The Tied Man (8 page)

*****

By seven I was washed and changed into my working uniform of tracksuit bottoms and paint-spattered t-shirt and sitting alone in the palatial dining room, toying with the remains of a bowl of muesli.  The silence was deafening. 

Henry reappeared to refill my green tea.  ‘Is everything to your liking?’

I considered the polite response, then went for the truth.  ‘No, not really.  I feel like I’m rattling around in here and I’ve got a severe case of MP3 withdrawal.  I don’t suppose there’s anywhere a little less imposing to eat, is there?’

Henry bit his bottom lip. ‘Um, Lady Albermarle usually insists that guests are served here.  It’s part of the service we provide -’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.  I assume you know my story?’

‘I’m afraid I’m an avid reader of those awful celeb magazines, so yes.’‘Right.  Then you’ll know I had all this.  Had it, hated it, never wanted to do this shit again.  So, is there anywhere else?’

‘Well there’s always the kitchen, I suppose.  It’s nothing too grand – staff only, you see – but it’s where Finn and I…Oops.’  Henry chewed at his lip again.  ‘Not that Finn’s staff, or anything.  Can you imagine?  No, it’s just that he tends to keep rather irregular hours – not a good sleeper at all, that boy; I’m up by five, and Finn’s often still awake then – and Lady Albermarle prefers to take breakfast in her – I mean their – quarters just up the stairs there.  So all in all it makes sense that he eats with me.’

I decided to put him out of his misery.  ‘I see.  Look, the kitchen would make me far happier, Henry.  Honestly.’

‘Well, we do like our guests to be content.  From tomorrow then.’ Henry whisked my bowl off to his staff-only kitchen.

*****

By half past seven I was exploring the huge south-facing room that
Blaine
had given me as my studio.  The worn, antique desk that had been pushed to one corner was piled high with all the materials I kept in my studio in Santa Marita, accurate to the very brands I bought.  Sketch pads and rows of pencils vied for space with oils and gouache and brushes, and by the window a vast canvas rested on a top-of-the-range easel.  Blaine Albermarle had carried out some extremely thorough research of her own.

By nine o’clock, The Lady of the Manor was taking a seat for her very first sitting.  She wore black jeans and a white cotton shirt that probably cost as much as my car.  ‘Do you mind if I talk?’ was the first thing she asked.

‘At this stage, no.  To be honest I encourage it.  It lets me see how you move, gesture, what your individual nuances might be.  It’s impressions I’m after, not detail.’

‘So.  I know this must sound like a dreadful cliché, but how do you want me?’

I had heard that question asked in a hundred different ways.  Much of the time it was a forced, jocular query, asked by nervous clients who suddenly realised that their designer couture was about to have no meaning at all, or who expected me to tell them to drop their pants the moment they walked into my studio.  With
Blaine
however, it was said as a challenge.  Such was her confidence that I knew she would have stripped in the doorway if I’d asked.

‘Well, clothed, initially.  Just grab a seat and make yourself comfortable.  We can decide on the final pose and the degree of exposure a little later on.’

‘Wonderful.’ She was happy enough with this.  ‘Do you always work barefoot?’

‘Yes.  Although it’s a little more comfortable in Santa Marita.  I didn’t think frostbite would be an occupational hazard.’

‘I’ll make sure Henry lights the fire in here as his first job of the morning.  Is it some artist’s ritual?’

‘Hell, no.  Entirely practical.  It means that no matter where I am, I’m always at exactly the same height to the canvas and the sitter.’

‘What was it you called your style? ‘Hyperreality’, wasn’t it?’

‘Hyper-bullshit, more like.  Some critic needed a snappy phrase for his review, and came up with that.  It’s hung around my neck ever since.’

Blaine
laughed, and settled back into her chair. ‘I imagine you must get to hear some very interesting things while you work.’

I nodded.  ‘My sittings can end up like secular confessionals.’

‘And are you ever tempted to divulge?’

‘Never.’ The reply came sharper than I’d planned.

‘That was a stupid question.  I’m sorry.’

‘No problem.’ 

I started to sketch, holding the soft pencil with the lightest of grips and letting my hand move where it wanted across the white expanse.

‘So, this is where it all starts.’
Blaine
fell silent, content

to watch me work.

Technically,
Blaine
was wonderful to draw.  Her classically handsome face translated onto the paper with little effort, and within two hours I had a first sketch that would have pleased any journeyman portrait artist. 

It didn’t please me.  My
thing
, the trick I pulled that lifted me from the ranks and let me make up fees for a laugh, was to look behind the mask and find the details that the sitters themselves didn’t know were there.  Right now, on a job I couldn’t risk failing, I was getting fuck all apart from a great deal of hardwired upper class poise. 

I told myself that I was tired; disorientated, that tomorrow it all might begin to fall into place, but I knew that on my very first day a seed of disquiet had already been planted somewhere deep and unreachable.

‘May I see?’
Blaine
asked, when I took a break to stretch out.  ‘Or are you one of these artists that likes to present their opus at the very end?’

‘Depends on the client.  Some like the big reveal, but I’ve been offering live-streaming while I work for the last year or so.  Sometimes the process is the most interesting element.’

‘I’m afraid I’m a little too curious to wait until the end.’
Blaine
picked up my pad.  I held my breath, but she shared none of my concerns. ‘Oh Lilith, that’s magnificent.  I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you took up my offer. If this is your first piece, I can’t imagine what the final work will look like.’

‘It’s a start.’ 

‘Perhaps I’ll send Finn in to take a look and begin his art classes.’

‘I’d be happy to show him, as long as I’m not too engrossed – I get kind of snappy.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Blaine
glanced up from her examination of my work. ‘Just out of interest, what did you make of my Finn?’

