LOVE'S GHOST (a romance)

by Ellis, T. S.

  He was talking to me but also seemed to be talking to himself.

  “I hear that you’ve retired,” I said.

  He rubbed his cheek. “Yes.”

  “So young?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Art doesn’t follow the normal route. You don’t grow with experience.” He shrugged. “Well, some do. Some people produce phenomenal work late in life. Look at Picasso.”

  Carl pushed himself up and wandered over to the far window for a closer look at the rain teeming down. I don’t think he wanted to look at me while saying what he had to say.

  “Me? That was never going to be me. I knew I was an artist with limits. Yes, what I produced was fresh. But the well I drew it from was shallow. I went there one too many times. No, my best work is done.”

  There was a pause.

  “I should have died straight after my last painting. That would have given me a rock and roll glamour, ensured my artistic immortality. I could have been the Kurt Cobain of the art world, the Jim Morrison, the John Lennon.”

  I had to jump in. “Don’t say that.”

  He looked at me over his shoulder. I expected his face to be sad, but it was anything but. His smile was wider than any I’d seen on him. It still wasn’t beaming, his face wouldn’t allow it to go that far. But he did seem happy.

  “Do you want to know what my last painting was?”

  I tilted my head and waited.

  “It was the painting of you.”

  I was shocked.

  “I nearly didn’t finish it. Several times I almost threw it against the wall, or put a knife through it. But, yes, that was my last painting.”

  I think guilt must have spread itself across my face like one of the dark clouds outside.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “Don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? And I’m fine with it. Completely fine. I feel better than I have in a long time. But, yes, it was you who made me give up painting. And I thank you for it. I’m not being glib. I seriously want to thank you for it.”

  He turned round and walked towards me, stopping an arm’s length away. I wanted to reach out and touch his stubbled cheek, but I didn’t. His eyes were piercing, but soft too. It’s hard to describe. It was as if, for the first time, I had access to his real emotions.

  “Painting that picture of you. Oh, man, I’ve never experienced so many ups and downs. I’ve never put so much into a picture. Never. I wanted to capture you. But the closer I got, the more painful the experience became. For a while, I couldn’t work out why. Just couldn’t work it out.”

  Carl took another step towards me and gently ran his hand across my features. He was slow and deliberate.

  “But then I realised what it was. The closer I came to capturing your essence in paint, the more I wanted you in real life. The painting just wasn’t good enough anymore. No painting was good enough.”

  He sighed.

  “I’ve given up so much for my art. I used to have a real sense of vocation. It was more important than anything. Other people were just… how do I describe it?… in the way. Sources of inspiration, but nothing more. There was passion in my life, maybe even “love”, or the peculiar kind of love only I could feel, but…”

  He took his hand away from my face and stared down at his feet.

  “No. Who am I kidding? It was never love. I never felt love. Two women killed themselves. And though I’ll never truly know why, I’ll always have the suspicion that it was because I told them I loved them, yet never really did. And that they knew that. They saw right through me, and they knew that.”

  Carl shook his head, as if in disbelief.

  “Then you came along. I’m not saying I’m in love with you, because I’m not sure I know what that is. But in painting you, I discovered that, for once, I’d like to try and give myself the space to find out.”

  He stared at me like a child unsure of whether he was about to be punished or rewarded. I hadn’t seen this vulnerability in him before.

  “Does any of that make sense to you?” he asked.

  I bit my lip. Tears were queuing up in my eyes.

  I nodded.

  He took me in his arms and we kissed. It was a kiss unlike the others we’d shared. It was a work of art.

  26. The island

  IT WAS A gamble, a complete change of lifestyle. It was a crazy idea but, probably for the first time in my life, I felt comfortable with “crazy”.

  Ulterior Models, the agency I was meant to head up, was in uproar. No sooner had it been acquired by the new owners than it was being sold again. It was for the best. If I’d taken the job, my heart wouldn’t have been in it. I’d quit before I’d started.

  I’d found out that it was Carl Rask who had bought the agency. It was a touching gesture but not one I could accept. So I’d gone through the proper channels and told the headhunter that I’d changed my mind. Carl was not interested in owning a model agency that didn’t have me in charge, so he decided to sell it again.

  I was sure that with somebody more committed to the role, the agency would go from strength to strength.

  Emily drove me to Gatwick Airport.

  We arrived in plenty of time. I wanted Emily to drop me off and drive away — I hate prolonged goodbyes, they’re too heart wrenching. But she insisted on helping me with my luggage, not that there was much of it, just the two suitcases. But she insisted, so she parked up and I grabbed a trolley.

