Face in the Frame

by Heather Atkinson

  “Thank you,” she replied, not giving away any more information. She didn’t want his questions getting too personal, it was important the marks knew as little about her as possible.

  “Hmm, mysterious,” he said, frowning down at her.

  “I’m here to learn about you.”

  “But we’re here to be introduced. I love that fascinating hair. I’d like to paint it.”

  From the corner of her eye Cass caught Emily’s thunderous expression, making it clear she’d love nothing more than for Lucas to paint her own short blond tufty hair.

  “Just the hair?” replied Cass.

  He leaned closer. “No.”

  Emily could contain herself no longer. She took Lucas’s arm and said, “so where did you get your inspiration for the faces?”

  Lucas’s eyes stayed on Cass for a few seconds longer before he turned his attention back to the blond.

  “He likes you,” Jennifer whispered in Cass’s ear, thrilled.

  “So it would seem,” she replied, smiling into her drink when Lucas turned to look at her over his shoulder. She wondered what Brodie was saying about all this.

  Brodie was sitting on the couch in Cass’s living room, sighing and raking his hands through his hair. “Smug prick,” he muttered. Cass was flirting with Thorne and enjoying herself. He was also certain she was drinking more than she should. Obviously she considered this assignment to be a waste of time and he was getting pissed off at her. He knew part of it was jealousy but she was behaving unprofessionally so he felt he had a right to be annoyed. It was a relief when Lucas’s voice disappeared. The prick.

  CHAPTER 4

  Cass was getting bored. She hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to Lucas again, although it appeared he had been on the verge of approaching her more than once but he’d been too penned in by admirers to manage it. Finding the way the others fawned over him embarrassing, she’d drifted back out to study the exhibition, getting told off by the funny little bearded man when she’d tried to take a photo of the face that looked like Fred on her phone. So she’d decided to step out onto the darkened balcony for some fresh air, needing to escape the heat and noise, snatching up a third glass of champagne on her way.

  No one could sneak up on Cass, she was far too attuned to danger so she knew someone was approaching. She was just surprised to find it was Lucas Thorne, she had thought he’d still be surrounded by his adoring fans but somehow he’d managed to ditch them. There was something different about him. The confident swagger had gone. He looked at her coyly from under his eyelashes and uncertainty was in his unusual eyes. It was like looking at a different man. In one hand he held a champagne bottle and two glasses and with the other he rested his cane against the wall, confirming her theory that it was just an affectation.

  “I thought I’d find you out here,” he said shyly. “You looked like you wanted to escape as much as I did.”

  Cass smiled. “Is this really Lucas Thorne, king of grand entrances and dramatic coats?”

  His grin was lopsided and sweet. “That’s just a front Oliver likes me to put on.”

  “Your agent?”

  Lucas nodded. “Truth be told, I feel a bit of a berk sometimes.”

  “Well don’t. It was a very impressive performance.”

  “Thanks,” he said with that coy grin she was starting to find endearing. “Champagne?” he added, holding up the bottle.

  Just one more she thought as he refilled her glass, trying not to think about the apoplexy Brodie would be working himself up into about her drinking so heavily on the job, but this was her chance to talk to Lucas in private and she wasn’t going to waste it. That was what she told herself anyway.

  Lucas poured himself a glass then he stood beside her, gazing out into the distance. There wasn’t much to see except a small darkened lawned area and a wall.

  “Won’t your public be missing you?” she said.

  “It’s good to keep them waiting sometimes and I need a break.”

  “You don’t enjoy your celebrity?”

  He turned to face her, leaning against the balcony railing. “No, not really. I find events like this a trial.”

  “Surely you’re used to it by now?”

  “I thought I would be but that never happened. I just feel awkward and uncomfortable.”

  This was a revelation to Cass. The theatrical, dramatic Lucas Thorne was actually shy. It was dark outside but she was certain he was blushing. Even as he spoke he sounded uncertain of himself, as though afraid she would disagree with him.

  “Well there’s a shock. So do you approach the models you use?”

  “Models? Oh, for the faces. Well, I spot them then either me or Oliver makes the approach.”

  “Has Oliver been with you long?”

  “Since the start of my career. He was the one who spotted my abilities in the first place after years of struggling to get noticed. I owe him a lot.”

  “Where do you find your models?”

  “Out and about. The majority are modelled on homeless people, they’re always willing to let me take casts in exchange for money.”

  So she’d been right. Brodie was wrong. He wasn’t going to take too kindly to that, Brodie hated being wrong.

  “And the voices?” she said.

  “Actors. Sometimes my models are drunk or high on drugs and I can’t get them to say what I need them to say.”

  “Sorry, you must be sick of talking about your work.”

  “Actually I love it, when it’s just one to one, like we’re talking now,” he said with another shy smile. “I enjoy talking about the technical aspects but I could do without all the adulation. I find it embarrassing.”

  “Okay. So what’s your favourite film?”

  “That’s a sudden deviation in topic.”

  “It is but I thought you’d find it refreshing.”

