Shameless Exposure (5 page)

The alarm on his mobile rang in imitation of a clock. He rose stiffly from the bunk, the dream still vivid in his mind. He turned on the light switch and checked the sheet for evidence. There was a single chestnut hair on his pillow.

 
Four

She hadn’t felt nerves like this since her experiment with exotic dancing in Spain. There was no reason for it. She knew Erik; she had modelled for him before. Admittedly that was so long ago that she was practically a different person, but she knew what would be involved – just hours of keeping still and letting her mind wander. But in the amber light of the street beneath his studio, her heart pounded as she pressed the buzzer.

There was no response. She pulled out her phone to check she had got the date right, even though the date was etched indelibly on her mind. She waited long enough not to appear impatient then pressed the buzzer again. After a long wait at the end of which she decided the bastard had stood her up, a crackle announced that someone was upstairs.

“Sorry Caroline, I was on a call from New York. Come on up.”

When she walked out of the lift into his studio he was standing there all smiles.

“Wow, look at you. It’s like going back ten years,” he said, immediately wrong-footing her. She had taken an old baggy sweater and washed out shapeless jeans in a bag to work so that when she went to his studio she would not be appearing flirty.

“It’s twelve years, and I’m a different person.”

“Of course you are. What would like? Tea, coffee, gin?”

“Tea please.”

He made red bush tea and invited her to sit on a two seater sofa, whilst he sat opposite on an identical seat.

“It’s okay, you can relax. I still don’t bite. I’ve been thinking about how to approach this project ever since I met you on the train,” he said. “It’s a charity job but I don’t want it to be cheesy or coy. I’m going to treat it like any commission I do. I’m going to paint what I see. Your job is to be yourself, no acting; you, after work, in an artist’s studio in November, naked.”

“I’ll do my best. Now that it’s cool for artists to use technology, why don’t you take a couple of pictures on your phone and then I’ll get dressed and go home?”

“When I say
I’ll paint what I see
I don’t mean a sterile reproduction. I mean I’ll strip away the layers to reach the essence of you; after work, in an artist’s studio, naked.”

It had always been impossible to argue with him so she didn’t bother now. “Where can I get undressed?”

He pointed her towards a lacquered Japanese screen decorated with birds and trees. She removed her clothes and stepped out into his gaze. He looked at her intently, saying nothing.

“Where do you want me?”

“Why don’t you sit back down on the sofa and I’ll drag my things over here? I’ll turn the heat up. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Have you got a magazine I could read?”

“Sorry, no. You’ll soon remember what it’s like. The first five minutes will feel like an eternity and the next hour will fly by.”

She wriggled her bottom into the corner of the sofa and let her head rest back on the cushion, fixing her eyes on a half-finished canvas of a different woman.

“How is Xena?”

“Miss August? She’s different.”

“She’s pretty.” He didn’t reply. He was already making broad sweeps of an outline on the large canvas he had fixed up ten feet away from her.

He was right, as usual. After five minutes of intense frustration her mind began to wander and she began to enjoy doing absolutely nothing, a rare pleasure in her frantic life of business achievement and maintaining a home and a marriage. She loved Robert, but he could be hard work.

Her mind floated back to work and the briefing she had given Antonia about the Frankfurt operation. Antonia had been brilliant about taking it over from her, pleased for the opportunity to raise her profile in the management team. The first week Caroline’s phone had never stopped beeping as texts arrived from Antonia passing on tasty bits of gossip about Von Wolfswinkle or Cosimo. Natasha and Nikita were there, desperate to impress in their first proper job with actual pay. She had told Antonia to work them hard by giving them the donkey work. It would be good experience for them.

Antonia’s had not been the only texts she had received. Andreas had begun to send her messages after the night at the Spurs match. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was he being jokey or did she have a suspicious mind? She had been careful with her replies, aiming for a tone that was accepting of the compliments, if that’s what they were, but professional, and of course, willing to respond at any time, even in the small hours. That was just business in the twenty-first century. But what exactly did he mean by
I figure your figure is even better than your figures
?

“Keep still please, Caroline.” She had been squirming at the memory of Andreas’s texts. She stopped herself thinking about work and Robert slouched into her mind. What was he doing up in Scotland? Surely he should be on his way home by now? He should make more effort to let her know when there was a change to his arrangements. And why was money going out from his account every few days?

She shouldn’t know about it, but she had been working on the computer at home when an email had popped up on the screen reminding Robert to check his on-line bank statement, so she had done it for him. A hundred pounds, two hundred pounds, every two or three days. Had he turned into a gambling addict? Was he visiting prostitutes? How much could you possibly spend on cabs, coffee and sandwiches, even in central London? She didn’t have enough emotional energy to deal with Robert right now.

“Caroline, you have to keep still or this won’t work.”

“Sorry.” Her mind moved to the nice lady at the adoption charity who had explained to her the process of re-uniting adult adoptees with their natural parents. The lady, Sandra, had said lots of things which she hadn’t even considered and told her to come back when she’d had a chance to discuss it with someone close to her like Robert or Bettina.

Caroline certainly hadn’t considered that her real mother might already be dead, or might refuse to be identified. She’d always assumed her natural mother was a single parent and had not contemplated the possibility of contact with her natural father. Caroline’s experience of fathers of any kind was almost nil. Once she had successfully adopted, Bettina’s lovers remained just lovers.

Sandra said, “It doesn’t mean the baby was not loved or wanted. It’s just that some mothers and fathers cannot bear to revisit what happened so long ago.”

“I see,” said Caroline. “But what if I really want to meet my mother?”

“I’m sorry,” said the lady, “both parties and the court have to be in agreement.”

