Art Theft

 

The Patron reward for January 2020 was this very short story called Art Theft. If you would like more fiction by me, consider subscribing to my Patreon.

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Art Theft

She left behind the painting. That was the oddest thing. It was a good painting too, one that really captured the house in the summer sun, the light caressing the walls. The corner in shadow of the walnut tree, the rose crawling up the trellis.

It was the only painting left behind.

She’d knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m Penthesilea Williams. I’m a painter. Can I paint your house?”

For a moment I was confused; we’d had the house repainted a year before. Then I noticed the easel and the canvas balanced on the bike, the paint flecked smock she wore over her sensible skirt and blouse.
Of course I let her into the garden. Why wouldn’t I? I was flattered that she wanted to paint the house. She looked all around the house peering closely at the walls, doors and windows. She chose the side by the river, out of sight of the road and the neighbours, one that caught the afternoon sun on the French windows.

She spent two days painting, and of course I let her in to use the toilet and make coffee from the kettle. On the afternoon of the second day, I called to her as she packed up. “We aren’t in tomorrow. We’re driving to my aunt’s birthday party in Surrey.”

“Oh dear,” she said. “And I’m so nearly finished.” Then she shrugged. “Still, I can probably manage the rest for memory. Thank you so much.”

When we got back the house had been emptied. From the way things had been dragged across the lawn the police thought they had probably loaded everything onto a boat.

But she did leave the painting of the house behind. It was a good painting.