Green Light Page 4
Maggie nodded.
“I saw him fighting once. We were in a bar: 38 Corn Street. Do you know it?”
Sutton nodded.
“I know it.”
“I was there with Terry, Suzanne and Daniel. This was not long after they had met. We’d just had a lovely meal, and decided to carry on for a drink somewhere else. Bobby came in and started causing trouble, almost straight away. Suzanne tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Anyway. Someone was walking past, and accidentally bumped his shoulder. Bobby spilled some of his drink. The man apologised. Bobby head-butted him. Just like that. Snap. Before you knew it, the man was on the floor, bleeding, his nose broken. It was terrible. I think he’s been in prison a couple of times.”
“Okay,” Sutton said. “So you confronted Terry. What happened then?”
“I’d got it totally wrong,” Maggie said, an echo of that shock – and hurt – on her face now. “I thought he’d be all contrite. That he’d apologise. That he’d give her up…and come back to me.”
“But he didn’t,” Sutton guessed.
Maggie shook her head, looking angry.
“I wasn’t even worth that much effort. We had a screaming row right there in the street, outside that filthy house. That was the end, for me. But Terry never tried to change my mind. I think he knew it was the end too. Things hadn’t been great before…but after that they were irretrievable.” Maggie shrugged, but she looked upset. “It was over. And then he died. Oh God.”
Maggie gave once wrenching sob, and then covered her mouth with the handkerchief to muffle her sorrow. Angela put her arms around her to comfort her, but Sutton saw something on her face he couldn’t place. Now, travelling with her in the overly large car, Sutton realised what it was he had witnessed: a spark of triumph. He could understand it. Maggie had probably treated Daniel better than she had her own daughter, not through malice, but because familiarity breeds contempt…and Daniel had been the only one of Terry’s family to accept her. Maggie hadn’t seen the look, for which Sutton was glad. But if Daniel was after Green Light and she didn’t believe it, then there were a lot of things she couldn’t see.
“He’s a mean man,” Angela continued, moving the car through traffic with the care and attention of a master craftsman at work on jewellery for the Queen. “Mum won’t hear a word of it, but he’s not very nice. And he’s got a temper.”
“Did he get on well with his father?”
Angela tore her eyes from the road to look at him briefly.
“He adored him. But I think it was a love-hate thing. Terry was tough on him. All part of his campaign to Make Him A Man, I think.” She made a face. “I’m not sure it worked.”
“What does he do?”
“Do?” She frowned.
“I know Maggie said he wanted to get into property like his father, but does he have a job?”
“No,” Angela said, half laughing, as if the idea was preposterous. “He’s never worked a day in his life. He couldn’t survive, not in the big wide world.”
“That’s an achievement in itself.”
“Is it? His Mum has never let him go wanting. She had some money, from her family.”
“Hm. And what do you do?”
“What?” She whipped around to look at him. “What – you mean like a job?”
“Yes, I mean like a job.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It doesn’t. It’s just personal interest. I’m a naturally curious person.”
“Well.” She paused. “Well,” she repeated. “I’m not doing anything right now.”
“What did you do then?”
“I have a degree.”
“In what?”
Rather haughtily, she said, “Fine Art.”
He was delighted.
“Really?”
She looked at him.
“Yes. You sound surprised.”
“Maybe I am. It’s certainly unexpected.”
“Why?”
He stared at her.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually, but he did know.
It was because she didn’t look at the world as someone who admired Art did. Art affected you in some way, changed some internal mechanism; it either gave you something, or took something away. Studying the Masters, learning to paint, understanding how light interacted with the environment…all of these things made a person see the world differently than most. Besides instilling in you a sense of wonder, it made your eyes hungry. You wanted to eat up all the delicious things you were seeing.
Where was that in her looks?
Nowhere.
And why had she not commented on the art in his flat?
She walked around with blinkers on. If she had taken a degree in Fine Art, then it had died as soon as she was out of the classroom.
“I actually worked on a project in London to create virtual galleries,” she said. “Based on real galleries around the world. With high definition copies of all their works on display. I had some interest from the Council. I thought about pursuing it.”
“But you didn’t.”
A slight hesitation.
“Mum needed me.”
“What exactly is a virtual gallery?”
She checked his face to see if he was making fun of her.
When she realised he wasn’t, she said, “you click on a website and then navigate your way around inside a virtual gallery. The layout of all the galleries would be represented exactly as they are in real life; it would almost be like you were there. The Louvre, the Tate. The Rijksmuseum. The Egyptian Museum. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.”
All of which he had visited, at one time or another.
“Why not just go to these museums in real life?”
She looked him over.
“I keep forgetting you’re a lot older than me.”
“Right. You don’t think people will lose something by looking at scans of the originals? There’s more to be seen in paintings than just the image on the canvas.”
“Are you serious?”
