Stone Angels

by Paula R. C. Readman

  “What about the photograph of you talking to her?”

  “Don’t remind me. If only there was a sighting of her in ’64 it would’ve cleared me.”

  “So did you find out why the newspapers waited?”

  “Apparently her parents contacted the newspapers on the anniversary of her disappearance. They were disappointed with the police making no progress.” He turned the handle on the reader and the screen revealed the next page of the microfiche. “That’s when I found what I was hoping for.”

  “What was that?” I asked Basil while focusing on Jane. I checked my watch.

  “There’s a sort of pattern— forming.” Basil moved to the next page.

  “Really.”

  “I cannot think why the police did not do the same. Though, I don’t suppose they would’ve revealed that to me.”

  “Not if they have you down as a suspect.”

  “Which they have…” His voice trailed off as he concentrated on the pages of the newspaper. “Anyway, I thought you might like to help me search.”

  I bit my tongue, but knew I had to say something. “Basil, what about the two commissions you were chasing. I only came in today to deliver the one I had finished.” I leant back to see if Jane was still in the building. “I was hoping to get back to finish another one today.”

  “Why didn’t you explain that to Jenny instead of wasting your time coming here?”

  “It’s important not to let your client down, which was why I drove all the way from Suffolk this morning. Anyway, I wasn’t expecting to find you in the library, playing detective. Couldn’t you get Jenny to find the information you’re wanting?”

  “I’m not involving Jenny in this. Someone has a vendetta against me.”

  “Wow, Basil that’s scary talk. What makes you think that?”

  He focused on the screen. “I’ve upset someone. Any ideas, James?” He stared straight into my eyes and for a moment I thought he had read my mind.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know you well enough to know all your business dealings. Whose cookie jar have you been stealing from?”

  “Stealing?” He snapped.

  “Calm down, you’ll have Jane over again. Remember people are studying.” I patted his shoulder and noted he’d lost weight. Basil continued to run his fingertip down the page, scanning the headlines.

  “It turns my stomach to think they’re willing to kill, just to pin something on me.”

  “How do you know they are dead?”

  He slumped back in his seat. “What in God’s name are you implying, James? Of course, I don’t fucking know if they are dead or alive?”

  “Shh, I was just saying the girls are reported as missing.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you can’t say one way or the other.”

  “No, James I can’t.” He snapped, causing heads to turn again. Basil ignored the shushing and said, “are you going to help me or not?”

  I tucked the chair back under the desk and leant on its back. It gave me a clear view of the entrance. I hoped it was the only way out of the library for Jane. “I’m sorry if I don’t seem very helpful, Basil, but I’m sure you would prefer me to put the clients first.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He lowered his voice.

  “I’ll help as soon as the paintings are finished, I promise. Let me know how you get on with your research.” I stepped back just in time to see Jane open the door, wave goodbye to her colleague and leave.

  “I’d better get going if I’m going to beat the traffic, Basil.”

  With an aggressive flick of his wrist he dismissed me. I hurried after Jane, keeping her just in view. I prayed that to save time she would turn right into the narrow alleyway the one I had used coming to the library.

  Just as she did so I reached in my jacket pocket and felt for the familiar box that held my syringe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  1969

  I was walking through to the hall, after having a bite to eat in the kitchen, when the phone rang. For a moment, I considered not answering it.

  “Thank God, James. I thought you weren’t going to pick up.”

  “Basil, is that you?” He sounded distraught.

  “For Christ’s sake, James, you know it’s me. Stop arsing around. I’m not in the mood for it—”

  “Righty-ho, what’s the problem?”

  “Another bloody girl is missing! Some sodding woman gets herself lost and the police are questioning me! It’s beyond a joke. I’ll make them pay, whoever they are. I’ve got a lawyer now,” he shouted down the phone.

  “Calm down or you’ll give yourself a heart attack. What’s happened this time?” I leaned against the wall.

  “I’m glad I can talk to you, James. They’re trying to link two more missing girls to me.”

  “Two?”

  “Yes.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, James,” Basil interrupted. “Remember when we met in the library—”

  “Hmm…” I wondered how the police had realised so quickly that Jane was missing. “But Basil, how have they traced her disappearance back to you? Didn’t she say something about travelling to see her mother?”

  “James, I didn’t say anything about who the girl was, so how do you know it was Jane?”

  My legs gave way and I dropped onto the hall chair. “You said the library. She was the only person who spoke to you while I was there.”

  “That’s right. Though, it was you who couldn’t take your eyes off her. Unfortunately, on Jane’s last day at work, good old muggins here had his name booked in for the reader. And, get this, James, Flossie Nightingale, the girl we hired for Easter’s launch is also missing.”

  “What? Flossie is missing?”

  “Yes, can you believe it? Of course the police sodding well believe I am their man. Most of yesterday they questioned me, wanted to know why I had ordered the newspapers on microfiche for the years linked to the missing girls. They jumped around, making waves, with me on their radar. Makes you bloody laugh, doesn’t it,” he barked.

