Albatross (19 page)

              Vast landscapes and unimaginable horizons, endless backdrops and deathly ravines, Deacon had thought of it all.

In deep contrast to the grey of the city beyond the perfect glass walls encasing them, this single, enormous room, seeming to revolve entirely on all sides around the lift right in its centre, was filled with reams of vibrant colour and life.

It seemed to capture the very nature of Mother Earth itself, and portrayed but the briefest glimpse of it here, all at the talented hand of one, Mr Deacon Ash.

              It was fairly safe to say, Jen was in awe.

The Artist and the Impersonator

             
The morning and early afternoon were spent almost entirely in preparation, save stopping for an hour or so for lunch in one of the building’s many restaurants. Great platters of food and drink were brought out for them, all seemingly at Greenway’s expense.

              Deacon checked and altered every inch of the gallery, with seemingly inhuman patience and calm, as a million and more questions were fired at him from every direction, and he handled each panicked worry with equal composure and assuredness.

              It was all so alien to Jen that she simply held on as tightly as she could as she was swept along by Deacon’s side. He looked after her and Dyra, there was no doubt about that, and at no point did they feel abandoned. But this was his world, it seemed, and modest and charming though he was, he was revered by all.

              Continuing with the trend from lunch, come mid-afternoon, when the gallery began to slowly fill and swim with wealthy guests, food and drinks were swept around on huge silver platters by graceful waiters and waitresses. They navigated the surging and swelling crowds with apparent ease, collecting empty glasses and handing out full ones as they went.

              Jen didn’t recognise anybody who emerged from the lift, but from somewhere amidst the filling room Mr Gregory Hughes found his way over to her, and quietly and kindly talked her and Dyra through some of the appearing guests.

Deacon had been dragged away by a tall, demanding woman who had simply insisted that he must meet someone or other, Jen didn’t really know who.

              It seemed everybody wanted a piece of the great artist, Deacon Ash.

              Jen wasn’t jealous, she just felt a little overwhelmed by it all. She knew Deacon couldn’t help being the centre of attention.

It was his exhibition after all.

              Fortunately, Greg came to their rescue.

              “That’s Richard Brandy…” He pointed out first, indicating only with his eyes and a brief description, rather than making what he was doing too obvious. “Blue suit, tall, skinny, grey glasses…”

              Though, everyone looked skinny next to Greg.

              “Yes…” Jen mouthed, confirming that she knew who he meant, though she barely moved her lips as she spoke.

“He’s one of our competitors…” Greg explained quite calmly. “He’s not interested in the art at all, I’m afraid. He just wants to know how much money we make.”

“Oh…” Jen replied, not sure what to make of that, and sure enough, as she followed him for a few minutes with her eyes, she saw what Greg meant.

Mr Brandy scooted from one painting to the next, without really lingering on any one of them as most of the other guests did. Instead of discussing them and looking more closely at the finer detail, he spent most of his time glancing around and eyeing up Greenway’s staff.

“And that’s the Lord Mayor and his wife…” Greg indicated then, and indeed, true to his word, the elderly couple emerging from the lift in that moment wore huge loops of plated gold about their shoulders.

“Are they here to buy?” Dyra questioned, a little startled.

“I doubt it…” Greg admitted. “We invited them to boost the exhibition’s profile.” He explained. “You never know though…” He added, grinning slyly, and his comment made Jen smirk too.

“Seems pretty high profile already…” Jen observed.

“We try…” Greg grinned again. “There’s Amy Goodwill…” He pointed out inconspicuously, indicating a tall, slender blonde that had just emerged from the lift.

She was stunning in every way, and wore a knee length red dress that only accentuated her figure even more so.

“She made a fortune in oil, believe it or not…” Greg continued, though there was a yearning in his voice that was typical of the male sex, whenever such a woman passed by unescorted. “She loves dramatic art. Last time we ran an exhibition here she spent just over four hundred thousand…”

Jen started slightly.

