Читать книгу All the Little Lies - Chris Curran - Страница 17

CHAPTER SIX

Eve

After they left the curator, Alex said, ‘I think we should go for some lunch. You can come back afterwards if you want.’ Neither of them spoke as they walked across the Millennium Bridge and away from the river into the busy Newcastle streets. Alex stopped outside a little Italian restaurant and looked at Eve. She nodded. Couldn’t face walking any further.

When they were seated at a window table and had ordered drinks – a Peroni for Alex and sparkling water for Eve – he put down the menu he’d been holding and took her hand.

‘I’m sorry. I know you hoped to find out something more concrete today.’

She said, ‘Do you know the art school she went to here? Before London?’

‘I’ve heard of it, of course.’

‘You don’t know anyone who was there in the Eighties when you lived here?’

‘No, sorry.’ It was curt, but not surprising. He always clammed up when anything reminded him of that time in his life. If he’d kept any friends from then she had never met them.

She shrugged, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘I suppose it was silly to expect anything more. It’s just …’ She shook her head. What she had imagined they’d find out she didn’t know, but she had never felt so tired. ‘I’m sorry for making you drive all this way for so little.’

‘Let’s try to make the most of the day anyway. I thought I’d pop into the Lit and Phil Library, and maybe check out the theatre to see if there’s anything on tonight. What do you think?’

‘Good idea, but I’ll skip the library. I want to have another look in the Baltic.’

He didn’t argue, but plunged his fork into his spaghetti and tutted as a dollop of sauce splashed on his hand.

It was raining again and Eve pulled on her beanie. She kept it on in the gallery. It felt like protection. This time she walked very slowly around the exhibition, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was difficult when she came to a painting of Stella’s mother, Karen – her own grandmother. The caption said she died when Stella was nine. She was on a swing attached to the branch of a huge tree with a twisted trunk. Her hair swirling around her as she seemed to sway back and forth.

It must have been so hard growing up without a mother, and it seemed that Stella’s grandmother developed dementia when she was still only a teenager.

Forcing herself to move on she came to a picture of the little town in Italy where Stella had spent her last weeks. The caption called it Sestri Levante, and Eve noted the name down. That was something she hadn’t known before. The tiny beach was surrounded by tall houses and restaurants. Stella had changed the bay into a magical sea with mermaids perched on rocks.

Next to it was Seascape with Gulls and she was almost sure it was a view from the cliffs above Hastings, although the gulls were beautiful diaphanous creatures nothing like the screeching scavengers she knew. There were two more portraits of Maggie. Alone this time. In one she wore a red dress, her hair threaded with white flowers. Another was the strange Mermaid picture in which she now recognized the face as Maggie’s.

Eve had seen love in every brushstroke of the Nana portrait and sadness in Madonna? The Maggie paintings were different. Some strong emotion certainly seemed to emanate from them, but Eve couldn’t tell if that emotion was love or something quite different.

Back at the hotel she phoned her dad and as soon as she heard his, ‘Hello sweetheart,’ she felt a rush of warmth. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being so horrible to you and Mum. I know you only did what you thought was right.’

‘But we should have trusted you with the truth. I see that now.’

‘Whatever I find out won’t make any difference to us.’ As she said it she tried to ignore the tiny voice asking if she was sure about that. ‘But, Dad, please help me now.’ She read out the names of the other artists in the show. ‘Could any of these have been Stella’s boyfriend: my father?’

‘Now that’s a tricky one. Since you started asking about her I’ve racked my brains and honestly I can’t remember her with anyone. I assumed it was another art student. So the young men from the exhibition certainly fit the bill. I’ve followed their careers – those that went on to have some success – but I’ve never seen any connection to Stella.’

‘Could you try to put me in touch with any of them?’

A pause. ‘We’d have to go about it delicately.’

‘I know. And I also thought I’d try to speak to Ben Houghton. He’s likely to remember something about her. Might even know more about how she died. And I can’t stop thinking that I was born about nine months after she met him.’

There was no pause this time. Instead David rushed on. ‘Oh, no, Eve. You mustn’t bother Ben. You know how things are with him.’

She knew Ben had been in a wheelchair for years, paralyzed from the waist down. His accident was one of the reasons Houghton’s had closed. Her dad was still talking.

‘Granted he was a bit of a lad in his day, but he’s paid the price and so have Pamela and Simon.’

‘But could he be my biological father?’

‘Since this started I’ve been thinking about possible candidates and naturally Ben came to mind, but I’ve remembered he was actually having one of his flings with the other girl. Stella’s friend, Maggie.’

‘And he couldn’t have been cheating on Maggie with Stella?’

‘If he did I’m sure he won’t admit it at this stage. And he knows about you, my darling, so if he wanted to claim parentage don’t you think he would have done so already?’

He must have heard her gasp because he said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, that was clumsy. I’m just sure he’s not the one and I don’t want you upsetting yourself as well as Ben and his family.’

She took a deep breath. ‘OK, I understand.’