“A degree,” he said despairingly. “Did you have your eyes shut?”
“Not everyone can get to these galleries,” she said. “This would be a way for them to do that.”
“After all perhaps the greatness of art lies in the perpetual tension between beauty and pain, the love of men and the madness of creation, unbearable solitude and the exhausting crowd, rejection and consent.”
She looked at him.
“Was that a quote?”
“Maybe.”
“So…what?”
Sutton sighed.
“I just think Art deserves a little pain and sweat. Not just from the artist.”
Feeling as if she were losing the argument, and wanting to change the subject, she asked angrily, “why did you lie about not recognising me?”
He hesitated.
“Habit,” he said eventually.
“What?”
He thought a moment, and then corrected himself.
“Caution.”
“Caution?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him, in between checking the road.
“You think I’m dangerous?” She was amused.
“Most definitely. So you’re not doing anything now?”
“You keep changing the subject,” she pointed out.
“The psychiatrists call that Deflection.”
“Is that right?”
“So before you Deflect again, why aren’t you working now?”
Angela paused. Her frown was severe.
“I’m in between jobs. That’s all.”
He nodded. He didn’t push it.
“Actually,” she said, continuing on quickly, “there’s a room upstairs, above the shop. It’s a mess. There’s old furniture up there, with sheets over everything, and the wallpaper is coming off the walls, and the
windows and the skirting boards all need a new coat of paint…well, I’m in the process of restoring that.” She smiled a trifle too brightly. “I got a degree in Fine Art just so I could strip wallpaper and hang curtains with a flourish. Isn’t it great?”
“Terrific,” he agreed.
“I came back from…London, and thought that if I did that upstairs room for Mum, I could help out and keep an eye on her at the same time.”
“She needs you.”
Angela nodded as if she already knew it.
“I’m still looking around for something, but this – and Mum – keeps me busy in the meantime. I’ve stripped all the wallpaper off, and now I’m sanding down the window frames.”
“Why aren’t you painting?”
“I am going to paint them, after I’ve sanded them down completely.”
“No. I mean…you studied Fine Art. Got a degree. So why aren’t you painting?”
There was silence a moment in the car. Angela had been effusive on the interior decorating, perhaps overly so, but reticent on certain other subjects. It’s so much easier to talk about something that doesn’t mean anything to you; so much harder to talk about what matters, what lies close to your secret heart.
Angela shook her head.
“I haven’t painted for a while now.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, but then said, “no reason. I just haven’t had the time.”
“It sounds like you’ve got nothing but time.”
“It sounds that way, but it’s not true.”
Something had soured Angela Everleigh on painting. Sutton couldn’t guess at what it might be, but it had to be something big, to get down through the layers like that. Losing your appetite – another integral mechanism – was a sure sign you were ill; what then did the symptom of prohibition of paint indicate?
You didn’t just stop. It didn’t work like that.
The drive continued in silence, but a more companionable one. They were closer to Sutton’s home; Angela had decided to go over the swing bridge, passed the Nova Scotia hotel and down along the river.
“I need to meet Daniel,” Sutton said.
Angela cast a quick glance at him.
“What are you going to do?” She asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see.” He paused, and then looked at her. “What about this engagement party tomorrow night.”
“What about it?”
“Do you have an invitation?”
“Yes,” she said. Her eyes flashed hotly. “I can’t believe the absolute gall of him. He knew I wouldn’t in a million years dream of going.”
He squinted thoughtfully at her.
“Do you think that you might be persuaded to change your mind?”
She indicated, took another left, and pulled to the curb outside of the newsagents that bordered the estate. She looked like she didn’t believe what he was asking of her.
“If you were accompanied by a bodyguard, of course,” he added. “Sworn to protect you against enemies, past and present, foreign and domestic.”
“You want me to go with you?” She said. She seemed shocked. She shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
“How much do you want to help your mother?”
She stared at him. She bit her lip.
He wanted to reach out and touch it.
“Isn’t there another way?” She asked eventually.
“Probably,” he admitted. “But not so tailor made. Look. You’re not going to have to do anything. Just stay at the bar and get drunk and call people names, I don’t care. In fact, that might be better all round. Shake them up a bit. I promise nothing will happen to you. But this engagement party is simply too good to miss.”
“Shit,” she said. “I thought you’d just be talking to Mum’s solicitors.”
He smiled.
“I don’t work like that.”
“What if I don’t go?”
He made a face.
“Then I’d go on my own. But it will be ten times more effective if you’re with me.”
Angela looked worried. She raised her eyebrows.
“You’d really go on your own?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him.
“What was the Favour?” She asked suddenly. “What was it that Mum did for you? I’d love to know. She won’t tell me.”
“That was part of the Favour: never to speak of it. Stop changing the subject. Will you go?”
“Okay. Alright. I’ll go. If you think it will help.”
