Stone Angels

by Paula R. C. Readman

  “I was worried,” There was a slight edge in Jackie’s voice. “I forgot that I hadn’t given you the directions. Did you have to ask?”

  “No. Luckily, I used to be a Scout.” I smiled and gestured to the boxes. “Yep, everything seems to be here.”

  “Gosh, that was lucky. Most new delivery drivers have to phone ahead for directions.” A look of uncertainty flickered across her face as she reached for a roll of tape and a knife from a nearby counter. “The drivers hate having to reverse across the wasteland, so they park further back when delivering our orders. It’s a wonder you could get as close to the doors as you did.”

  There was a slight change in her demeanour as she began sealing the boxes. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sliced through the tape before moving on to the next one, making swift work of them all.

  “Too worried about damaging their company’s vans to risk doing what you’ve done.”

  “Yes, I noticed some damage on the edge of your neighbour’s wall,” I replied, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to fill the space between us.

  “That’s something else our neighbours enjoy moaning about. But Bert’s shop was here before them. Funnily enough, both sides once belonged to this building and some of the garden, too.”

  “So Bert owns that land at the back?”

  “Yes, once he owned all of it.” She placed the tape and knife back on the counter before asking. “Are you paying by cash or cheque?”

  “Cash.” I pulled my wallet out.

  She dragged down a large ledger and made a note by some figures. Her pen hovered as she waited for me to count out the money. She picked the cash up and recounted it before laying it in a cash drawer. After she put a line through the figures in the book, she locked the drawer and replaced the ledger on the shelf before turning to me. “Would you like me to help you carry them out?”

  “Would you mind?”

  I picked up the two larger boxes and left the smaller one for her. I opened the rear passenger door, blocking the way out and slid the two boxes onto the back seat before turning to face her.

  “That one can go into here.”

  I lifted the boot and stepped back, positioning myself behind her. Jackie hesitated before turning her back to me. I eased the pad from my jacket pocket, waiting for the precise moment. My excitement took on a physical impatience. As she lowered the box into the boot, I raised the pad.

  “Why didn’t you—?” She turned towards me, but I cut her off mid-sentence. Her eyes registered surprise. I pinned her against the car as I grabbed her around the waist. She struggled, panting hard and let out a strangled scream as she raged against me. I applied pressure to the side of her neck, fighting desperately to cover her mouth and nose with the pad. She groaned as tears rolled down her cheeks. Suddenly her body weight shifted. She jabbed one of her elbows sharply into my stomach, while her other hand clawed at mine. Her nails found their mark, digging into my wrists. The pain made me gasp. For a split second, I lessened my hold around her waist and pulled her head backwards, her ear level to my shoulder.

  “Calm down. You’re only hurting yourself.”

  Jackie crumbled against me, her head lolling. I bent to sweep her up into my arms, but she lashed out. The force of her kick threw me back. We crashed against the doors, the handle jammed into my spine. As I cried out, her compassion weakened her. She stood unsure of what to do next. I reached into my jacket pocket. Jackie realised her mistake and turned. She tried to push the door out of her way, but all it did was hit the wall. I wrapped my arms around her while clamping a fresh pad over her mouth to muffle her screams.

  “Calm down.” I kept the pad in place. “None of this would’ve happened if you had just put the box down.” She kicked out wildly again, causing the car door to bang against the wall. I pressed my full weight against her, praying the chloroform would take soon. Her eyes began to close as her rapid breathing steadied. Once she was unconscious, I lifted her into the boot and closed it. I stood panting as I inspected the damage done to my hands.

  On entering the shop again, I hunted for her handbag and coat before turning off the lights and locking the doors. Outside, all was quiet as I quickly opened the boot and drop in Jackie’s belongings. There was no sign that the neighbours had been disturbed by the commotion. Happy that I hadn’t forgotten anything, I slid the shop keys under the door, before easing the car onto Old Lane and steadily made my way onto the main road.

