My partner Paul had just moved into my little Surry Hills apartment and I was happy as could be. We had been together for three years and were having a house built, so even though it was only temporary, it would be a nice little precursor to our life to come. My apartment was poky but cosy and Paul had been sharing with some very rambunctious mates with little to no idea about décor, so my place looked like the Hilton by comparison.
Paul had to travel a lot for work, being a sales rep for a wine company, so not long after he had dropped his things off at my apartment he had to go away for a week. I was a little put out but used to the routine.
I was e-mailing Paul each day as usual and mentioned that what we really needed was more space and a new TV. Paul said there was a way to achieve both without having to spend any cash (the bulk of our money seemed to be pouring into the house we were building). He suggested I sell some things of his he wasn’t using — in fact there were three boxes of stuff I could rifle through.
I excitedly found the boxes and went through them. There was a fair bit of junk but some good items as well. I discovered a few rare LPs that would certainly sell and some appliances that Paul said he’d bought on impulse that he would never use. I also spotted a framed picture that looked quite fetching — a nude in a lovely gold frame. I took my loot into the bedroom and set about taking photos with my digital camera. I posted the photos and details about each item on an auction site and had a good time looking for a TV that — with a little luck — we would shortly be able to purchase.
Over the next few days all of the items I’d posted online found buyers — including the framed picture — and I was ecstatic about the money. We had made more than enough for a TV. I set about posting the items to their buyers and was very proud of myself. I gave Paul a call to give him the good news. He said he was amazed that everything sold but the next thing he said made my heart skip a beat. “You didn’t sell that picture did you? The one I mentioned in the e-mail? I’m sorry … I know you wouldn’t have, I’m just being paranoid.”
“No,” I replied all too quickly — my heart nearly beating out of my chest at this stage — recalling how I’d carefully wrapped the picture in bubble wrap and posted it to Melbourne that very afternoon.
Paul went on to tell me that his uncle had given the picture to him for his last birthday. He said it was an original print — the first in a series of etchings done by Norman Lindsay! I don’t know a lot about art but I knew I had sold something very valuable for a lot less than it was worth! I made some excuse and got off the phone. I had no idea what to do. I was in a panic. Part of me knew that the right thing to do was to come clean to the man I planned on sharing my life with but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I looked at the e-mail again and scanned all the way to the bottom. He had indeed told me not to sell the picture. I was nearly sick. In my eagerness to sell Paul’s belongings I had failed to read the whole e-mail.
I composed myself and decided the best thing to do would be to contact the buyer, explain the situation and get the picture back. Surely the buyer would see reason. I e-mailed repeatedly that night but got no reply. I tried and tried over the next couple of days but to no avail. The person who had the picture now clearly knew what a steal they’d chanced on.
I needed time to think of how to break it to Paul. It was then that I hatched a terrible scheme that still makes me queasy to this day. I blew up the picture I had taken of the print until it was the size of the original and printed it out. Luckily it was about A4 size or just a little over. I had to keep retouching and printing until I got it right but I finally printed one that looked satisfactory. I then took it to a framer and described the original framing to him. He seemed a little perplexed but I made up a story about how I loved the piece but couldn’t afford the original. Luckily most of the buyers paid by direct deposit to my bank account so I had enough cash to pay for the framing and a little more to convince the framer to have it done by the next day — when Paul would be arriving home!
I picked up the framed picture the next morning and it looked convincing enough. I put it in the box that I’d found the original in and silently hoped that Paul would never notice. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if Paul ever tried to sell it or even have it valued.
It’s been six months since and I haven’t yet found the courage to confess to Paul. I wrapped the picture and put it in the garage, telling Paul that this would ensure thieves would never find it.
Any time he talks about the picture, I change the subject and I dread the day when he discovers the fate that befell his treasure!
Picture posed by model
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