by Marcus Alden
‘I stayed here for the Fringe two years ago before I started uni. Had far too many late nights and dodgy kebabs, but it was fun. You’ve really never been here?’ Sarah said.
‘Nope, I’ve always wanted to visit. Maybe, when this is all over, I can come back for a proper look. Somehow I don’t think we’ll be sightseeing tomorrow. Do you know of somewhere cheap to stay?’ Dan said.
‘There’s a good hostel nearby if you don’t mind a bunk bed?’ Sarah said.
‘I don’t mind anything, as long as it has a bed. You should see my flat,’ Dan said.
* * * *
‘I bagsy the top,’ Sarah said as she climbed the bed’s narrow ladder. Dan put the toothbrushes and toothpaste they’d bought from the shop downstairs on the table and slumped down onto the bottom bunk. They both lay down; Dan stared at the underside of the top bunk with its metal grid and gaudy mattress pattern.
‘I was right, this room is better than my flat. Much better. The door handle works for a start, and there’s a door on the wardrobe,’ Dan said.
‘Your place sounds awful, why do you even stay there?’ Sarah asked.
‘It’s all I can afford,’ Dan said. Sarah hung over the edge of the bed to see Dan; her hair dangled as she spoke to him.
‘Right, I’m having a shower and going to bed. It’s been a very long day,’ Sarah said.
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ Dan said.
Sarah returned from the shower wearing a white camisole and spotty pants. Her damp hair was put to one side of her neck. Dan tried not to look at her from the bottom bunk. He cleared his throat.
‘I think—,’ Dan stopped himself. ‘I’ll have a shower if you’re finished?’ Dan said as he looked away. Sarah nodded and walked over to the mirror; she dabbed her hair dry. Dan caught Sarah’s gaze in the mirror; he looked away again. Dan stood up and walked to the door. He turned and looked at Sarah in the reflection.
‘Thank you,’ Dan said. ‘I mean, thanks. You didn’t have to help me and you did and I’m grateful and I—’.
‘I know,’ Sarah said. She turned and looked at Dan. ‘I want to help,’ Sarah said. Did she like him as much as he liked her, Dan still wasn’t sure? There was nothing he could say. He’d have to blurt out a jumbled sentence or leave his feelings to himself. Dan took a towel and left the room. Dan leant against the other side of the bedroom door.
‘Idiot,’ Dan said under his breath. He walked down the hallway to the shared bathroom.
When Dan returned from the shower the bedroom light was already off. He heard Sarah snore lightly. Dan piled his clothes on the floor and pulled back his duvet cover. As he lay back on the squishy pillows Dan stared up at the underside of the top bunk. He noticed inane details of the mattress pattern and how the mattress poked through the diagonal mesh of the bed. Dan’s thoughts whirred about his grandfather and Sarah and Maybury.
‘Sarah,’ Dan whispered. He waited for a response. There was no reply. Drained and exhausted, Dan closed his heavy eyes. He drifted to sleep as he thought of the girl that had stumbled into his life.
* * * *
Moonlight shone through the glass roof and reflected on the surface of the pool. The silver light cut through the darkness of the water line and dissipated at the edges of the pool to pure blackness. A silhouetted figure of Maybury walked into the pool house and descended the steps into the still water. As Maybury left the last step he propelled himself forward into a breaststroke. The water rippled out and lapped over the edge of the pool into rectangular drainage holes that glugged and slurped. Along the left side of the pool three sets of glass panelled double doors faced the garden. Beside each door were potted plants that sprawled out of their pots and climbed the wall. On the right were several wooden sun loungers with plump cushions and at the end of the room there was a minibar stocked with bottles and rows of crystal glasses.
