‘I don’t like to disturb him in case he’s on the phone or something.’
‘But we just saw him leave the building,’ I reminded her.
‘It’s not unlike him to come back in another way.’
On the door, above my height, was a sign that read STAFF ONLY. Frances’s eyes levelled it. She giggled softly before peeling back the bottom corner to reveal a panel of glass, through which she peered.
‘Nope! He’s not in there.’
With that, she burst in humming a tune. I followed, taking that opportunity to leave the letter on his desk, ready to make my escape.
‘I expect he’s gone to one of the other sites then,’ she said. ‘Richford House, probably.’
Thom’s office comfortably held a large antique desk, cabinets, and even a wardrobe, which stood against the wall opposing the window. This was south facing. Next to the wardrobe was another door.
‘That door leads round to a stairwell,’ she told me. ‘Thom can get to his apartment from there. Handy, huh? Just roll out of bed in the morning and you’re at work!’
It didn’t sound too great to me.
‘What was it you wanted to show me?’ I urged. She didn’t seem in any hurry to leave whereas I was dying to get out of there.
‘Oh, I feel a bit silly now. It’s in the gallery.’
She closed Thom’s door having followed me out, before taking me over to a partition subtitled LOCAL ARTISTS. It held numerous pieces of artwork. She pointed out one of a ballerina scratched on black clayboard. It was beautiful and underneath was her moniker: By FRANCES S. ELLIS.
‘You did this? I don’t mean to sound surprised. I’m just so impressed! It’s perfect,’ I said, tracing the contours of the ballerina’s waist and torso. ‘The wrists are impeccable, but I really admire the hands. Hands are for me the most difficult to draw.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. Thom was very sweet to include it in the exhibition.’
It shocked me to hear Thom and sweet in the same sentence.
‘So you draw too, Alex?’
‘Nothing fit to be seen like this.’
‘I’m sure you’re just modest. Do you mind if I ask what you plan to do with yourself? Oh, that sounded rude! I only meant, are you studying at all?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Oh. You didn’t go to college?’
‘No,’ I said, recalling my mums frustration with me for sidestepping further education.
‘What made you leave school and go straight to work?’
‘I didn’t like school, Frances. After my mum remarried we moved around and my new school was hard to adapt to. I liked learning but I didn’t seem to fit in.’ I shrugged. ‘I couldn’t wait to leave and earn my own money.’
‘But isn’t there any sort of job you want to do in the future?’
‘I don’t know. I’m happy to decide in my own time. Besides, I’m not ambitious.’
‘You might not feel like that when you get to my age,’ she said, as if she was at death’s door. ‘You’ll wish you’d done more with yourself.’
‘You can’t be more than… thirty?’
‘I’m thirty-five.’ She winked. ‘It’s not old. Though to a youngster like you it might seem so.’
‘Not at all.’
‘It’s just that when you haven’t managed to do all the things you wanted to by now, Alex, it feels like you’re wasting away when you could have achieved so much more.’
‘I don’t see it that way.’ I looked back over her picture. ‘You have all your life to do the things you want. There’s no point in rushing to get something done before a certain age. It makes no sense to me.’
‘Most people want success, Alex, while they’re still young and then they have more time to enjoy it.’
‘But people should enjoy the journey. Surely success comes more easily from experience and understanding, which takes time. Getting older is just a part of life. People obsess so much with staying wrinkle-free. It’s pointless.’
‘I don’t think that will ever change in the masses. It all comes down to people wanting to hold on to their youth.’ She smiled with a shrug. ‘Maybe it’s so the thought of dying seems further off.’
‘To live life in fear of impending death,’ I sighed, amused. ‘What a waste. Death can only be terrible for the wicked. And when I go grey, which I fully expect to do, I’m determined not to cry about it.’
‘You think very deeply about things for your age,’ she said, rounding this off with her soft laugh.
‘I just don’t like the idea of living in fear of something.’
