Picture Imperfect (11 page)

Pls
chck
emls
– cant
cht
now –
bnking
.
Spk
ltr
.

I can’t think of anyone else who would send me a text
to tell me they were having sex. I wonder if it’s the same guy as the one on
Wednesday?
Or was it Tuesday? I think it must have been
Tuesday and Wednesday.
Obviously a long-term relationship
this time.
Well, it can wait for a few minutes. Perhaps I’ve
misunderstood her text and she’s actually banking. I finish my coffee, take the
mug out to the kitchen and turn the computer on. My own computer takes longer
to start than the one in work. While it’s busy going through its mysterious,
slo-mo
computer tasks, I think about what Rhoda said to me.

I would walk out
of that front door right this minute and I would never return. I would never
see him again. I wouldn’t even bother to pack my stuff.

I get an odd feeling of elation in the pit of my
stomach when I think of that possibility. The freedom of doing just that would
be intoxicating.
And frightening.
And
risky.

When the computer is finally ready (I must get a new
one or at least get this one serviced), I bring my emails up. There’s one from
Waitrose, another from a Canadian pharmacy and then, at the bottom, one from
Clementine, Rhoda’s PA or whatever she is.

I open it and stare at the content without blinking.

Hi Chloe.
Canvases now called
Disorder #1 and Disorder #2. Hope this is ok
wth
you.
Rhoda had to name them at
v.short
notice.
Now owned by Arbiter Minerals.
Sorry, but they want three
more, same size same theme.
Will get commission details
sorted by
midd
of next week.
£30,000 wired to
yr
banks Account. Congrats.
Clementine.

I read it again six times. My mouth is dry and my whole
body feels cold, even though the heating’s on.

I need to speak to Rhoda and quickly. Part of my mind
thinks that this is a joke, but if it was, it would have probably come from
Rhoda, not Clementine. Someone like Clementine would be fired for a joke like
that. And who would have known my email address to send a message like this?
And who would have known about the paintings? No – this is real. I read it
again, twice, just to make sure I haven’t made some terrible mistake. Like an
idiot, I start to snigger. After a few seconds I’m laughing out loud. Tears are
rolling down my cheeks. Whether these are tears of misery, joy or relief I
can’t really say.
Maybe all three.
I place my head in
my hands and rock forward and backward.

When I’ve recovered, I check the time of Rhoda’s text.
It was sent at 10.17, and I start to wonder if her bonking session has finished
yet so I can give her a call. Probably not a good idea, I decide. Instead, I
just text her back, a simple ‘thanks’, which is all I can think of to say at
the moment. I lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling.

Three hours later, I’m in Rhoda’s car and we’re driving
out to west London. I say driving, we’re actually in a traffic jam on the A40,
but it’s driving of a sort.
Just rather slow.

She finally rang me just as I was making something for
lunch and I met her on the corner of the big car park underneath Cavendish
Square. When I arrived, she was arguing with a traffic warden. I guess
‘arguing’ isn’t the correct word here. She was telling him off, while he stared
at her cleavage, his jaw on the pavement. When I got in the car, she threw a
five pound note at him. I’ll never know whether he picked it up. Would that
have been bribery? Maybe her phone number was written on it. That wouldn’t have
surprised me in the slightest.

The car smells of perfume, but not the gorgeous one she
had on the other day, and as we speed along at a little over seven miles per
hour, she gives me a little more detail about what happened to my paintings.
I’m still in a little bit of a daze and have to force myself to concentrate on
what she’s saying.

‘So I heard through the grapevine that Arbiter Minerals
– god alone knows what they do – were starting the decorating of their grim,
neomodern
,
brutalist
new premises
in a month from now. I’ve known
Kaspar
for ages, so
he gave me the tip-off. There was only one sort of art that would go in the
entrance hall of a place like that and your canvases fitted the bill perfectly,
in my opinion.
Which I forced upon them.’

I don’t bother to ask who
Kaspar
is.

