The Painter

The Painter Page 29

by Will Davenport

  In the car, Parrish said, 'I'm so glad you spotted that.'

  'Had you never looked at it?'

  'Years ago, I suppose, before I ever knew anything about the history of the Dales of Paull Holme. Dahl wouldn't have meant anything to me then.'

  'When did we become Dales?'

  'Sometime early in the 1700s, I think. Of course, they spelt names pretty much any way they pleased in those days but it's Dale in the documents fairly solidly after about 1730.'

  He darted into a gap in the fast lane and earned a horn blast from the Audi coming up behind.

  'Silly bugger,' he said. 'Could have fitted a double-decker bus in there.'

  'So long as it was doing ninety-five,' murmured Amy. 'Why did the Dales leave?'

  'One of those First World War things, I think. The sons got killed in the trenches. The parents stayed there until they were too old to look after it. Sold up in the thirties. I suppose you must be a cousin or something?'

  'A few times removed, I expect. So, if there had been a ponrait of old man Dahl, it could have gone anywhere.'

  'Well, I was just thinking about that. They sold a few bits and pieces, we've got the catalogue somewhere, but a lot of it stayed with the house, you know. It's itemized in the deed of sale. So either way, if the picture was still there in the thirties, it ought to be recorded in one or the other.'

  'Are you turning into a believer?'

  Parrish smiled. 'Not yet. However, I do think we should keep all this absolutely to ourselves. It might all sound very silly to anyone else. We can let Ellen in on it, of course. We must tell her. I've never kept anything from Ellen.'

  'I'd like to know about her,' said Amy. 'You've got a lot of time for her, haven't you?'

  'Marvellous woman,' said Parrish. 'Entirely self-taught. Did you know that? Brought up Don by herself after her husband died. I did everything I could to help. I knew her, you see, since they got married. Used to go fishing with Gil, that was Don's dad.'

  'What happened to Gil?'

  It took Parrish a moment to reply. 'Well … it was pretty bad. He was drowned. He was off fishing in the Humber late at night. He used to like to go out in the dark. They think a ship ran him down.'

  'Oh no.'

  'They found bits of wood from his boat with red lead paint on them, completely shattered. It must have been hit by something big.'

  'I had no idea. How old was Don?'

  'About five or six.'

  Amy remembered Don talking about Marvell's father, Don reading out the inscriptions on the gravestones, telling her how the corpses washed up at Paull, Don failing to say anything at all about his own father. She tried hard to remember what she had said and prayed it had been nothing flippant.

  'Did they … did they find the body?'

  'Yes, it washed up in the end, like they do.'

  'Was that at Paull?'

  Parrish shot her a startled took. 'Yes, I think it probably was, come to think of it. It's twenty years ago now.'

  'And then?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'You and them.'

  'I did what I could. They went away, but I kept in touch.'

  Amy knew the interviewer's trick of keeping quiet, of letting the silence stretch out until the other one had to fill it, so she just kept looking at Parrish until in the end he had to speak.

  'I had a very soft spot for her, you know.'

  She just nodded and waited.

  'I really adored her,' Parrish said, 'She's such an extraordinary person.'

  'Do you still?'

  'I think I won't answer that one if you don't mind.'

  Shall I push it? wondered Amy. Of course I shall.

  'Why didn't you two ever get together?'

  'Did I say we didn't?' retorted Parrish. 'Well, it's true we've lived separately of course.'

  'That seems sad.'

  'It was … It was difficult.'

  Then he glanced at her and cleared his throat and she thought, here we go. He's been trying to come to this all day.

  'The thing is, Amy, Ellen's very worried about Don.'

  'I'm sure she is.'

  'No, it's not just the injuries. There's more to it than that.' Parrish switched on the wipers as the car in front sprayed screen-washer fluid back at them, straight over its roof. 'You wouldn't know he was the same person since the attack.'

  'It's not at all surprising, is it? Not really.'

