Charlie let his hands drop to his sides. The resulting sting at the back of his neck made him realise his shoulders had been in danger of grazing his ears.
‘That’s Phoebe when she was four. It was so difficult to get her to sit. She kept jumping off the stool to see what I was doing.’ He moved towards the sofa and indicated a spot on the floor. ‘Right there. Like it was yesterday.’
‘One minute she’s playing with dolls and the next it’s driving and boyfriends.’
His fist tightened, making the phone dig into his palm. ‘Phoebe doesn’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Oh no? Well, plenty of time for that later,’ she said, putting her hands behind her back. ‘And you? Is there anyone special?’
A sudden tickle in his throat made him cough. He had a nasty feeling his sister was about to give him another reason to wish her dead. He coughed again and did his best to make his reply sound casual. ‘Not really.’
‘Oh. It’s just that Lauren said you’d mentioned a woman you’d met a few times.’ She reached towards the workbench, sweeping her hand over the bristles of the brushes crammed into a large ceramic pot. Charlie winced. ‘That is, you’d met her a few times and mentioned her a few times too. Lauren thinks she’s a gallerist or a curator here in South Compton?’
As Becky’s fingers danced over to the pencil pot, almost knocking over a bottle of solvent, Charlie was prepared to do anything to get rid of her, including telling her things that were none of her damn business. Civil and concise, he reminded himself, then muttered, ‘Um, yes. I think I mentioned the manager of the Coulson Gallery in town.’ Becky’s fingers froze and she turned to face him, returning her hands to her sides. Charlie sighed and continued, ‘I met her at a few shows. We talked. And, I suppose … I wouldn’t object to seeing her again.’
‘Do you know her name?’
‘Rachel Stone.’
Becky nodded and Charlie returned his attention to his phone, hoping she would also move on.
His reply to Lauren was still unfinished when Becky interrupted again. ‘What’s back there?’ She pointed to the other end of the studio where a white wall closed off the area under the mezzanine platform.
‘A couple of storage areas and a washroom.’
‘And upstairs?’
‘More space for storage and display. Currently empty.’
His phone buzzed yet again. Lauren had resent her previous message.
‘I’m sorry, do you mind if I deal with this?’ He held up his phone and shook it, wishing it were Lauren’s neck.
‘No, of course not. Don’t worry about me, I’ll carry on looking round.’
Waiting until she had her back to him, Charlie entered the final few characters and pressed ‘send’.
She’s here. Pleasant enough, but art philistine. How is she supposed to help?
He sighed and closed his eyes, only to snap them open moments later. What was that noise?
Becky had returned to the shelves and was running her fingers along the spines of the books. Utterly absorbed in her investigation, she was muttering to herself, her lips moving quickly as she paused to pick up and straighten a few of the collapsed volumes. Charlie raised his eyebrows and sent Lauren an addendum to his previous message.
And she’s possibly crazy.
The reply came in seconds.
Good. Essential if she’s to put up with you. L.
Closely followed by:
And don’t be a condescending arty twat. Lxxx
Charlie had only a few seconds to process his sister’s comments when the muttering stopped and Becky said, ‘How long have you been working on that?’ She pointed across the studio to a large white canvas propped against the wall.
His stomach clenched. He gaped at Becky with a renewed interest. ‘A while,’ he said, stuffing his phone into his back pocket.
‘Too long, I’m guessing.’ She walked towards the canvas and inspected it for a moment. ‘You’ve painted over this a few times, right?’
Charlie was impressed. To the unobservant, the canvas appeared white. But as the light played across its surface, textures and tones emerged which revealed its previous use.
He nodded. ‘Five times in the past two years.’ He rubbed his brow. ‘I have an idea. But I can’t … it’s … it’s another thing to get the idea there.’ He jabbed a finger towards the canvas.
‘Hmn. You should probably get rid of it.’ She gave him a teasing half smile. ‘It’ll start talking to you if you don’t.’
Charlie’s pulse quickened. Just last night, after more than a few drinks, he’d been convinced the damn thing was whispering. Taunting him, repeating the words of the critics: ‘uninspired’, ‘derivative’, ‘weak’. But she couldn’t know about that, could she?
‘You need a fresh start.’ She stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm, forcing him to meet her eye. ‘Why not give it to your students to use? And, in the meantime, please put it in storage.’
Now scarcely a foot away, he had a clear view of her forget-me-not-blue eyes, which brimmed with concern. Holding her gaze and taking a deep breath, he noticed a fresh, clean scent. Rose? Lavender?
As her cool hand slid from his arm, leaving a patch of gooseflesh behind, he almost wavered in his resolve to consign the last half hour to memory as quickly as possible.
‘I’ve taken up quite enough of your time,’ she said, making for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get on with your day.’
He strode forward to open the door for her and they stepped out into the sunshine together. Charlie smiled as he shook her hand, trying to hide his relief. At last she was leaving, although she dawdled for another minute to say something about putting together a proposal and having another meeting next week.
He watched Becky stroll across the lawn. When she disappeared into the kitchen, he backed into the studio, threw himself onto the sofa, and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. The ordeal was over. He just had to pray he’d done enough to get Lauren off his back and to never have to see Rebecca Watson again.
Chapter 3
Walking back towards the house, Becky once again felt as if she had stumbled into the glossy pages of Homes & Gardens. It was easy to imagine the station in use: an engine and its carriages sitting next to the house, puffing steam into the blue sky. She smiled: Dylan would love that. Trains were a new obsession and modern electric-powered locomotives were little fun compared to the roaring dragons of the steam age.
The smile faded from her lips as she neared the kitchen doors. Meeting with Charlie has gone about as well as she had expected. Lauren had warned her about her brother’s reticence, if not his appearance. But at least if this all came to nothing, she would have had a glimpse inside a couple of buildings many others had failed to access.
Becky sighed and willed herself not to give up hope. Charlie was far from becoming her new best friend but, if Lauren was right, the person she really needed to convince was waiting for her inside. She pressed a hand to her stomach to settle her butterflies and opened the door.
Phoebe was standing by the sink. Hearing the door, the teenager looked up from her phone, smiled and came forward to shake Becky’s hand.