Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone

by Phaedra Patrick

  “Are you going to ride him and pretend to be a knight or something?”

  “I don’t know yet. My plan didn’t go into that much detail.”

  Gemma tutted. “You should let me deal with WEB. You only have half an idea...”

  “Okay, I get it. Let’s go and say hi to Estelle. I think she’ll like the horse anyway.”

  First, they headed for the drinks table. There were wineglasses set out in blocks of color—red, white and rosé—and orange juice. Benedict picked up a glass of red. The gallery was full, and when he finally caught sight of his wife through the crowd, he held his breath.

  She looked beautiful, radiating a holiday-in-Greece-like glow. She wore a knee-length purple dress with a deep scooped neck and the firework necklace. With a churn of his stomach, Benedict noticed that she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. He crooked his thumb into his palm and spun his own ring around.

  Estelle chatted to a man whose beard would make a suitable home for small birds to nest in. She pointed to a large square painting of the moors, moving her hands to show the rise and fall of the hills. Then a lady dressed in jeans and a flowing psychedelic-print top tapped her shoulder. Estelle was in demand, and for a big bloke, Benedict felt invisible.

  He had always seen marriage as a robust thing, like a boulder. And that boulder might become weathered, or the earth might shift, but it would always be there. But now he was beginning to think that it was delicate. Perhaps more like an orchid, which needed care and attention or else it might die. He hoped there was still a chance for his marriage to reflower.

  Of course there is, he told himself as he reached out for another glass of wine. He had to just keep trying. He dipped his hand into the peanuts and took a handful. A gooey chocolate cupcake whispered to him from a plateful of others. Hi, Benedict. Look at our lovely silver sprinkles. He took one and munched it.

  “Uncle Ben,” Gemma scolded. “Put that down.”

  “What?” He stared at the cupcake in his hand and couldn’t remember picking it up. “Sorry.” He threw it into a bin and wiped his hands on a napkin.

  Gemma wanted to look at the artwork on her own, so Benedict circled in the opposite direction. He admired the paintings and thought of Estelle walking on the moors without him.

  He moved slowly, not wanting to be too obvious with his glances over at her. Ryan and Nigel stood in the corner of the room, drinking bottles of beer, so Benedict joined them. “Did you give Diane her pendant?” he asked Ryan.

  “It’s her birthday this weekend. I’ll save it for then.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Nigel said. “She’ll love it.”

  “I hope so.” Ryan gulped from his bottle.

  “You’re the Terminator, remember?” Benedict said. “You’re tough.”

  Ryan straightened his back. “Yes, I am,” he said.

  Gemma joined them. She took Benedict’s glass of wine off him and handed him an orange juice instead. He shook his head and took a sip.

  “I’m also thinking about booking a small break in Paris for us, without the kids,” Ryan said. “Nigel saw a great deal in the newspaper. Have either of you been?”

  Benedict nodded. “It was a long time ago, but it was beautiful.”

  “I’ve never been,” Gemma said.

  Benedict frowned. “You said that you went there, to see the Eiffel Tower, on your own.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Gemma shuffled on the spot. Her boots waggled on her ankles. “I did go once. Sorry.”

  “How could you forget something like that?” Benedict felt the tips of his ears reddening. “You forgot about befriending the white horse, and then about the Eiffel Tower—they’re pretty big things to drop out of your brain.”

  “Hey, it’s not a problem,” Ryan butted in. “I’m always forgetting stuff—my keys and wallet.”

  Benedict remembered that when Charlie reached the age of thirteen or fourteen, he developed a lethargy that found him unable to crawl out of bed in the morning, a voracious hunger and a new passion for arguing. He left his schoolbooks at home and forgot to set his alarm clock, but he wouldn’t ever have blanked out that he’d been to France.

  Benedict wasn’t sure whether to be suspicious or if this was all part of Gemma being a teenager. He gulped his juice. “It’s not the same,” he said.

  “I want to look at that painting.” Gemma pointed at one without looking, and she sloped off.

  “How are things going, with a teenager in the house?” Ryan asked.

  “Don’t ask.” Benedict set his glass of juice down and picked his wineglass back up. Estelle was now talking to four people.

  She had always attracted attention; an admiring glance from a male passerby, or a brush of the arm from her boss at work. Benedict once sat in the Pig and Whistle and watched as a handsome guy, probably ten years younger, chatted up Estelle at the bar.

  When she sat back down, Benedict said brightly, “It looks like you have an admirer.”

  “What? That boy?” Estelle laughed and rested her face on his shoulder. “I need a proper man. Like you.”

  Breaking his thoughts, a fork clinked loudly against a glass and a hush fell over the room. Benedict watched Lawrence Donnington make his way to the center of the gallery. He wore black jeans and his customary striped T-shirt, though this one was tighter than ever, clinging to his firm chest. His coal-black hair was swept back off his forehead, which made his eagle-beak nose seem even more majestic.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “Good evening. I’m Lawrence,” he said in his treacly voice. “I’m the proprietor of Purple Heather and, tonight, I’m delighted to present the work of the very talented local artist Estelle Stone.” He held out his arm and Estelle, smiling coyly, joined him.