  “Actually it is. No one’s ever asked me that before, all people want to talk about is my work.” He paused to think before saying, “officially my favourite film is The English Patient but unofficially it’s Star Wars.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them. It’s impossible to choose between them.”

  “So you’re a sci-fi geek?”

  “To some extent. You?”

  “Officially Wuthering Heights.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “Shrek,” she replied, making him laugh.

  “So what do you do Cass?”

  Now this was an awkward question. She didn’t think he was what Brodie thought he was but telling him the truth was absolutely against the rules. “I work for a consultancy agency.”

  “Doing what exactly?”

  “Strategy and job changing. It’s not very exciting, especially in comparison to being a famous artist,” she said dismissively, eager to turn the conversation back onto him. “Do you have a partner?”

  “No,” he said shyly. “Do you?”

  “Nope. Completely single,” she smiled.

  “That can’t be right, you’re so beautiful.”

  He looked away after he’d said this, turning his attention to the ground, kicking at a stone with his shoe.

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “And true,” he added, addressing the ground. “I wondered if you would…errr…have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  Brodie paced the floor as he waited for Cass to return, his rage building by the second. Not only had Cass broken almost all his rules but she’d committed the cardinal sin, something he thought she’d never do. She was his number two, the one he could always rely on when Ross and Christian cocked up and everyone else in the world pissed him off. Now she’d let him down for the first time ever and he was still reeling from it.

  His fury only grew when he heard her approach the front door of her flat. It took her a couple of goes to get the key into the lock, no doubt because she was so drunk on champagne. He could hear her muttering oaths until there was a click and the door finally swung
open. She shut it behind her and tottered in with the nonchalance of someone desperately trying to pretend they weren’t drunk.

  “Hello,” she said with a cheery, lopsided smile.

  That smile undid Brodie and he shot to his feet. “Hello? Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

  “Oh, sorry. How are you?” she added before giggling.

  Brodie’s temper finally exploded. “Don’t you fucking dare laugh. You think this is funny?”

  Cass stared at him in shock. He’d never spoken to her like that before. “Don’t you use that tone with me.”

  “I’ll use whatever tone I like because you fucked up big time tonight. What the hell did you think you were doing? Not only did you get half cut when you know you shouldn’t drink on a job but you agreed to go out to dinner with the mark, who is a possible serial killer. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Cass’s look was cold. “First of all, I am not half cut. I had a couple of glasses of champagne.”

  “I counted four and they were only the ones I could hear.”

  She decided to ignore this inconvenient fact. “Secondly, Lucas is not a serial killer. He pays money to take casts from people’s faces, just like I said. That includes homeless people, which explains why Fred’s face is in his exhibition.”

  “That doesn’t prove he’s not a killer.”

  “Yes it does. He’s sweet and gentle and wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “It’s not flies I’m worried about, it’s people. How do you know anyway? You only met him tonight. Most serial killers fool people who’ve known them their entire lives. Do you remember Seth and Sarah Creegan?”

  “Because I just know,” she said. “He puts on a front for his fans but underneath he’s adorable.”

  “Adorable?” he snorted. “When it comes to men Cass you really are blind.”

  It was her turn to look outraged. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you always pick losers, tosspots or nutters.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes you do and you only realise it after they’ve done something loony or dickish. I always try to warn you but you never listen. Well I’m going to have one last shot at getting through to you. Lucas Thorne is a dodgy bastard.”

  “He is not. What do you know about it anyway? You’ve never even met him. I don’t know where you’ve got this mad idea about Lucas from but you’re wrong. If Fred disappeared at the same time Lucas came to town then it’s just coincidence.”

  Brodie was stuck for a reply. She was right, he had nothing except his gut instinct but it had never failed him yet so he refused to believe it was wrong now. However the fact that he couldn’t prove anything only made him angrier. “Yeah well…he’s a prick,” he exclaimed in frustration.

  “No he’s not. He’s nice, I like him and I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night.”

  “You are not.”

  “You’re my boss Brodie, you have no say in my personal life.”

  “This isn’t personal, it’s business. You were supposed to be working tonight.”

  “And I did what you asked of me. Lucas was nothing to do with Fred vanishing, end of story. Accept it.”

  “I won’t because there’s more to it and Lucas Thorne is a mark. You do not get personally involved with marks, it’s one of my cardinal rules, which you promised to abide by when you started working for me and you broke it.”

  “Because he’s not a mark anymore. He’s not some weirdo who likes cutting people’s faces off.”

  “I say when someone’s not a mark anymore, not you.”

  “Give it up Brodie, you’re making a right prat of yourself.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that. You messed up tonight for the first time ever and you know it.”

  “I did my job, like I always do. Yes, I broke a couple of your stupid rules but I still got the job done. It’s not my fault it didn’t turn out the way you wanted. Now go away, I’m tired.”

  “Oh you’d love it if I left nice and quietly,” he seethed.

  “Actually I would.”

  “I mean you’d like me to cave in so easily but it’s not going to happen. I’ll leave now but this conversation isn’t over. I want you in my office first thing in the morning, hangover or not.”

  “Whatever.”