Lying on the hotel bed after they’d said goodbye she held the phone to her chest and watched the early evening sun breaking through the clouds. Her father’s words had only made her more convinced that she had to see Ben. Whatever his relationship with Stella it was clear he knew her friend, Maggie, intimately. So it was possible he could put Eve in touch with her, which could be crucial to finding out how Stella died. In fact, Maggie could be the key to everything.

She stared at her phone, that cold feeling creeping over her again. Much as she loved her parents she was beginning to believe they were still lying to her. And she didn’t want to think about why that might be.

Stella

When Stella told Maggie about the £500 Ben had given her for the drawings, Maggie said, ‘You can bet your life he got a lot more than that for them. Next time ask for double.’

‘There won’t be a next time. I don’t want to get into producing copies. I need to focus on my real work.’

Still, she enjoyed treating Maggie to a meal for once even if it was only fish and chips from the corner chippie and a cheap bottle of Muscadet. They sat at the old Formica kitchen table laughing about fools who were prepared to pay out hundreds for pencil drawings that weren’t even original. When they finished the wine Maggie produced a bottle of Bacardi and a few cans of Coke.

They were supposed to go to the gallery the next morning to see the exhibition before it opened the following week, but slept in and didn’t get there until late afternoon. David let them in and said he needed to leave in half an hour so they didn’t have long. Ben wasn’t around, but Stella was glad to see the dark-haired guy, James, who had sat with her in the courtyard after the photoshoot.

He smiled and waved, but after one glance at him all Stella could see were her own paintings. Looking at them she felt breathless because, although David had promised they would be in a prominent position, she hadn’t realized just how they would dominate the room.

Maggie was standing in front of her own two collages, but when she turned away from them Stella saw that her face was twisted into a scowl that was almost frightening. Then, without a word, she walked out.

James came over. ‘Your stuff looks fabulous. Well done.’ She managed to thank him, but when he pushed the catalogue into her hand, her heart sank. Her photograph was the only one on the front cover. The names of all the other artists were there, but it was the photo that caught the eye, of course. Inside it was even worse, because alongside the individual snaps of the four men, crammed onto one side of a two-page spread, was the one of her and Maggie together in their blue and green dresses. None of the many pictures of Maggie on her own had been used.

James must have realized she was upset because he grabbed her hand. ‘Let’s get a drink, shall we?’

They went to a pub nearby, and he tapped his glass against hers. ‘You should be dancing in the street and instead you look as if someone died. Don’t let other people put you down. Your stuff is the best in the show and if anyone is jealous then that’s their lookout.’

He was very kind, but she didn’t feel much better. ‘It’s just that Maggie has been so good to me. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even have been able to stay in London. And she got Ben and David to look at my work.’

‘OK, so when you’re successful you can try to give her a leg up. And remember, she may have helped your stuff get seen, but it’s your talent they love.’

When they eventually left they bought a takeaway pizza and ate it as they walked back to the flat James shared with a couple of others. No one else was in and they collapsed on his bed fully clothed.

She woke with her mouth dry and her head thumping. Light was coming through the thin curtains, although her watch said it wasn’t yet six a.m., and the room smelled of beer and sweat. She rolled off the bed, and James opened his eyes, struggling to focus on her.

‘All right?’ He still sounded drunk.

‘Yeah, but I’d better get home.’

‘OK, see you later.’ He turned over and was soon asleep again.

As she got the bus back to Maggie’s she told herself she was a coward for not facing her yesterday. She let herself in as quietly as she could and went to tiptoe upstairs, but Maggie shouted from the kitchen.

‘No need to hide. I’m making toast so come and get some.’

Stella hovered at the door, and Maggie laughed. ‘Stop looking so scared. I know it’s not your fault you’re so bloody talented and my stuff is shit.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘The talent or the shit? No, don’t answer that.’

Although Maggie seemed calm for the moment, Stella knew she had to be careful. Her temper was unpredictable and she had smashed most of the plates in the kitchen after her last fight with Ben and boasted that he’d only avoided a black eye by running to his car.

‘Anyway where were you last night?’ she asked.

‘I went for a drink with James.’

‘Ah, dishy James. Tell me more.’

‘I stayed over at his, but before you start getting ideas, I just slept there. With all my clothes on as well.’

‘Oh but next time maybe?’ She laughed. ‘I thought there were some sparks. We must find something great for you to wear to the opening. Me too, of course.’

It looked as if things were going to be all right, so she smiled and said, ‘You looked lovely in that blue dress. And maybe I could wear the green again.’ A sudden thought. ‘Or what about swapping them over? And doing our hair identically? If people have seen our photo in the catalogue, they could be really confused. I’d love that.’

‘Hmm, no, with gorgeous James in your sights I say we need something a bit sexier for you. And I want to be completely different. All the catalogue pictures show me in that blue dress.’

Stella felt the piece of toast she was swallowing turn into a solid lump in her throat. Maggie had rushed out of the gallery as soon as she’d seen the way her own collages and Stella’s paintings were displayed.

She still didn’t know about the catalogue.