  As she lifted her head, Benedict caught her eye. She cast him a small quick smile and wriggled her fingers.

  “And to mark this wonderful occasion,” Lawrence continued, “here’s a bottle of champers from Purple Heather.” He whispered something in Estelle’s ear and she held a hand to her heart.

  “Ew, he’s touching Estelle.” Gemma appeared beside Benedict. “What time is Frank arriving?”

  “At eight o’clock.” He smiled to himself. “And that’s better than a bottle of champagne.”

  Friends flocked around Estelle, patting her on the arm, kissing her on the cheek, and Benedict felt proud.

  When the congratulations petered out, he made his way over to her. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but he held back. “I have something for you, too,” he said.

  “You do?” Her eyes flicked to his pocket, as if expecting him to produce an item of jewelry.

  “It’s outside.”

  “Outside?” Estelle smiled and frowned at the same time.

  Benedict looked around for Gemma, but she was talking to Nigel. “Come with me.” He didn’t take her hand, but he led the way down the stairs.

  Lawrence stood leaning against the table, talking to Margarita. He bent over to bury his nose into her flower arrangement.

  Damn it, Benedict thought. He wanted to be alone with Estelle.

  Lawrence stood upright as he noticed them. “Estelle. Are you leaving? So soon?”

  “No, I’m not going. Benedict wants to show me something outside.”

  “Does he?” Lawrence said slowly. “Outside? Well, that sounds intriguing. Is it private, or can we all take a look?”

  Benedict cursed under his breath. He couldn’t say that it was for Estelle’s eyes only when there was going to be a bloody big horse standing on the pavement. Besides, he thought as he puffed his chest a little, he’d let Lawrence see that he was fighting for Estelle, and that Benedict could come up with something more inventive than champagne. “Anyone can see,” he said.

  He opened the door first, feeling t
he weight of expectation on his shoulders. Estelle stood close behind him and he could feel the warmth of her body. Margarita moved out from behind the table and Lawrence followed her.

  Benedict stepped out onto the pavement first.

  “Aye,” Frank greeted him.

  Benedict felt like his heart might stop. He wished that the pavement flags would crack open and swallow him up.

  On the pavement stood a gray llama.

  Estelle crinkled her brow and then laughed. “Is this for me...?”

  “Er, yes, but...” The words queued up in Benedict’s head, about Cecil’s talk of white chargers and about how he wanted to bring a white horse to her exhibition. He could tell her that he wanted to joust for her, but that there had been a mix-up. But before he could find the right thing to say first, Lawrence roared with laughter.

  “A llama?” he guffawed. “Is this your gift?”

  Estelle raised a questioning eyebrow at Benedict.

  The door opened and Gemma came outside. “Where’s the white horse?” she asked and this made Lawrence laugh even more.

  He slid his arm around Estelle’s shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. “Your husband is hilarious,” he said. “Come inside and I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

  Estelle lowered her shoulders to move out of his grip. She stood on her own then looked at Lawrence and then at Benedict.

  Benedict’s arms dangled by his sides.

  Estelle walked over to the llama and patted it on the head. “She’s lovely. What’s her name?”

  “Bernard,” Frank said. “It’s a he. We’ve got some problems in that area. Did you bring the gemstones, Benedict?”

  Benedict closed his eyes and held them shut for a while to muster some strength. “Yes,” he sighed. He took a small bag of red and green aventurine from his pocket and pressed it into Frank’s palm. “I hope this helps. And will you give this piece of golden beryl to Violet?”

  “Aye,” Frank said. “I’ve seen her wandering around the village tonight. I told her to come over to the gallery, but she said that she didn’t want any attention.”

  “What gemstones do you have?” Margarita asked, looking over Frank’s shoulder. “Mine is aquamarine.”

  “Red aventurine for the llamas, and the same in green for growing plants.”

  “Ah, this is something I want to do, to grow and sell my own flowers in Floribunda...”

  “Aye? Come up to the farm one day and take a look. You’re welcome to use my land.”

  Estelle stroked the llama behind his ears. “I don’t know what this means, Benedict, but he’s adorable.”

  “I’m glad you like him,” Benedict muttered and he patted the llama on his back. “There’s a story behind it, but I’ll tell you another time.”

  Alexander and Alistair sidled up and whispered to Bernard. The llama seemed to listen to them and flicked his ears. “Can we take him for a walk, Frank?” Alistair asked. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “Aye, not really, lads. It’s dark and he’s not used to being out on the streets.”

  “Can we help to walk him back home, then?” Alexander asked.

  “Aye. You can do that. If it’s okay with Nicholas.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Alistair said and sped off.

  Estelle smiled at Benedict. “I look forward to hearing your story. But, for now, I’ll go back inside to see my guests.”

  “And I’ll go and try these out.” Frank rattled the gems in his hand.

  Gemma yawned. “Can we go home, Uncle Ben? I’m really tired.”

  “Okay. Let’s walk back,” he said with a sigh.

  Benedict said goodbye to Frank and Margarita, and his legs felt heavy as he and Gemma walked away from the gallery.

