WritersShowcase

CHAPTER ONE

It was a strange way to begin the day; Bryony felt unsettled even before she opened her eyes, aware of a slight tingling in her body, beginning just below her ribs. Even though she was late Bryony took time showering allowing the warm water to run seamlessly down her body. She stretched her hand to her lower back and felt the wrinkled skin of the scar she hated so much, but managed to push any thoughts of it away as she hurriedly finished showering, and dressed ready for work. As she closed the door to her flat she was once more aware of the unsettled sensation in her middle - a type of feeling hard to determine - both unpleasant and exciting, but whatever it was she approached her day with more than normal perception, and when she stepped onto a later bus than usual, the unsettled feeling persisted. It seemed that her grip on the ordered rhythm of daily life had slipped – maybe just a little.

Trying to put the intrusive sensation out of her mind she settled down at the back of the bus to read. At her stop she hurried from the bus, but not without calling thanks and bye to the driver who grinned in return to the wide-eyed, red haired girl. She ran the last few yards to the Gallery, bursting through the door with bags flying one way; long unbridled hair the other.

"Hi!" she called out to the two men standing in the corner. Philippe Bailloux owned Déjà Vu Gallery and at sixty-six still retained his pan-European good looks, with his age only hinted at by the distinguished grey beard shaped into the, now fashionable, goatee. Gerry Davenport, Bryony’s assistant, had always admired her from afar but much to his regret - as she had told him many times - she wanted nothing more than to remain good friends as relationships always tend to complicate things. His hair, long smooth and blonde, which he tied back whilst at work made him look younger than his 29yrs.

"Unlike you to be late" said Philippe, making a vein attempt to exert his authority.

"I overslept, sorry"

"God, you look gorgeous today" said Gerry.

"You must be joking. After running the one-minute mile down the street my face must be the colour of beetroot." She replied.

He walked over to her; sat on the edge of her desk and stroked an invisible beard as he studied her. He took his time to look at her, beginning first at her red hair, and then allowing his gaze to lazily drift down her body until it reached her feet.

"No, Definitely gorgeous - your face is glowing, your hair windswept and abandoned." He stepped back and opened his arms wide, in the manner of an actor in some Victorian melodrama. "It gives you an air of enticing abandon. Come into the storeroom with me, now" He knelt on one knee before her desk.

Bryony pulled a face and turned her head away in dramatic fashion, playfully mimicking his flamboyant behaviour.

"Come with me now. I need you." still down on one knee, he gazed up at her with puppy-dog eyes and a wistful expression.

Although she thought he needed a good telling-off (as her Granny Brigid would say) when he said such things - which he did often, she just couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings. "Get up, you dope and go see to the new deliveries – I need to check them in."

"Oh well," he stood up and raised a hand to his forehead, palm facing outwards "one day, one day." At that, his face relaxed into its normal wide cheesy grin. "Anyway, why are you late – burning the candle at both ends?"

"Oh no, far from it, I just lost track of time working on a particularly intricate detail of Oscar’s leg. Before I knew it the birds were singing, so I curled up on the sofa and didn’t wake again until after eight this morning. The rest is history. Terribly boring I know."

Whenever she worked on a sculpture, even before she began to work with the stone she gave it a name, firmly believing that in doing so it brought the stone to life. Her latest project was a two-foot tall piece of English alabaster, yellowish pink in colour, which she lovingly called Oscar. She enjoyed working with alabaster, which is quite soft and easy to carve. Its delicacy required her tender touch; otherwise, it could easily chip or crack. One day she would use the Onyx marble favoured by the ancient Greek and Roman artisans, but for now she was happy to work with what she could afford, and the sculpture was taking shape, slowly. A lifelong student of classical sculpture, she searched for the perfect male body to sculpt, but so far no one had come close.

The strange unbalanced feeling remained as she sat at her desk; the indeterminate tingling sensation persisted and she sensed that the harmony and order which she needed in her life might be in jeopardy. Though it was, if she were honest, quite exciting.

A cup of espresso later Bryony felt able to get on with work, which entailed meticulously cataloguing all art on show and any new work recently arrived. Her smooth, long fingers gently gripped the fountain pen as she wrote; her artistic nature turning even this simple act into a work of art.