Maybury sliced through the translucent water towards the end of the pool; he heard only the movement of the water as it swashed past his ears. He swam back to the start and did laps until he was out of breath. Maybury rested up against the deep end to pause for breath. He stared out at the silhouetted trees. They rustled in the wind and created eerie shadows on the grass. Maybury thought he heard a car. He pinched his eyes; Rene had gone straight to bed after her evening out so it couldn’t be her, and none of their friends would ever come to the house at 1am, Maybury thought. Not sure whether he had heard something or not Maybury swam back to the steps. Maybury dripped water as he walked to the minibar. He took a bottle of soda water from the fridge and undid the cap. He heard another noise: it was a car. Maybury turned; he dropped the bottle of soda water and it poured out onto the tiled floor. Maybury hurried to the dressing room attached to the pool house. The automatic light blinked on. He took a folded white robe out of the cupboard and put on a pair of fresh slippers; a puddle of water collected by his feet. Maybury wrapped the thick quilted robe around himself. As he left the room the automatic light switched off and plunged him back into darkness. Maybury looked out across the drive as he walked through the glass walkway between the main house and the pool. He saw nobody.
Maybury paused when he reached the end of the hall and stared at the locked front door. He contemplated whether or not he should open it. Maybury switched the lights on. He noticed an A4 envelope half-shoved through the letterbox. His slippers scuffed the wooden floor as he walked to the door. Maybury ripped the envelope open and spilled its contents into his hand. Obscene photographs of him in a hotel room with an escort slid out. Maybury stuffed the photos back in the envelope and hurried to his study.
Moonlight lit the study. Maybury flicked the desk lamp on; its orange glow lit his face and the desk just enough for his eyes to be able to read. He went to the fireplace and lit a match. Maybury held the match steady underneath the envelope till it caught alight. The pensive man watched the paper buckle and burn in the fire grate till it was nothing but blackened ash; his eyes fixated on it. Maybury remembered that night in the hotel alright, but who had taken the photographs? Maybury swung round and overturned the papers on his desk as he looked for Atmore’s number. He punched in the keys on the phone; for the second time that day Atmore had made him furious. It had to be Atmore, Maybury thought. Who else would have the power? Atmore answered the phone.
‘Now who do you think you are? Your scare tactics and petty threats won’t make this job go any easier. I said I’ll deal with it and I will so leave me to it.’ His voice was firm and aggressive as he ranted uninterrupted. ‘Just because you have some dirt on me doesn’t mean I’m your puppet on a string. I could go to the press anytime and reveal your sordid plans so don’t think I wouldn’t do it. You’re in this as deep as I am Atmore so you can stop these stupid games and let me focus. Any more of your charades and you can look elsewhere for someone to do your legal somersaults.’
‘Have you finished?’ A calm voice said unaffected by the assault; Maybury was silent. ‘You and I both know you would do no such thing and, I think you forget Maybury, that I have friends in high places that wouldn’t hesitate to defend me.’ He paused. ‘I assume you got the photographs then?’ There was a brief silence on the line as Maybury continued to listen without protesting. ‘Just think of it more as—’ Atmore paused. ‘An incentive to stay on track. No one else need see those photos, and, if you complete your work, we can forget the whole thing. I suppose you’re wondering how I got them?’ Maybury said nothing. ‘Well, what you didn’t know was that she was working for me. I needed some assurance that should this deal go wrong I’d have your full cooperation. Now I think we understand each other, don’t we? Complete what I’ve instructed you to do and you’ll be free to pursue any avenue of desire without fear of me watching your every move.’ The voice mocked.
‘Now look, you know I’m not that kind of person––.’
‘Clearly the photographs prove otherwise.’
‘Now I look back the whole thing was rather strange; she approached me. And I suppose you
sent her to that conference with the intention of ensnaring me in some trap for your own amusement. Well, I’m not putting up with it!’ Maybury raised his voice.
‘Calm down Maybury. You know my word is good,’ Atmore said.
‘Stop sending people to my house in the middle of the night; next time I’ll call the police.’
‘Maybury, Maybury there’s no need to be dramatic. Oh, by the way, did you enjoy your swim?’
Maybury slammed the phone down. He was trapped; too late to turn back but still so far to go until the job was finished. The tightrope Atmore had him walking on would end sooner or later he thought. Either by reaching the other side with a large financial reward or by falling off and crashing with his business in tatters and facing arrest. The latter was of course, not an option, but the fear of it was enough to keep him on edge.
