Meridian Days (12 page)

The workmen had inserted a grav-sled beneath the cage and were in the process of ferrying it across the lawn to the run. We stood side by side and watched the operation.

Before we'd set off to Brightside, Abe located a disc of information he'd compiled about sand lions. "Abe Cunningham came with me. He sent you this." I held out the disc. "A few hints on how to keep the lion."

"I've made the requisite studies already, of course. But thank Cunningham anyway, won't you?"

I nodded, at a loss, the disc extended like a hand to be shaken. I returned it to my pocket. "Is Fire here?" I asked.

"She is presently at her studies, but she will be finished shortly."

"I'd like to see her about tomorrow. That is—" I glanced at the fish-woman, "-if she can still accompany me."

Trevellion turned on me what I interpreted to be a cold glare — though all her looks, with eyes that rarely blinked, could be described as cold and glaring. "I am a woman of my word, Benedict. Of course she can still accompany you."

We lapsed into silence and watched the workmen lower the cage into the run. They threw a switch on the cage and the sand lion bounded out, charged the length of the run and attacked the bars when it realised that its freedom was illusory. The structure shuddered under the barrage. The animal gave off an acrid, putrescent reek and, even though it was caged, its primal ferocity filled me with fear.

Trevellion turned to me. "Would you care for a refreshment, Benedict?" Without awaiting my reply she swept off across the lawn towards the dome. I followed her, glad to get away from the lion. I had visions of it escaping the cage and savaging everyone on the island. Not for the first time I wondered if her surgeon's expertise would be sufficient to quell and control the beast.

I stepped into the sunken lounge which comprised a sectioned-off quarter of the dome. The two interior walls were hung with works of art signed, I found on closer inspection, in Tamara's flamboyant script. They were montages of crystals and gemstones, to my untutored eye quite beautiful.

"Early work of no great merit," Trevellion called from across the room. "Would you care for an imported brandy?"

I said that I'd prefer a fruit juice, incurring her displeasure. She passed me the glass and, rather than remain beside her and attempt conversation, I moved around the room, inspecting the other works. They were displayed on pedestals, sculptures in every medium imaginable from crystal to wood, gold to diamond. It struck me that those signed by Tamara, as opposed to the creations of Maximilian Trevellion, were not as accomplished. I recalled that Tamara had only really been recognised as an original artist with her live events, after the death of her husband.

Trevellion stood at the centre of the room, poised elegantly beside a triangular crystal sculpture. She took delicate sips from a monstrous balloon glass. "I practised in every medium during the years of my apprenticeship, Benedict. I found the permanence of those works appealing — though at the same time I was dissatisfied. What is the advantage of a permanent record of an inferior work of art?"

I demurred. "I don't know... these seem very good to me."

Trevellion said frostily, "You are right, Benedict. You do not know. These pieces are crass and vulgar. I keep them on show to remind me of my failure — to spur me on to produce an even greater work. When the ultimate event is achieved, I shall take great delight in personally destroying every last one of these... these
objects
."

"You seem to be achieving acclaim with your events," I said.

Leisurely, she took a sip of brandy. "I have always been a poet, and my most recent poetry is my best work to date. By combining evocative words and complimentary visualisations, one can achieve much more than these static works. Until now, however, I have never given a thought to recording and editing these events for posterity — or rather I have, but the technical difficulties of such an undertaking have always rather deterred me. I have been working on these difficulties of late, and my next event will be taped, and then edited. The event, by the way, will be held three days from now. You are invited."

Somewhat surprised, I thanked her. I wondered at her sudden hospitality, so soon after warning me away from not only the island but also her daughter.

"I'll look forward to it," I said.

She inclined her head. "It should be quite a spectacular show."

It seemed we had reached an impasse. Trevellion had invited me in to ask me to her forthcoming event, and I had gratefully accepted. Now I felt uncomfortable. No doubt any further observations by me as regards her art would be greeted with disdain, and Trevellion was not a woman to indulge in idle smalltalk. I finished hastily finished my drink, wondering if I dare ask after her daughter again.

