by J S Landor
But there was no time for second thoughts. Jago had already hoisted the bag on his head and was edging out across the river ahead of him. Jack had no choice but to follow.
They made good progress until they reached the middle of the river, at which point a freak gust of wind whistled out of nowhere. It blew so hard at their backs that Jack couldn’t help himself. Arms flailing like a windmill, he tipped forwards.
It all happened in a split second. Hearing his scream, Jago turned, but with the bag perched precariously on his head, his movements were limited. He had to remain perfectly upright or risk losing all his possessions. He planted his feet wide apart and bent his knees so that it looked like he was sitting on an invisible chair. Then, just as Jack began to tumble, he caught him by the scruff of the neck.
When they finally collapsed on the opposite bank, Jack was giggling uncontrollably. Despite the danger, the whole scene had been absurdly funny.
‘Thanks,’ he spluttered. ‘I thought I was going for a dip.’
‘A heart-stopping moment, to be sure,’ replied Jago.
‘That move you did – the one like a ballet dancer – I think that’s what they call a plié!’
‘I beg your pardon! That was a classic karate manoeuvre, I’ll have you know.’
‘A-ha! So you’re a karate expert?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so,’ Jack sniggered.
‘Impertinent scoundrel.’ Jago threw his bag higher up the bank and scrambled after it. ‘I should have let you fall in.’
Jack leapt to his feet to apologise. But the twinkling blue eyes told him he needn’t have bothered. Laughing to himself, he hurried to catch up. This adult seemed to enjoy playing games, and the more he got to know him the less ancient he seemed.
***
Soon they were heading up the hill towards Osmaston Wood. At the top they would be able to look down on the valley and see the Hall itself.
It was a steep climb and they were both breathing heavily. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on Jago’s forehead. He unbuttoned the trench coat and for a moment his coat–tails billowed out behind him, flapping in the wind like the wings of an enormous bird.
Jack gasped. The lining of the coat was extraordinary, made of a sumptuous silky material with white pinstripes. It didn’t match the battered exterior at all.
Jago also wore a striking black and white waistcoat over a maroon shirt. And there, tucked in one of the waistcoat pockets, Jack spied a small brush.
He couldn’t contain his excitement. ‘I know what you do!’ he exclaimed.
***
Jago made a square shape with his thumbs and forefingers and looked through it at the Hall below. It was an elegant red-brick building, once an Elizabethan hunting lodge, with tall chimneys and pinnacles and acres of well-ordered gardens.
‘Now then,’ he declared. ‘This is as good a spot as any.’
He opened the leather bag and with a flourish worthy of a conjuror produced a small tripod seat, a folded wooden frame, a large umbrella, several glass jars and a number of paintbrushes. Jack was amazed the bag held so much.
Jago took the brush from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I need this for the finer detail,’ he said.
‘So you’re an artist!’
With a quick nod, Jago began setting up his easel.
‘And you’re going to paint the Hall. Can I watch?’
‘If you like, but I need to concentrate. So no chattering, please. Watercolours dry quickly. I have to work fast.’
‘You won’t know I’m here.’
Jack found a natural seat in the hillside and settled himself down, enjoying the sun on his face and the smell of the warm earth. A slight breeze rustled the long grass, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck, and he turned towards the wood. He had a strong sensation of being watched, yet all he could see were gently swaying trees.
Jago hung his long coat on a branch, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got down to work. In addition to the paint palette, he held five brushes between the fingers of his left hand. Whenever he needed a different colour, he switched the brush he wanted to his right hand like a juggler. Jack was impressed. He knew he would have dropped the whole lot.
At first, he couldn’t make out the picture at all. It was just a haze of pale colours with no real definition. But Jago worked fast, building layer upon layer, adding more depth and detail with every stroke until finally Osmaston Hall began to emerge from the mist.
He stopped only once, when a portly woman wearing a green jacket and riding hat came out of the house. She marched across the gravel with two black retrievers at her heels and disappeared into the stables.
Jago stretched and yawned, leaning so far back on the tripod seat that the legs sank into the ground. When the woman reappeared on an enormous grey horse he consulted a pocket watch, which he placed carefully on the easel, and went back to work.
After a lot of excited waving at the house, the woman rode off with the retrievers lolloping after her. Jack’s keen eyes scanned the upstairs windows. At the far end, he spotted a figure holding a small white bundle, a baby.
‘Do you draw people too?’ he asked.
‘No, never,’ said Jago, without looking up. ‘Only houses and gardens.’
‘Oh … you’ve made the driveway longer than it really is.’
‘I may have played with the perspective a bit. That’s what I call “artistic licence”. We’re showing the place at its best.’
‘You mean like an estate agent?’
Jago roared with laughter. ‘Exactly! An Englishman’s home is his castle. That will sell this picture.’
‘Who to?’
‘The lady in the green jacket, of course. Though she doesn’t know it yet. And I sincerely hope she’ll be as generous as her neighbour over the hill at Dellaston Manor.’
Jack longed to know how much the owner of the Manor had paid but Jago was busy again. He worked at lightning speed. A few deft strokes here and there and suddenly there was water in the fountain, a glimpse of a chandelier through the window and a watchful stone lion at the entrance.
