‘Oh yeah, hindsight,’ I agreed.
‘Still, I could always grow something that could poison the whole fucking lot of them – that’s the only way it would ever work, taking everyone down in one go. Blaine, Coyle, all the sick bastards that use this as their little place in the country.’
For a moment, his pale, intense face hardened, then the grin returned. ‘That’d add a twist to Henry’s wild bloody mushroom risotto – I could frame the poor little fucker and be in Dun Laoghaire by sunset.’ He laughed hard at the thought, only stopping when his smoker’s cough kicked in and rendered him breathless.
‘Christ, you’re a wreck, Finn.’
He cleared his throat and spat noisily into a hedge. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He pushed his wind-ruffled fringe out of his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry for being a twat, Lili. For earlier.’
Lili. A diminutive that no-one else dared use, yet from Finn it somehow sounded right. ‘Forget it.’
‘I just – Christ, I was shitting myself, to be honest – If you hadn’t looked at me that first bloody night, known what you know, then maybe…’
‘It’s worked out, Finn. It’s okay.’
‘Nah, it’s not okay. It was Coyle I wanted the fight with, not you. Scrote of a man.’ He stabbed a trowel deep into the soft earth. ‘And you defending me – nobody’s ever done that. Probably why I was such a cunt about it.’ Finn glanced around as if Coyle might still be lurking, and for all I knew, he might be. ‘For fuck’s sake watch him, Lili. He was a dangerous little bastard back in Dublin, but here he’s got enough power to make him lethal. Next time, just try to leave him ‘til he gets bored, huh?’ There was a real plea to his voice, but I didn’t need telling. Coyle exuded threat in the same way that other men sweated.
‘I’m duly warned.’
‘Good. Then we’re sorted. So, what do I do now?’ Finn asked.
‘Just… be. Do the stuff you would usually do. Forget I’m here.’
‘Right, so I’ll just ignore the wee midget on the flying carpet then, huh? No problem.’ Finn’s smile returned with a brightness to rival the sun, and I knew that this morning’s work would be the best I had done at Albermarle. Without even looking at the page, I began to capture my latest sitter in his element.
Finn
It was weird at first. Lilith’s exhortation that I should ‘forget she was there’ felt impossible, especially as she was cross-legged in the centre of one of the ugliest rugs I had ever seen, but the longer she sat in silence with her pencil making mad flurries across the page, the easier it got. Soon she became part of the landscape, and I got on with the task at hand, relishing the sun’s warmth on my shoulders as I worked.
*****
‘That’s me just about done.’ Lilith put her pencil down on the rug in a definitive gesture. She glanced at her watch. ‘Four hours. Not a bad shift.’
‘Jesus, really? That long? I’d reckoned maybe two.’
‘Yup. The sign of a good sitting – time flashing by without either of us noticing,’ she smiled. ‘Well, it was good for me, anyway. Want to see?’ She turned the pad towards me.
‘No. Not that I don’t think it’ll be any good, it’s just…’ I tailed off, wondering how the hell I might explain that I had no wish to look at myself, just to be reminded of who I had become.
‘I understand.’
Anyone else, I would accuse them of bullshitting. But Lilith knew, I was certain of that.
‘This is you, though,’ she continued. ‘Your image. I’d hate her to have it without you seeing it first.’ She held out the sketch once more, gently insistent. ‘It’s not the same as looking in a mirror.’
I sighed and reluctantly took the pad from her hands and forced myself to look. ‘Wow,’ I managed. I wanted to say that it wasn’t me, that she had missed the bruise that still throbbed sullenly against my cheekbone, the dark circles that framed my eyes, and skin that felt as though it was nothing more than hide stretched over a frame. The version of Finn Strachan that I held in my hands had none of these, had not let himself be buggered until he bled onto the sheets, or be slapped around by some smug little twat who was just asking to be buried.
But it was breathtaking all the same. And despite the omissions it was undeniably me.