  'Of course not, but Ellen says she doesn't feel it's just the trauma. She's worried that it goes right down to the core of him somehow. Don was just a bit vain before the attack. He liked to look good, you know? He worked out in the gym, Had some really stunning girlfriends, too.'

  'I'm sure he did.'

  He blinked at her. 'Ellen says his image of himself has been shattered. She deals with people in trouble, day in, day out and she says you can very often go back to a point where their self-esteem was destroyed and everything else in their life went to pieces as a result. She sees it happening to him and she's scared stiff of the way he's going.'

  'There's something I'd like to ask you,' she said.

  'Yes?'

  'You were there, weren't you, in the Drydock when it all happened?'

  'Yes, I was.'

  'There seems to be a difference of opinion over what actually happened. I don't really know what did happen.'

  'I'm not sure anyone does,' said Parrish, and she could hear that it was going to cost him something to tell her, 'I had to go over it all again and again. You know, for police statements and so on. It's so hard to be a witness when you're not quite sure what you remember and what you added in afterwards.'

  'Do you mind telling me?'

  He took a moment and she knew he would rather not have to.

  'I was first down there when we heard the noise. Ellen was behind me. He'd already attacked Sarah.'

  'Who had, Vin?'

  'Yes. She was on the floor.' His voice trailed off for a moment. 'It was the most terrible sight. By that time, Don had got the chain saw from him but this other man was still fighting to get it back. That was when Don got hurt, while they were fighting, because the blade was flailing around all over the place. Then I think Don must have turned it off because the noise just suddenly stopped, thank God, and we all piled on top of the man.'

  'What sort of state was Don in?'

  'Absolutely awful. Then he fainted. I'm sorry, I hate to talk about it.'

  He'd said enough. She'd been hoping for certainty, for a witness who had seen Don take the saw from Vin, someone who could swing the balance decisively against the horrible worm of doubt Dennis had introduced, but there was nothing anywhere near certainty in what Parrish had just said.

  'Do you think he's capable of violence? I don't mean self-defence, I mean real violence?'

  He didn't answer for a long time, overtaking a long chain of lorries, then as he moved back into the middle lane, he said, 'Maybe we all are. My advice would be, don't ever provoke him far enough to find out.'

  'Did you know Dennis Greener was Vin's uncle?'

  He looked at her in astonishment 'No. Is that right? How extraordinary.'

  She changed tack. 'So Ellen's worried. What's it got to do with me?'

  'Ah.' Parrish drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and made an unnecessary meal of checking his mirror and looking over his shoulder before overtaking the truck in front. 'Ellen's a bit … Well, I suppose you might say she's a bit concerned about your effect on Don.'

  'I've only met her once for about five minutes.'

  'Yes, she said.'

  'I must have made an incredibly bad impression.'

  'Oh no, not at all. An impression, yes. A powerful impression, I think, but not necessarily a bad one.'

  'So why is she worried?'

  'Well, for one thing, she … Oh dear. Well, she thinks Don might be … I don't know what the expression is these days.'

  'He might fancy me?'

  'Oh, that's a little earthy, isn't it? I thi
nk she meant something just a shade more spiritual. She thinks he might be falling for you.' Parrish glanced across at her and hurried on. 'Then on top of that, she thinks you might be somebody who feels sorry for people in trouble.'

  'Is that such a bad thing?'

  'It depends why you're doing it, at least that's what Ellen would say. She says some people need the self-gratification, the warm glow you get from doing some good, but then they move on. She says she thinks if that happened to Don now it might be the final nail in his coffin.'

  If only it were that simple, thought Amy. 'All right,' she said, 'I'll tell you how it is and you can decide what to tell Ellen, all right?'

  'Agreed.'

  'People shy away from so many things. If you have a death in the family, or you've got cancer or something, people prefer to pretend it's not happening so they don't have to talk to you about it. Me, I talk. If someone's got a problem, I talk and most people are pleased to be talked to. Don's not. Don's got an awkward streak.'

  'You haven't known him for as long as we have,' It was a mild reproof but it came from a mild man and it hit her the harder for it.

  'Sorry, am I wrong?'