‘Only problem is that like all these modern office
spaces, receptions or atriums or whatever they like to call them, there was a
lot of wall space to fill up and even though your two were big, they still
needed something else. I managed to convince their man there – no idea who he
was or what he did – that another three similar would just about make the place
seem vaguely human and not look like some gruesome futuristic prison camp or an
abattoir or something. Contracts are already written up. How long do you think
it will take you?’

‘Um – I don’t know. It depends on…’

‘Mm.
Well let’s not worry
about that today, shall we? When your canvases have finally dried off, we’ll go
and have a look at this place and you can help their man decide where they
should go, even though I already know what to do with them. It’s just that they
like to feel that they’re involved in some way and for some reason like to meet
the artists as well. I can’t imagine why.’

‘Where are we going now, then?’

The traffic has got rather better and we speed up to a
reasonable thirty-eight.

‘Hammersmith.
Very trendy
compared to when I used to live there, I can tell you that for nothing. You
can’t be expected to produce the sort of large works that you’ll soon be in
demand for in that damn hallway of yours. It’s a miracle you managed to produce
anything. Have you heard of Amy Hunter? Big fluorescent bulb neon strip things?
All different colours?
Political…stuff?
The Neon Blasphemy Exhibition?
No? She was working out
of this tiny bedsit in the middle of nowhere.
Ridiculous.
As soon as she started selling I got her out of there and installed…’

She suddenly stops talking and turns into a small,
leafy road. After a couple of minutes, she parks in the driveway of a large
Edwardian house and we get out.

She gets out a large bunch of keys and after tapping a
couple of numbers into a security pad, unlocks the large front door.

‘Where is this?’

‘Don’t ask questions. Follow me.’

‘The place feels empty, like no one has lived here for
a while. There’s a smell of pine from the bare floorboards. We walk up three
flights of stairs and stop at what seems to be the top of the house. She
fiddles with her key ring again, opening a big door and when I look inside, it
takes my breath away.

It’s an enormous artist’s studio. By enormous, I mean
huge. By huge, I mean very big and by very big I mean enormous. There are huge
skylights, half covered with blinds. In one corner, a big sink and next to the
sink two huge easels, one of which looks broken. At first, I think that the floor
is tiled, but it’s actually wood. Rhoda looks at me and smiles and I wonder if
my mouth is hanging open. I also wonder if I’m salivating.
Probably
both.

‘This is yours, Chloe. It isn’t free. You’ll pay me a
small rent every month and you’ll take care of the bills.’

‘But…’

‘What are you going to say? That you can’t afford it?
Didn’t you read Clementine’s email? You’ll need to get supplies, of course.
Clementine will go shopping with you. She knows where to get the best stuff and
the cheapest stuff. Did you know she’s lesbian? Now come over here.’

We walk to the far side of the studio and Rhoda opens a
side door, which I hadn’t noticed when we came in. To my amazement, the door
reveals what can only be described as a small flat. There’s a kitchen, a
bathroom, a bedroom and a small living area.

‘Now obviously, you can use this as a chill-out area,
but it hasn’t escaped my notice that you might be looking for somewhere else to
live. Of course, you may not want to live here or anywhere else. I’m not going
to pressurise. It’s up to you. I thought I’d give you the option because I’m a
very nice, caring person as I’m sure you’ve surmised.’

I’m afraid I’ve been struck dumb. I can feel tears
welling up in my eyes and breathe through my mouth to stop them rolling down my
cheeks.

‘There’s no one else living here. This is a big house
and it’s been doing nothing for a year. It does, however, have a
state-of-the-art security system
which’ll
take you
about a day to master. I don’t want expensive works of art to be produced here
only for them to be stolen or vandalised or whatever. I’ve got some stuff
stored in the other rooms here, as well. And art materials are not cheap as you
well know.’

She reaches in her bag and pulls out a big bunch of
keys.

‘These are your keys. Clementine has stuck little
labels on each key telling you what it’s for. The ones with the red plastic
bits are to do with the security. Good luck with that. I certainly didn’t
understand it.’