  Once outside of London, I hit the accelerator. Normally I would have stopped at the city limits to check that my precious cargo was still sleeping, but I decided not to on this occasion. By the time I hit the A12, my back and bruised ribs ached while the scratches on my wrists stung. I yearned for a hot shower and a warm bed.

  Back at Halghetree, my back throbbed painfully with every intake of breath as I hauled myself out of the car and went to switch the porch light on. The sound of my footfall on the gravel echoed in the still night. Thank goodness I didn’t have any nosy neighbours to worry about.

  I placed the boxes on the hall table and went to collect a fresh pad. I prayed things would go down better than they did at the shop.

  Outside, before the boot of my car, my nerves buzzed with excitement. I hoped Jackie hadn’t been too uncomfortable during the long journey home. I unlocked the boot and lifted the lid slowly. Jackie lay peacefully sleeping on her side, with an array of cushions protecting her from every bump on the road. I leant forward to touch her forehead. It felt cold, but her breathing was steady. I slipped my right hand under her body. She let out a groan. With a little effort, I lifted her clear from the boot and carried her indoors.

  I nudged the front door shut with my heel and began to climb the stairs. Halfway up, I registered a change in the suppleness of Jackie’s body. A sudden blur of white, followed by searing pain, crossed my cheeks and made my eyes water. I pulled back and found myself freefalling. A flare of brilliant light exploded in my head as an agonising pain travelled up my already inflamed spine.

  Jackie sprang away from me.

  I lay on my back, on the hall floor, stunned with my heart racing. From the corridor that led to the kitchen, I heard screaming. The throbbing pain in my head held me to the floor until I was able to roll onto my side. I heaved myself up into a sitting position. Nausea rippled through me and I fought it back. Anger boiled up and overtook the pain. How had I allowed her to get the better of me, again?

  I used the banister to haul myself up. I couldn’t decide what hurt the most, my face, the back of my head or my damned stupid pride. The floor swirled before me, and I bit down on my lip. With measured steps, I staggered towards the kitchen door, aware that blood trickled down my neck.

  Ahead of me a door slammed. I heard Jackie’s pitiful cries, “Please help me! Oh God! Somebody please help me!”

  I knew she would find the phone in the kitchen after missing the one in the hall. I edged towards the door and listened. Jackie began to dial, though it was in vain.

  “Oh, help me! Please,” she screamed into the receiver. “Oh God, no!”

  With my thoughts focused on my reward, I took a deep breath and calculated that she had her back to the door. I heard her hammering on the top of the phone in a fruitless effort to get the dialling tone. With all the strength, I could muster, I threw open the door and grabbed a fist full of her hair, pulling her backwards and down. I pressed the pad hard against her mouth and nose.

  She struggled wildly and lashed out. Her fingers tore at anything she could get hold of— my jacket and hair, all became targets. She pushed against my shoulders as she writhed under me, her legs still kicking. Her hair surrounded her chalk-white face as I fought to keep the chloroform-filled pad in place.

  “Please. You’re making it harder on yourself.”

  Her eyes widened as she tried to claw at my face. I turned my head away, but she held onto my hair, adding to the pain in my head as her nails dug into my scalp. Finally her grip weakened as the chloroform took hold an
d her arms dropped to the floor. Her startled red-edged eyes blinked at me and then closed.

  I loosened the pressure on the pad, and moved off her, resting my back against the kitchen cabinet. I took a few deep breaths. The fresh scratches on my hands and face stung. I waited until I was sure she was unconscious. I replaced the receiver on the phone, and then ran some cold water into a glass. After taking a few hurried gulps the chilled water helped to clear my head.

  “Oh Jackie. Why, oh why?” I squatted beside her and placed my two fingertips on her neck. Her heart rate was steady, although her breathing was shallow. “Right, let’s try again.” I gathered her up in my arms and headed to the muse’s bedroom to keep her safe until I was ready to start work. There was no other choice, but to strap her to the bed. It saddened me when I had allowed my other angels a certain amount of freedom between painting sessions. Whatever they needed for their personal hygiene I supplied, but with Jackie it would be different. Once Jackie was comfortable and secure in her bed, I returned to the car and parked it in the garage before retiring to my own room.

