Stone Angels

by Paula R. C. Readman

  The American said something inaudible to me, but Basil snapped back. “No, no, Ravencroft isn’t ready, not by a long chalk!”

  “What!” A pain shot through my jaw as I clenched my teeth. I was ready to crash through his office door and make all sorts of demands but, instead, I paced the floor between the desk and the door, trying to calm myself.

  When Basil spoke again there was more control in his voice.

  “Yes, Chuck. I know you wanted to see more of his work, but I’m not sure he’s ready for the big time yet. His work sells only moderately well here.”

  My chest constricted as my desire to slap Basil’s smug face grew. Instead I switched off the intercom and left.

  Back on the street, I turned onto the rat-run of footpaths and made my way towards the café. I had no idea what time Annie finished work, or whether she was even working. The unlit footpath was nothing more than a strip of bare, compacted mud, edged with grass and weeds. It ran between two continuous brick walls that separated the back-to-back Victorian houses. At unmeasured intervals, yellowish light spilt out from the upper-floor windows of the houses, which allowed me to pick my way around discarded rubbish. To dampen my temper I decided to ditch Basil’s ‘Of Land and Sea’ crap and turn my energy into creating the rest of my major collection. I checked my watch. It was nine o’clock and well within my deadline.

  Just as I arrived the abandoned house where I had left my car, I heard a familiar noise above the hum of the traffic. The swishing of soft fabric mixed with the sound of a light footfall.

  I strained to listen. Whoever it was came from the direction of the café. I remained in the shadows. Out of the darkness, the blurred figure of a woman emerged. On seeing me she said, “Mr Bond?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation and before she could even comprehend what was happening, I pressed the chloroform pad hard against her mouth and nose and held her tightly. She briefly struggled until at last, she slipped into unconsciousness. I swept her up and carried her over to my car. After placing her inside the boot I arranged some cushions around her, making her as comfortable as possible before heading home. I drove at a steady speed, not wishing to draw any attention to myself as I tried to contain my excitement.

  ***

  The last thing I wanted that morning was to keep my beautiful Annie waiting. Brush in hand I was ready to start work.

  “I’m busy,” I snarled into the phone.

  “Sorry to bother you so early, James. I know you have the commissions to finish, but…” Basil’s apology softened my rage.

  “What? You’re apologising Basil?”

  “I’ve heard some terrible news.” Basil ignored my sarcasm. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You do sound upset.” I crushed my impatience.

  “It’s unbelievable, James. You were the last to see her alive. Her poor daughter to lose her mother so soon after her father, it’s too sad.”

  ‘‘I’m too busy for guessing games, Basil.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, James. I just received a call from Jeannie Loring. She was sobbing her heart out, poor kid. Her mother died yesterday, not long after our meeting. A car crash. She only realised this morning that her mother hadn’t come home last night.”

  “Car Crash. Mrs Loring is dead?” Suddenly I heard a hammer putting another nail into Basil’s coffin. What would the police make of the fact that on the day Mrs Loring died? He was in the company of yet another woman who’s gone missing? That alone sweetened the bitter pill lodged in my throat. “That’s shocking news, Basil?”

  “It’s terrible on two levels, James. I’ve lost a good friend and a huge commission too. It must’ve happened after you left her. What time did you two finish talking?”

  “Not that long after you actually.”

  “So quickly! Tamsin told me she had a lot to discuss with you.”

  “Like what? Mrs Loring wanted me to do a portrait of her and her daughter.”

  “Oh— so you agreed then.”

  “No—not really. I decided to tell her on Monday that I would be turning down her offer.” I laughed. “Guess I won’t be doing that now.”

  “Turn it down? With the sort of money, she was offering— I don’t believe you, James! You would’ve been crazy to reject it—” he stuttered. “It wasn’t just about the money, but the prestige. A portrait of such a woman would’ve set you up for life in America. You can’t buy that sort of advertising.”