Using the smallest brush, he added even more minute details and outlines in black. Now there was a weathervane on the greenhouse, a cascade of late roses over the brick wall and even a peacock on the lawn.
Jack looked down at the garden. ‘But there are no peacocks!’ he insisted. ‘Is that artistic licence too?’
Jago held his finger to his lips. A few moments later an eerie high-pitched cry echoed up to the woods. Jack hadn’t heard it before, but somewhere down in the garden there was indeed a peacock. A compelling thought gripped him. It was almost as if by painting the bird Jago had made it exist.
By the time the lady of Osmaston Hall came cantering back, her horse steaming from its exertion, Jago was applying the finishing touches. He glanced at his watch and then up at the sky. ‘Time to head back. We’re losing the light.’ He held out the watercolour. ‘What do you think?’
Jack gazed at the painting. The weathervane on the greenhouse looked as if it might actually spin in the wind. The clouds were perfectly arranged, soft and white as cotton wool, and the woods in the background appeared dark and mysterious.
‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘You could almost step into it.’
‘Another masterpiece then,’ said Jago with a wink.
In less than two minutes flat, the leather bag was packed. They ambled down the hill and while they chatted a cool breeze played on Jack’s cheek. It felt like an animal sniffing at him. Once again, he glanced over his shoulder at the wood. Mounds of amber leaves lay in drifts around the trees. And when the wind stirred them, the last thing Lily had said blew into his mind: Promise not to let go …
Chapter 14
The sky had turned crimson by the time they climbed the stile and retraced their footsteps down Hil
l Rise. Jack gazed wistfully ahead at the two shadows falling long and thin on the tarmac. The afternoon had slipped by so quickly.
He glanced at Jago, who was whistling softly at the birds. He wasn’t like other adults. He didn’t ask boring questions for a start, or try to force a conversation. And when no one was talking, like now, it didn’t much matter. On top of that, he liked playing games. Jack wished he could think of another one to prolong the fun.
‘I know! It’s your turn now,’ he said slyly. ‘You can have three guesses about me.’
Jago smiled broadly. ‘Splendid! I love to play the detective.’ He delved into his coat pocket and produced a small magnifying glass which he held to his eye. His pupil was so enlarged he looked like a comic Cyclops. He tapped the side of his nose and put on a posh voice. ‘Nothing escapes the eagle eye of the great Sherlock Holmes. Show me your hand, boy.’
Jack grinned and held out his left hand. It was grubby and covered in doodles.
Jago made a big show of studying it, then shook his head gravely. ‘Hmm. A textbook case, I’m afraid. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this hand belongs to a schoolboy with a guilty secret. He not only has an aversion to soap but by these squiggles I see he’s also nothing but a dreamer. Am I right?’
‘Oh come on, that’s obvious!’
‘Somewhat elementary, I agree.’ Jago rubbed his chin. ‘Aha! Look at this. Very revealing. Dear, oh dear.’
‘What?’
‘You have an addiction.’
‘Really?’
‘There are calluses on the ends of your fingers: see the hard skin here and here. I’d say we’re dealing with either a mad violinist or … how about a computer addict?’
‘Most kids like computers,’ said Jack, heartily disappointed. ‘You’ve got to do better than that. And you’ve only got one more guess.’
Jago traced his finger over a long line in the middle of Jack’s upturned palm.
‘Now then. This is interesting. Very interesting.’
‘What now?’ Jack wasn’t going to be caught out by another joke. Jago, however, was looking serious for a change and had dropped the phoney accent.
‘It looks to me like something important has been lost,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps merely forgotten. Or even misplaced. It’s hard to tell exactly. But don’t worry – it’s right under your nose.’
‘Something important?’
‘Very.’
‘You mean like a door key or a watch?’
‘Far more precious than that.’
Jack was puzzled. This sounded like a riddle. What could be so precious? He thought of his parents. They were lost but they certainly weren’t forgotten, nor were they going to turn up under his nose. ‘What is it then?’ he asked.
Jago shrugged. ‘Search me. You’re the one who should know. I’m just reading your palm. But whatever it is, you have to tell me when you find it. Then I win the game. Deal?’
Jack laughed. ‘Deal!’ He held out his hand and they shook on it.
***
A pair of skinny legs in faded denim dangled from the apple tree outside Jack’s house. Charlie had been perched in her favourite lookout post for almost half an hour, awaiting his return.
As they got closer, Jack saw her staring at Jago as if he’d arrived from another planet. He sensed mischief ahead as Jago reached quickly into his pocket and, once again, fixed the magnifying glass like a monocle into his eye.
‘I say, Jack,’ he said, squinting at the tree. ‘Strange birds in your neck of the woods. Look at that big one up there. Unusual plumage, don’t you think?’
‘That’s Charlie,’ said Jack, grinning up at his friend.
‘Oh! Beg your pardon. These old eyes aren’t what they were. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Charles.’ Jago held out his hand and shook a branch of the tree.
Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘Hullo,’ she said flatly.
Jack had a terrible urge to laugh. Charlie’s proper name was Charlotte, which she hated. But Charles, he suspected, would please her even less.