‘Probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.’  I replaced a pencil in its tin, turning it so that the label faced outwards to match the rest.

‘That’s a very honest response.’

I shrugged.  ‘It’s the truth.  What am I going to say?  That he’s some hideous freak of nature?’

‘No, not at all.  I was just a little thrown by your candour.  He was particularly taken with you, I think.’

Just as I was wondering how to turn the conversation to something rather less candid,
Blaine
reverentially closed the book and handed it back to me.  ‘Well, it’s been a highly enjoyable morning.  It seems a pity that I need to get back to work, but I’m sure you’ve got enough to be getting on with now.  I’ll leave you in peace.’  She clasped my hand in hers.  ‘It really is so delightful to have you here, Lilith.  I’m sure we’ll be close friends long before the piece is finished.’

I didn’t mind about anything I’d told her.  There was nothing I felt uncomfortable with, or regretted saying.  What was really biting me was that I had learned nothing in return.  I reopened my sketchpad and wondered what the hell to do next.

I sat in the corridor outside the room that had been designated as Lilith’s studio, and waited for my heart to stop hammering quite so hard.  I needed to knock on the door, walk in and get on with it, but right now my legs were holding an official protest. 

An hour earlier
Blaine
had come to find me in the sanctuary of the greenhouse, and casually suggested, ‘
I think it might be a good idea to call on Lilith this afternoon, darling
’ , and that would be the end of it.  The end of some bollocks about a long-dead author and knowing where my dog got her name from.  That was all.  Nothing, in the universal scheme of things.  Inconsequential words that she had probably already forgotten, and just  part of the panoply of small talk that such people  possessed.  Nothing at all.  And yet here I was with my arse still glued to the floor.

It didn’t get too much to get me moving again.  Just the thought of a dog-eared photograph and a one-paragraph filler from an old newspaper.  ‘Twat.’  I wiped my palms on the back of my jeans, and knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Lilith called, and I returned to work.

To my dismay, it wasn’t even the same Lilith.  The one I had learned to recognise the previous evening, the polished, ballgown-clad socialite, had disappeared to be replaced with this tiny barefoot girl in tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt and her silken hair hidden under a
dark red
bandana.  Words shrivelled in my mouth.

‘Hi there!’  She smiled in welcome, and what appeared to be pleasure at my arrival.  ‘
Blaine
sent you after all, then?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘
Blaine
.  She said she was going to send you in to look at my work.’

‘Oh.  No, nothing like that.’

‘So, what can I do for you?’ She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and looked up in expectation.

‘Look,
Blaine
– she mentioned that you found me attractive.’

‘Oh, did she now?’  By the instant coldness in Lilith’s voice I knew this one was lost before I’d even started.

‘I just wanted you to know that it’s mutual.’

‘You
what
?’

‘I think you’re an incredibly sexy woman.  And I thought that if you wanted to…’ I took her hand in mine and ran a finger down her cool palm.

‘Right.  That’s enough.’ Lilith snatched her hand away from me and rounded on me with such fury that I had to take a step back.  ‘What the
fuck’s
going on in this place?’

‘Nothing’s going on.  I misread the signs, that’s all.  If I offended you…’

‘Bullshit.  I’m being played here.  I don’t know how, or why, but I really don’t like it.’

I tried to recover my ground.  ‘It’s like I told you -’

‘Yeah, I heard you.  So look at me and tell me you’re here of your own accord.’

In my sordid excuse for a life I had probably told every lie in existence:
Yes, you’re beautiful, yes, I want you, yes, it feels good
.  All as effortless as breathing, but this one killed me.  ‘I’m here because I want to be.’

‘You’re an appalling liar, Mr Strachan.’ Lilith stalked to the far side of the room, as far away from me as she could get.

I didn’t dare stop.  I decided to try the conciliatory approach. ‘Okay, look, maybe she did suggest I come to see you.  Would that be so bad?’ 

‘Yes.  For more reasons than you could ever understand.’ 

I didn’t know which of us I hated more.

When Finn first appeared in the room, looking like the boy next door in his blue jeans and white t-shirt, I was genuinely pleased to see him, and that made the subsequent betrayal all the harder.   It could have been a joke, this ridiculous, awful intrusion by someone I foolishly thought I had begun to know.  ‘Finn, what the
hell
do you think you’re doing?’ I finally managed to ask.

‘I’m here to ensure your needs are met.  Making sure your stay at Albermarle Hall is as pleasurable as possible.’ 

No matter how charming the accent, the words sounded hard.  For a moment his haunting eyes froze in a mocking stare and I was thrown by the difference in him: the shyly complex young man that had so intrigued me the night before had been replaced by this automaton. 

‘Look, if you tell me what you want, what you like – I’m good.’ His tone was softer now as if he was forcing himself to play this role, but it still didn’t sound like his voice. ‘You won’t be disappointed,’ he added.

I gave a harsh laugh. ‘Where the fuck did you get
that
line?  Page twenty-one of the Rent Boy’s Handbook?’

As soon as I had spat the words, that final, elusive piece of Finn Strachan fell into place, and it was too late.  I may as well have slapped him.  ‘Finn, wait…’ I began, but he gave me one last stricken look and walked out of the studio.

*****

At nine o’clock that evening I sat by the meagre light of a single oil lamp, refining that day’s sketches until my vision blurred and my head informed me that a migraine would be on its way unless I stopped soon.  Not only was I prevented from working through the night, getting past dusk was going to be impossible.

I closed my pad in reluctant defeat and was just considering a late run to ease my frustration when there was the lightest of taps on my door.  ‘Come in,’ I called.