  “Look, Basil, to start with she never mentioned any sum. Anyway, my style doesn’t lend itself to portraiture, which is what she wanted. I’m not bloody Gainsborough!”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that!” He sounded once more like a hardnosed businessman than someone who had just lost a friend. “How did she seem when you left her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Happy when you told her you’d think about it?”

  “Of course. She was bloody happy. I hadn’t told her either way. We agreed to meet at hers on Monday.” I paused. “Hang on— did you tell her I would do it?”

  “Of course I did, James. She was excited about having you paint her portrait.”

  “Great Basil! So what if I had said no that I didn’t want to do it?”

  “Oh, you would’ve. No two ways about it, Ravencroft.”

  The temperature in the room dropped, causing my muscles to twitch and gave me goose bumps. I reached for my dressing gown at the end of the bed and slipped it on one arm as I tucked the handset under my chin. “That a threat, Basil?’ I pulled the gown shut.

  “Don’t push it, James. I can make or break you… His voice faded.

  I waited, wondering if he had finished. I glanced towards the canvas. The chloroform would’ve started to wear off by now. “Basil old boy. I’m sorry to hear your sad news. But I need to work while the muses are entertaining me.” I tried to lighten the tension.

  “None of it matters now…’ he mumbled. “Just ignore me, James. I guess it’s the shock of losing a dear friend in such a way. I can’t believe— she’s dead! I’ll ring Jeannie and offer my help. Poor kid what she must be going through. So excited about spending time with her mother in New York— I guess she’ll move to America now to be with her mother’s family.”

  “You never said exactly what happened. Was there another car involved?”

  “Oh, it looks as though she was driving too fast, misjudged a corner, and clipped the bank, causing the car to flip over. It ploughed through a hedge on the other side of the road, which obscured the crash site. There weren’t any skid marks on the road or tyre tracks on the verge no one would’ve known an accident had happened.”

  “How awful—so no witness then?”

  “A gamekeeper found the car while out doing his rounds”

  “How can they be sure what happened?”

  “No idea. Police work, I guess. Jeannie said if it wasn’t for the gamekeeper, she might’ve never known what had happened to her mother. It can’t have happened long after you’d left, James, so I guess they might want to speak to you.”

  “I can’t really add anything, Basil. I’d already left. She seemed happy enough, busy ordering herself another drink. How many had she had before I arrived? The police might want to speak to you, too.”

  “Oh no, I can’t cope with them questioning me again! I just hope they don’t start joining up the dots as well as doing the sums. It’ll only muddy the waters further.” He changed the subject. “Do you have any finished landscapes for me?”

  “One or two.”

  “One OR Two! What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t you give me more? How come Easter can give me enough for an exhibition, but all you can produce is… one or two?”

  “I’m sorry. Working in oils means it takes longer for the paintings to dry as you well know.”

  “My apologies, James. You’re right.”

  Then he hung up, leaving me listening to a humming dialling tone.

  After a quick shower I dressed and grabbed a bite to eat before colle
cting the large canvas from my mother’s studio. Annie, dressed in the fine white silk gown, hung from the ceiling in the harness. Her eyes widened at the sight of me and followed my every movement as I set the canvas on the easel.

  “Good morning my dear girl. Now, there are a few things I wish you to know before I start work. You must stay perfectly still. I’ll give you a drink as soon as I’m happy with the first layer of my painting. Do you understand?”

  Annie’s reply was muffled, no more than ragged breaths as the chinstrap held her mouth shut. She struggled in the harness, causing the chains to rattle against the framework.

  “Calm down dear girl. No one is going to hurt you.” I focused on selecting the right brush and picked up my palette. “Now relax, this won’t take long and then I’ll release you, so you can rest.”

  She blinked her eyes and gave a slight nod.

  “Good. Then I shall begin.”