  After I’d checked in, we went for a coffee. Even though we both felt like we needed something stronger to get through this parting, it was only eleven o’clock in the morning, and Emily was driving. We sat at two tables overlooking the concourse.

  “If you want to come back, don’t hesitate. Promise?” For once, Emily was the first to shed tears.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Just pack your bags and come straight back. Don’t even think about it. Get on a plane and let yourself in. That’s why you’re keeping that key. If you feel homesick, just look at that key and remember you can use it at any time.”

  “Thank you, Em. Thank you so much.”

  Her tears were encouraging mine to burst their banks. I couldn’t hold them back any longer. It was difficult to hug at a table, but we both leaned forward and went cheek to cheek. After a few moments, I pulled away to wipe my cheeks.

  “And the same with you, Em,” I said. “Come over for the weekend as soon as you can. Try and make it a long weekend.”

  “I will,” she said. “I will.”

  It was time for me to take my hand luggage through security. Emma queued up with me, until she couldn’t go any further in the line without getting on the plane.

  “This is it then,” I said.

  “Yes, this is it.”

  We hugged one final time. It was hard leaving the country of my birth. I’d never ever thought that I was the type to emigrate. But I needed a new start, that was for sure.

  In the final few days, I’d found myself staring at buildings. It made me realise that most of the time I’d walked around with my eyes half shut. London is a beautiful city with architecture from centuries back. People hundreds of years ago had walked down streets that I walked down, looked up at buildings that I looked up at. But when you live in a place you stop noticing how awe-inspiring it is.

  But as magnificent as buildings can be, it’s the people who truly enrich our lives. Emily was the best friend a woman could hope for.

  I kept trying to say to myself that she would soon fly over for a visit. But it still wouldn’t be quite the same. I would no longer be able to pay her an impromptu visit. Of course our friendship would always remain strong, but it couldn’t possibly be quite as close. Bonds need constant reinforcement. Modern technology makes it easier to keep in touch. Mobile phones, Skyping — there’s no excuse for not saying hi to your nearest and dearest. But nothing beats face to face contact.

  “You take care,” Emily said.

  “And you.”

  A f
inal hug and then I watched my best friend disappear into the crowd, swallowed by people coming and going, people looking at departure boards, people staring at arrival boards.

  I choked back more tears. Then I rummaged round in my hand luggage for a tissue. I blew my nose. It helped a little.

  The flight to Ibiza was uneventful. I picked up the car I’d arranged to hire in advance of my visit. Except it wasn’t a “visit”, but I couldn’t stop thinking of it like that.

  I couldn’t feel too sad for long. The sunny skies and the smell of Pine trees brightened my mood. It was time to look forward not back. This was going to be a brand new start.

  I arrived in Santa Eulalia buoyed by the sights and sounds of this beautiful island. I parked by the beach and looked at my watch. I wouldn’t have time to go to the villa before meeting with Jax. Jax was the estate agent I’d dealt with in buying the small bar. The small bar that, when I looked to my right, I could see sitting at the bottom of the hill with no barrier between it and the beach.

  It had oodles of charm. Its stone brickwork was sympathetic to the hill behind it. But it also needed a facelift. It was going to be difficult trying to retain its historical charisma while making it a safe and enticing place for people to eat and drink — morning, noon and night.

  But I had help.

  As well as being a bar, restaurant and café, the place was going to be a gallery. But it wouldn’t just have paintings in frames. Each and every wall would be an artwork in itself. Local artists would be instrumental in making our place unique.

  I hadn’t wasted any time. Already there was a local artist working on a mural. When I got out of the car and walked round the side of the building, I was surprised to see him there.

  I hadn’t told him what I’d like painted, I’d given him a free hand. He’d chosen to portray the transition of day into night, then back again into day. On the left hand side of the wall, the sun crept over the horizon, rising and falling as you looked along the wall’s length. It was then replaced by the moon and stars. That in turn was usurped by the sun again. He’d almost finished. It was a wonderful piece, capturing the essence of the light on the island.

  “You’ve done a good job,” I said.

  “Thank you, señorita,” he replied.

  “I’d say it was better than Banksy.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  I smiled at him. That dark hair and those dark eyes had the effect of broadening my smile.

  He went on, “But I think the work is a little derivative.”

  “Well, yes,” I said. “It does remind me of Gaugin.”

  “Gaugin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was thinking more of Carl Rask.”

  “No, no, no. It’s far superior to his work.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  Carl put down his paintbrush and stood with his arms akimbo. “That’s fighting talk.”

