I drove through the ornate iron gates and stopped in front of the portico to allow Jenny out.
“I’ll see you inside, James.” I watched her running up a flight of stone steps and entering through the front door with its large stained-glass windows.
***
A few days earlier I had made a flying visit and found out that there was a second entrance into the grounds from a quieter backstreet. The gallery was once a family home before two wars diminished the need for such large estates. The owner, Peter Picton-Warlow, lived on site. He had decided it was worth landscaping the gardens in order to accommodate his growing clientele. The front garden had parking bays for his wealthiest clients, while the rear garden had further parking, plus easy access for delivery vans when the exhibits were changed.
I followed the signs to the area set aside for parking at the back and passed what looked to be an enclosed seating area at the far end of the garden. It was an ideal spot for garden parties, where people could share cigarettes, drinks and a chat.
I drove to a parking lot a few streets on where I had left my replacement car, taking a serious gamble that Jenny wouldn’t need a lift home. Though similar in colour, I had obtained a different model, hoping that it would be inconspicuous among the other cars, if she went into the garden.
The car park was relatively empty, and I parked in the darkest corner away from the back of the house but nearest the raised seating area. Three more cars also arrived, but they parked closer to the gallery.
I reversed into position, hoping no one would block my exit. As I climbed out, I saw Basil in a new E-Type Jaguar coming through the front gates. He parked in one of the bays at the front of the house. I waited for him to walk around the corner, hoping he would not spot me standing in the shadows of the pergola.
From where I stood, a flagstone path led past the parked cars. Two stone steps, flagged on either side by two large earthenware pots, took the visitors up onto a small lawn. In the centre was a small flagstone circle and a metal round table with four chairs under the pergola.
A line of mature oak trees obscured the view from the buildings behind, while on either side of the seating area, overgrown rhododendron bushes gave anyone in the small-enclosed garden complete privacy.
Basil reappeared at the side of the building. He stopped and turned as though looking for someone. I walked slowly down the path towards him, hoping to gage how close I could get to him before he became aware of me, but before I made it halfway down the path. He opened a side door and disappeared into the gallery. Pleased to know that the darkness of the garden concealed both my car and me from the house, I was ready to follow my plan.
I allowed a few minutes to pass before I entered the gallery. Inside I found a brightly lit hallway and the stripped pine floorboards made the place light and airy. Voices drifted towards me, so I followed them.
Jenny stood talking to three men and two women, none of whom I recognised. The carefully arranged exhibits covered the cream coloured wall and a series of movable screens that showed off Easter’s paintings in the best possible light. In one of the alcoves, I found Flossie deep in conversation with a well-dressed man. Flossie’s choice of modest attire was well chosen, but I was sure Basil found it rather uninteresting. She moved with grace in a long green flowing skirt that clung to her curvy hips and shapely legs and a dark green tight-fitted crop top to show off her bare midriff. In a similar style to Jenny’s, she had piled her long blonde hair high on her head and had interwoven into it semi-precious stones.
Jenny appeared at Flossie’s side and said something to her. The man shook Flossie’s hand, at the same time he leant forward, and kissed her cheek. She giggled, putting her hand to her face before wandering over to chat with some new arrivals. A familiar raucous laugh echoed over the top of the screens, which caused Jenny to turn. On seeing me, she called, “Oh James” and gestured me over.
“Quite a few here, Jenny,” I said, and nodded towards the man.
“James, at last, I get to introduce you two properly. James Ravencroft, this is Joseph Easter. While you two chat, I need to socialise. I’ll be back soon.”
“She’s an angel,” Easter said as we watched Jenny join another group. “When Basil told me you would be coming I was pleased. I’ve wanted to meet you, James.”
I took the hand he offered me.
The man before me was unrecognisable from when I saw him at his first exhibition three years ago. His unkempt full beard and rat-tailed hair were gone. So too were the paint-spattered boots. His hair, now neatly cut, was greying at the temples. His whole demeanour shouted wealth and success from his black leather shoes, a dark blue fitted jacket, and narrow trousers, to the black Slim Jim leather tie worn with a white button-down collar shirt.
“I’ve been a great admirer of your work for some time now.” Easter’s grip was firm. “I’ve often seen it in Basil’s office, and I can’t understand why he hasn’t given you an exhibition of your own.”
“Really.”
I picked up a glass of wine from a nearby table and took a sip of it. It tasted sharp and seemed more suited for cleaning my brushes in.
Easter held up his glass. “Basil hasn’t exactly splashed out on expensive wine for the launch.”
“Have you seen his new car?” It was the best I could come up with in answer to his remark.
“Yes. Love the colour. Dark blue is so moody. He even let me take it for a spin. It’s only fair as he probably bought it with the commission, he’s made from me.” Easter took a sip of his wine and I noticed a large gold ring sparkled on his little finger. It seemed hideous against the delicate wine glass.
I forced another sip of the wine down. It caught in my throat making me cough.
“God, it’s not that bad.” Easter held his glass up to the light. “Was there a piece of cork in it, mate?”
“I don’t think so.” I coughed again. Basil wasn’t making enough money from Easter’s sales to purchase such a fancy new car, more than likely from the deals made on selling mother’s stolen paintings.