In the event I was saved the bother.

Fire, radiant in sliver lamé dungarees, appeared in the archway leading to the rest of the dome. "Mr Benedict! What are you—" For the second before she caught sight of her mother, she was the vital Fire I knew; then, as Trevellion stepped out from behind the crystal that had partially hidden her, Fire faltered and stared at her mother with wide eyes, as if the exhibition of normal youthful exuberance was sufficient to earn her a reprimand.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you—"

"I do not tolerate interruptions, Fire. Do you presume for a second that I would leave a guest alone to his own devices. Benedict and I were discussing my work. I suggest that you go outside until we have finished."

The command was delivered in a monotone which brooked no dissent. Fire, without so much as a glance my way, hurried through the lounge and outside. I watched her cross the lawn and climb the hillock which overlooked the dome, hands in pockets, head down.

"Allow me to apologise for my daughter's behaviour, Benedict—"

"Fire's behaviour?" I shook my head. "She did nothing wrong..."

It seemed then that amusement played on her thin, aquatic lips. "Fire is a wayward child. I see in her many aspects of myself when I was her age — aspects which I do not particularly like."

I was incensed. "How do you expect her to grow as a person, develop her own character, if you keep her imprisoned here and treat her like that? Have you ever considered that she might improve in your eyes if you allowed her a little freedom?"

"I think I have explained the situation to you before," Trevellion said.

I could have left it there, gone out and joined Fire. But Trevellion's arrogance infuriated me. "I think I understand why you treat her as you do," I began.

She turned on me. "You understand
nothing
!"

"You should put your past behind you," I went on. "Forget the tragedy and Fire's part in it and learn to accept her."

"That is impossible, Benedict."

I walked across the lounge and stared out through the clear curving wall of the dome. Fire sat cross-legged on the summit of the hillock with her back to us. I turned to face Trevellion, who was leaning against a pedestal, regarding me.

"I would have thought that an artist of your calibre and sensitivity would be able to manage their personal affairs better than you do"

Trevellion threw back her head and laughed. "You are clearly no artist, Benedict. Do you think that because we attempt to create perfection our lives are likewise perfect? Think again! We create art out of chaos, we try to make sense of the travesty of our existence. My personal life and relationships are no longer important as such, what does matter is my work. My art feeds off my neurosis. Without this, there would be no art."

I looked at the objects set on the plinths and pedestals around the room. I gestured. "But these are objects of beauty," I said. "Not—" I had been about to say "not madness," but stopped myself.

Trevellion made a dismissive, sweeping gesture. "These are old and imperfect. My more recent creations are what matter." She paused, and cast me what might have been a calculating look. "But if you don't believe me, attend my next event."

I nodded. "I'll do that." I said, bitterly.

Trevellion finished her drink. "I suggest you go and join Fire, she's awaiting you. But before you go—" she went on "-I'd like to ask you one question: do you love my daughter, Benedict?"

I paused by the exit, turned and looked back at the fish-woman, considering the question. "I admire her bravery," I said, "her resilience. Many others would have cracked under the strain of the regime you impose on her." I shrugged. "Perhaps..."

"Yes?" Her gelid eyes regarded me impassively.

"Perhaps I feel sorry for her," I said. "But that doesn't mean that I don't feel affection as well."

Trevellion regarded me with a gaze so cold I was suddenly unnerved, and then turned to replenish her glass.

I hurried from the dome, crossed the lawn and climbed the hill towards the seated figure of Fire. She was contemplating the broad sweep of the ocean without really seeing a thing, her palms upturned in the bowl of her crossed legs.

I dropped down tiredly beside her.

She smiled. "I was thinking about going gliding with you," she said. "I was wondering what the island would look like from the air." Her eyes widened in sudden alarm. "I can still go, can't I?"

"I delivered my part of the bargain," I said. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at first light."

"I just thought that... maybe Tamara had changed her mind. I wouldn't put it past her, especially after... What was she talking to you about?" she asked brightly.