  I examined the damage done to my face in the mirror. Though Jackie’s nails were short, she’d still managed to gouge out rows of small nicks across both of my cheeks, in my hairline, on top of my head and around my neck. My arms and hands had suffered the same fate, too.

  Under the shower the sensation of the steamy water calmed me as its force washed the blood from my hair. Then the soap seeped into the scratches and nicks making them sting like hell.

  After an uncomfortable night with very little sleep due to my throbbing head, I was up and dressed early. In the kitchen, I prepared a tray of buttered toast, and fresh orange juice for my guest before heading up to my studio. I set the tray down just outside the sealed room and switched on a light before looking through the one-way mirror. I could see that Jackie was trying to pull herself up into a sitting position, but the straps restricted her.

  I unlocked the door and pushed it open with my foot as I carried in the breakfast tray. I tried to ignore the pungent smell of body odours and urine.

  “Good morning, Jackie.”

  “Fuck off you bastard.” She didn’t even turn to face me.

  “What sort of language is that?” I set the tray down and pushed a trolley closer to the bed. She tried to reposition herself by pushing down on the mattress, its plastic cover crackling beneath her feet, revealing a wet stain on the sheet. “You’re a guest in my home.” I poured some juice into a plastic beaker. “I’ve brought your breakfast.”

  “Guest!” She exploded, her shoulders heaving with raw emotion while pulling at the straps. “That’s not what I would’ve called myself.”

  Jackie’s calmness surprised me, though her language was off-putting. I had expected sobbing, screaming, pleading even begging, but her air of spite left me cold. Her red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Next, you’ll be telling me this is your normal behaviour when you bring a girl home.”

  I smiled and held out the beaker. “Here. It’s orange juice.”

  She studied my face. “You’ve got to be kidding, right? You seriously think I’m going to eat or drink anything you offer me?”

  “It’s here if you want it.” I shrugged, placing the beaker back on the trolley.

  She eyed it and then turned her back to me.

  I knew that beneath Jackie’s armour, she was holding her emotions in check. All those questions she wanted answered were bubbling up, enveloping her rage. As my respect for her grew, so too did my creativity. It fed hungrily on the thought of it.

  “Look, I know you won’t believe me, but I am sorry about having to tie you down.”

  She jerked her restraints. “Yeah, you’re so fucking sorry you race up here to untie me the moment you woke up. More’s the pity I didn’t have my fucking knife.”

  “For a pretty one you have a mouth like a sewer. Not quite what I had expected when I first met you.” Her rage distorted her face as her lips curled in disgust, robbing me of my angel. It angered me.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” she shot back. “I can’t believe I fell for your ‘I’m an artist in desperation for some new materials.’ What a fucking load of rubbish. All you wanted was a fuck!”

  “Okay, that’s enough!” I stepped towards her.

  Jackie bit down on her lip and her whole body seemed to shake as she backed further up the bed. The plastic cover groaned in protest.

  “As you said, looks can be deceiving. I needed a model and thought you were just what I was looking for, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “So sorry to disappoint you, Tommy, but if your mother had taught you some manners like just asking politely, it might have saved your pretty face.”

  I lifted my hand to my cheek. The pain and her betrayal made me lean forward and snarl in her face. “What’s my mother got to do with anything?”

  She flinched. “Nothing, nothing—I don’t know your mother, I meant you could’ve just asked me.”

  “I’ve tried asking before. Didn’t get me what I wanted, so now I just take.”

  “You mean—there’ve been others?’ What little colour there had been in Jackie’s face drained away.

  “Of course. I’m a professional. I prefer to use models when I paint my still life.”