Jenny reappeared, glass in hand. Relief washed over me. “Jenny, where’s Basil?” Before she could answer me, the booming voice and raucous laughter of Charles Jefferies cut through our conversation.
“He’s upstairs introducing Mr Jefferies to the gallery owner.” Jenny took a sip of her wine, pulled a face and set the glass down. On seeing me watching her, she chuckled and said, “Basil’s choice, not mine.”
“So, Jen, when does this party really get going?” Easter asked.
Jenny glanced at her wrist and twisted a slim, delicate silver watch to look at its face. “In half an hour the serious buyers will start to arrive.”
“What?” Easter looked around the room.
“They always arrive later than what’s on the invitations, Mr Easter. Most don’t like to be the first to arrive, preferring to walk into a crowded room.”
“Surely it’s better to arrive before it gets too crowded,” Easter said.
“You and I might. But most come to be seen mixing with the right people.”
“You’re telling me that this isn’t about my paintings? They come to see who else is here?” A flash of annoyance clouded Easter’s calm features.
“Yep, I’m afraid so. They want to see who’s buying your work before they will, afraid to miss out on being in vogue.”
“Unbelievable!” Easter drained his glass.
Once again, unable to stop myself from coughing, I held up the glass. “I’m sorry about that,” I said.
“Oh, it looks as though someone else has arrived early.” Jenny waved to a couple of women who had just come through the door. “Hello Mrs Norris. So glad you could come…”
I set the glass down and became aware of Easter eyeing me. “I think I’m going to see if I can have a quick word with Basil.”
“Okay, but I think he’s still upstairs,” Easter said. “Is he holding back a cheque?”
“No—I just want to updat
e him on a commission I’m working on.”
“Right.” He drew the word out still scrutinising me.
A feeling of unease twisted in my stomach. “The evening is starting to look very promising indeed. Filling up nicely.”
“You remind me of someone. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“In passing.” I continued to watch the guests. “Quite a heated conversation Basil and you had the other day.”
“Oh that.” Easter looked around the room. “Has Basil laid on any food?”
I shrugged and then saw a bowl of nuts. “Nuts.”
“What!”
“There’s nuts.” I crossed the room, picked up a bowl and gave them to him.
“Thanks.” He scooped up a handful and munched them. After downing some more wine, he added. “The whole thing with the papers has really pissed me off. I don’t want sympathy. I want answers. Did you read it?”
My mouth went dry. I looked up. Basil stood at the top of a spiral staircase, gesticulating wildly. I pointed at my chest, but he shook his head and pointed again. I then pointed at Easter and Basil nodded. “Looks like you’re wanted.”
Easter waved back. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said, and handed me his glass and the bowl of nuts. “Thanks mate.”
I set the glass and bowl down and headed off to find Jenny. She stood welcoming the new arrivals and handed out glasses of wine. Nearby Flossie chatted to the guests about one of Easter’s larger paintings. Flossie’s voice floated across to me as I watched the face of the men listening to her. She was explaining Easter’s retelling of the rural landscape in oils. Over the heads of the growing number of art connoisseurs milling about with glasses in hand, I could see that Easter’s work was more substantial than his previous soft, mixed media work.
“I’m more than certain we’ve met before,” said the rasping voice in my ear. Years of smoking and alcohol abuse had given his voice the quality of sandpaper.
I turned. “As I said, apart from that chance meeting on the stairs at Hallward gallery, we haven’t met before. Plus I live in Suffolk.”
“Hmm, there’s something—” Easter nodded.
“I don’t buy dailies either. Too busy working, though Jenny did mention something about an article upsetting Basil the other day.”
“Upsetting Basil,” he scoffed. “So that’s where her loyalties lie.”
“That’s a pretty unfair statement to make.”
“You’re right. She’s on his payroll too. It always comes down to money in the end, doesn’t it?” He placed the empty wine glass on a nearby table and went to join Jenny and Flossie. Easter slipped his arms around both of the girls’ waists and hugged them into him.
“Well, my lovely ladies, let’s get this party started. Where’s the photographer? Where’s my agent! Bring more wine! It’s party time!”
Easter’s eyes never left my face. They were cold and calculating. I felt something shift violently, the atmosphere, the tension I wasn’t sure which. All I knew was I did not want to be there celebrating his success. Easter first kissed Flossie’s cheek and then Jenny’s. Flossie rested against his arm, her head tilted back to reveal the long sweep of her neck. Her lovely lips opened as she laughed along with Jenny. I drank in Flossie’s details. The shapes, colours, and textures of her face, shoulders, and arms. I pulled out a notebook as a picture began to take on a physical form. I flicked over a couple of pages until I found a fresh sheet. I left the room to seek out a quiet space and began to sketch.
Chapter Twenty-One
1968
Finally, after five hours of endless chatter, I slipped outside and made my way to the raised terrace, away from the main house. Under a pergola, covered in climbing plants, I sat, breathing in the cool night air. Now, with some seclusion, I was able to watch the comings and goings.