‘I see what I want to see,’ Lilith said by way of explanation. ‘It just happens that I’m bloody good at it.’
‘Wow.’ I was still caught up in my own eyes that laughed up at me from the page.
‘Praise indeed.’
‘Yeah, I’m an international art critic on the quiet.’ I handed the pad back to Lilith. ‘Sorry – feel like I should have managed something a little more profound.’
‘It’s all in the first reaction. And yours was a good one.’
‘Did you expect anything less?’
‘I hoped you’d like it. It mattered, you know?’ She held my gaze until I had to look away and pull at the strands of grass beneath my knees. Right then I wanted to make the afternoon stretch on forever, but even as I nodded in reply, the sight of the launch returning to the island snatched everything away.
Lilith
We watched as a hard-faced woman in her early forties, head-to-toe in Chanel, stepped from the little boat.
‘Tonight’s guest,’ Finn explained. ‘Laura Fenworth. Some investment banker or other. Two and a half million a year before the bonuses, houses in London and Provence, and as miserable as sin. The cat’s-arse mouth of a reluctant divorcee if ever I saw one, and just desperate to take it out on someone.’
‘What, are you going all psychic on me now?’
‘Nah. It says so in her letter.’
‘Her what?’
Finn gave a rueful smile. ‘Ah shit, you won’t know about that, will you? If a guest’s booked in for the full works, they get asked to write a letter. A few intimate details so Blaine can set things up exactly to their liking. It also lets her set her trap just right, the devious old cow. If she’s in a good mood, I get to have a look.’
‘Bloody hell. I never got to write a letter,’ I complained, mock-indignant.
‘Yeah, and look at the problems that caused. She won’t be making that mistake again. She really thought she had your measure – reckoned she knew just how to play you, then you went and fucked it up from your very first night. Didn’t get pissed, didn’t want to play.’
Across the lawn, Henry struggled up to Albermarle under the weight of Laura Fenworth’s designer luggage.
‘I really didn’t join in her game at all, did I?’
‘Nope. And you’re still not playing. No-one’s ever come this far and said ‘no’. Believe me, if you get out of here unscathed, it’ll be something to be proud of for the rest of your life.’
He stood and brushed grass from his jeans. ‘Ah well, better go and get ready for the nightshift.’
I watched the light in his eyes fade like a sunset. ‘Is it likely to be bad?’ I asked.
‘Blaine needs a new tame financial advisor because the last one dropped dead on a squash court last month. Lucky bastard.’ Finn suddenly looked weary, and ten years older. ‘So if it was just a good seein’ to she was after, Blaine would send her down to the place in London. But that divorce thing? A bit of persuasion from her ladyship about getting it out of her system, and a tenner says Miss Fenworth there’ll have the skin off my back by midnight.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘A couple of decent shots of my client in action that just might end up in the vice president’s inbox first thing Monday, and Blaine gets a new pet for her collection.’
Without any words that might fit, I impulsively reached up to rest my fingers on his arm. Finn recoiled as if stung.
‘Don’t.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Fuck it, it’s not you. But I need to start to go somewhere else, you know? Places to go, people to be.’ He hugged his arms across his chest and tucked his scarred hands into his armpits. ‘And to be perfectly honest, it’s somewhere I don’t want you anywhere near.’ With a soft whistle
he summoned Bran to his side. As he got to the rise he turned back and added, ‘I meant to say – thank you. For this afternoon. It’s been pretty cool. Normal, you know?’ With a last brief, shy smile he disappeared before I could return the thanks.
I looked down at my sketch book and closed it, already knowing that I’d done enough for the day.
*****
I was back in my studio, idly flicking through one of Henry’s vast collection of men’s style magazines when Blaine paid me a visit. Without a word, she picked up the drawing from that morning and held it up to the window to examine it. Finally, she passed her verdict.
‘This is beautiful, Lilith. Look how you’ve got those amazing eyes of his.’ She traced a finger along Finn’s sketched profile. ‘Just his face, though. Did you decide against my proposal? Or did he refuse?’