‘I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’
Maybury sat at his desk and stared into space. He was still wrapped in the damp bathrobe. The mantle clock ticked in the dim room, but he was unaware of it; his thoughts were elsewhere. He snapped out of his daze and looked down at the information he had on Dan. Maybury scrawled notes over the pages as he referred to his laptop.
It wasn’t until shafts of sunlight peeked through the study curtains onto the desk he realised he had fallen asleep. Maybury awoke to hear birds hop and squabble on the roof of the bay window, their claws scratched on the tiles. With a stiff neck and aching muscles, he rubbed his blurry eyes and looked towards the clock.
Chapter 10
‘Here, one caramel latte with an extra shot. That should wake you up a bit.’ Dan handed Sarah the coffee and a warm almond croissant wrapped in a brown paper bag. They walked through the cobbled streets of the old town from the hostel. Shops began to open and die-hard tourists emerged from their respective hotels. People sat behind the glass window of a café, stranger next to stranger isolated in their own space. The chequered grey stone tenements, with their rows of uniform windows that rose seven or eight floors, stretched upwards toward the blue sky. The clouds, wispy like they were painted on and not dry yet, floated through it.
They walked past a gaudy tourist shop. Pegged up around the entrance were tartan scarfs, hats, and novelty underwear along with Nessie soft toys and Scottish flags. Rotating postcard stands stood both sides of the door.
‘I think we’re getting the subtle hints that we’re in Scotland now, Dan said.
‘Aww the Nessie ones are cute,’ Sarah said as she held up one of the soft toys.
‘Please tell me that is a joke.’ Dan rolled his eyes.
‘I’m just saying I like them, not that I want one,’ Sarah said.
‘Yeah yeah, don’t back out now. You’ve made your real feelings known.’ He wished she had.
‘What, I’m not allowed to like a piece of cultural heritage and an icon of Scottish history that is in the very blood of our ancestors?’ Dan laughed.
‘Is that what you call it? Don’t use fancy words for what we all know is tourist trash. And what kind of weird family do you come from that’s related to Nessie?’
‘Okay okay, it is tacky. But as a British citizen, and a girl, it is my right to like soft toys.’
‘No, just admit it. You like kitsch things. Oh, and remind me not to search your family history. If you were related to Nessie there’d be some pretty ugly photographs,’ Dan said.
‘How rude, how dare you talk about my great grandma like that? She was a natural beauty; slender, an expert swimmer, and always wore a red hat.’
‘We are both as crazy as each other.’ Dan laughed.
‘You maybe, I’m just normal.’ Sarah’s tone was facetious.
‘Normal, what is normal? Besides, if there is such a thing as normal you are so far from that it’s unreal,’ he said shaking his head.
‘Oh thanks, it’s not every day you get told by a cute guy that you’re a toy loving psychopath with ugly relatives.’
‘You think I’m cute?’ Dan said surprised.
‘Is that all you got from that sentence?’
‘I’m a guy, what do you expect?’ Sarah rolled her eyes.
‘Ah, we’re here.’ Dan and Sarah stood at the top of the Playfair Steps and admired the view. Thin street lamps with bulbous glass shades and flat tops that looked like a French policeman’s hat jutted up from the railings. They looked over the roof of The National Gallery of Scotland. With honey-coloured stone and columns, Dan thought the building looked more like a temple than an art gallery.
They walked down the steps and grew closer to the elaborate, but austere, building. Ambling tourists stood outside waiting for the doors to be unlocked. Sarah looked at her mobile; two minutes left before they could look for the next link. Like a rebellious colt, the tourists burst through the doors as a staff member put out an a-frame that featured the exhibition. The people spread out to different sections of the gallery like ants.
The rooms were large, high-ceilinged, and had dark maroon walls that were adorned with paintings in gilded frames. Dan and Sarah searched straight away for the fake Constable painting. They split up to cover different areas and passed European masterpieces with nothing but glances.
Dan picked up a floor plan leaflet and walked to the lower level area where the painting was listed. Sarah had thought the same and met Dan downstairs. They checked the artwork either side of where the painting should have been.
‘This is the section, right? I’m not missing something?’
