Red Alert (2 page)

It was while she was trying to keep looking out and listening for the fire engine that her mother said, ‘Johnny is very excited about this new idea of Paul’s.’

‘What new idea?’

‘I’m not sure, dear. It seems to be a bit hush-hush at this early stage. But Johnny’s very excited about it.’

Kirsty didn’t like the hush-hush bit. It sounded to her as if there could be something dishonest about it. Johnny was so easily manipulated and persuaded, he would be an easy target for the likes of Renee and Paul Henley. As soon as Johnny arrived home, she would question him and find out what the pair were trying to get him up to.

Just then, her mother switched on the television and the screen filled with the ominous orange glow of the fire, the silhouettes of the fire crew in stark contrast to the inferno behind. The reporter’s voice gave a steady commentary above the background noise of the roaring, crackling furnace. There had been an explosion in the kitchen of a first-floor restaurant in Argyle Street. Kirsty heard the reporter talking to the camera, telling of the fears that people were trapped inside. In the background, she saw firefighters, anonymous in their bulky breathing apparatus, disappearing into the smoke and flames that enveloped the building. Kirsty felt sick. It was then she realised how much Greg meant to her. Her father had always spoiled, indeed ruined, the few relationships she’d had in the past – even female friendships. This time, if God spared Greg and helped him to survive this latest conflagration safely, she would defy her father and say yes to Greg.

Her father wouldn’t succeed in ruining this chance of happiness. She’d see him dead first.

From Sauchiehall Street, a steep hill had to be climbed in order to reach the Glasgow School of Art, which loomed large like a medieval castle proudly straddling the crest of the hill. The entrance in Renfrew Street was fronted by a curving slope of steps, wide at the front and gradually narrowing. The entrance was topped by two elongated figures acting as guardians, each holding a vase and facing a rose bush with its flowers growing clear above its leaves.

Underneath were the Mackintosh doors with their distinctive motif. Above the entrance stretched the Director’s balcony, and higher still, the studio with its slated roof. This was no ordinary place. No other building anywhere could compare with it. Even the ironwork and railings were startlingly novel and complex, with pierced metal discs rising through clusters of leaves. This school was not only the masterpiece of its creator, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, but so gloriously original that people came from all over the world to experience it.

Sandra Matheson pushed the doors back and entered the ground-floor hall. The open-fronted shop was on her left and she immediately spotted Tommy Pratt. Every time she thought of his name, she felt sorry for him. You had to be really tough to survive the torment that was sure to be meted out because of the name Pratt, and Tommy was not tough. He was an immensely talented and sensitive young man. She admired his talent and loved him dearly. He had been studying a large book about Charles Rennie Mackintosh but, glancing up, he saw her and smiled. Then he put the book down, picked up his portfolio and came towards her.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ She went on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘You OK?’

He smiled ruefully.

‘I felt fine until I came in here.’

She knew what he meant. It wasn’t the building or meeting up with other students. Only one person made his life hell and that was one of their art tutors, Simon Price. He wasn’t the only student who suffered, of course, but the name Pratt gave the tutor an extra edge to his twisted sense of humour.

They clattered up the wide wooden staircase, emerging from the pool of shade that was the atrium into the luminous light that flooded the museum, which was peppered with casts, paintings and sculpture. Rennie Mackintosh had purposely designed it to have different areas of light and dark. Through the studio door with its ornate brass plate and number, they saw some of the other students already there. Friendly greetings were exchanged. Soon all the easels had been set up, and Simon Price arrived and stood chatting to the model who stood, hands on hips, confident and at ease, although he was clothed only in a towel tied around his narrow, athletic waist. The model told them during one of the breaks that he was a full-time firefighter but was doing the modelling to earn a bit of extra cash.

He was a tall man with hard-looking muscles and when he dropped the towel, it was obvious that he was well endowed in the genital area as well. Sandra felt no embarrassment at having to stare at the man’s naked body and study every detail of it. Nor, it seemed, did any of the other students. Everyone was concentrating on conveying the man accurately and artistically onto canvas.