  “It certainly is,” I said.

  Carl took a couple of steps towards me and I threw my arms around him. He lifted me up and spun me around a couple of times, which made me howl with delight. It was so good to see him again, good to feel his firm embrace. He put me down gently.

  “Good journey?” he asked.

  “Not bad.”

  “Jax dropped by earlier with the deeds. I’ve swept the floor and arranged for a plasterer to drop by later to give us a quote.”

  “Thank you.” I glanced around again. “Isn’t it a wonderful place?”

  “It is.”

  We both stared out at the beautiful view. Hills rose on either side of the inlet. The sea was a vivid blue and as calm as a garden pond.

  “I’ve got some photos of house we can look at,” he said.

  “You have been busy.”

  Carl put his arm around me and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  “Any regrets?” he asked.

  “None.”

  And it was true. I was a little apprehensive. Who wouldn’t be, starting a new life abroad? And with a man who had a chequered history when it came to relationships. Of course, this radical decision could just have been a reaction to Russell’s death, but I wanted to take that chance. To boil it down to life’s essentials, in the end Carl just “did it for me”. My heart still beat faster whenever I saw him. So why not take that chance?

  “I’ve underestimated the amount of paint I need,” he said. “Are you going to be all right on your own for half an hour?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Carl had bought a scooter. What better way to explore such a beautiful island? We brushed fingers as he walked past. Carl made me want to smile all the time. I don’t think I’d ever felt like that.

  I watched him ride away, the little engine whining as it took him up the coastal road. I didn’t take my eyes off of him until he was out of sight.

  With a bit of sunshine and a warming breeze, a whole pile of work doesn’t look so bad. When I opened the door to the bar, I was greeted by the barest of rooms. We had decided to gut the inside and start again. The only part that was still standing in the main bar area was the bar itself. There were a couple of shelves built into the walls, which were back to their original stone texture.

  It was a blank canvas. But it was a large canvas. And we had planning permission to add other buildings. By the time we finished, the place would be a riot of colour, a place people would talk about and travel for miles to visit.

  But for now, I wandered through an empty bar, my footsteps echoing on the bare concrete floor, kicking up dust with my heels.

  I stopped and faced the windows that framed the idyllic view. A boat similar to Carl’s cruised along the water.

  “I don’t know what to think about it.” The voice came from behind me. “I’ve tried again and again to think about it, and I still don’t know.”

  I knew that voice. But I thought the man it belonged to had gone for good. I hadn’t conjured up his image for weeks. Yes, I’d thought about him, but in a quiet way — I’d not had a conversation with him.

  “I want you to be happy. Of course I want you to be happy. But this is so drastic. Are you sure this is what you want? You didn’t need to throw in your lot with Carl. Not so soon. You could have just come out here for a couple of months on your own. Come out to regroup.”

  I turned and saw the vague outline of Russell, as I imagined he would sit at the bar.

  “Is it too soon?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Russell shrugged. “No, it’s not too soon. Life rarely runs to an ideal timetable.”

  “I’m surprised I’m thinking about you at this particular moment.”

  “Sorry to ruin the party.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the remark.

  Russell stood up and surveyed the place. “You really think you can make a go of this place?”

  “You always said I could do more with my career. You were right that I wasn’t at home in the fashion world. You always had faith in me, Russell.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I did. It’s a shame that I’m not here to see how you turned out.”

  I sighed. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry. “Yes, it is. Maybe we would have got on all right after the split. Maybe we would have found a way to be friends again. I would have liked that. It might have taken a while, but I would have liked that.”

  “Yes, I think I would have liked that, too.”

  Russell walked over to the window and I followed him.

  “That’s quite a view,” he said. “Quite a view.”

  “It is.”

  A couple of months ago I would have broken down at this point. But not today. It wasn’t a sad thing, talking to Russell. It was strangely comforting. His presence was strangely reassuring.

  “I could go. I could disappear from your life completely,” he said. “If you want me to.”

&nb
sp; I thought about it. But I couldn’t think of an answer.

  So Russell carried on. “It would give you, and that Carl guy, a bit of space.”

  A waterskier went by, bouncing up and down on the water at high speed.

  “We’ll see,” I finally said. “This is a big step for me. A huge step. I might need your advice occasionally. If that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  We both stared at the waterskier. I felt sure that going at that speed it was only a matter of time before he tumbled. But despite the rough ride, he kept his balance and hung on.

  I turned to my right, but Russell was gone.

  Thank you…

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