Caroline’s eyes lighted again on the month of August. Xena, Miss August, was hot, sultry, and there was hint of over-ripeness in the full red lips. She wondered how Erik would portray Miss November. It would become clear in a few days when the initial impressions he painted at the first sitting were worked on and worked on until he was satisfied.

Apart from the occasional reprimand, he had said nothing. After an hour and a half he announced the session was over and dismissed her from his presence. As she walked briskly along to Whitechapel station she realised she felt disappointed. Not in the childlike splodges of paint that were supposedly a representation of her inner state, but in the fact that he hadn’t tried it on, not even a little bit. The charm had never been switched on like on the train. He didn’t show any sign of caring for her at all, and she didn’t like that.

♥ ♥ ♥

When Robert came down the stairs, in yellow robes, breakfast was already in full swing. Georgina motioned to him to sit next to her.

“How did you sleep?” she asked.

“It took me a while to get used to the bunk.”

“They’re hard, aren’t they? I’m more used to five star luxury hotels. This is just as expensive but you’re paying for something that money can’t buy.”

Robert pondered that conundrum and ate lumpy saffron porridge, lacing it with plenty of honey. Rain lashed the windows of the kitchen.

“Does anyone know the forecast?” he asked the women around the table.

“I don’t think the paperboy’s been yet,” said Joni, to general laughter. “This looks set in to me. Do you have to be somewhere else?”

“I should be in the solicitor’s Edinburgh office this morning and back in London tonight. Perhaps that was a bit optimistic.”

“Perhaps it was,” said Joni. “But it’s nice for us to have someone new here. After nearly a month we get a bit tense. And it’s an absolute nightmare if the ferry doesn’t run and we can’t get our daily fix. I can’t guarantee your safety if you’re still here by the end of the day.”

“Thanks for the warning. Will Regina be up by now? Only I’d like to make a phone call.”

“She rises at five,” said Joni. “She spends the first hour of the day communicating with the spirit. She passes the messages on to us at the morning teaching because we’re not in direct communication ourselves yet.”

“What does she say this spirit looks like?”

“It’s a big pussy,” said Georgina. Greta kept her eyes firmly on her porridge bowl.

“Don’t say that, Georgina, it makes it sound silly.” Joni turned to Robert. “Regina says her spirit takes the form of a wild cat. It’s a different animal for different people. I’m not sure what mine is yet but I keep thinking about a seagull.”

Robert managed a forced laugh in recognition of his leg being pulled, but when he looked at Joni her face did not betray the slightest smile. He collected empty bowls from around the table, pausing to ask Greta if she had finished. She didn’t meet his eyes, and there was no hint to confirm that his dream had been anything other than a dream. He carried the bowls through to kitchen, something he never did at home.

Georgina followed him and picked up a grubby tea towel. Robert washed the yellow residue from the bowls methodically. They were chipped and looked like they came from the mixed box at a one pound auction. Georgina dried.

“We don’t all take this as seriously as Joni,” she said. “I’m just here to chill out for a while.” She lowered her voice and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “It’s not looking good for the boat today. If you’re desperate later, I’ve got a secret stash hidden in the undercroft.”

“Drugs?”

“Yes, coffee and ciggies. I can’t be without for twenty-four hours. I get a terrible headache. I’ll be going down after the morning teaching unless a miracle happens and the boat comes in. See you later.”

He wiped down the counters and decided the monastic life suited him. A new slogan was on the whiteboard:
HAPPINESS IS YOUR BIRTHRIGHT
. He wasn’t sure that would stand up in court, even in the European court. Home and a family life, but happiness? How would you define it? Was he happy?

The last question made him sit down. If anyone had asked him if he thought he was happy he would have said:
Yes, of course
. But was he? With Caroline in danger of falling into Erik’s clutches, Forbes-Brown dragging him into this case, and his football team giving away too many soft goals, he felt he was lacking purpose. Where was his life heading? Was he feeling the models’ spiritual hunger? What would his animal spirit be, and what would it tell him to do? He closed his eyes but nothing appeared, not even a seagull.

He took the direct route across the courtyard to the tower entrance, the wind whipping up his robes and assaulting his knees. Outside Regina’s office, he shouted up the stone stairs. “Morning, Regina. Mind if I come up and make a phone call?”

There was no reply so he edged up the steps checking the phone for a signal. The stairs ended outside the bedroom where a single bar appeared in the corner of the screen. Regina’s door was open. Regina sat cross-legged and naked on the bed with her hand on her crotch. He mimed making a phone call. She nodded that he may proceed. He walked across the room to the narrow window, hoping for better reception, and looked out at the grey clouds trundling across the sky like nose-to-tail lorries on the motorway.

“Caroline, it’s me.”

“Hello you. How are you getting on? Are you back in London today?”

“No chance,” said Robert. “I’m stuck on Mura. The weather’s too bad for the boat to pick anyone up. And then I’ve got to get back to Edinburgh to brief Forbes-Brown so who knows when I’ll get home.” A loud moaning noise welled up from deep inside Regina.

“Oh, poor you. Try and enjoy it. It will be good for you to have a couple of days’ peace and quiet.”

“How’s Erik?” said Robert. The moaning became more insistent.

“What’s that noise? Where are you exactly?” said Caroline.

“I’m in Regina’s bedroom. It’s the only place on the island you can get a signal except on the battlements and there’s a force ten gale.”

“Are you crazy? Regina’s bedroom? Is she there?”

“No, she’s not here. That must be the wind you can hear.” The moans became dramatic animal cries.

“Honestly Robert, if you’re going to lie at least try to make it convincing.”

“Caroline, don’t go. It’s a religious thing. Regina’s getting in touch with her animus or something.”

“Did you say
her anus
? I don’t like being made a fool of. You’d better come up with a better story than that by the time you get back to London.” The phone went dead. Regina’s cries began to descend the other side of the plateau and tailed off into a soft mewing.