‘Yeah this is it, but the painting isn’t here.’
‘We should ask at the desk, come on.’ Dan led the way to the information point. A thin woman with a severe face sat dwarfed behind the desk.
‘Can you help me?’ Dan said to the clerk who wore glasses on a chain around her neck and a silver thistle brooch. ‘I’m looking for a painting by Constable.’ The thin woman replied in a soft Scottish accent which contradicted her officious outward appearance.
‘Of course. You mean the one that is part of the tour?’ Dan nodded. The woman leant forward on her chair and removed her glasses. ‘Och, I am sorry, but it was removed for cleaning so it’s not on display just now. You may have heard the news?’ Dan shook his head. ‘Someone vandalised it with black paint. They were caught just as they were about to deface a beautiful Vermeer, or should I say, a beautiful fake Vermeer.’ The woman chuckled to herself. ‘A bored kid probably or one of those activists you hear about. Aye, it is a bit strange. You wouldn’t think a roomful of paintings would cause such a stir, but it has. We’ve been rushed off our feet since those works arrived.’ The clerk put her glasses back on. ‘We do have some excellent English paintings through by if you’re interested?’ The woman gestured towards another area.
‘No, it’s ok. It was that particular painting we wanted to see,’ Dan said.
‘Och well be sure to come back, though I’m not sure when. The restorers have certainly got their work cut out to get that wee one back on display.’ Dan thanked her and walked away.
‘As if we’ve got time to do that. We’ve come all this way only to find a dead end. You can bet Maybury had something to do with it,’ Dan said irritated.
‘We don’t know that, besides, don’t give up so quickly.’ Sarah looked at him.
‘I know that face. What are you thinking?’ Dan said.
‘I saw a staff door downstairs. If you keep a look out I’ll sneak in.’
‘No way Sarah, what if we get caught?’
‘What can they do, it’s not as if we want to steal it? I’ll just pretend to be one of the restorers.’
‘You know you’re crazy, don’t you? I mean like really crazy.’
‘I think we established that earlier, come on.’ Sarah pulled Dan by the sleeve. They hovered around by the door Sarah had spotted and waited for someone to open it while looking interested in a painting nearby. It wasn’t long before two of the gallery staff walked out from the restricted area, absorbed in talking to each other. Sarah stood close by the door; Da
n faced a painting and felt unable to turn without bringing attention to himself. Sarah made a sharp movement and grabbed the edge of the door before it swung shut. Her heart raced as she held the door in place, she hoped not to be caught out. Sarah watched as the staff turned the corner. Dan turned around.
‘It worked,’ Sarah whispered. Sarah pulled the door open wider. To her relief, there was nobody on the other side, just a narrow vestibule with lockers and a further door. Sarah strode ahead. ‘Depends on how observant the security team are, but we’re going to need to be quick.’
The second door opened into a corridor that appeared to be the main spine of the staff area. Rows of doors, each with their own plaque, led off to various departments and storage rooms. Sarah gestured at Dan to follow her to the door marked cleaning lab. They snuck inside; a thick smell of varnish and oil paint hung in the air. The room was dim and crammed with easels, trolleys with cleaning fluids, cloths, and delicate tools. A tall wheeled rack about two metres wide was stacked with paintings. Sarah took two white coats from the back of the door, grabbed some gloves, and hurried over to check what was on the easels. One was covered with a white sheet but when Sarah lifted it she found an oppressive depiction of a saint, the kind that stares through you.
‘I’ll keep a look out, just hurry,’ Dan said as he peeked through the slats of the metal blinds into the corridor. Sarah searched the stack of artworks one by one. Something caught her eye; she stopped searching. Mounted on the opposite side of the rack was the painting. Sarah stood silent, surprised and relieved that it was there.
‘Dan.’ One word was enough, he knew from her tone that she’d found it. They both stood in front of the painting and absorbed its information with wide eyes. It was an almost square artwork with a simple gold-coloured frame. The quiet pastoral scene of a house had been distorted by an invasion of smudged black paint that had dripped down the surface of the canvas. Dan checked the corner for the artist’s signature.