“How much!?” She exclaimed, raising her voice louder than she should have done, and was forced to stifle her outburst with a cough.

“Smooth…” Ben laughed, appearing from seemingly nowhere and smirking foolishly, as if he was about to do something he possibly shouldn’t.

Greg didn’t really look best impressed by his appearance, Jen noted.

“Sorry about that…” Deacon apologised then, reappearing all at once from the growing crowds before Jen had chance to reply. “I couldn’t get away…”

“Not to worry, Deacon.” Greg assured him. “I was just looking after your guests.”

“I noticed.” Deacon replied thankfully, taking Greg’s hand in a firm handshake, but even as he did so he leaned forward so that his mouth went to Greg’s ear. “Mr Walker has bid on the ravine piece…” He uttered in a hushed voice. “Miss Clayton is trying to outbid him…”

Greg’s eyes suddenly began to twinkle.

“Really…?” He breathed, perhaps much more enthusiastically than he should have done, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. “Do beg my pardon…” He offered absently. “This is something I must attend to…”

And with that, speaking not another word, he vanished among the thriving, ridiculously wealthy art lovers.

Deacon laughed.

“Greg loves a good bidding war.” He explained, practically beaming at Jen and her mother, but it was Ben who spoke next.

“How much?” He asked almost immediately.

Deacon gave him a slightly withering look, but Ben did not back down.

“How much have they bid?” He asked again, though there was mischief in his eyes.

“So far, two hundred thousand…” Deacon finally replied, sighing, knowing Ben would not drop it.

His impish friend gave a low whistle, and Deacon rolled his eyes.

“You’re impossible.” He stated, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “Anyway…” He continued then, looking Ben up and down in a most critical manner, for he was no longer wearing his porter’s uniform. “What in God’s name are you wearing, Ben?”

Jen and Dyra turned to look properly at Ben then, having not even noticed that he’d changed, and indeed his appearance shocked them a little too.

He was wearing a tweed jacket and trousers, rustic looking and well-worn, dark brown boots, a creased white shirt, open at the collar with no tie, and to top it all off leant slightly on a cane that looked to be carved entirely from tanned Birchwood.

His dark hair was messy and fell down in curls in front of his eyes.

Save that he was missing the pipe and hat, he could easily have passed for Sherlock Holmes.

Ben winked in reply.

“Ben?” He questioned, crinkling his forehead slightly in feigned confusion. “I don’t know who you mean?”

“What?” Deacon urged, confused himself now. “Whatever you’re up to, you’re insane!”

“Not insane.” Ben correctly immediately. “Eccentric!” He exclaimed, spreading his arms wide dramatically and jigging round his cane like a lunatic.

“Eccentric?” Deacon replied disbelievingly. “Why on Earth…?”

But Ben didn’t let him finish.

“Because! My dear friend!” Ben practically bellowed. “All the greatest artists are eccentric! And yours truly is the finest of them all! The cream of the crop!” His voice wove in great undulating tones, rising and falling, well, eccentrically.

Jen and Dyra smirked as Deacon just looked on incredulously. He knew where this was going, he just couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yours truly…?” Deacon started slowly, wondering whether he dare even finish his sentence.

There was nothing else for it, and Ben hung on by a thread, ready to burst with mischievous excitement.

“Who might be…?” Deacon finished, releasing Ben from his build up.

“Yours truly!” He exclaimed melodramatically, fighting immensely hard to keep a straight face. “Ash! Deacon Ash!”

“Of course you are…” Deacon replied, laughing and shaking his head as if all hope was lost.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Ben continued then, scanning the crowd before them briefly. “As the most prestigious man in the room! I have a conquest to make!”

“A conquest?” Deacon queried, but it was too late. Ben was off, cane and all, on a mission, it would seem.

Jen laughed aloud all of a sudden, struggling to contain herself.

“I think he’s going after Amy Goodwill!” She hissed in a frantic, hushed whisper, watching as Ben chased down the stunning blonde in his new identity.

