An Artistic Way to Go

 

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To Ursula Graham

CHAPTER 1

Cooper dropped the copy of
The Times
on to his lap and stared into unfocused distance. Until seeing the date on the paper – which was yesterday's – he had forgotten that this was the second anniversary of Davina's death. If there were an afterlife which provided a window on to earth, she must be in danger of drowning in her own bile; not only on account of Rachael, but because she had been naive enough to believe that good was always rewarded, evil, punished.

He heard the sitting-room French windows click and turned to see Rachael. She was wearing a dress full of chic which underlined without overstating. Even a eunuch would be attracted to her, he thought with possessive satisfaction.

She came up to where he sat, only partially in the shade of the sun umbrella. ‘You're going to get burned, Bunnikins.'

‘I'm fine.'

‘But the sun's a furnace today. And only yesterday there was that programme warning about the harm of too much sun. It would be so terrible if…'

He normally argued as a means of self-assertion, but now he stood, moved the chair fully under the shade.

‘I know I worry too much about you, but…' Leave a man to fill in the missing words and he would always choose those that most flattered him. ‘Muriel's just been on the phone. She's asked me to go and have tea with her.'

‘More like a double brandy. Why's she always wanting you to go round to her place?'

‘I suppose it's because I seem to be able to cheer her up.'

‘What's she miserable about this time?'

‘She's run up an overdraft and the bank's pressing for immediate repayment as they're not supposed to let her overdraw. She's phoned her husband and asked for a little extra this month, but he won't play. Can you imagine a man in his position refusing to let her have just a couple of hundred pounds?'

‘What can she expect when she left him and a couple of kids to go off with an Italian gigolo?'

‘I thought he was a count?'

‘Same thing.'

‘Why don't you like Italians?'

‘They're the most crooked art dealers in the world.'

‘But I'll bet they never managed to take
you
for a ride?'

‘I wasn't born yesterday,' he said complacently.

She rested a hand on his shoulder, stroked the side of his neck with her thumb. ‘You're so smart that someone would have to be a genius to put anything over you.'

He agreed.

She removed her hand. ‘You don't really mind if I go along and see Muriel, do you?'

‘Are you forgetting we're having dinner with the Passmores?'

‘I'll be back in plenty of time; promise.'

‘You can wear that dress I bought you.'

She giggled. ‘That'll upset Edith! The last time we saw her, she moaned that I was always wearing something new.'

‘She's bitching because they've lost a packet on Lloyd's and can't get used to having to watch the pennies.'

‘Poor dears.'

‘Fools not to have foreseen the danger.'

She bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Thank goodness you could never do anything so silly, Bunnikins.'

He watched her return into the house. Memory took him back to their first meeting. The day had started with Davina even more morose and argumentative than usual. The traffic had been so bad that a fifteen-minute drive had taken twenty-five; a fax had arrived during the night to announce that an American sale was off despite its having looked so certain; Mrs Something-or-other had phoned to say that he'd be very sorry to hear her daughter, due to start work with him that morning, had suffered a road accident and the extent of her injuries was not yet known and so she could not be certain when … At which point the woman had started snivelling. He'd phoned an agency and asked for a temporary personal assistant/secretary. Rachael had arrived at the gallery that afternoon …

His championing of Poperen had proved he was a man who could discern value where others failed to see it. She had been dressed and made up like a tart; had spoken with a Mancunian accent; her manners had betrayed her back-street origins, being in turn gauche, ingratiating, and antagonistic … Yet he had identified the gold beneath the dross. One week later, he'd offered her a permanent job.

Maturity offered one big advantage over youth, it enabled a man to move carefully. The selling of art had taught him the truth in the old saying, softlee, softlee, catchee monkee, so for a while he had behaved with complete decorum. Then, knowing from the subtle signs which a man of experience learned to identify that she was attracted to him, he had begun to move. His initial lovemaking was gentle, but it still left her perturbed by the rush of emotion it aroused in her breast … Irritatingly, though, not sufficiently aroused. Despite the gifts, the expensive restaurants, and a technique that was second to none, she'd denied him the final prize. One night, when frustration had overwhelmed him, he'd lost his temper. Tearfully, she'd tried to explain. Because she'd been brought up by very old-fashioned parents, she had ingested very old-fashioned principles. When he touched her breasts (she confessed he was the first man ever to caress her bare breasts) he set fire to her body and she yearned to discover the pleasures in full, but her parents had taught her that adultery was a sin even greater than fornication and so her mind forbade what her body hungered for.