  I began by sketching out my idea. Basil was right about landscapes. They were easier to paint, but they bored me. Weary of travelling around Suffolk, hunting out new views to paint along its wild coastline, I had lost my enthusiasm for painting in all weathers just to please some rich old dear with more money than taste. And as for painting repetitive scenes anyone with half a talent could do it. The same old boats, lighthouses, and tidal mills that Basil wanted were mind-numbingly boring. I wanted more drama in my work, to push the boundaries in the same way mother had. I knew all too well, what Basil’s argument would be.

  “My dear boy,” he would say in that smug tone of his. “Your work is selling too well to risk losing your established buyers by trying something new that might not please the punters.”

  If I had the same status as mother, then I could push the boundaries without Basil. He was right about using her status. It would get me what I wanted, but I would always feel that I had sold out, whereas she had made it on her own terms. After overhearing Basil’s American plans for Joe’s Victoriana rubbish more than pissed me off. My work was far more superior and deserving of a larger audience.

  I squeezed fresh paint onto my palette, tossing the tube onto the table before stabbing at the paint with the brush. The brush moved without me directing it with sharp slashing strokes, as I built up the layers. Slowly I relaxed into the creative flow as my anger calmed.

  “So, Annie, my dear, let me explain why you are here. You have the pleasure of being my fourth angel.”

  ***

  For the first few weeks I felt I was getting somewhere with my fourth angel painting. Annie was holding up well which pleased me. Then one morning on entering the studio the painting reminded me too much of a somewhat poor imitation of Easter’s work. Victorian Gothic in style, the towering turrets and buttresses looked more like some fairy-tale castle than the stark modernism I had wanted.

  Frustrated with the amount of time it had taken to create the fourth painting, I allowed Annie to rest, and regather her strength between layers. I lowered her onto the daybed and fed her a small amount of food and something to drink after removing the chinstrap, while I sorted out the painting. I scraped off the paint and then added a few clean lines turning the castle-like buildings into skyscrapers of glass and stone.

  ***

  After a week of blazing heat, the strength of the wind had picked up enough to bend the tops of the trees. On the rooftop just outside my studio, with a glass of lemonade in hand, I enjoyed the cooling breeze. Below my lawn was an oasis of green in the parched landscape. In my parents’ time, our old gardener sang its praises as he worked among the remaining gravestones of the old church that once stood within the grounds. He told them they had no need to worry about the lack of rain with its underground springs would keep the garden lush.

  The only thing that marred his green lawns was the irregular shapes where the grass paid homage to long-forgotten tombs. I paid my own homage by reusing the graves as markers for my fallen angels, which now numbered four. As though reading my thoughts a dark shadow passed over the gravesite as the rain clouds blocked the sun.

  Back in the studio I paused to admire the futuristic theme of my latest painting. I had placed my faceless stone angel with her back to the cityscape. I had opted to paint my model with more body strength than she had in real life, by thickening her neck slightly. Annie’s beauty for me was in her strong jawline, full lips, long and narrow nose. I decided not to paint in one thing that had attracted me to her, the sorrow I had seen reflected within her green eyes. By opting to paint her eye sockets empty, I felt the painting reflected the impersonal city behind her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  1966

  When I snatched my fourth angel, I was taking a risk. Under normal circumstance I would have made my preparation well in advance. From setting aside a couple of landscapes in readiness should Basil arrive unexpectedly wanting a painting or two, to making sure there was a good supply of food and paints in, so I didn’t have to leave the house.

  I spent a little time familiarising myself with the area where my angel lived and worked. It helped to know whether she travelled alone and what route she took. This gave me the best opportunity to discover a place to hide a car in readiness. Immediately after I brought her home, I would dump the car and have another one ready to take its place in my garage.

  After Annie’s arrival, I set to work. Speed was of the essence if I wanted to keep her as fresh as possible. Being unprepared left me concerned that I might not have enough paint to finish the picture. I was reluctant to raid mother’s studio, but if I needed to, then I would. That’s if the tubes of paint were still viable.

  On three occasions my concentration was broken while I worked on my fourth painting. The first time the phone rang, my initial thought was that it was Basil chasing a commission, but instead, it was his secretary.