The man’s name was Greg, Greg McFarlane. She’d once said to him, ‘I think you ought to have been a policeman, Greg. You’ve a very serious, penetrating stare. Suspicious, even.’

Greg had laughed.

‘Funny you should say that. I nearly did join the police force once. But then …’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was the danger in the fire service that appealed to my sense of adventure. And in a way, there’s a bit of both in the fire service – danger and police work. I mean, sometimes fires are suspicious and we have to try to find out what and who caused them. And of course, I’ve a lot of friends in the force.’

He had a head of dark, thick but straight hair that she was finding difficult to paint. His pubic hair was, in comparison, a mass of black curls but was proving equally difficult. She never had been good at drawing or painting hair.

Tommy, on the other hand, with a few bold, sweeping strokes, could bring hair so much to life on the canvas that you kept thinking that if you touched it, you’d experience its soft warmth. Tommy was brilliant. One day he was going to be famous and appreciated not only all over Scotland, but all over the world. After all, that’s what happened to Charles Rennie Mackintosh, who designed this very building in which they were working.

She’d told Tommy that and he’d said, ‘Not if Simon Price can prevent it. He’s always making such a fool of my work. I’m beginning to wonder about it myself.’

‘Tommy!’ Sandra had almost shouted at him. ‘You must not let that man make you lose confidence in your talent. Please don’t let him win, Tommy. He’s as mad as a hatter. Don’t let him get to you.’

He’d taken her in his arms and kissed her then.

‘Thank God I’ve got you, Sandra.’

She glanced over at him now, remembering his kiss, and thanked God she’d got him. Not only had he enormous talent, but he was good-looking too, with his fair spiky hair, amber eyes and lean face and figure.

It would be wicked if Simon Price succeeded in undermining Tommy’s confidence in himself and his talent. She’d once actually gone to the Director and complained about Price’s bullying methods. The Director gave her short shrift. He dismissed her with a flick of his hand and the words, ‘The lot of you are darned lucky to get the chance of being taught by such a brilliant artist …’

That was surely no excuse for bullying. Of course, Simon Price could be charming to the people at the top. Sandra had often seen him laughing and talking to one director or another. These top guys had no idea how Price treated his students at the lower rungs of the ladder. Especially how he treated Tommy.

‘And how’s the Pratt doing today?’ he was saying now, and staring down at Tommy’s canvas. ‘Added a couple of strokes since yesterday, I see. Hasn’t made much difference, has it? Are you meaning to paint the man or sit there every day just staring at him? Are you sure you weren’t meant to be a house painter?’

Sandra watched Price move on to the next student. Her mouth twisted at the sight of his shaved bullet head and gold earring. No doubt he thought he looked young and arty, whereas everyone else thought him old and disgusting. Shaving his head and wearing the same kind of gear as the students didn’t change what he was – an ignorant old bully. They all hated him. It wasn’t just her.

Tommy, the very one who had reason to hate him most, was the only one who made excuses for him. He’d say things like, ‘He’s a very talented artist. You only need to look at some of his work.’ Or, ‘If anyone should know if I’ve got any talent or not, it’s surely him. He must know what he’s talking about.’

All the other students groaned at Tommy when they heard him talk like this and tried their best to reassure him. It was so obvious he had talent. He was the most brilliantly talented student among them. One of them said, ‘That bastard just wants us all to be clones of him and his so-called Glasgow style.’

Later today, they’d all gather in the lecture theatre and have to listen to Simon Price give a talk. That wasn’t so bad, actually. They felt they learned something that way. You could tell then that he knew what he was talking about, as he strolled like a bantam cock, his hands stabbing and circling as he made his points. You could actually feel his enthusiasm and it took the students with him. If only he didn’t sneer and wasn’t so cruel in his personal criticism when he came round looking at individual students’ work. But that was just his horrible nature. He was a bully.

Sandra kept trying to persuade Tommy to ignore him. ‘Don’t pay any attention to anything he says about your work, Tommy. The more bullies like him get away with it, the worse they get. He picks on you more than the rest of us because he sees he’s successful with you. He enjoys upsetting you, Tommy. Don’t let him. Raise an eyebrow and stare cheekily back at him like I do.’

