Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“This is a... a complete surprise,” Anna said. “I had no idea you were planning to come over.” She seemed shell-shocked. Her friend Debbie stood beside me wide-eyed, as though this was some kind of new and fascinating spectator sport.

“I wasn’t. But since I want to get this sorted out quickly, I obviously didn’t have much choice except to come here and take charge myself

The criticism was so blatant it bordered on the insulting, and the tone of the man’s thin, waspish voice made it clear that was how it was intended. Anna coloured up and seemed on the point of reacting. But all she said was, “You should have let me know. I could have met you at the airport.”

He rebuffed the pleasantry. “That’s quite okay. I’d rather settle in by myself. Although I hope all your cab drivers aren’t as incompetent as the one who drove me here. I had to almost find the way for him.” He cast a brief glance towards where I was standing with Anna’s friend before addressing Anna again. “Now, if you don’t mind. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

I was so astonished by his lack of manners that I was slow to realise this was a dismissal. There was a moment’s stunned silence. Then Debbie began collecting her things together.

“I’d better be going anyway, Anna,” she said, moving towards the door. “I’ll call you later. Goodbye, Mr—” Her mouth worked as she groped for Marty’s surname.

“Westerman,” his father said, curtly.

Reluctantly, I followed her cue. “Yes, I’d better be off, too.” I resented being ousted in such a way, but there was no excuse for me to stay. Westerman and I exchanged brief nods as the girl and I left. Anna-came with us into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about this,” she whispered.

Debbie gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“I’d no idea he was coming! Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He’s just being an awkward sod. Don’t let him get to you. Look, do you want me to stay?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Thanks.”

“I’ll be at home all afternoon if you want me,” I said, not to be outdone. Anna nodded, but I could see she was not really listening.

“I’d better go back. I’ll talk to you both later.”

“God, poor Anna!” Debbie said, as we went down the stairs. “Can you believe how rude he was? What a pig!”

I found myself agreeing with her, something I would not have thought possible ten minutes earlier. I was even moved to offering her a lift, and found I did not object to her garrulousness half as much when it was directed against someone I disliked.

After I had dropped her at the nearest tube station, I went home. I had told Anna I would be there, and now my visit had been interrupted I had no other plans.

For a while I was able to occupy myself in making lunch. Eating it took up a little more time. But after that I was once again faced with an empty day. The only subject I could concentrate on was Anna. I sat and waited for her to call, wondering what was being said in my absence. Nothing else seemed worth thinking about.

It was then I remembered my private gallery. With surprise I realised I had not been in it for weeks, not since the night of Zeppo’s visit. I had not even thought of it since, and felt mildly amazed that my former passion had gone neglected for so long.

The prospect of an afternoon of self-indulgence seemed heaven-sent to take my mind off Anna. I deliberately eked out the moment, delaying going upstairs until I had washed the lunch dishes and had a cup of tea. Then, with a sense of reward, I went up to the gallery.

The anticipation was better than the fact. I turned on the lights and closed the door, and waited for the usual sense of contentment to wash over me. When it did not, I began my study of the pictures anyway, consciously trying to manufacture the mood. It would not come. I found I had wandered past several pieces without really seeing them, and tried to force myself into a more receptive state. But all that achieved was to make me notice the flaws in each work. The sensuality, the beauty of them was lost to me. Faults I had previously been able to overlook, even considered a part of their charm, now seemed clumsy and glaring.

In desperation, I went to the piece I had spent so much time over on my previous visit: the lovers and their hidden observer. The chair was still lying where Zeppo had knocked it over. Righting it, I sat down and stared at the trio, searching for my earlier absorption. All I found was an irritating awareness that the girl’s feet were too small for her body, and that the artist was weak when it came to depicting hands.

Finally, I gave up. I set the chair back in the centre, turned out the lights and closed the door. The room no longer held any pleasure for me. Anna had spoiled my palate.

The telephone rang as I was going downstairs. I almost fell in my hurry to answer it, and picked it up, breathlessly.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Donald. It’s Anna. I thought I’d better apologise for what happened earlier.”

My restlessness dropped away. “There’s no need for that. You’re not responsible for the man’s manners. He has gone now, I take it?”

“Yes. He didn’t stay long.”

“Did he improve after we’d left?”

“Not so much that you’d notice.” She sounded very low.

“Did he give you a rough time?”

“A little. But he’d just had a long journey. He was probably tired as well as worried.”

“That’s no excuse. Was he very unpleasant?”

“Well, he let me see what he thinks of me. Which isn’t very much.”

I felt a flare of anger. “Then he’s a fool as well as a boot. What did he say?”

“More or less what you heard. That it was time something was done, and he could do more here than in America. He made it clear that he begrudged having to come, but he obviously thinks that no one’5 trying to find Marty. And I don’t think he trusts me stall.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I know, but...” I heard her sigh. “Well, that’s the impression I got, anyway. He asked to look through Marty’s things, and when I stayed in the bedroom with him, he seemed to actually resent me being there. As if I was trespassing on his son’s property, or something. I don’t know, perhaps I’m being too touchy.”

“Having met the man, I doubt it.”

“I just can’t understand what I’ve done. I know he’s bound to be worried and upset, but so am I. I can’t see why he’s got to be so nasty. We should be helping each other, not arguing. He treats me as if I’m some sort of... of gold-digger, or something, who’s led his son astray. I’m starting to think I must have done something wrong. I just don’t know what.”

“That’s silly, Anna. This isn’t your fault, and you know it.”

“I don’t know. I just... He makes me feel so guilty!”

“And I daresay that’s exactly what he wants. You said yourself that Marty didn’t get on with him. He’s probably jealous of you, and so he’s trying to make you suffer for it. Don’t let him.”

“But he’s so sure of himself! I really tried to be friendly, to make him less hostile, but he didn’t want to know.”

“Anna, the man’s clearly nothing but a bitter-minded, petty little tyrant. He’s not worth upsetting yourself over.”

There was a pause, and then she gave a low laugh. “You don’t like him, do you, Donald?”

I smiled, realising how worked up I had become, but glad I had given Anna at least some light relief. “Not the slightest bit.”

“Thank God for that. I was worried it was just me.”

“No, I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opinion.”

She laughed again. It sounded wonderful. “Well, hopefully he’ll be able to do some good now he’s here. He’s asked me to go to the embassy with him on Monday morning. He even managed to make that sound as if he was doing me a favour. I said I would, because I didn’t want to give him a chance to say I’m not trying, but I still want to clear it with you. You don’t mind, do you?”