The knowledge that the prize had never been won by anyone else sharpened his already sharp desire, but she had met even his most determined assaults with the same tearful yet steely resolve. Until she was married, she could not allow herself to be taken …

Davina had fallen downstairs and died four days later in hospital. The police had been aggressively suspicious, especially when they'd uncovered his friendship with Rachael, but lacking any proof that he'd been near the house at the time, they'd had to accept his innocence.

He'd married Rachael as soon as decency permitted. He'd undertaken her education, teaching her how to behave. His own Eliza. She'd proved to be an adept pupil. By the time he'd sold the gallery and they'd moved to the island, no one, with the possible exception of Muriel, had the slightest suspicion that Rachael's background was even more humble than his had been. And the only reason he thought Muriel might have guessed was that one evening, when she'd drunk even more than usual and had become exceptionally obnoxious, she'd said something that had made him wonder if she were laughing at him …

He heard the French windows open a second time and turned to see Rosa step out on to the patio. A fortnight ago, slightly drunk, Bill had confided that if he were Pooh, she was one honey pot he'd be after exploring. It was not the crudeness which had offended, but the thought of lowering oneself to pursue a servant.

She came to a stop a metre from his chair, the harsh sunshine adding to her ripe, earthy attraction, rather than subtracting from it. ‘Coffee, señor?' She spoke English with difficulty and much eccentricity. ‘And sponge strawberry?'

‘Yes, please.' He had not tried to learn Castilian, let alone Mallorquin. The natives spoke English readily enough when they wanted his money.

‘Grand. Small?' She moved her hands to illustrate different sizes.

Clara, who did the cooking, made a sponge cake so light it almost had to be tethered. ‘A big slice.'

She nodded, returned into the house.

Her novio was slim and raffish and rode a large Yamaha at ferocious speeds. Rosa said his father owned a couple of hotels in Playa Neuva and possessed many, many pesetas. To learn how rich some of the locals were was to understand that the world had become turned upside down.

The cordless phone, lying on the undershelf of the table, rang. He reached down and picked it up, raised the short aerial. ‘Yes?'

‘It's Charles. I do hope I'm not interrupting anything?'

‘You're bound to be interrupting something, aren't you?' he said with heavy humour.

‘I'm sorry.'

He had only contempt for people who were forever apologizing.

‘I've been wondering if you've heard any more?'

‘About what?'

‘The latest painting.'

‘Not a word. I told you, I'll be in touch if there's anything to be in touch about.'

‘Yes, I know, but … Well, it is rather a long time now.'

‘Surely you learned long ago that in the art world, money is time? My contact is one of the best in the business and he does have a potential buyer in his sights, but the man never makes up his mind in a hurry and it can prove fatal to try to rush him. However, if you want, I'll tell my contact to try to put on a touch of pressure; but then be prepared for the buyer to fade.'

‘Obviously, it's best not to take the risk.'

‘Quite.'

‘I'll just keep my fingers crossed.'

‘And your legs, if that doesn't get too painful. Now you're on the phone, you do remember we're leaving a week today, don't you? You'll keep an eye on things as usual?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘The gardener's growing even lazier than usual and will probably try not to hoover the pool every other day, so be prepared to kick him hard. And if the MacMillans say they're sure we wouldn't mind them using the pool whilst we're away, you can tell them I've said we'd mind very much. If they want to swim in a pool, they can build their own.'

‘I'll remember … There is one more thing.'

‘What?'

‘I'm well into my latest painting and I'm sure I've managed to put an extra something into it. One can see the pain as well as the pleasure.'

‘Stick to pleasure. People only buy pain when the painter's history.'

‘Still, I would be very grateful if you'd have a look at it and give me your opinion.'

‘I've much too much on my plate at the moment. I'll let you know when to bring it along.'

‘That's very kind.'