  “I suppose.” It made no sense to me how the police were able to make a link to Basil. There were other people in the library. Though in all fairness he was already on their radar, so when his name popped up bingo. Full house.

  “She left just before you.”

  “Did she?”

  “I saw you leave after her. I got up to get another microfiche.”

  “It was quite a while ago.” I ran my hand through my hair. That was bad luck. “The girl must have spoken to others on the way to catch her train. At least at the station, when she bought a ticket.”

  “That’s a good point.” Basil’s voice lightened. “I’m glad for the chat. It’s like we’ve been going through this together for years.”

  Have we? I kept quiet as he rattled on.

  “Not being believed is horrible. Imagine my frustration at being their only suspect. It’s bloody hopeless. They don’t listen to me.” Basil’s words tumbled. “God, they might’ve found the real kidnapper by now. I tried explaining my reason for being in the library. Well, you can imagine the response I got. I told them I was searching for anything that they might have overlooked. ‘What Mr Hallward? Don’t you think we’re doing a good enough job,’ said old P.C. Plod. Well, that’s a new one on us, a suspect actually helping us with our enquiries.’ Then they bloody well laughed.” Basil enunciated each word of that final sentence, filling every syllable with heartfelt loathing. He pressed on, grinding the words between his teeth.

  “For a moment I thought they might piss themselves. Bloody humiliating, James. Ever since the publication of that article, I’ve felt that others are judging me, finding me guilty. Now even Jenny gives me that look. You know, the one that says, ‘you must be guilty otherwise the police wouldn’t be questioning you’. It’s driving me bloody crazy and I feel like I’m living on the edge of…”

  “Despair?” I offered.

  “Don’t joke, James.
It’s not at all funny. I thought you would be more understanding.”

  “Sorry, of course it must be very difficult for you, Basil. Surely if they had enough evidence, they would’ve arrested you long ago.” I was just as annoyed as Basil with the lack of progress, believing he would have been behind bars by now or at least ruined.

  “You’re not making me feel any better, James. They’ve no evidence because I haven’t done anything to any of these girls! By now they should’ve started looking in a different direction. Every time the newspaper reports a missing dog or cat, I want to phone my local police station and say ‘It ain’t me you’re looking for’. Fucking years I’ve had to put up with this. Every time the phone rings, my stomach flips. Now I’ve started to lose clients.”

  “You’re overreacting, Basil.” I let an edge of impatience creep into my voice.

  “I wouldn’t laugh too much, James, because soon I won’t have the money to promote your paintings, let alone think about exhibiting your work.” He paused. Then there was the sound of a bottle hitting a glass. After a moment he continued. “Anyway, enough of that, James. How’s my next commission coming on?”

  “Fine. Was your client happy with the last one?”

  “Yes, of course they were. Your work sells well. The client wants another commission from you. I was hoping to chat with you last night before Cleo’s exhibition opened. Why didn’t you come?”

  “But I did. Though I must admit, I was late getting there. Your latest prodigy is a little darling. Her work is brilliant.”

  “She is, isn’t she? Not much to look at and quite lacking in personality, but her art is amazing. So much depth and raw emotion. I’m sure with my guidance I can find a market for it.”

  “You’ve given Cleo free-range, or is she painting to order like me?” The words were out before I could stop myself.

  “Please, James, don’t start! I know you’re pissed off by me allowing Easter to exhibit his work alone last year. I’m sure you’ve heard what a great success it’s been.”

  I hadn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell Basil.

  He went on. “At least something positive came out of the evening. Easter has settled well in America, so his agent tells me. Made quite a name for himself there.”

  “Hasn’t he been in contact with you?” I began to pace the hall as far as the telephone cable would let me. I didn’t give a shit whether Easter was making a success of it or not.

  “Too busy I suppose. Chuck Sparks is his agent. It’s a shame you missed him at Easter’s launch. I did try to find you, but Chuck couldn’t wait any longer as he had another event that evening before Easter, Chuck and I flew out.”

  Whether he was expecting me to comment or not I wasn’t sure. I knew when he was trying to butter me up. Having sweet little Cleo step into Easter’s shoes didn’t piss me off. I was used to Basil’s betrayal. The one thing I had noticed recently was a sudden change in Basil’s demeanour. Apart from the stress of the cops breathing down his neck, he had an air of resilience about him. When Jenny introduced me to Cleo at the exhibition, I saw a hidden intelligence behind her owl-framed glasses. She was not the gullible type to fall for Basil’s charms. I saw someone who was far more observant than she let on and who, like me, learnt to express themselves through their work.

  I have learnt to recognise the sort of girl Basil favoured. They were the brainless beauties that clung to his arm and knew when to giggle and smile reassuringly up at him. There had been a noticeable lack of giggling beauties following him around for quite a while, but I thought nothing more of it until a couple of weeks ago. I had phoned his office to find out what was the best time to catch him when Jenny told me the astonishing news.

  “What time are you expecting Basil in today?” I asked while I stood in my kitchen fixing myself breakfast.

  “Good question, James. Anytime would be nice,” Jenny said with a laugh, though it might have been a hint of sarcasm.