  The street was dark and gloomy, with no cars or people around. He felt he should chat to Gemma, about how great the exhibition had been, but his thoughts kept switching back to the gray llama and his woeful effort to impress his wife.

  “Lighten up, Uncle Ben,” Gemma said. “Estelle liked Bernard.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “It was funny.”

  “Lawrence thought so...”

  “He’s a jerk. He just displays other people’s art, but you actually create stuff. You’re more talented, and you’re kinda nicer looking, too.”

  “I don’t think so...”

  “You have a kind face.”

  “Thanks.”

  They walked in silence for a while longer. “So, do you think I can go to that Restore the Hope concert in Applethorpe?” she asked.

  “Gemma...” he said. “You are so obvious.”

  “Okay. Just asking. I still think you look kind,” she said with a laugh. “But next time leave the WEB ideas to me, huh?”

  22.

  SUNSTONE

  self-empowerment, benevolence, radiance

  WHEN HE WASN’T occupied in his workshop, Benedict sat on a stool with Gemma behind the counter in the showroom as she looked through the pages of the journal. When he saw his father’s handwriting and read his words, Benedict felt there was a hand clasped around his heart, squeezing tight. He thought what might have been if his parents had survived. They would have met Estelle, they would have been around to raise Charlie, and Benedict would have never made his huge mistake.

  Sometimes, Gemma insisted on skipping a page, or she placed an arm or a hand slyly across the words. Benedict pretended not to notice, but it was obvious she was hiding something and he had read enough of her entries to know why.

  Her enthusiasm, when she read out loud to him about gemstones, was like osmosis, and Benedict learned more of their stories, too.

  The jar of gemstones sparkled on top of the counter and Benedict began to think less about his brother on the other side of the world. If any thoughts of Charlie and his whereabouts did niggle him, he silenced them by assuring himself that he had done all he could to make contact, and what kind of father allowed his young daughter to travel on her own to England, anyway?

  He no longer tried to Google Sunnyside Farm and he hadn’t cajoled Gemma into phoning her mobile provider and the passport office again.

  Benedict let Gemma’s slips about forgetting the Eiffel Tower and her friendship with the white horse slide, and he began to look forward to any future commissions that the Noon Sun villagers might bring his way.

  He worked on the tourmaline quartz brooch for Veronica and it turned out better than he imagined. He made the star shape with variations on the length of the points to make the brooch less uniform and more unique. Alongside the gem he originally selected, he added a small ruby for the achievement of goals, and malachite for success in business.

  As he gave the brooch a final polish and placed it into a gray box, he thought how beautiful it was, but that the box it sat in was dull. His eyes swept around the shop and everything was so gray.

  Estelle’s paintings livened up the blank white walls of the Purple Heather Gallery, and people flocked to it, but Stone Jewelry needed an injection of color and a lick of paint. He wanted it to live up to its blossoming reputation.

  Benedict had left a few paintings behind before he transported them over to Veronica’s. He stared at his blank walls and imagined how they might look dotted above the cabinets.

  It felt strange because he was used to not having ideas, and to creating his work without any thought, working automatically and without emotion. So it felt rather intriguing when a picture began to form in his head. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and his fingers tingled with anticipation.

  Perhaps he could create jewelry inspired by Noon Sun, to complement Estelle’s paintings. Using peridot, amethyst and malachite, he could reproduce the colors of the moors. He’d scour marks into silver to represent dancing grass against gray sky. Rather than tu
cking himself away to make his jewelry, and Estelle shutting herself away in her art studio, they could work together. Stone Jewelry could be their family business.

  It might work.

  Benedict got swept away in his imagination, and despite Gemma’s insistence that she should be the one to generate ideas for WEB, the seedlings of his next challenge were already growing in his mind.

  * * *

  A few days after Estelle’s art preview, Nigel called in to the shop on his way home from work. He drifted around like a goldfish in a bowl that was too small.

  Benedict noticed his listlessness. “What’s wrong?”

  His friend scratched his head in bewilderment. “I kind of asked Josie out on a date,” he said. “I was in the pub, on my own, and she was on her break. She was eating a bag of bacon and brown sauce–flavored crisps and she offered me one. We got chatting, and she loves crisps, and American rock music, too. She’s not got a boyfriend called Mason and she’s absolutely perfect.” He sighed. “Well, except for the habit of picking her feet. That’s a bit nasty.”

  “Well done.” Benedict reached out and gave his friend’s hand a firm shake.

  Nigel gulped. “I’m not sure I can do it, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she’s gorgeous and I’m just...me.” He brushed his hands down his biker’s jacket. “She’s out of my league, and I think I’m just going to end up looking stupid.”

  “Don’t be daft. She said yes...”

  “I don’t know why. Perhaps she has nothing else better to do. Perhaps she feels sorry for me or something...”

  “Or maybe she likes you.”

  Nigel shrugged. His eyes flicked to the gemstones on the counter. “Have you got one that might mean something for me?”

  Benedict looked at the gems and picked up a circular piece of citrine. It looked like a small piece of sunshine and already had a hole pierced through its center. He found a small offcut of round black leather thong and deftly fashioned it into a bracelet.