'They're mediocre.' I moved away from her. I needed space. I tried one more time to make her understand. 'I need to be near the sea, Faye. I need to breathe it, smell it, taste it. I need to see and feel it in all its moods, all its seasons.' She was staring at me as if I'd gone mad. 'This house is wrong.'
'Then move.'
'Not to London.'
'We can have a place in London and an apartment here but we can't do that without your father's inheritance. Have you any idea of house prices these days? You haven't exactly been earning a lot in the last couple of years.'
'Jesus, Faye! You really know how to hit a man when he's down, don't you?'
'Well it has to be said, Adam. My job's kept us living here and allowed you to paint…'
She nearly said it but snapped her mouth shut before she could. I heard her unspoken words 'instead of getting a proper job'. I turned away.
'What's happened to you, Adam? You've become so selfish?'
I didn't answer. There wasn't much I could say to that. I went to the studio. I picked up Jack's postcard. Turner had been a genius: creative, imaginative, and innovative. Everything I aspired to. Was Turner's 'The Fighting Temeraire' trying to tell me something? She was a warship. This was her last journey, is that why Jack had chosen it? Had he had known that this would be his final quest?
I studied the painting: the brilliant sunset reflected in the water at the end of the day. I thought of Jack, of Alison and my father, their days had ended. I thought of my near miss on the way home from London. I knew it had been no accident. Whoever had been driving that Mercedes had intended killing me. It had almost been the end of my days too. He hadn't succeeded but I had no doubts that whoever it was would try again.
CHAPTER 7
Saturday night and I stared at my paintings in the ancient stone warehouse that had been converted to an art gallery and despised every single one of them, wondering if I was the only person who saw their faults. How could I not when the image of 'The Fighting Temeraire' burned in my brain?
The room was crowded and hot. I nodded at people and even spoke to some but I was on automatic pilot. When I wasn't thinking about Jack, and that Mercedes, I was thinking about my father's funeral. I was cursing myself for walking out on Simon when I had. I should have extricated my files from that cabinet. I could have got Simon out of the study long enough to do so. Now I would have to wait until the funeral. By which time he might have gone through the file. I didn't relish the fact of him knowing all about my sessions with the psychiatrist. His superior attitude would be more than I could stomach.
I gazed around the room with a glass of wine in my hand. Everyone seemed to be having a good time and quite a few people had congratulated me. I was disappointed that Jody hadn't shown up but there was time yet.
My eyes alighted on Faye. She was elegantly dressed in a short midnight blue dress; her straight blonde hair was glowing after the three hours she'd spent in the hairdressers that morning and her silver jewellery showed off her fair flawless skin to perfection. She caught my eye, raised her glass and smiled at me. No one would have guessed that we had spent the day in a sullen silence, only communicating when we had to.
Her gesture reminded me of my first exhibition in 1996. I had met Faye through the marketing agency the art gallery had engaged to help promote themselves and promising artists. My paintings had formed only part of the exhibition, but it was mine that Faye had chosen to promote through magazine reviews and articles. She said that my dark, lean looks would photograph well. The brooding young artist was how she had positioned me. I was dark, yes, and lean but I was silent because I was shy, totally uncomfortable with crowds. I couldn't tell her then that I had suffered a complete breakdown because I sensed she would run a mile and I needed her. Not for her ability to promote me but because I had fed off her self-confidence. I had gorged myself on her strength. She boosted my ego and it had needed a lot of boosting. I had felt that with Jack's friendship and Faye's love I could finally close the door on my past. Stupid.
I smiled back at Faye; it was an effort. I wasn't as good an actor as she was. She was talking to the tubby little Lord Mayor, exuding self-confidence and bonhomie. She'd already telephoned one of her lawyer friends in London to ask how we stood about contesting the will. If there was a way then I had every confidence that Faye would find it, but I didn't want a penny of father's money. I also didn't want her attending the funeral, but I couldn't see how I could keep her away from it.
'Wonderful exhibition, Adam.' A voice broke through my thoughts and I found Nigel Steep, the manager of the commercial port, beside me. He was a rotund man, immaculately turned out in navy blazer and khaki-coloured slacks with a crease in them that made your eyes water.
'I'm glad you like them.'
'We're going to buy a couple to hang in our reception.'
I laughed. 'I would have thought you'd got enough by me already.' I'd previously been commissioned to paint the scenes from the bustling port.
'Never can have too much of a good thing,' he chuckled. 'It's an investment.'
'Then you'd better get in quick before Faye's friend from London snaps them up,' I said, tossing my head in the direction of Faye and a tall, snakelike man dressed from head to toe in black relieved only by a yellow spotted bow tie. I pointed Nigel in the direction of Martin, the gallery manager, who was conversing with the waiters and he bustled off to speak to him.
I began to circulate, nodding at this person, making the occasional remark to another but it was agony for me. Faye was giving me the evil eye, though, so I had better do my best.