Sutton smiled.
He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, and she immediately flinched away from him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, covering her face with a hand. She sounded near tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said softly.
She would not look at him. It was a bad moment.
Sutton opened the door and got out.
He was about to shut it when he had a thought.
He leaned down, peering into the car. She had dropped her hand back on the steering wheel, but she was still wedged as far into the corner made by the seat and the car door as she could possibly go. And she was not looking at him.
He said, “oh, and if you could, wear something sexy.”
She was motionless for a good ten seconds.
“Something sexy?”
“Show as much flesh as you can get away with. The more of a stir you cause, the better.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. Black’s good.”
Now she looked actively scared. She gulped.
“Look,” she said, leaning toward him. “I don’t…that’s not the sort of clothes I wear, I don’t…I mean, I’m not that sort of person, I don’t…”
“Angela,” he said seriously. “It’s just for one night. I’m not asking you to change the way you live. Where do you live, by the way? So I can pick you up.”
“I’ll…Just meet me at the shop. At Green Light.”
Sutton paused. Something was going on here, something far beyond the conversation they were actually having.
He couldn’t guess at what it might be.
Angela Everleigh was a cypher.
Her dark eyes held hidden depths.
“Alright. At Green Light. I’ll pick you up at eight. Don’t forget: black and sexy. See you.”
He shut the car door.
*
CHAPTER 8
The engagement party was held in a hotel in the country.
A brochure in the entrance hall promised a four star experience, with a spa, gym, restaurant and the facilities to hold a wedding. What was once a 16th century manor home had been transformed into a thriving business. A long low white building with a glass gazebo and two covered walkways and a wooden bridge over a long looping water feature, it was a pleasant venue for a party.
Inside, the large main room was divided into three sections: the bar area, seating, and a dance floor with a stage. The bar was free, a DJ spun his tunes on the stage, and the dance floor was filled with well-dressed couples dancing gaily. Sutton had guessed that the dress would be reasonably formal, and he had got it just right: a suit jacket over a cotton shirt, and dark jeans.
The whole event must have been costing Daniel a fortune.
And there was also the pleasant addition of a buffet table…three in fact. Sutton made his way toward them, and began picking at the various delights on offer.
Angela came up beside him and pulled on his arm.
“What are you doing?” She asked, a little incredulously. She had to lean close to be heard over the music.
“Eating,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m hungry.”
Angela looked around and then came back to the little black purse she held in her hands. She sighed apprehensively.
“My God,” she breathed.
She looked fantas
tic. Her dress was a short black affair with tiny straps and a cluster of jewels glittering in the fabric above her left breast. Her curves were more delicious than Sutton could have guessed, under the baggy clothes she had worn earlier in the day.
But inside this fantastic number, she held herself awkwardly.
“Are you alright?” He asked.
She shook her head. She looked deeply discomfited.
“How about a drink?” He suggested.
She nodded.
“Please.”
He took her arm and led her to the bar. It was busy, and they had to weave their way through a crowd that was three deep.
When they got there, Sutton said into her ear, “you’ll have to point out the relevant players for me, Angela, before you get too drunk.”
“I can’t make a scene for you,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to. What do you want?”
In the end, she ordered for them both. He had a coke with a touch of JD; camouflage; nobody trusts anyone at a party if they don’t have a drink in their hands. She had a Bacardi and coke and took it like it was her first drink in a long time.
“Free bar,” she said, staring at her glass. It was half empty. “It must be costing him a fortune.” Sutton smiled at the similar theme of their thoughts. “I wonder how he can afford it.”
“Maybe he’s betting it against your mother’s business,” he said.
She looked wounded.
“Don’t. Don’t say that.”
He merely shrugged.
“Who’s who, Angela. Point them out. But don’t make it too obvious.”
For the next half hour, as they made as if they were talking, she pointed out all the people they could see, or who came to the bar, or passed by it: members of the Rice family; the mother, who could have been the same age as Maggie if not for the hard lines that had been cut into the planes of her face by a lifetime of smoking, and made her look ancient; the brother, Bobby, in one of the rare instances that Angela had ever seen him so well turned out, in a purple shirt open to his navel; he had a shaven head shaped like a rugby ball, and small, beady, distrustful eyes. Angela cringed against Sutton at the sight of him, but after he passed through the bar area and on to the main dance floor they didn’t see him again. There were also aunts and uncles from Terry’s side of the family, all tall and wiry people, all immaculately decked out in expensive clothes. Sutton was ordering more drinks when Angela tugged on his arm suddenly. He turned to see her pointing to a woman just coming in front the entrance hall. When he shrugged and shook his head questioningly, Angela said in his ear, “that’s Lisa, Lisa Rice, the one that was sleeping with Terry.” Sutton looked again but could not see her. His impressions had been an overweight woman with huge breasts and a mean face.