"Her art," I said. "You. I think I angered her. I told her that I didn't like the way she treated you."

She stared at me. "You didn't?"

"I couldn't stand by and say nothing."

Fire shrugged. "I no longer notice that much." She was staring at her hands as she said this, and I wondered if it was the truth. I guessed that her show of stoic unconcern was just her way of bearing up.

"Your life must have been hell since the accident," I said.

"The accident?" Mystification showed in her eyes like a flaw in a jewel.

"The death of your father," I said. "The reason your mother..."

Fire made a sound like a short laugh of despair, or helplessness, at the thought of my ignorance. "It wasn't exactly heaven when he was alive. Tamara hated me long before the accident — but back then I think she didn't really know why. She didn't have an excuse." She lapsed into a silence more profound because it was obvious that she wanted to confide in me.

"In a way," she murmured, "it was even worse before the accident. Tamara hated me, and of course I had no idea why. I understood only later."

She lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated where-to-begin shrug. "Tamara wasn't successful when Max was alive," she said. "Oh, she made a living, her poetry was popular, but she was forever in his shadow. She tried hard, but nothing ever really worked out to her satisfaction. She was never acclaimed as the great artist she wanted to be. There's no one as self-destructive as an unsuccessful artist, Bob. She hated herself, but her ego wouldn't allow that. For a time she turned that feeling on Max, resented his success. Then Jade came along, and then me — as if we'd been ordered into existence for the very reason that Tamara needed others beside herself to hate. I honestly can't remember the early years. They're just a blur. I just remember being very unhappy and not understanding why my mother treated me like she did. My father was no help, either. He was too wrapped up in his own work. He hardly noticed me. Then Max died, and suddenly Tamara had a reason for hating me. It came as a kind of relief, I suppose. I could almost accept it. You see, although she resented Max, she also loved him. I lived in his place and she had a legitimate reason for hating me.

"It's ironical — since Max's death, Tamara's achieved her first real success as an artist. The really sad thing is because it came only after his death, she resents the success and hates herself even more for not achieving it while he was alive. She's a mess, Bob. But I wish she didn't have to take it out on me."

As I listened to her, I looked across the island to the upsweeping face of the next valley. It was the glade I had visited the other evening with Fire. I thought of Jade Trevellion and her death.

"Did Tamara treat Jade like she treats you?" I asked now.

Fire nodded. "We found strength in each other. We disliked Tamara, and that made us all the closer. I don't know if I realised this at the time, or understood only later, when I came to understand why Tamara hated us so much."

"Do you think Jade understood why Tamara felt like this?"

Fire frowned in concentration. "She never said anything to me... But she was my age, old enough to understand people's motives." Fire paused, then looked up at me. "Of course she must have understood Tamara. Towards the end, Jade was sympathetic towards her, often defending her. It angered me. I didn't understand. In her last year, Jade began working with Tamara on several projects. It seems strange that Tamara would allow Jade to assist in her creations. I remember that I felt betrayed at the time. They were working together when the accident happened..." She stopped there, as if reluctant to go on.

I lay back on the grass and stared into the sky. The slow advance of the shield was bringing a roseate twilight to the island. We watched pterosaurs migrate
en masse
towards Brightside.

I changed the subject. "Tomorrow we'll take the glider up to Main." I said. "We could go to the museum and see the sculpture, if you like. Then you have an appointment with the neuro-specialist in the afternoon."

"Bob..."

"You did agree," I reminded her.

She nodded. "I know. But it's just that..." She shrugged. "The thought of defying Tamara..."

"Hey." I propped myself up on one elbow and took her hand. "There's no way Tamara will find out, okay? As far as she'll know, we'll be gliding."

She still looked uncertain. "But what if the surgeon
can
treat me? Tamara's surgeon will find out for sure, and then—"

"Then you'll have the perfect opportunity to get away from here," I said.

She nodded, but nevertheless looked distinctly uncomfortable.