The door opened. I hoped it would be Jody but it was a slight man with limp brown hair. He was flanked by two burly men in smart suits. His eyes scanned the room but Faye, who has an inbuilt antenna when it comes to spotting VIPs, was beside him in a flash with her outstretched hand. The Lord Mayor had been hastily dumped on a woman with a hairstyle that reminded me of Margaret Thatcher, and which appeared to be rigidly held in place with enough hair spray to cause a hole in the ozone layer. Faye glanced over her shoulder and beckoned to me and reluctantly, like a recalcitrant schoolboy, I sidled across the room.
'Darling, this is the Right Honourable William Bransbury, Minister for the Environment, Energy and Waste,' Faye introduced brightly. I knew who he was.
'Thank you for coming,' I said dutifully, surprised to find his handshake rather weak.
'Not at all. I'm very pleased to be invited. It's good to support local talent and I hear you have quite a reputation as a marine artist.'
His voice was rather high and nasal, and he looked nervous as his hazel eyes flickered around the room. Maybe he didn't like these events, a considerable handicap for a politician, I thought. I had expected someone more self-assured. Perhaps television made them appear like that.
'Would you like a drink, Minister?' Faye beckoned one of the waitresses.
Bransbury took the glass of white wine. 'How about showing me round?'
'Of course.' I was somewhat surprised, but Faye seemed pleased.
I found myself with a small but growing entourage, as I explained the paintings that had commemorated the 200 anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar: the private yachts lining the pontoon at Gunwharf Quays with hundreds of coloured flags flying from the halyards; the elegance and majesty of the tall ships, the working boats and warships from the Royal Navy and from around the world, and the little private leisure craft bobbing on the azure blue of the Solent amidst the Isle of Wight ferry and the hovercraft. Suddenly into my mind once more came the image of Turner's painting of the Temeraire. She had been active at the Battle of Trafalgar. Was that why Jack had chosen to send me that particular postcard? Was there some connection with my exhibition? Had the fire been in an art gallery or at an exhibition? Then it clicked. Nelson's flagship, HMS Victory, was here, in the Historic Dockyard. The fire that Jack was referring to must have been in the dockyard. I almost cried out with excitement. I was right, damn it. I had to be. I wa
nted to rush away and check. I could barely contain my impatience.
Bransbury said, 'What are you working on at present?'
With an effort I dragged my mind back to the politician. 'I'm thinking of painting something as a tribute to a close friend of mine, Jack Bartholomew. He was a fire fighter. He was killed in an arson attack.'
'I read about it in the newspapers. Poor man, quite tragic.'
Who could tell me about a fire in the dockyard? My eyes shifted away from Bransbury towards the door, standing just inside it was Jody. My heart lurched and all thoughts of escaping vanished from my mind. I glanced around guiltily in case Faye had witnessed my transformation but she was busy talking to her London friend with the bow tie. Jody spotted me, and the way her face lit up sent a rush of blood through my body and filled me with a desire that I hadn't experienced since Alison. Jody was making a beeline for me. Now all I had to do was ditch the politician.
'Hi.'
'Hello,' I smiled back at her. She was dressed in brown casual trousers and a tight fitting green cashmere cardigan setting off the colour of her eyes, which were smiling into mine with a hint of mischief that made my heart race. Around her smooth, slender neck was a bronze medallion necklace and she wore small amber droplet earrings. Her chestnut hair was spiky, she wore a hint of lipstick, and a trace of mascara accentuated her almond-shaped eyes. I cleared my throat, and remembering my manners introduced her to the politician.
'I know the Minister,' Jody replied rather tersely. 'And his stance over the proposed development of Langstone Harbour.'
Bransbury looked uncomfortable, but Faye came to his rescue.
'You've hogged the Minister long enough, darling,' she said laughing whilst glaring at me. Then her eyes swivelled to Jody. I saw a slight narrowing of her pupils and a minute rise of her finely plucked eyebrows. If Jody noticed it she didn't let on; she was looking at Faye with undisguised interest.
I introduced my wife to Jody, and, after a rather frosty 'hello,' Faye turned her back on her, and swept Bransbury away.
'I'm sorry if Faye was a little hostile,' I began but Jody smiled.
'Was she? I didn't come here to see her.'
'What is the Minister's stance on the harbour?'
'He's for development. I'm against it like a good many people, but money talks unfortunately. Still nothing's settled yet and the environmental lobby are very strong. Anyway, I haven't come here to talk about that or him. Are you going to give me the guided tour?'
'Love to, but I warn you I've just bored the pants off the Minister.'
'From what I can see they look fantastic. The paintings, that is, and not the Minister's pants.'
This time I found the tour a pleasure rather than a chore. I liked the sensation of being close to her. I liked the way she moved: slowly, casually, languorously like a contented cat. I felt some of my old enthusiasm about my paintings returning, which made me more talkative than usual and hotter. Or was that just the wine and the fact of being so close to her? The rest of the people in the room seemed to fade away.