  She glanced at the white silk dress on the mannequin and took in the small windowless room with its bare walls. I wondered whether she was looking for signs of the other angels, but I had made sure that nothing remained of them. The room was impersonal. Apart from the bed, the only other permanent fixture was a deep, stainless steel sink, once used by the housemaids to wash out soiled bedding and clothes before transferring them to an old washing machine once housed in the room.

  “Look, I’ve brought you something to eat too.” I pointed to the now cold buttered toast. “If you want something else, just ask.”

  “Please just let me go.” She yanked on the straps. “Nothing terrible has happened to me. I promise I won’t tell.”

  I moved towards the door. “I’m sorry but I can’t. To start with, it would be irresponsible of me to open the door and let you go. We’re miles from anywhere and anything could happen to you. Anyway, I have a deadline to meet and I need you.”

  “Need me?”

  “Yes. You’re my muse.”

  “Muse? I don’t understand. Why me? What makes me so special?”

  I rested my hand lightly on the door handle. Jackie sat hunched with her legs curled under her and clothes dishevelled, and hair matted.

  My heart raced at the thought of my brush, weighty within my hand, the white of the canvas, blinding me as it begged me to add colour and texture. “Dearest Jackie, you’re very special to me. As soon as I looked into your eyes, I knew you were the one. I could see your soul and it spoke to me. Telling me everything I needed to know about you. To capture your beauty forever with my brush, so that everyone can bathe within it.”

  I closed the door behind me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stone Angels

  The Sixth Painting

  1968

  When I arrived at the gallery, Jenny was just unlocking the front door into the showroom. I followed her in. She asked me if I had heard the news.

  “About the assassination of King?” I hoped that’s what Jenny meant, rather than what I had seen posted on a nearby newsagent’s billboard.

  “Yes. Isn’t it terrible? I was just having my breakfast when they announced it.”

  “We must’ve heard it about the same time. The news flash came over my car radio just as I pulled onto the A12.”

  “It’s so sad. He was a kind and gentle man.”

  On our way to the stairs at the back of the showroom, we passed rows of paintings that depicted the rolling English countryside, Welsh castles and Scottish lochs. Jenny adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag after taking out a bunch of keys.

  “The good die young.”

  “So true.” Jenny hunted through the keys. “One of these days I’ll la
bel these. Right, this should be—”

  The showroom back door suddenly opened cutting Jenny off mid-sentence.

  “Oh—Good morning, James.” Basil stepped into view. He wore his trademark pressed grey suit, but his usual clean-cut appearance was a little less sharp. As though he hadn’t been home last night, or maybe, he hadn’t had time to shave. “Glad you’re here nice and early.”

  “Well you did ask me to come in as soon as possible, Basil.”

  Basil addressed Jenny. “I need to have a quiet word with you before you start work. Please show James into my office and take him a drink.”

  “Yes, Mr Hallward.” Jenny disappeared upstairs.

  I stayed with Basil to give Jenny time to put the kettle on. I pitied her because Basil didn’t seem to be in a good mood.

  “Before you go up, could you give me a hand, James?” He set his briefcase down next to a desk in the corner of the showroom. “I have a few boxes in my car that need to be brought in.”

  I followed Basil down the path that led to the car park at the bottom of the overgrown garden and he called back over his shoulder. “The bloody posters aren’t what I wanted! Goodness knows what went wrong. It’s a simple enough job!”

  While Basil spoke to Jenny, I waited in his office, sipping the tea Jenny had made me. I gloated over the changes in Basil’s appearance, noting that he seemed more stressed these days. Over the last couple of years, he had lost the once youthful looks that seemed to attract the women. Deep lines etched his mouth and eyes and his once chiselled jawline was puffier now. Basil still had a full head of wavy dark brown hair and it showed no signs of going grey. Nowadays he now wore it cut short.

  I knew the death of Martin Luther King wasn’t the root cause of Basil’s agitation, but neither were the problems with the posters. Out the window, which overlooked the rear of the building, I could just make out the newsagents through the gaps in the branches of the tree. I wondered whether the billboard outside the shop might now be reporting the assassination of King instead of the disappearance of another young woman.