To this she summed me up as being an unusual girl, adding that this was not a bad thing. I took it as a compliment.
I discovered that Stacey and I wouldn’t be lunching together either, as Mrs Evans insisted she or Susan needed to be available for one of us. To top that off it had started raining, which prevented me from walking in the gardens.
For the last twenty minutes of my break I wandered through the Cray and into the De Morgan Gallery. The collections in there were devoted to nocturnal animals and associated paraphernalia, such as nineteenth century traps and snares. Against the east wall of walnut panelling stood a huge showcase displaying a taxidermy collection: the stuffed skins of foxes, hedgehogs, rodents, bats and an owl, all positioned as if in motion amongst simulated foliage. The foxes stared out of the glass with great ominous beady eyes that followed you round the room like a haunted painting from Scooby Doo.
I was sure that this kind of display must marvel some people, but I didn’t like it. I much preferred to see animals alive and free, not their corpses staring out of glass cages. – I could hear Thom’s voice in the corridor talking to someone. It sounded like he was heading this way. I couldn’t get out of the room in time, but the open door half obscured me. I remained there as he and Dan entered. They crossed the room, and now that I saw them side-by-side, Thom was quite an imposing figure next to Dan, despite being no more than a few inches taller, and broader in the chest. I noticed that one of them was wearing cologne: a familiar peppery scent, subtle and very pleasant. They were in mid-conversation and didn’t notice me.
‘So what generally follows marriage?’ Dan was asking him.
‘I think you’ll find divorce is a popular choice these days.’
‘No – kids! Kids follow marriage. It’s just expected. You date, marry, procreate.’
‘But not necessarily in that order, eh? Particularly if you live this side of the river.’
‘Savages!’ Dan laughed. ‘Well, according to custom then, it’s next on the list. The other day she was saying that the idea of getting large is very off-putting. I feel like I’m being set up! I mean what can I say to that, “Oh no, love, the more of you the better!”’
‘Careful,’ was Thom’s response. ‘If she heard that one you’d lose the faculty to have any.’
I was too embarrassed to step out now, or make it known that I was there. At this point I caught Thom’s eyes shift mischievously in my direction and back again, making me wonder if he’d seen me or felt my presence. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had and carried on regardless.
Thom moved towards a large corner table on the other side of the room, which held a display case. Dan followed with a half-interested tread.
‘Okay, so what are we doing in here? What have I done now?’
‘No, you’ve done a good job in here, Dan. Except for this lot, unfortunately. All these labels are incorrect. That one should be there,’ he said, pointing them out individually. ‘That is not a spring snare. This one has no label at all, practically anyone’s guess as to what it is. – It’s a gin trap,’ Thom added, having noticed some confusion cross Dan’s face, ‘which you can see is mechanical and uses a spring-operated jaw, and there are its serrated teeth! If you’re unsure, I’ll set it and you can stick your hand in. You’ll never mistake it again.’
Dan chuckled and nodded as Thom carried on.
‘It’s catalogued on
the database under Agriculture –.’ He reeled off a formula of characters and numbers. ‘Print that one off and we’ll go through them together.’
Dan crossed the room towards the door. On seeing me, he stopped and smiled. ‘He knows the catalogue numbers for everything, Alex, off by heart. What a geek!’
I couldn’t help laughing, mainly because it surprised me he could get away with it. He was jovial, a live-for-today sort. I had a feeling we would always get along. He lingered a moment to chat but then said –
‘Sorry to run off, but I’d better get on with it.’
‘You don’t want to keep him waiting,’ I added quietly.
‘Oh, I’ve got all the time in the world!’ Thom returned in his deep satirical voice, without looking over. He was examining the cabinet for more mistakes. At moments like these I thought of him as pompous, but I wasn’t sure Dan held the same opinion. He seemed very comfortable with him, as if they had a steady friendship.
Just as Dan turned for the door, his phone buzzed a noise that echoed through the room.
