with Olivia, but the day had not been wasted. She could feel her heart thumping with stealthy excitement.
     
    Half a million pounds.
     
    One of the reasons that Olivia Keeling had made such a success of her career was that she had developed the ability to clear her mind, and so beam in her considerable intelligence on one set of problems at a time. She ran her life like a submarine, divided into watertight compartments, each impregnably sealed from the others. Thus, this morning, she had put Hank Spotswood out of her mind, and so been able to give her entire attention to sorting out Nancy.,On returning to the office, even as she