  Brodie stalked to the door, seething and with no way to exorcise his rage. He stopped at the door and looked back at Cass, who was glaring at him with anger and a little hurt in her eyes, hands on her hips, cheeks flushed, tossing back her magnificent mane of hair and his anger deflated. But he still made sure to give the door a good slam on his way out.

  Bill hummed to himself as he roamed the museum. He’d been a security guard here for seven years and - despite what he told everyone - he loved his job. He always requested the nightshift and he always got it, mainly because no one else wanted to do it. He loved the peace and quiet, the solitude. He’d always been a loner, right from being a wean, shunning the company of friends his own age, shutting himself away with his toys and his beloved Airfix models. Wandering these corridors made him feel like he owned the place and all these magnificent creations were his. Plus it meant he got time away from his nightmare of a mother and all her demands. She’d supposedly been dying for the last three years and if she didn’t hurry up he thought he might just finish the job for her. She made him do everything for her, even take her to the toilet and wipe her arse, not that she needed help but because she was a lazy bitch who enjoyed degrading him. But here he was free.

  He paused by the door of the Face in the Frame exhibition and peered inside. The cleaners had gone, finally. It was amazing the mess posh people left behind. He’d seen Lucas Thorne tonight, who hadn’t looked like he’d enjoyed having lots of people fawning over him. Bill admired Lucas, the museum had exhibited his work before and he thought him very talented. After seven years of working in an art museum Bill considered himself to be quite the expert. But he wasn’t sure about this face exhibition, it was just a bit too out there for his taste. A shiver ran down his spine when he saw all the faces with their eyes closed and mouths shut, looking like they were dead. Earlier it had been quite fun with everyone talking and laughing and pressing the buttons, bringing them to life. Now it was just eerie.

  Cautiously he stepped a foot inside, half-expecting them all to open their eyes and glare at him for disturbing their slumber, but nothing happened. Swallowing down his nerves he took another step into the room and looked around. The faces remained still and silent.

  “Pull yourself together you bampot,” he told himself.

  He began humming to himself to break the silence, which suddenly seemed unnatural, finding himself drawn to a face in the centre of the exhibition. It was a pretty face of a young woman, he imagined about twenty one years old, a nice age. Her eyelashes were long and blond, skin peachy. Idly he wondered what colour her eyes were.

  Bill extended a hesitant hand and pressed the button beside her face. Her eyes flew open and he was delighted to see they were a radiant sapphire blue and very beautiful. She started to talk, the voice soft and husky - very sexy. She spoke about a trip to the shops and what clothes she bought. He was strangely excited when she spoke about skin-hugging dresses and killer stiletto heels and he listened to the lovely voice, enraptured. When her mouth and eyes closed, the face dropping back into death, he pressed the button again.

  “Sylvie,” he said, rolling the name around on his tongue, tugging at the belt wrapped around his corpulent belly. “It suits you.” He went quiet to listen when she started to talk about her favourite music. Sylvie was really very interesting.

  CHAPTER 5

  Cass woke the following morning, rudely roused by her alarm clock beeping in her ear. She hit the off button then snuggled back down under the duvet, trying to ignore the headache banging against the front of her skull. She shouldn’t have had that last glass of champagne. The memory of Lucas topping up her glass returned and she smiled i
nto the pillow. All the men she usually got involved with were tough and had macho jobs, so Lucas’s gentleness and artistic nature were a very refreshing change. Yet there was still something very alpha about him and she found the combination extremely appealing.

  Warm, happy thoughts about her date to come that evening were destroyed by the memory of her row with Brodie. That had never happened before, they’d always got on so well and he never usually criticised her work. In hindsight she knew she was in the wrong, she’d drunk more than she should have and arranged a date with a man her boss thought could be a murderer. Both of these were no-no’s and she knew it. She didn’t have a leg to stand on. But she really liked Lucas and she wanted to keep their date that night.

  After thinking the situation over very carefully she decided to go into work and apologise. Brodie would be expecting her to be ready for battle. Going in all contrite would throw him, then hopefully she could convince him there was nothing wrong with her going on her date. They’d never argued before and she couldn’t stand it. Brodie was central to her world and she needed him but there was no way she was telling him that.

  Brodie sat at his desk, replaying his row with Cass over and over, torturing himself with it. She would come in here like a whirlwind, all hair and angry eyes and he was determined to stand firm beneath the force of her magnificent wrath.

  His office was segregated from the rest of the office, walled in, complete with blinds. Cass liked to call it the Bullpen because she said he stomped about inside it like one. Often his clients - who could be scared and nervous - didn’t like to talk in front of his employees, so he brought them in here to talk, pulling the blinds if necessary to give them complete privacy.

  He looked up at the poster of Nicola Sturgeon, the First Minister of Scotland, that he’d pinned to his wall and sighed. “Why is life so bloody complicated?” He cocked a grin. “I bet you’ve got it all sorted, you wee minx.”

  Through the window of his office he saw the main door open and Cass walk in, looking paler than usual, hair pulled back into a slightly messy ponytail. Clearly she was suffering from a hangover. Good.