  'I think you'd be worrying Ellen if she could hear you now, She would say it's what he needs that matters, not what you think he needs.'

  'Just between us, Mr Parrish, can I tell you what I'm going to try to do?'

  'So long as you don't call me Mr Parrish. Peter is fine.'

  'Peter. I think I'm trying to paint Don back to life.'

  'Good heavens, that sounds a little grandiose. What do you mean?'

  'It's not. All I mean is that I'm going to paint his portrait as I see him, so maybe he'll be able to see that he's not some kind of freak. I want to give him back a face he can live with.'

  'Are you good at portraits?'

  'It's what I do. Ceilings are a sideline.'

  'And if you succeed, what then?'

  'If I succeed, then Ellen's got nothing to worry about. He'll be looking the world in the face again.'

  'And if you don't? She's afraid that when you go, you'll take part of him with you and he hasn't got very much to spare.'

  'That doesn't sound like the Don I know,' said Amy. 'The future is still over the hill, isn't it?' She found herself unwilling to be drawn any further on exactly how she felt.

  There was another question Amy wanted to ask and she didn't know if she dared. She looked out of the windscreen at the other carriageway. If two of the next ten cars are blue, I'll ask it, she thought. Two of them were.

  'Was it Don who stopped you and Ellen getting together?'

  'Why do you ask? Come to that, why do you think I might answer?'

  'It's for me,' she said. 'For my peace of mind. I keep seeing someone there who frightens me a bit. He seems to be very jealous.'

  'Is he?' said Parrish, without apparent surprise. 'Of who?'

  'Of some of the other builders,' Amy said with deliberate vagueness.

  'You might expect that, I suppose,' replied Parrish, 'considering that he's low on self-esteem and you're a very pretty girl.'

  Amy tried saying nothing again.

  'You're right of course,' said Parrish after a while. 'It was Don who kept Ellen and me apart. I played it all wrong. He found us … well, he came in at a bad moment when he was still pretty tiny and after that he'd get furious if we showed any affection when he was there. He'd throw a real tantrum. You can't blame him.'

  'And that kept you apart?'

  'Sounds silly, doesn't it? You'd have had to be there to understand. It got rather extreme at times. Ellen had to put him first, I quite understood that.'

  'You poor man.'

  'I think perhaps you should save your sympathy for Don. Can you imagine what it must have been like for him yesterday?' said Parrish thoughtfully. 'He was the first one there, wasn't he? It would have to be a saw again. That was cruel.'

  'Yes, it must have brought back some vicious memories. I should have stayed there today. I could have helped.'

  'Amy, I'm not such an old idiot as I may look. I've known that boy for many years. You were best out of the way. He'll have been a bear with a sore head all day. By tonight, with a bit of luck, he'll be looking for distraction and human company and I have something in mind.'

  'What is it?'

  'You'll see. It involves the three of us and, though I hate to say it, your friend Rembrandt because, I have to confess, you've finally managed to shake my disbelief, enough at least to suggest we go hunting.'

  'For the picture? You mean there was stuff like that still in the house?'

  Parrish gave Amy a crafty look. 'I wondered when you'd get round to asking about that.'

  'Well?'

  'We put a lot of it away for safe-keeping. It's in room one eight.'

  'What?'

  'When we took over the house, they'd left all manner of bits and pieces upstairs, downstairs, in the attic, in the outhouses, wherever you looked. We pulled out all the stuff that might be worth saving and put it in room one eight.'

  'Is that the locked room?'

  'That's it. First floor, far end from your tower. It's a great big room and we're due to do it last.'

  'What's in it?'

  'Junk. It's absolutely crammed. We have to keep it locked, you know. There's something about builders. They seem to think anything lying around is fair game.'

  'I've noticed.'

  'That's why I'm a bit worried about this Rembrandt idea getting out. There are one or two who would have that door off at the hinges in no time if they thought there might be a quick profit to be made on the other side.'

  Amy stared at the high-speed traffic in front of them, 'But with what we've just found out, it is in fact quite within the bounds of possibility,' she said slowly, 'that there is an unknown Rembrandt portrait in room one eight.'