‘Now then, Jack …’ Jago’s right eye twitched wildly with the effort of holding the pretend monocle in place. ‘You have been a most excellent guide. And I must beg your assistance in one further matter. Will you please point me in the direction of the nearest alehouse? This afternoon has been thirsty work.’
He placed his hands on Jack’s shoulders, which shook with laughter, his blue eyes challenging him to keep a straight face.
‘There’s a pub just around the corner on the main road,’ said Jack. ‘It’s called The Feathers. You can’t miss it. There’s a big sign outside with a cockerel on it.’
‘Splendid! Then that is where I shall roost tonight.’
As Jago spoke, the magnifying glass popped out and the two of them fumbled to catch it. Jack had to suck in his cheeks to stop the giggles escaping. ‘Mind how you go, Jago,’ he managed to say. He felt like a bottle of fizzy drink that was about to explode. And somehow the fact that Charlie wasn’t amused made matters even worse.
Jago winked and set off down the road. He hadn’t gone very far before he bumped into a lamp post. He raised his hat in apology, then promptly stepped off the pavement in front of a passing cyclist. With a scream the cyclist fell off, and a lot of shouting ensued while Jago disentangled himself from the bicycle wheels.
Jack could take no more. It was like watching a pantomime. He bent over, his hands on his knees, laughing so hard the tears rolled down his cheeks.
‘Who’s the joker?’ said Charlie, hopping down from the tree.
‘Jago Flyn. Hee, hee, he’s a painter,’ Jack spluttered.
‘No kidding. So tell me, how does he manage to paint if he can’t even see where he’s going?’
A car horn hooted angrily at the bottom of the hill. Though Jago was out of sight, they both knew he was causing chaos on the main road.
‘He can see!’ chuckled Jack. ‘It’s just an act.’
‘Uh-huh. I think I got that. I’m not stupid, you know.’ Ramming a lock of ginger hair under her beanie, Charlie waited for Jack to compose himself. ‘So where’ve you been?’
‘He wanted directions to Osmaston Hall. We went over the fields, then I watched him paint a picture of the place.’
‘Doesn’t look like an artist. More like a tramp.’
‘That’s only on the outside. Underneath he wears all this arty stuff and he sells his paintings to rich people.’
‘Is he any good?’
‘Brilliant. He can make places look ten times better than they really are.’
‘Sounds like a con to me.’
‘It’s called artistic licence,’ said Jack. ‘He uses his imagination.’
‘Well, I don’t like him.’
‘You’ve only just met the guy!’
‘I don’t care. There’s something about him.’ Charlie hoisted her rucksack on her shoulder. ‘Is my bike okay?’
‘In the garage. Why? Do you have to go?’
Charlie chewed her lip as if considering it. Then she grinned. ‘Nah. I didn’t lug this halfway across town for nothing. I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘What?’
‘Wait and see. Come on!’
Together they crunched across the gravel driveway with Jack trying in vain to unzip Charlie’s bag. When she bolted for the house, he gave up and cast a wistful glance back down the hill. The ‘something’ Charlie disliked about Jago was probably just her feeling left out, he decided. After last night’s quarrel he could see why she might be touchy. Even so, he hoped he’d get to meet the flamboyant Mr Flyn again.
Chapter 15
Nan was making vegetable soup, gallons of it by the look of all the plastic containers spread over the counters. A huge saucepan bubbled on the stove while the whirr of the liquidiser battled for supremacy over the rock music o
n the radio. Nan had her back to the door, jiggling her hips in time to a thumping bass line.
‘At least the power’s back on,’ giggled Charlie.
‘It never went off,’ said Jack, trying to ignore the spectacle in front of him. ‘We’re the only ones who’ve got it.’
‘Lucky you! I had cold baked beans for lunch.’ Charlie eyed the row of cottage pies which were cooling on a big wire tray. ‘Are you having a party or something?’
Nan spun round, her wooden spoon raised like a conductor’s baton. A piece of potato peel hung limply from her hair and one cheek was daubed with flour.
Jack frowned. ‘What are you up to?’
‘What does it look like?’ said Nan. ‘Cooking!’
‘I can see that. But who for? Are we expecting visitors?’
‘No.’
‘Starting a restaurant?’
‘No!’ Nan looked flustered. ‘I’m making sure the freezer’s well stocked, that’s all – keeping the wolf from the door.’ She laughed, a high awkward sort of chuckle that didn’t suit her.
Jack shook his head. Sometimes Nan gave a good impression of being bonkers. He stepped forwards to remove the potato peel from her hair. ‘You worry too much,’ he said.
Before he could move away, Nan had her arms around his waist, hugging him like she never meant to let go. ‘You must tell me when you’re going out,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I need to know where you are.’
‘Stop fussing.’ Pulling away, he shot an awkward glance at Charlie, his face crimson. ‘I’m not a baby!’
‘Got any biscuits?’ said Charlie with a grin.
‘Of course, dear! Take the tin,’ said Nan. ‘Be careful, some of them are still hot.’
Charlie motioned her head towards the door and Jack nodded gratefully. A quick retreat upstairs was definitely the best course of action.