  “Sorry— is Basil having a lie in then?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Don’t think he’s resting, though. I really don’t blame him for taking time out. He’s a bit strung up about something. From what I can make out, he has a lot of crap going on in his life.”

  “What do you mean, Jenny?”

  “Something other than business, James.”

  “Are you saying he’s— got someone special in his life rather than those giggling beauties?” This was not what I wanted to hear.

  “Oh, James. Why the surprise?” Jenny’s voice was almost drowned out by a truck that clattered past the gallery. “He’s a great catch. I cannot believe he’s been a bachelor for so long and have often wondered why.”

  “I guess he’s never found one to win his heart.” I hoped Jenny would say more about the woman.

  “I think Basil has finally realised that there is nothing quite like having a woman to go home to after a busy day,” Jenny said, as the familiar sounds of her winding a sheet of paper into her typewriter echoed down the phone.

  “How can you be so sure he has?” I didn’t need this now. Three more angels would complete my set of ten.

  “When a man’s in love, it’s easy to spot. I think it’s wonderful. He’s not like you, James.”

  “Not like me…?”

  “Creative. Arty types need solitude and isolation to be at their best.

  “I see what you mean. Any clues as to who she might be?” I turned from the window and filled the kettle one-handed as the receiver echoed with the sound of Jenny clicking a few keys.

  “Not yet, but before long. I’ll be running around collecting gifts, booking tables, picking up his dry cleaning and the rest of the things we secretaries have to do for our bosses. I’ll give you a ring when I’ve set up a meeting for you with Basil. Sorry, must go, James. A call’s coming in on the other line. Bye.”

  ***

  Of course, Jenny never got back to me. Why should she? Now I stood in my hall with Basil waffling on with the same poor excuses about not allowing me a solo exhibition, I wondered if his new love was Cleo.

  “So where did you find Cleo, Basil?” I rested one foot on the hall chair as I formulated a way of finding out more about his mystery woman.

  “Easter told me about her before leaving for America. She was exhibiting at a local open-air exhibition. I went along, not expecting much but was blown away by the originality of her work.”

  “Really? Well last night’s punters didn’t see what you saw. Weren’t you disappointed by the lack of red stickers, old boy?” I added a hint of sarcasm that Basil didn’t pick up on.

  “Oh, God! I haven’t been into the office yet.”

  “You’re not there? So where are you?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Okay. Sorry I asked.” I could not hear any background noise that would give his location away. Just hollowness.

  “So what are your views of her work, then?” His dispirited tone told me all.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Basil. It’s good, but I don’t think the buying public gets it. Pictures of unmade beds won’t appeal to housewives when they see them every day. Just imagine you’re a housewife. Would you want a painting of an unmade bed hanging on your wall reminding you every day to get on with the housework?”

  “But it’s the aftermath of lovemaking, Cleo explained.”

  “Really?”

  “For goodness’ sake, James, I know you live in the outback of nowhere, but you must be aware of the Free Love movement. Ever since women got the Pill, it’s been about their rights to express themselves and their sexuality. Cleo said it shows that they are more than a domestic sex slave.”

  “I see. To me her work lacked any real focus.”

  “What! You mean in their execution?”

  “I’m not questioning her ability as an artist. I’m just saying the paintings have no soul. They’re just a concept. You understand its meaning because the artist has explained it to you. The viewer sees only an unmade bed so may not ‘
get it’.”

  “But the title explained it all. ‘Aftermath of Free Love.’”

  “That’s the thing about titles…” I recalled the ambiguity of mother’s own. “That’s Cleo’s viewpoint. Wild sex and no forethought, I suppose. At the exhibition last night, all her paintings had the same message. Let me explain. Yes, they were beautiful in a romantic way, with their ornate balconies and sweeping muslin curtains that surrounded an open French window and with their wonderful views across a series of romantic landscapes, but the paintings lacked any signs that a man has entered or even left the scene. All the viewer sees is just piles of discarded women’s clothes on the floor.”

  “Cleo explained that the clothes symbolised how women are discarding their old ways. Like a caterpillar shedding its skin. That’s why she put a butterfly in every painting.”

  “Hmm, but this isn’t what the punters saw last night. All it depicts is an untidy woman living the high life with servants to clean up after her.. Most women’s lives are full of screaming kids, and domestic chores in between quick romps in their beds. I bet the husbands bugger off to the pub for the evening while their wives catch up with household chores.”

  “Fuck it! I see your point. I’ve signed her into a contract for more of the bloody stuff.”

  “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, or her. If you want to appeal to the masses, you have to see it from their point of view.”

  “But you’ve made a valid point. I didn’t think along those lines. Right, I have to go now. I’ll catch you again soon.”

  No sooner had I put the phone down on Basil a car swung round on the drive. “Who the bloody hell is that?” I crossed to the door, and hesitated, before it, my hand resting on the lock. I didn’t need to answer it. It wasn’t my agent, so I turned and hurried up the stairs, ready to start adding the finishing touches to the seventh painting. Whoever it was, I hoped they wouldn’t lean on the bell for too long.