Some of the older guests had drifted away as the evening had worn on, but the arrival of new guests meant the place was still heaving. The gallery owner did not allow smoking inside, so a small group of smokers, including Easter, gathered at the back of the house, where the French windows opened on a well-lit patio area.
Easter chatted animatedly with two young women. A leggy redhead hung on to his arm, her loud voice carried across the patio and lawn.
“I simply adore your work, Joe,” she said, while pressing herself hard up against him.
I poured myself a glass of expensive wine from a bottle I had brought from home while watching the performance unfold. The quality of wine made my evening more pleasurable as I tucked into a bowl of peanuts I had taken from the gallery.
Easter acknowledged the redhead, “Thank you for saying so.” He pulled his arm free while swapping his cigarette to his other hand, creating a barrier between himself and her. He seemed to try to involve her friend in the conversation, but the redhead moved to his other side, unperturbed by his lack of interest.
“Is it all right if my friend takes a picture of us together?” she asked.
Easter dropped his cigarette, grinding it hard with his heel before reluctantly moving closer to her. She took the opportunity to latch on to him again, slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his broad chest. Flossie came out onto the patio behind them as the camera flashed. Her hair sparkled in its light. On seeing her, Easter disengaged himself from the girl and went over to where Flossie stood alone. He rested his hand on her shoulder as he leant in to exchange a few words. Flossie nodded and pointed into the gallery. Easter kissed her lightly on the cheek before turning to the girls.
“It has been lovely meeting you both,” he said to the redhead and her friend. “But I am needed inside now.”
The redhead said something to Flossie after Easter left. Flossie backed away from her.
The redhead stepped towards Flossie, raised her arm, and yelled, “You just stay away from him!” She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her into the gallery.
Left alone, Flossie paced up and down the patio. For a moment I wondered if she had found the evening too stressful. Just as Flossie seemed to find the courage to go back in, Basil came out and closed the patio doors behind him. They stood chatting for a while. She seemed at ease with him. Basil walked with her around the side of the house, heading to his car. I thought for a moment that they were leaving together. Then they said their goodbyes. A few minutes later, the dark blue jag pulled out of the front gates.
As Flossie headed towards the French windows, I nearly called out to her, fearing a missed opportunity. In the end I said nothing, not wanting someone to recall seeing her talking to me after Basil had left. A shout within the gallery made Flossie pause at the door. She backed away and turned in my direction. I stepped into the shadows of the shrubs that surrounded the pergola. Flossie hurried along the garden path and came up the stone steps. On reaching the table where I had been sitting, she looked briefly over her shoulder and then sat down, facing the house. I remained out of sight, wanting to make sure that no one had followed her. She glanced towards the French windows again, then stood and moved to the next chair, seeming to check that she was out of sight. That’s when it dawned on me. She was playing my game, but from whom or what? Flossie held my bottle of wine close to the flickering candle jar at the centre of the table. Unable to read the label, she gave the bottle a shake and uncorked it. She poured herself a large glass and took a deep gulp.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Oh, dear God, James, you gave me a start,” she said, holding the glass to her chest.
“Sorry, but I can’t bear to see someone drink alone.”
“Thanks.” She took another gulp of her drink.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s so stupid. A silly girl was getting jealous because I was doing my job…talking to Joseph Easter. I suppose it comes with being glamorous.” She giggled.
“What a silly girl?”
“The leggy redh
ead with her—” She shook her head. “Hmm, now I remember why I stopped drinking.” She wiped at her mouth. “That red head threatened me, James. I couldn’t believe it. I’m only here to do a job. Nothing else.”
“So what did you do to upset her?”
Flossie creased her brow. “Upset her by doing my job, I suppose. Gosh, this wine is strong. It’s gone straight to my head.”
“You were explaining about the redhead.”
She leaned forward and put the glass down. “I was doing so well, avoiding drink. That’s why I’m staying out here. Well, at least, until she’s—gone. I think Easter was fed up with her— too.” Her voice trailed off as her head dropped onto her arms, knocking the glass over.
“Flossie, are you all right?”
“What?” She tried to lift her head, but her eyes were unfocused.
“Are you okay?” I moved the glass and candle jar away.
“Sorry… what…?” Her breathing became shallow.
I blew out the candle, picked up the bottle and two glasses, and pushed my way through the gap in the rhododendron bush to my car parked on the other side. I dumped the bottle and glasses in the passenger’s foot-well and lifted the boot.
A glimpse at my watch told me Basil had only been gone for half an hour. I checked Flossie’s pulse and breathing. Both were steady. With surprising ease, I pulled her up out of the chair and rested her over my shoulder. I swept the branches aside and pushed my way through the shrub.
The bottom of her skirt caught on the low branches. I tugged, but to no avail. I stepped forward, hoping the skirt would free itself and nearly tripped over the trailing part of the skirt. A movement to the right made me stop. I straightened up. Someone was heading in my direction. I stood motionless, taking shallow breaths as I waited, praying that I had added enough of the sleeping draught to the wine. A match flared and illuminated a man’s face. He drew on his cigarette and then shook the match out before flicking it in my direction. Only the burning tip of the cigarette told me where he was.
Stone Angels Page 21