Aware of Gerry standing behind her she put the pen down and turned her head slightly to look up at him.

"No, don’t stop" he said, "It’s amazing how you can make a simple thing like holding a pen into such a sensuous act."

As usual she couldn’t help but laugh and reached for his neck in a playful manner, as if to strangle him with both hands. She and Gerry made a good team and it was one reason why she loved working in the Gallery, the other was, of course, her innate passion for art.

"Okay, okay, truce" he said, "I suppose we should get on with work, there are two deliveries today - one from Swift and the other is a artist called J. Legrand. Don’t recognise his name, do you?"

"No, but it will be good to see some new stuff."

Philippe usually played it safe and only accepted work by popular, saleable artists of the day, but sometimes a new talent caught his eye, and he took a risk. It was exciting when this happened so it was no surprise when Bryony chose to view the painting from the new artist first.

She removed the outer casing and slowly, carefully, cut the string that held the wrapping in place. Sensing that this was going to be something special, her excitement mounted and the tingling sensation increased when a little of the painting became visible.

Misty, almost translucent images came into view, spreading waves of colour before her eyes as she glimpsed hazy blues and bottomless reds. As she removed the final piece of wrapping, the true beauty of the image revealed its magic. An impressionist vision of a large saffron coloured sulphuric sunset nestled into the background of the painting. The misty blue colour she had first glimpsed was, as she looked closer, a simmering impression of water. A deep coral red emerged from the misty blue to suggest the shape of silhouetted but obvious symmetrical buildings.

The rapid beating in her chest finally ceased and Bryony’s heart slowed to a gentle rhythm almost imitating the implied movement within the painting. She may have regained composure, but nevertheless stood speechless, her gaze unmoving, and with wide eyes, she hungrily scanned the whole image of the painting, greedily absorbing every detail. Something in the painting invited her to reach deep within its very soul, as she felt drawn into it and its haunting imagery.

Gerry’s insistent voice startled her. "Hello. Gerry calling Bryony - do you want to look at this other one?"

Fleetingly and with reluctance she looked up from the painting. "Sorry Gerry." The painting drew her eyes down once more. "No. Tell you what, can you unpack it for me, and put it into the book?" As she spoke, her left hand flicked in a dismissive gesture towards the young man, whilst her right hand hovered tentatively over the Legrand painting.

"Do you want me to find a place for it as well?" He expected the normal negative reaction, and was suitably shocked when she answered him

"Yeah, okay. That would certainly be a great help" This time, she looked up at him and her mouth parted into a wide smile.

Normally Bryony decided where to hang the canvases; no one else ever had that privilege. Anyway, he didn’t argue, and took the package onto the other desk to unwrap it, before she could change her mind.

Bryony returned to study the first painting; I wonder what this artist is like? she thought as she looked at the bottom right hand corner, and slowly, almost sensuously, traced her index finger over the signature, Jonathan Legrand. She tried to visualise the figure of the, as yet, unseen artist - tall and dark haired, or perhaps tall and blonde, she wondered before eventually deciding that a name like that belongs to someone tall and dark haired.

"Strange that we haven’t heard of him." she shouted across to Gerry at the other side of the room studying the wall.

"Who?"

"Jonathan Legrand. I wonder if we will meet him?"

Her voice sounded somewhat different than usual. Different enough to cause Gerry to stop what he was doing, walk over to her and look at the signature.

"No, definitely don’t know the name." He stood back and joined Bryony to study the painting. "Certainly different from the work we have on show at the moment" he said.

"Yes it is and needs to be displayed carefully. On its own, with good light I think, come and help me with it, will you, Gerry?"

They walked the length and breadth of both gallery spaces, with Bryony’s willowy skirt swaying from side to side, as if embodying her indecision. Finally she found the perfect place.

"On this right hand pillar where it will look truly imposing, a position worth such a painting." She stepped back and clapped her hands together in childlike glee of appreciation.

Gerry knew better than to argue with her, he could sense he would have no say in the decision.

"Do you think he will come to the gallery?" she asked

"Possibly."

"Hope so; I would really like to meet him."