I was ready for this. ‘Neither. Asthma attack, I’m afraid. A big one. Last thing I wanted was to be cooped up inside, so I suggested we spend some time in the gardens – that way I’d make sure the day wasn’t totally wasted.’ I gave what I hoped was a rueful smile. ‘Even I wouldn’t force someone to spend a Northumbrian afternoon outdoors, stark naked.’
‘You don’t need to be so defensive: my input this morning was a suggestion, nothing more, and I certainly don’t want any part of this process to damage your health. I’m sure the end result’s bound to be spectacular.’
‘It will be,’ I said, thrown by her apparent compliance.
‘While I’m here, I should say – I’d rather like you to observe some of this evening’s proceedings,’ Blaine announced.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ I didn’t even bother to look up.
‘But it’s an essential part of Albermarle. How can you expect to capture my home’s spirit without experiencing all of it?’
I slapped my magazine shut. ‘Blaine, I am not sitting there whilst two people fuck in front of me.’
‘Why ever not? From what I can see, you’ve made quite a career from it.’
‘That’s different. Those sittings – they were my friends, happy to have me there. Tonight one would be a complete stranger, and the other one -’
‘- Is a professional who’d perform at the Albert Hall if I told him to. For God’s sake, Lilith, Finn’s been part of my after-dinner entertainment at more gatherings than I could count. ’
I was still adamant. ‘I really have no desire to sit there while some uptight ball-breaker finds a new way to work out her issues.’
Blaine laughed. ‘You and Finn have been having an interesting chat, haven’t you? If it’s any consolation, the first time at least is likely to be pure vanilla – there’s no specialist request that I’m aware of. And I’ll make sure you’re tucked away in the viewing room for the act itself.’
‘Viewing room?’
‘A private chamber, connected by two-way mirror to Ms Fenworth’s room,’ Blaine explained, as if she was describing an ensuite bathroom. ‘My great-grandfather had it built – he had rather voyeuristic tendencies, by all accounts. He used to hold the most amazingly libertine parties then retire to his viewing room to observe the aftermath. It’s a comfortable little place, with plenty of room for you to set out your things. Then you can make further sketches of Finn without the problems that seem to have arisen this morning.’
‘Look, Blaine, this really isn’t how I work.’ I was pleased with my pitch. Reasonable. Final. ‘Trust me. I’m sure you’ll be more than happy with the final piece.’
‘I understand your brother goes swimming on Thursdays. According to his teachers, he becomes a different boy when he’s in the water.’ Blaine returned her gaze to admire my sketch of Finn. ‘You know, you’ve really caught that peculiar waif-like look my guests seem to find so attractive.’ She reverentially placed the book on the table. ‘I suppose you can only pray that these trips are adequately chaperoned, can’t you? It’s amazing the harm that can befall a child when one’s back is turned.’
The vice tightened around my chest once more as she strolled from the room. ‘I’ll expect to see the finished sketches from this evening at our breakfast meeting tomorrow, shall I?’
As she left I reached for my inhaler once more.
Chapter Twelve
Lilith
Laura Fenworth perched on the edge of one of Blaine’s high-backed green leather armchairs. She had changed into a severe black velvet off-the-shoulder evening dress, and she repeatedly shrugged and pulled the short sleeves back into place. A few months ago it would have fitted perfectly, but her divorce had dropped pounds off her – I guessed two dress sizes – and she hadn’t found the time to buy a new wardrobe.
The constant drumming of elegant fingernails against the crystal bowl of her half-empty glass played in counterpoint to the staccato rap of a stiletto heel on antique oak floorboards. Even from my hidden eyrie of the curtained-off minstrel’s gallery, her latent anger was palpable.
‘Laura, darling, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. You look magnificent.’ Blaine entered the room like a Hollywood starlet walking onto the set. Her hair hung loose over her right shoulder, and her silk gown, corseted to emphasise the generous curve of her breasts, matched the last inch of blood-red wine in her guest’s glass. She offered a gracious hand, and Laura stood to accept it. ‘I’m sure you’re about to have a most enjoyable evening – I trust the wine’s to your liking?’