'Did you go to the police about Jack's death?' she asked when we had finished and were standing alone. More people had come in and the room was squeezed tight with bodies. I was surprised to realise it didn't bother me in the least.
'Yes, for all the good it did me.'
'They didn't believe you?'
'Steve went through the motions, said he'd look into the fire reports, but I'm not holding my breath.'
'So what now?'
'I check it out and I think I might have some idea of where that fire was…' I froze.
Not six feet from me stood the young motorbike rider. His eyes were boring into me. It might have been the quality of his gaze that clinched it for me because something connected in my brain and recognition finally dawned. How could I not have seen it before? I must have been blind and stupid. He'd only been six then, but I knew without any doubt that he was Ben Lydeway, Alison's brother.
It was as if everyone else had faded away, and only Ben and I were in the room. I knew what he had come for: revenge for his sister's death. He blamed me for it. I should go and talk to him, but I couldn't move.
Then I saw him turn towards my painting of the international yachts moored up at Gunwharf Quays. His hand swept up and only then did I see he was holding a jar of something. There was a scream and then several screams, as he splashed some liquid from the jar on to my canvas and then on to another beside it. I felt as though someone had cemented my feet to the ground. People were scattering like startled starlings. They were shouting, rushing about. I registered a commotion out of the corner of my eye beside the door. I watched painting after painting being splattered with paint, and still couldn't move. Then two large men grabbed him, the jar fell to the floor and his body immediately went limp. But his head was erect and his eyes never left me.
He was led away without a struggle but even then he swivelled his head and gave me one last look. I guessed the whole episode could only have taken a matter of seconds but it seemed to have lasted for hours. My legs felt weak, my stomach was churning, my palms sweating and my heart was beating so fast that I could hardly breathe. People were beginning to crowd in on me, their mouths opening and shutting; their expressions concerned, but I heard nothing.
Then Jody's voice penetrated my senses. 'Fresh air is what you need.'
She led me through the kitchens and out of the fire exit at the back of the building where I sank down on a crate. Jody disappeared to fetch me a drink of water.
'Where's Faye?' I asked when she returned with a plastic beaker. I drank the icy cold water in one long draught.
'She's dealing with the press and the Minister. Who is that young man?'
'I don't know.'
Would I never be able to speak about Alison? I knew her death had been an accident but the fact that I couldn't remember where I was and what I had been doing at the time made me question myself. It was that uncertainty, the trauma of the incident, and the shame I felt over my breakdown that always kept me silent. The post mortem had found no bruises on her arms or upper body. Alison had been stuffed full of cocaine. They had tested me too, of course. I was clean. Drugs had never been my scene; I couldn't afford to lose control. Accidental death had been the verdict of the inquest but I had felt responsible. I still felt responsible. My row with her had led to her death whichever way I looked at it.
Would the police arrest Ben? Perhaps that was why he had vandalised my paintings. Did he want the police to re-open the investigation?
Jody's voice broke through my thoughts. 'He's probably an environmental protester. He knew the Minister would be here and thought he'd get himself in the newspapers.'
'Yes, that's probably it.' I pulled myself up. 'I'm sorry this had to happen tonight.'
'I don't think you should be the one apologising.'
Faye looked up as we walked back inside. I saw her frown before she sailed across to me with a tight smile on her pretty face. 'There you are, Adam.'
Jody said, 'I think I'd better go.'
'I need to talk to Martin,' I said, rather abruptly.
I left Faye to fend off guests and crossed to the despoiled images. There were three in total. Ben had splashed dark red paint across each of them. I snatched my head away. It was the colour of blood. I spent some time with Martin but can't recall what was said. My mind was many years away.
'Will you be able to salvage the paintings?' Faye asked, as a taxi whisked us out of the city home.
'Martin seems to think so.' I didn't really care. I knew that I wouldn't be able to touch them, not with that colour splattered all over them.
'Do you know who he was? ' Faye asked.
'No,' I lied.
'I wonder what made him do such a terrible thing,' she mused, and then answering her own question when I remained silent. 'Jealousy, I suppose, although the police said it could have been directed at the Minister, an environmental protest. How do you know that woman?'
&
nbsp; 'Jody?' I hoped my voice didn't betray my quickening heart beat. 'She's Rosie's neighbour.'
'Was she there when you rushed to Rosie's help after the break-in?'
'No.' I ignored her sneering tone.
'How did she get invited tonight?'
'I invited her Faye. OK?' I said hotly.
'No need to be so aggressive, Adam.'
The taxi pulled up outside the house. Faye followed me into the hall.
'You'll have to go down to the station in the morning to make a statement.'
I tensed. 'Why?'
'Because that man destroyed your paintings. That's wilful damage or malicious intent or something,' she snapped.
'I'm not pressing charges.'
'But, Adam –'
In Cold Daylight Page 7
