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  John frowned for a second time.

  The following week, John had to return to London to represent his company at the Motor Show at Earls Court. He decided to drop into the Crewe Gallery to see how his brother was selling. No change. Only two red dots on the wall, while Peter Blake was almost sold out.

  John left the gallery disappointed on two counts, and headed back towards Piccadilly. He almost walked straight past her, but as soon as he noticed the delicate colour of her cheeks and her graceful figure it was love at first sight. He stood staring at her, afraid she might turn out to be too expensive.

  He stepped into the gallery to take a closer look. She was tiny, delicate and exquisite.

  ‘How much?’ he asked softly, staring at the woman seated behind the glass table.

  ‘The Vuillard?’ she enquired.

  John nodded.

  ‘£1,200.’

  As if in a daydream, he removed his chequebook and wrote out a sum that he knew would empty his account.

  The Vuillard was placed opposite the Dunstan, and thus began a love affair with several painted ladies from all over the world, although John never admitted to his wife how much these framed mistresses were costing him.

  Despite the occasional picture to be found hanging in obscure corners of the Summer Exhibition, Robin didn’t have another one-man show for several years. When it comes to artists whose canvases remain unsold, dealers are unsympathetic to the suggestion that they could represent a sound investment because they might be recognised after they are dead – mainly because by that time the gallery owners will also be dead.

  When the invitation for Robin’s next one-man show finally appeared, John knew he had little choice but to attend the opening.

  John had recently been involved in a management buy-out of Reynolds and Company. With car sales increasing every year during the seventies, so did the necessity to put wheels on them, which allowed him to indulge in his new hobby as an amateur art collector. He had recently added Bonnard, Dufy, Camoin and Luce to his collection, still listening to the advice of experts, but in the end trusting his eye.

  John stepped out of the train at Euston and gave the cabby at the front of the queue the address he needed to be dropped at. The cabby scratched his head for a moment before setting off in the direction of the East End.

  When John stepped into the gallery, Robin rushed across to greet him with the words, ‘And here is someone who has never doubted my true worth.’ John smiled at his brother, who offered him a glass of white wine.

  John glanced around the little gallery, to observe knots of people who seemed more interested in gulping down mediocre wine than in taking any interest in mediocre pictures. When would his brother learn that the last thing you need at an opening are other unknown artists accompanied by their hangers-on?

  Robin took him by the arm and guided him from group to group, introducing him to people who couldn’t have afforded to buy one of the frames, let alone one of the canvases.

  The longer the evening dragged on, the more sorry John began to feel for his brother, and on this occasion he happily fell into the dinner trap. He ended up entertaining twelve of Robin’s companions, including the owner of the gallery, who John feared wouldn’t be getting much more out of the evening than a three-course meal.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he tried to assure John. ‘We’ve already sold a couple of pictures, and a lot of people have shown interest. The truth is that the critics have never fully understood Robin’s work, as I’m sure no one is more aware than you.’

  John looked on sadly as his brother’s friends added such comments as ‘never been properly recognised’, ‘unappreciated talent’, and ‘should have been elected to the RA years ago’. At this suggestion Robin rose unsteadily to his feet and declared, ‘Never! I shall be like Henry Moore and David Hockney. When the invitation comes, I shall turn them down.’ More cheering, followed by even more drinking of John’s wine.

  When the clock chimed eleven, John made some excuse about an early-morning meeting. He offered his apologies, settled the bill and left for the Savoy. In the back seat of the taxi, he finally accepted something he had long suspected: his brother simply didn’t have any talent.

  It was to be some years before John heard from Robin again. It seemed that there were no London galleries who were willing to display his work, so he felt it was nothing less than his duty to leave for the South of France and join up with a group of friends who were equally talented and equally misunderstood.

  ‘It will give me a new lease of life,’ he explained in a rare letter to his brother, ‘a chance to fulfil my true potential, which has been held up for far too long by the pygmies of the London art establishment. And I wondered if you could possibly . . .’

  John transferred £5,000 to an account in Vence, to allow Robin to disappear to warmer climes.

  The takeover bid for Reynolds and Co. came out of the blue, although John had always accepted that they were an obvious target for any Japanese car company trying to gain a foothold in Europe. But even he was surprised when their biggest rivals in Germany put in a counter-bid.

  He watched as the value of his shares climbed each day, and not until Honda finally outbid Mercedes did he accept that he would have to make a decision. He opted to cash in his shares and leave the company. He told Susan that he wanted to take a trip around the world, visiting only those cities that boasted great art galleries. First stop the Louvre, followed by the Prado, then the Uffizi, the Hermitage in St Petersburg, and finally on to New York, leaving the Japanese to put wheels on cars.

  John wasn’t surprised to receive a letter from Robin with a French postmark, congratulating him on his good fortune and wishing him every success in his retirement, while pointing out that he himself had been left with no choice but to battle on until the critics finally came to their senses.

  John transferred another £10,000 to the account in Vence.

  John had his first heart attack in New York while admiring a Bellini at the Frick.

  He told Susan that night as she sat by his bedside that he was thankful they had already visited the Metropolitan and the Whitney.

  The second heart attack came soon after they had arrived back in Warwickshire. Susan felt obliged to write to Robin in the South of France and warn him that the doctors’ prognosis was not encouraging.

  Robin didn’t reply. His brother died three weeks later.

  The funeral was well attended by John’s friends and colleagues, but few of them recognised the heavily built man who demanded to be seated in the front row. Susan and the children knew exactly why he had turned up, and it wasn’t to pay his respects.

  ‘He promised I would be taken care of in his will,’ Robin told the grieving widow only moments after they had left the graveside. He later sought out the two boys in order to deliver the same message, though he had had little contact with them during the past thirty years. ‘You see,’ he explained, ‘your dad was one of the few people who understood my true worth.’

  Over tea back at the house, while others consoled the widow, Robin strolled from room to room, studying the pictures his brother had collected over the years. ‘A shrewd investment,’ he assured the local vicar, ‘even if they do lack originality or passion.’ The vicar nodded politely.

  When Robin was introduced to the family solicitor, he immediately asked, ‘When are you expecting to announce the details of the will?’

  ‘I have not yet discussed with Mrs Summers the arrangements for when the will should be read. However, I anticipate it being towards the end of next week.’

  Robin booked himself into the local pub, and rang the solicitor’s office every morning until he confirmed that he would be divulging the contents of the will at three o’clock on the following Thursday.

  Robin appeared at the solicitor’s offices a few minutes before three that afternoon, the first time he had been early for an appointment in years. Susan arrived shortly afterwards, accompanied by the boys, and they took th