‘It’s excellent. A Margaux?’ For the first time, I heard the hard, clipped voice of Laura Fenworth, Investment Banker: artificially pitched half an octave lower than its natural range, to prove that she had the biggest balls of anyone in her company.
‘Naturally,’ Blaine said. ‘It is your favourite, isn’t it? I’ll make sure Henry keeps your glass filled.’
A soft footfall on the stairs that swept down into the room caused both women to turn, and the hostess gave her most beatific smile as she brought her possession forward into a shimmering pool of candlelight. ‘Laura, may I introduce my companion, Finn Strachan?’
The same script, the same well-cut dinner jacket and extended, elegant hand with its hidden marks, and Finn pale and beautiful and entirely absent. ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ The gentle lilt of his refined, ‘working’ accent warming the room.
This time, the meticulous staging had the desired effect. I watched the hard, cold mask that Laura wore drop away, burned up by a lust that flared the moment she touched her purchase. I had never seen such open hunger on a woman’s face: in that one awful second Finn ceased to be human and became a convenient and malleable means to an end.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. How could she look at him and not notice, not feel the delicate bones that lay too close to the surface of his skin, or the scars across his hand? Did she really dare look into his eyes and think that what she saw there was returned desire?
There was a sharp crack as the tip of my pencil snapped and splintered across the page. Neither Laura nor Finn heard, but Blaine glanced up to my hiding place before returning to her guest. ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked.
Laura had not let go of Finn. ‘He’s absolutely divine.’
*****
Blaine and I stood outside a doorway more suited to Alice in Wonderland than a stately home.
‘You’ll be the first person to use this that didn’t have to bend double.’ Blaine opened the door to the chamber. A musky sweet smell rushed out to envelop us, and we stepped inside a room that belonged to an upmarket Victorian opium den, with its chaise longue, thickly flocked wallpaper and yards of crimson velvet drapes.
The opposite wall held a gold-framed window that looked out onto a vile rococo guestroom complete with an intricately carved four-poster bed whose mahogany cherubs stared down with disdain.
‘Hardly subtle, but it’s what most of my guests expect,’ Blaine explained, as if reading my thoughts. ‘I’ll leave you on trust, but remember, I expect to see the work based on tonight’s show.’
I sat on the chaise longue, pulled my knees to
my chest and thought back to Spain and long, sun-drenched afternoons spent filled with wine and laughter, relaxing Rosario and her confident, beautiful girlfriend and knowing that every brushstroke would be done with their blessing. A concept beyond the understanding of a woman for whom ‘permission’ simply meant the shaky signature of a desperate young junkie.
My heart leapt into my throat as Finn walked into the room with his arm around Laura’s shoulders. Although my window would appear as an ornately framed mirror to them, Finn still seemed to stare straight at me.
I picked up my sketchpad and pencil and prepared to become the unwilling voyeur.
*****
I had never thought about what made someone a good whore – too close to home, perhaps – but I only needed to watch Finn for moments to see he was skilled at his trade.
He could have been her attentive, infatuated toyboy as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her until she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. I recalled one of my mother’s favourite rants, about how she had never let punters kiss her because of the filth they left behind, and how my father was the first and that was how she had known he was the one.
I guessed Finn was past the stage where he gave a shit.
Candlelight granted Laura a hard beauty that would not exist outside this room, and as she threw her head back in pleasure, artfully streaked blonde curls began to escape from her chignon. Finn unclipped the silver clasp that held it in place so that the rest of her hair fell loose around her shoulders.
In the time it would have taken me to fuck, shower and consider round two, he drew a path of gentle kisses down Laura’s neck before leading her to the bed, all the while caressing her face and arms and finally letting the tips of his fingers brush her nipples through the velvet of her dress. From a distance, you could believe this was his chosen life. From a distance, he made it look like love.