CHAPTER TWO

Jonathan Legrand’s painting hung resplendent on the wide pillar, carefully positioned, and in its perfect place. Bryony placed its name, Suggestion of an Embrace, beneath it. An interesting name, and just the right name for such an enigmatic work, she thought as she stepped back to take a better look

Since its arrival at the Gallery, it was almost as if the painting called to her, and she often felt drawn to gaze at the blue haunting misty sea, leading to the silhouetted deep coral coloured buildings. Ensnared somehow by its beauty and the person who created it; and drawn to the artist as if by some magic hand.

It was Thursday, and as usual the day dawdled by unnoticed, until one of the Gallery’s most wealthy customers arrived. Bryony looked up and acknowledged the smart woman who entered the Gallery. It would not be until later, that she would realise the significance of this customer’s arrival, as it set off a chain of events that would change Bryony’s life forever.

Gerry walked over to greet the customer.

"Hello, Gerry. Have you anything new to show me?"

"What a pleasure to see you again, Mrs Simmons. Gerry flashed Mrs Simmons the tried and tested smile he reserved particularly for influential female customers. "Luckily you have come at a very good time; there are two paintings that only arrived at the beginning of the week."

Bryony chewed anxiously on her bottom lip, as she watched Gerry guide Mrs Simmons over to the Swift painting, and then to, Suggestion of an Embrace which glimmered from beneath the subtle ceiling light. The painting seemed to beckon the prospective customer; its powerful effect almost tangible and Bryony felt her heart sink.

Mrs. Simmons studied the painting. She knew what she liked, and often made instant decisions - today was no exception.

"My" she said, as she looked from one side of the painting to the other, studying its every detail and nuance "interesting work" she looked at Gerry. "I will take this one."

If Mrs. Simmons had looked in Bryony’s direction at that moment, she would have seen a perplexed look on the younger girl’s face.

Bryony frowned, causing the alabaster coloured skin above her eyes to wrinkle slightly. Oh no, she can’t buy it, she nearly cried out. She can’t take it away from me. Of course, she knew her behaviour was irrational and bordering on the ridiculous - the painting was in the Gallery to be sold. Come on girl. Sort yourself out.

Philippe came out of his office, and beckoned her. "Looks like we have a sale. Good work and the drinks are on me."

His words were lost on Bryony. "What’s he like?" she asked

"Who?"

"Jonathan Legrand"

"Cant help you there, I’ve not met him. I was at a drinks party a couple of weeks ago, and was introduced to his Agent. Apparently Legrand lives in Wiltshire and doesn’t often come up to London, so he uses an Agent to handle his work and affairs. George something or other, his name escapes me at present; the painting was at his office, and I went to see it there."

A short while later, Mrs Simmons left the Gallery and Gerry removed the painting, carefully leant it against the wall ready to be packaged and delivered.

Bryony looked over at the pillar in the corner, and gazed forlornly at the empty space. She felt desolate somehow. It was a strange feeling and for a while she stood deep in thought, deciding what to do next.

The cheque made out for the full amount lay on her desk, and she had a plan. She picked it up, went to the office, and waved it in front of Philippe’s eyes.

"She paid the full amount. We didn’t even have to haggle"

Philippe rubbed his hands together "well done again."

"Gerry sold it. He is the one you should be congratulating. Anyway, I wondered" she paused for a moment before continuing "that as it sold so quickly…"

Philippe interrupted "Mrs Simmons knows what she likes all right, but that was certainly a very fast sale, even for her."

"Yes, she does," she hoped that Philippe didn’t notice the impatience evident in her voice, "and is usually interested in viewing other paintings by an artist she likes." Bryony sat down. "So, I thought that I should send a cheque in payment to the agent, and enclose a letter to be passed to Mr. Legrand, asking if he had any other work available, and explain her interest." She hastily drew breath and felt a little light-headed.

She paused for a moment, willing him to answer, and then impatiently asked "What do you think?"

"Good idea. I shall leave it in your capable hands." Philippe hadn’t noticed the way her voice had raised at the end of the last few words, but the hidden pleading had certainly worked.

Bryony wasted no time, and instead of writing she decided to telephone the agent, George Barnes, explaining his client’s good fortune, and asking if she could contact him.