Deacon chuckled and shook his head yet again.

“Good luck to him.” He mouthed. “I’ve heard she’s rather feisty…”

“What will she do if she finds out?” Dyra asked, finding her tongue suddenly amidst the overly civilised chaos.

“Probably nothing good…” Deacon noted. “And it wouldn’t be the first time one of his schemes has backfired…”

Still though, regardless of where they were or what the occasion was, Deacon had to hand it to Ben, for he was nothing if not persistent. How he managed to pull some of the stunts he did and still walked away unscathed, Deacon would never know.

Arguably though, there was still plenty of time for it to all go horribly wrong.

The day was wearing on, and evening was fast approaching.

The enormous room overlooking the bright lights of the city was filled almost to the brim now, and finery of all kinds was on show in every direction.

Suddenly, a familiar voice sounded from just behind Jen, and she and Dyra and Deacon turned to see a face that at least two of them recognised.

“And the lovebirds be attending the gallery together it would seem!” Walter Grimmway exclaimed in his exaggerated and overly flamboyant manner.

Jen was coming to find that most of the people Deacon knew were such, which probably spoke volumes about Deacon himself. Nonetheless, she was overjoyed to see another familiar face, and practically squealed with delight.

“Grimm!” She exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace the peculiar old man, dressed almost completely from head to toe in a purple suit and shirt. The only other colour he wore was the black of his tie and of his shiny, leather shoes.

“Well!” He cried in reply, taking Jen into his rough embrace. “What a warm welcome for an old man like myself!”

“This is my mom, Dyra.” Jen immediately introduced her mother.

“Well! Well!” Grimm repeated, smiling crookedly, though somehow still quite charmingly, bowing fluidly as he spoke.

Dyra grinned and Deacon winked at her slyly.

“The pleasure is mine it seems…” Dyra replied, admittedly a little unsure of herself still, but growing in confidence along with her daughter.

“And what are two fine ladies such as yourselves doing in a place like this!?” Grimm demanded, grinning like an overgrown child as he rose his voice much louder than he really should have done.

He took a deep, exaggerated breath in through his nose and gasped audibly.

“It positively reeks of debauchery and corruption in here!” He declared, throwing his arms out in a grand, dramatic gesture.

By this point Deacon’s head was in his hands, though he couldn’t quite fully stifle his laughter.

“Why is everybody I’ve invited nuts!?” He demanded, words filled with at least half joking exasperation.

But before Grimm could retort with anything, Jen cut back in.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?” She asked, smirking vividly at Deacon’s helpless expression.

“She’s got you there my son!” Grimm chortled, slapping Jen lightly on the back.

Deacon just shook his head and sighed.

“I can’t win…” He laughed. “Now you’re ganging up on me. What chance do I stand…?”

Jen grinned and stepped over to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“None at all, my dear…” She breathed winking affectionately at him, and he took her hand instinctively. “None at all…”

“Attention! Attention please ladies and gentlemen!” Mr Gregory Hughes called, tapping the side of his champagne glass to politely hush the chatter in the room.

Gradually the subtle talk wound itself to a halt and all eyes turned to him, as he stepped into the only part of the circular room that could really be called the front, exposing himself wholly to the crowds.

Behind him the lights of the city shone and sparkled in the night through the evening that had encroached upon them so rapidly.

There had been a lot of talk of rather large sums of money thrown around that day; just the way Greg liked it, Jen imagined.

Deacon had been whisked off here and there through the day and night, but he had always come back to her, making sure he was never too far away.

“As many of you know I represent Greenway, and I would just like to thank you all for coming…” Greg continued, projecting his already gruff, booming voice around the vast room as if he had a megaphone. “None of this would be possible without your generous support…”

Brief applause followed his introduction and he glanced at Deacon out of the corner of his eye in that moment of pause, checking to see if he was ready. Deacon nodded almost imperceptibly, and Greg drew a deep breath to continue.