Thom remarked loudly, ‘Your wife again? Tell her to go and make herself useful, instead of making you useless. Ah!’ he said, looking over to me and then away. ‘If it isn’t the unusual girl who fears nothing. I didn’t see you there, ma dame.’
‘You heard me well enough.’
‘Was that your voice?’ He turned about to forge an appropriate look for confusion. ‘Apologies, I didn’t recognise it. For all I knew Dan was talking to himself. This would be the place for that sort of thing. Oh dear,’ he said, fixing his piercing eyes firmly on my face, ‘have you caught a cold? Is that what kept you up half the night?’
‘I slept very well, thanks.’
It seemed useless to get clever with him, however tempted I was. His sphinx-like chat would boggle my mind if I tried.
I carried on looking at the Creatures of the Night. Presently he was going through a small bunch of keys he’d taken from his pocket, searching through them intently for the right one.
‘So,’ he said abruptly, without looking up, and finding the key he was after, ‘you didn’t like school. Not the only institution you’ve had to escape from, I’ll bet.’
‘Do you have the place bugged?’ I asked squarely. ‘You know that if you listen in on other people’s–’
‘Listening?’ he interrupted. ‘But that requires choice. This place is made of stern stuff, and so acts a prison for sounds and voices, hurtling their way down the corridors, trying every room for means of escape. How can I help but hear, Cassandra?’
‘My name’s Alex and you know that.’
He chuckled. ‘You just look like a Cassandra.’
‘You can’t assign someone a different name because you think it suits them better. Or if that’s the case I’ll just call you Dick.’
My hand went immediately to my mouth. He looked a little shocked, yet mildly amused at my horrid repartee. I was so annoyed with myself for allowing my wit to get out of my mouth.
‘Actually,’ he said stiflingly, ‘and I’m not saying this, Alexandra, to make you feel worse for that insult you just dealt me – but Cassandra is a variant of your own name. You recognise Sandra in one is Xandra in the other? You don’t have to believe me of course.’ He was still faintly smirking.
‘Thom, I’m so sorry for my remark.’ I felt some heat rising to my face. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’
‘Not to worry.’ He smiled genuinely, revealing dimples in his cheeks. ‘At least you said it to my face.’
He hesitated but then motioned his dark eyes to a painting on the wall near where I stood. It was of a woman I recognised but couldn’t have named off-the-cuff. I examined it to discover she was the prophet, Cassandra of Troy: the flame-haired beauty, considered insane.
He silently laughed and looked as if about to leave the room, but I’m glad he didn’t – I don’t think I would’ve been able to face him again. He changed direction and made his way over to me.
‘What do you think of them?’ He nodded towards the glass. ‘Do you like the Creatures of the Night?’
‘No.’
‘No? You looked fascinated!’
‘I don’t like these ones.’
‘But not because the look of them frightens you. So why then?’
He waited patiently to hear my answer; a serious intent on knowing my views came over his face. He folded his arms to assert this and turned slightly towards the window so that the light vivified his features.
‘I don’t like the way they’re displayed.’
‘Go on.’
‘They’ve such a heart-breaking look about them. It makes me sad. Don’t smirk. I know they’re stuffed. It’s just the idea of an animal in captivity, and the look of these ones. It’s almost preternatural, like there’s something living behind their dead eyes that knows they’re trapped here, and they’ll never be free again.’
I knew I’d said too much and I expected him to laugh at me. He surprised me by looking sympathetic instead. Despite the light hitting his face, no reflection blanched those stubborn pupils. I realised how I now stared into them, and so quickly looked away.
‘You see things as they are.’ He paused, sounding subdued, and turning he edged away. ‘They have, as you say, that look of despondency; captured in time. That is precisely why I wanted to exhibit this piece, and in the very room named after the lady who said, “Art is eternal, but life is short.”’