  “Mr Ravencroft?” a softly spoken woman asked.

  I hesitated, trying to recognise the voice. “Hello, yes?” I wanted to hang up.

  “It’s Jenny Flood. Mr Hallward’s secretary.”

  “Oh, Jenny— sorry.”

  “I must apologise for disturbing you, Mr Ravencroft. Mr Hallward asked me to let you know that he’s away on business now. I’m to remind you about a landscape that’s needed for a client.’

  “He’s away?” I laid a damp cloth over my paints.

  “Yes. Is the painting ready?”

  “Nearly. I’ve been waiting for the varnish to dry. Are you that desperate for it?’ I held my breath.

  “Hmm, I’m a little unsure why Mr Hallward is in a hurry, especially as the client hasn’t been chasing it. I expect it could’ve waited until Mr Hallward’s return.”

  “Well, if Basil’s only away for a few days, what’s the rush?”

  “He’s away for at least three months.”

  “Three months. So he’s—?’ I managed to stop myself from saying in America. No doubt, Basil has gone with Easter. “Any idea—where he’s gone?”

  “I’m not in a position to say, Mr Ravencroft.”

  “Oh, you’ve signed the official secrets act, then?”

  She chuckled. “Well—I suppose it won’t do any harm telling you. America. He’s meeting up with an old friend— they’ve been talking about merging their two companies.”

  “Really. That’s interesting. Good for you, I expect.”

  Jenny laughed. A deep throaty laugh that helped break the ice between us.

  “For me? How for me?” I heard Jenny’s fingernails tap against the typewriter keys.

  “A chance for you to work in the States.” I turned to my muse. Annie’s skin looked clammy and pale, but I did not want to cut Jenny off.

  “Hmm… I see what you mean. It would be interesting, but Mr Hallward will continue to run the British side of the business, so I’ll still be needed here.”

  “I see.” Annie’s eyes now focused on me, I needed to get back to work.

  “From my understanding, he’ll have more access to the American market. Anyway, the client hasn’t paid fo
r the painting yet. Guess they’re not in a hurry. I’ve enough other jobs to be getting on with, without chasing around after money too. You know what Mr Hallward’s like when it comes to dealing with the important clients. It’s all about the personal touch as he is so fond of saying.”

  “Of course— he’s all for his personal touch.” My thoughts had now shifted to Basil’s betrayal. How could he select Easter to get the first bite of the American cherry? “Thanks for letting me know about Basil’s trip, Jenny. Just give me a bell when you need the painting, and I’ll run it in.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr Ravencroft.”

  I replaced the receiver and snatched up a brush, stabbing at the congealing paint as the canvas before me blurred. A sharp kick in the teeth would have been sweeter than knowing that Easter was on track for fame. “Well, that’s made the decision for me, Annie. I need to finish enough of the ‘Roofscapes’ paintings so I can show Basil where my real talent lies.”

  She gave a slight nod and I realised that the chloroform had worn off.

  “Not long now, Annie,” I added a few random dabs of paint to the canvas. “And then you can rest.”

  Two weeks later, I had finished the underpainting on Annie’s picture and was allowing it a little drying time. The day was hot and muggy, as I stepped out onto the roof for a breath of fresh air.

  From here, in the winter months, I could see as far as Harwich and beyond, but now the trees were dressed in their greenery my view was shortened but at least I could see as far as the main road. A glint in the distance caught my attention. I picked up my father’s old binoculars and focused in on it. A fast-moving vehicle abruptly turned off the main road and onto the long and winding lane that led to my home.

  It snaked in and out of view between the rows of trees until, at last, it was close enough for me to recognise the make of car. A black Ford Zephyr. My stomach tightened as my fingers gripped the binoculars. “Why now?”

  I stepped back into the studio and returned the binoculars to the shelf. “Well, Annie.” I lowered her as fast as I could onto the daybed. “It looks as though we have some unwanted visitors today. I can’t think why they need to speak to me. It’s been over three weeks since Mrs Loring died.”