"I am sorry Miss Laughton, but I can’t give you his number. I’ll phone him and ask that he contact you personally, if he so wishes."

As the rest of the day crept by she waited in anticipation for the phone call, and was disappointed when it got to 5.30 and there had been no contact from the mysterious Jonathan Legrand. Just as she was about to lock up the gallery the telephone rang; its penetrating ring made her jump. For a moment, she hesitated, whilst unconsciously she placed a hand around the jade crystal that she wore on a chain at her neck. This helped calm her, and she lifted the telephone.

"Déjà vu Gallery. Bryony Laughton speaking. How may I help you?" Her soft Irish accent echoed around the empty gallery.

"This is Jonathan Legrand."

A deep, yet silky voice greeted Bryony; a voice that was all at once cultured, refined.

"Oh thank you for contacting me" she hesitated once again, unsure of what to say, why had she asked him to call?

"What can I do for you, Miss Laughton?" the impatience in his voice obvious.

A wonderful voice, she thought, it has an undertone - a resonance of the unknown, of mystery.

"Oh. Yes, I am so pleased to tell you that we have sold ‘Suggestion of an Embrace’ today and the customer is one of our regulars who is known to be particularly interested in new artists, and is often interested in viewing further work." She paused for a moment to catch her breath. "We are interested in any further work that you may have to show her."

After a short silence he answered "Yes that can be arranged, I will contact George."

Bryony noticed that his voice was slow, each word pronounced with care, with purpose - His manner of speech hypnotic.

"That’s wonderful" she said, and felt a little embarrassed at her hasty and over enthusiastic reply. She drew in breath and made a conscious effort to control her nervousness. "Yes that would be fine, Mr. Legrand. We look forward to taking delivery."

"Very well. I shall make arrangements as soon as I can, Miss …?"

"Bryony. Bryony Laughton."

"Thank you, Miss Laughton"

She replaced the receiver, and was surprised to find that her breathing had quickened. Dark hair, she thought, definitely dark hair, and tall. Yes, tall and muscular.

She locked the Gallery and walked towards the bus stop. Normally, she would walk quickly, anxious to get home and begin her work but this evening her steps were slow, depositing her at the bus stop as if she were on autopilot. She could still hear his voice, which echoed with resonance in her head, until another voice dragged her back to reality.

"You getting on, or not?" The bus had arrived.

At home, she curled up on the sofa and thought about the telephone call, and realised that she could still feel the effect of the conversation which almost overwhelmed her earlier. Normally, always in complete control of her emotions she was now, to say the least, confused whilst immersed in the memory of that deep evocative voice. She closed her eyes, took in a long strengthening breath, and tried to imagine his face. Perhaps it was the combination of such deep breathing and wild imaginings, which once more caused her to feel a little light-headed. That’s enough of that, she thought and reluctantly dragged herself from the sofa and went to her studio, only stopping to grab a can of coke from the fridge.

Oscar beckoned; she removed the cheesecloth cover and worked at smoothing and shaping his muscular thigh. Unusually, she found it difficult to concentrate, and before long covered the sculpture with its drape once more.

Sometimes she felt the need to work with a more malleable and responsive medium. This was one of those occasions and she took up a large piece of wet clay, and concentrated on smoothing its surface, until it took on an almost translucent sheen. The wet clay felt soft, liquid in between and beneath her fingers; it gave immediate satisfaction. There was something quite emotional about clay, the way it succumbed to the lightest of pressure and movement, willingly receptive to the artists every whim. An emotive interaction between artist and medium takes place, which takes on a shape and form unique to that combination.

With no particular project in mind, she allowed herself to recall the voice of Jonathan Legrand, and let her fingers work across the surface of the clay, kneading, moulding, as she absent-mindedly tried to create his image.

With no interest in time, it passed unnoticed and it was late when she left the studio taking, just one, last glimpse of the new sculpture, before turning off the light. She found it difficult to relax and sleep, her mind raced with unstoppable thoughts centred on Mr Jonathan Legrand. Eventually she fell asleep, but not before feeling a little ridiculous at allowing her thoughts to dwell upon a man, yet unseen.

Joyce Eccleston  Synopsis  Suggestion of an Embrace