He went back to the other side of the room where he fitted the key into the display unit, turned it and lifted the top off. I felt like I’d hit a nerve with him.
At that moment a beefy man of about forty entered the gallery. His square-shaped face smiled as he bowled over to me.
‘Excuse me, miss, d’you work here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah, good. I was in here earlier and there was no one around to ask. You see that cage?’ He pointed to a horrid looking contraption, which sat all tattered on one of the tables. ‘Can you tell me what animal it was used to trap? My son was saying rats and I reckon birds, and he’s made me put money on it.’ He laughed.
‘I’d love to be able to tell you, but I’m not the expert here. He is.’ I gestured to Thom, who was ready to answer his question.
The man looked at Thom and his smile melted away. I wondered if he knew him from the look on his face. Thom walked over, and the man, I noticed, took a slight step back. I watched his reactions carefully now, unsure what the matter was, as Thom began explaining the years of the cages use and its target prey. The man appeared to absorb very little of this.
‘Dad?’ a boy of about twelve called from the doorway.
‘Josh, wait there!’ The man snapped. Turning back to Thom, he babbled, ‘Thanks for your help. Need to get going now.’
He left the gallery, grabbing his son’s hand and towing him quickly away.
‘That was weird,’ I said to Thom.
‘Was it,’ he muttered, unsurprised.
‘I thought so. Or did you know him?’
‘Never seen him before.’
I looked back at the cage. ‘How long have you been curator?’ – Just as I asked this, some passing visitors in the nearby corridor laughed out so loud at something that my shoulders flinched to it.
Thom watched me. ‘Do you believe in the supernatural?’
Without answering my question, he focussed on trying to prise things from me, probably so he could turn it back on me in mockery. I determined to keep my answer imprecise and to a minimum.
‘I’m undecided.’
He asked me the questions directly, and when I tried to remain negligible, he in turn tried another tactic, viz. by assuming the answer and putting it to me in the form of a question.
‘You’re startled easily, but you’re no sceptic like Frances?’
‘Is Frances sceptical?’
‘If a ghost walked through that wall there, rattling chains and moaning like Daniel’s wife, she would find a logical reason for it.
Something that her mind could accept. She would refuse point-blank to believe anything else. I don’t believe you would.’ He paused, looking to the door. ‘I think I hear the sceptic now, probably looking for you, her charge.’ He half-smiled and turned away.
I realised my break was over ten minutes ago. I rushed to the door without looking back at him. Frances met me there.
‘Doreen’s wondering where you are. You’d better be quick!’
I thanked her and hurried out to the front desk to find the tapping noise still going on.
When Mrs Evans walked by she never said a thing, just chewed away on some nicotine gum (I’d seen a packet lying about).
I was not long at my desk before –
‘Still being tortured?’ Amusement coated Thom’s voice. He stopped a few feet from my desk.
‘As you can hear.’
‘It suddenly dawned on me what the cause might be.’ He jangled his keys.
‘You mean aside from my mental health?’
‘It seemed the only explanation earlier, Cassandra. You looked half mad with alarm, and perhaps half puzzled.’
‘I’m not alarmed, just annoyed – by that noise. Now, however, I realise that there are more irritating things in this place.’ I bit my tongue too late again.
He stared at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. Probably because he’d succeeded in baiting me.
I must have given him a look, as if to say ‘what?’
‘Are you sure you’re only twenty-one?’ he asked in a way that implied I looked unfavourably beyond my years.
‘So my mother tells me. I suppose you thought I was older?’
‘Ah well, perhaps there’s some hint of maturity reflected in that.’
He approached the wall having selected a key. Sliding back one of the wood panels revealed a lock and handle, hidden away, as one of the house’s many secrets. Behind the door was a small cupboard filled with brooms, mops, and such miscellanies. It released a gassy smell that resembled something like boiled cabbage. If the tapping noise had come with stress positioning and sleep deprivation, I’d still have preferred it to the awful stench.
Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) Page 5