‘I – I…’

‘
So.
You can either commute here every day, using this purely as your studio, or you
can live here. I’d prefer it if you lived here, of course.
Deters
burglars and all that.
Lights going on and off.
Loud music and all the rest of it.
It’s entirely up to
you. These living quarters are a bit dowdy. If I was you I’d do a bit of
cleaning and a bit of decorating. I’d also get a telly and all the rest of it.
This could be a nice little place. I think you can get satellite here, but
don’t ask me what to do about that. I haven’t got a clue. There are sockets in
the wall over there. If you need help getting canvases and so on in here you
can always give Jake a bell. Clementine has his number. I’ve told Jake that you
may need some help quite soon to remove your,
er
, art
materials out of your flat. I hope you don’t mind. He’s free this afternoon if
you need him.
Up to you, of course.
You could buy all
new stuff, couldn’t
you.
’

‘I don’t know what to say, Rhoda.’

‘Something like: I will work my ovaries off in this
place and get Rhoda so much money from her commission that she can buy an
island off the coast of Spain and be serviced by bullfighters until her teeth
fall out.’

‘OK. That.’

‘And I have to warn you now that if you start to blub I
will slap your face. Now, I have to get along. I’ll be in touch. What day is
it? You can stay here and have a look around. Get used to it. Look around. Get
used to the vibes. See if the taps work. Open the windows. Things like that.
Whatever you decide to do, give me a ring or if I’m not around, talk to
Clementine. She’s not as dim as she sounds. Oh, and I almost forgot. I’ve got a
little present for you.’

She fishes a Harrods carrier out of her handbag and
hands it to me. It’s a 250ml bottle of Tom Ford
Jasmin
Rouge eau de
parfum
.
Must have cost
a fortune.

‘Congratulations, sweetie.’

‘Thanks, Rhoda. Thanks for everything.’ We embrace and
kiss each other’s cheeks and she’s gone.

As I walk around the studio holding my posh perfume, I
feel slightly dizzy. I take the top off the bottle and put some on my wrists
and on my neck. It’s got a heady, rich, decadent smell. It’s sexy on Rhoda so I
guess it must be sexy on me. Terribly, I can hear Mark’s voice: ‘What’s that
awful smell?’

I want a ciggy, but I realise I haven’t got any on me.

There’s no furniture here, so I sit on the floor and
stare into space.

I think of Mark arriving at Heathrow and I’m not there
to greet him. All his friends joke about it and he has a laugh about it, too.
He’s irritated by the fact he has to get the tube and a taxi home. It’s the
waste of money that bugs him the most.

By the time he gets home to the flat, he’s getting
annoyed. This state of affairs is made worse by the fact that no one answers
the door when he rings the bell. The car is parked outside, so he’s pretty sure
I must be home. I’m probably in the bath or something. How annoying.

He uses his keys to get in and immediately knows that
something’s not right. At the moment it’s just a feeling. He’s tried to call me
on my mobile several times and there’s been no response. He’s left a few
irritated messages and a handful of angry texts. He doesn’t notice that my flat
keys and the car keys are on the floor, having been pushed through the
letterbox.

He dumps his suitcase and new carry-on bag on the floor
and calls out for me, but there’s no reply. He goes into the kitchen to make
himself
a coffee and looks around. Something’s different in
here. Something’s not right. Then he notices that my mini stereo has gone, as
has the CD rack that’s always next to it. Maybe I’ve put them in another room.

He frowns. He’s unsure. It still hasn’t hit him yet. He
takes a stroll around the flat. For a brief second he wonders if we’ve been
burglarised. He goes into the living room. The television is still there. That
would have been the first thing any burglars took and there’s no evidence of
any disturbance.

Next stop is the bedroom. All looks normal. On a whim,
he opens my side of the wardrobe. The second he sees that it’s been cleared
out, he realises what has happened. He sits down on the bed.