  'Unless, of course, we burnt it.'

  She looked at him in horror. 'Is that possible?'

  'There were a few pictures that were so far gone, there was nothing else we could do. Just broken frames and torn, dirty canvas. Nothing of merit,' he said. 'There was a short silence. 'I devoutly hope,' he added less certainly.

  'So shall we go looking in room one eight?' she said.

  'I don't think we have any choice, do you? I really hope that I know enough about art not to have looked at a Rembrandt and failed to spot that it was anything special. However, I just might have.'

  'So tonight, we'll go and look?'

  'You, me and Don, and getting back to Don, whatever Ellen may think, I think he needs you right now and I don't think you'll let him down, will you? But then in the course of all this, you've somehow managed to avoid telling me what you feel about him.'

  She considered evasion, but in that confessional car, with this concerned man next to her, there was no room for a glib reply. There was no place for precise honesty either, because she found she did not know the answer.

  'I … I like him,' she said, 'a lot.' Was that true? 'At least, I find him really attractive.'

  Parrish was silent, apparently concentrating on his driving. 'No, more than that. Overwhelming, really,' she went on. 'But I'm not sure it could ever go anywhere.'

  'Unless he learns to like himself again,' the man next to her offered.

  'Yes, maybe.'

  'The injuries don't make any difference?'

  'No, ' she said, 'not the ones on the outside, not at all. Only the ones on the inside.'

  'Then I think you must paint his portrait.'

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Don came to his door when Amy knocked and she saw Parrish was right. He took her in his arms and held her without a word being spoken between them.

  'How's it been?' she said. The house was hushed and heavy in the wake of all that had happened.

  'We've had them all through here today, police, health and safety, council, insurance, everybody. They've got the Hawk downtown answering questions. They asked me a few more questions, that's all.'

  'Th
e police?'

  'Yeah, Jo-Jo's been winding them up. I've sorted him out.' He was clenching and opening his good hand, as if trying to get rid of an ache. 'I don't want to keep going over it.'

  'You didn't fight, did you?'

  'We had a difference of opinion,' he said grimly. 'My opinion proved persuasive.' He moved aside to let her into the room.

  She shook her head, knowing this was not the time for what would follow. There were other ways they could be close. 'Peter Parrish requests the pleasure of your company downstairs. We're going hunting in room one eight.'

  'For?'

  'Rembrandt's portrait of Captain Dahl, as listed in the Vertue diaries.'

  She told him all she had found out on the way down and he was right there with her, sharing it as she had hoped, feeling the excitement as she had. At the far end of the corridor, Parrish had unlocked the door to the storeroom. There were two large windows, but evening was drawing on outside and it was lit only by the high, harsh light of a single bare bulb. The room was stacked three-quarters full with all the detritus of an old house: chairs, curtain rods, boxes of decaying books, rolled-up, dust-laden, insect-infested carpets, broken candlesticks, bundles of ancient magazines held by string and a large brass telescope, badly dented, on a mahogany tripod. To anyone who valued utility and function it would have seemed a hell-hole. To those others who feel homesick for the past and treasure its footprints, it would have been a delight. To Amy at that moment, thinking how much Dennis would have liked to have been let loose in here, it seemed all at once only a small escape.

  'The pictures are mostly at the back,' said Parrish, 'but I've got something I would like to read to you first. I think it sets the scene. Why don't you take a pew?' He looked around. 'Not that there's a chair in here that one would trust one's bottom to. How about the window seat?'

  Amy sat in the window. Don pulled out a wooden box and sat on that in a dark comer while Parrish opened a folder.

  'I had a quick look at the rest of your mother's transcripts,' Parrish said to Don. 'This is the material which wasn't quite so relevant to the structure of the house as such, but I found this.' He looked down. 'It's dated the twenty-fourth of January 1662.'

  He was intent on taking them into another world and that was where Amy wanted to be. Don was impassive in his corner.

 

‹ Prev Next ›