But she couldn’t see Tommy doing that. He was too anxious to be a good artist. He was far more serious about his work than any of the other students. And he genuinely admired Simon Price’s work. She often secretly imagined the pleasure it would be to tear a knife across one of Simon Price’s precious paintings. That would teach him.

Johnny could hardly believe his luck. He was in seventh heaven of happiness as he followed Paul and Renee along the close and up the immaculate stairs, the large stained-glass window on the first landing splashing patches of rainbow colour across the steps. He felt he had really scored at last; he knew good times were ahead.

‘Cool! Love your hall – it’s stunning.’ The hall stretched out in front of him, the doors separated by large panels behind which lights glowed, giving a subtle ambient light. The blond wood flooring reflected the light and enhanced the feeling of spaciousness. At the end of the hall, a large bold abstract painting dominated, basking in the glow of twin spotlights.

Renee led the way towards the first door. ‘This is the lounge.’

‘Gosh, it’s really beautiful.’ Johnny gazed in delight at the big windows looking out on to Byres Road. They were topped with a royal-blue pelmet edged with gold, and draped with royal-blue velvet curtains. The ceiling was high with ornate cornicing and a crystal chandelier hung from the centre. The carpet was luxuriously thick and the soft easy chairs looked invitingly comfortable. He couldn’t resist sitting down on one of them, and then bouncing up and down on it like a child.

Paul and Renee laughed.

‘Come on. It’s important you have a good scout around the kitchen. That’s where, hopefully, you’ll be making a delicious meal for us every night when we come home from the casino.’

‘Don’t you worry,’ Johnny assured them. ‘When I was recovering from an illness and was at home a lot with my mother, she taught me some great recipes. I got a lot of experience and practice at cooking then. I’ll make you delicious meals, all right. That’s a promise.’

‘Great.’

He discovered that his mother’s kitchen was nothing compared with the ultra-modern kitchen he was now shown. It had every modern convenience imaginable. The original room had obviously been totally remodelled, blond wood units contrasting with stainless steel and slate. The free-standing cooker unit was boldly placed in the centre of the floor, with a stainless steel extractor sweeping up to the ceiling above.

‘I can hardly wait to tell Mum about this.’

The flat also had a large bathroom and two double bedrooms. Johnny was intrigued by the built-in wardrobes. One whole wall was made of mirrors and at the touch of a button, the mirrors slid open to reveal a bar holding clothes on hangers and stacks of shelves, some for neatly folded underwear and tops, others for shoes.

Back in the hall, Paul said, ‘You understand the main reason we’re employing you here, Johnny? And so late at night?’

‘Yes, to look after the place while you’re at work and have a meal ready when you come home.’

‘Yes, but also just to have a presence here in the evenings, with us being out late so regularly. The main thing is to guard the flat against potential burglars. There’s been a lot of flats broken into in this area. Some people have been attacked as well, so just to make you feel safer – just for your own protection, we’re leaving you this.’

He went over to an oak chest of drawers. ‘I expect you to be discreet about this.’ From a top drawer, he pulled out a gun. It was a small automatic that sat snugly in the palm of his hand, its leaden sheen giving an aura of power and menace.

Johnny gasped with surprise. His eyes widened with excitement. This was real James Bond stuff. And suddenly Paul appeared just like James Bond. A black-haired James Bond. Suave, handsome and with an equally glamorous lifestyle. Paul returned the gun to the drawer, and Johnny determined that the first time he was alone in the flat, he would hold the gun and do a James Bond act with it, holding it out, swinging it about, aiming it at innumerable criminal intruders. He could hardly wait.

Then Paul and Renee invited him to come with them to visit the casino. He could have danced with joy. His life had taken such a wonderful turn for the better. He wanted to shout about it from the rooftops. Tell everybody. But Paul and Renee asked him to be discreet. It was important to them, they explained, that their private life remained private. And, of course, they had a special image to keep up at the casino.

He longed to tell everything about his new job to all his friends, especially about the gun. However, he didn’t want to take the slightest risk of losing such a marvellous job and so he kept quiet.