Picasso's Envy, page 19
Fahim walked in front of me and Neills was at my rear.
As soon as I sat, I was handed a glass of champagne. “No thank you. I’m drinking too much.”
“We have it here especially because you like it. A little won’t hurt.”
I relented. Sipped. It would clear my head I told myself. I felt strange. Had I been drinking for so long now my blood had turned to alcohol?
“Neills … can you prop her up.”
I’d slumped.
“We’ll have to sit her in a different chair. I think it might be time,” said Neills.
“I hope so, Neills. I have a life to get on with.”
“It’s getting close.” To me, Neills said, “Have some more champagne, Annabelle. You’ll feel better.”
I didn’t want any more. They were saying strange things. Something wasn’t right. I drank because it was now habit. I was back somewhere in my childhood, being a good girl. Drinking my medicine.
“I need an outcome, Neills,” said Fahim.
“Yes, tomorrow. It should be tomorrow. I need to talk with her tonight. She needs to know.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t had that talk yet.”
“I will. Tonight, I promise.”
Between two worlds, I heard their conversation mixed in with my mother talking. I had trouble deciphering which was which. Everything was surreal and I wasn’t really there, or anyplace. They didn’t seem to think I was there either.
“Okay … tomorrow … Eduart will need to take us to another location. We’ll sail during the night.”
Was that my mother talking? No. I think it was Fahim. Or maybe Neills?
“I’ll ease up on the dose. I want her to be fully conscious,” said Neills.
Fifty-four
I don’t remember getting to my cabin but that’s where I woke. I had no idea what time it was or what day it was. How long had I been asleep? I could hear the hum of engines, which meant Sea Falcon was on the move. Gradually I realised dinner was soon. That meant I would be collected.
I’d woken with a thirst like no other. I gulped the water by my bedside too quickly, causing me to feel nauseous. Easing myself from the bed, I took a cold shower. Each action helped me to full consciousness. I dried my hair and applied fresh makeup. I was back, almost. I chose to wear the dress I’d bought especially for my trip, back in London. That seemed a long time ago. The dress needed a tan, which I now lacked. My skin was sallow, I looked wan. Had it been that long since I’d seen the sunshine?
A comment made by Neills slid into my memory. He needed to talk to me. It must be something to do with smuggling. I did have a right to know, and it was clear they were running from the coastguard.
A knock. Peggy at my door.
“I’ll be a minute or two.”
She was waiting when I opened the door. It was pointless to say I knew the way. Why did she bother? Arriving on the aft deck, Neills greeted me.
“You look ravishing.”
Why was he lying? All the same, any compliment was good. There were just the three of us at dinner. Eduart was up on the bridge taking us to a new destination. Peggy and Murat hovered. The mist had cleared. Murat kept his gaze out to sea.
“It might be a sunny day tomorrow,” I said. “It would be wonderful to get some sunshine.” My statement received no comment from either Fahim or Neills. Directly after dinner, Fahim excused himself.
“Come sit on the comfortable seat, Annabelle,” Neills said.
I was forever hopeful, although by then I was doubtful. He changed from hot to cold so often, I never knew what to expect. He was in a warm stage, so it could go either way.
“Tell me about your father again.”
“Why?”
“Just tell me. I like the way you talk about him.”
Neills was like a kid, he wanted the same story over and over.
“Well,” I said, “he’s a wonderful father, as I’ve told you. He’s my best mate.”
“Even more than your fiancé?”
“Stop on that subject. You know about that.”
“I know. You’re leaving your options open.”
I sighed in exasperation.
“So, your father. I want to hear it again. Are you his favourite? What about Peter?”
“I’m the girl, so I’m his favourite.” I giggled. It was the first time I’d heard myself giggle in a while. “Of course, Peter is his favourite son. But I had my dad all to myself after Peter left.”
“Peter is his favourite son,” Neills repeated very softly, more to himself.
“Of course, as he’s his only son.”
“If I’d been a favourite son, what would I have had?”
“You are a favourite son.”
“Yes, I am. But if I were to have a father.”
Neills was being weird. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask Peter. Daddy did everything with both of us. Took us sailing together. You know, we did stuff together.”
“Football?”
“Daddy’s not into football.”
We were both quiet for ages. Me, I was remembering my father and felt desperately homesick. What I’d give to see my dear father right here on the boat.
“It’s hard for me to imagine what it would be like to have a father. To know what I missed out on. What do you know about your father before he met your mother?”
“Not much … but I imagine he was hugely popular, as he still is. I imagine the ladies loved him and that he was held in high esteem by men. That’s probably why mummy fell for him. They’re very close and daddy adores my mother.”
I was drinking again when I said I wouldn’t.
“Lots of girlfriends, eh? Anyone in particular?”
“I don’t know.” I chanced at humour. “I wasn’t there.” Dead landing.
“Did either of your parents mention anyone?”
“Er … no. I’m not sure they would. I’m not their confessional.”
“Yeah. He probably threw them by the wayside, like leftovers from the dinner table.”
“That sounds awful. I’m sure he didn’t treat women like that.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know my father. He’s honourable and honest and decent.”
“With a mean survival side.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Maybe he has other children. He is very charismatic, you say. Women couldn’t resist him. Perhaps he enticed them, persuaded them to give of themselves, completely.”
“I’m sure he sowed his wild oats. That’s what men do. They’re supposed to before marriage.”
“Supposed to? What century are you living in? Hurting women, leaving them with a child and discarding them? That is what men are supposed to do?”
“Well, whatever he did, he’s an honourable man.”
Why was he talking like this? He knew nothing of my father. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t have one. I turned to look out to sea. I didn’t want to go to bed, and I didn’t want to be here getting the third degree about my parents.
“Out of curiosity, was your father born in Australia?” Neills said.
“No. A little island. A Greek island as it happens. He emigrated to Australia, like so many others, after the war. His father died long ago.”
“Oh, a little island. You should have mentioned … we might have been able to visit.”
“I don’t know it. He didn’t tell me … he said it was all in the past … didn’t matter.”
“That’s surprising. Most Greeks are very close to their heritage.”
“I don’t know.” I was part pissed and part pissed off. Why was Neills being like this? “You’re jealous. You’re jealous of my life, of my home life, that I have two lovely parents. Well I’m sorry about that, Neills. But you’re a big boy now … grow up.”
That last bit I must have yelled, as Murat was at my side in a flash. Neills waved him away.
Neills said he wanted to tell me something. I wasn’t sure if that was it, but I’d had enough. To stay on deck was no longer possible.
“I’m going to bed.”
I moved so quickly, Peggy didn’t have a chance to escort me to my cabin.
Fifty-five
Peggy. Persistent Peggy.
“I don’t want to go.” I was awake but still in bed.
“Miss Annabelle, Fahim requires you to come. It should be the last sitting.”
Fight or flight. I could try to overpower Peggy, but that was unlikely. My fitness and strength were long gone. My next obstacle would be Murat. Totally unlikely. Then the only way off the boat was to swim. I was a strong swimmer, or used to be, but with no idea where we were or how far I’d have to swim, that was also impossible. If I simply refused, I wondered about the consequences. Murat might be brought in. Adding up my options, I dressed.
With the intention of being as annoying as I could, I took forever to get ready. I’d had instructions to wear the blue dress, so I put it on and eventually opened the door. With the severity of an armed guard, Peggy again corralled me to the studio.
Fahim was more than cheerful. Spruced up in taupe trousers and a white shirt, he looked fresh. Dapper.
“How lovely you look this morning, Annabelle. We will finish today.”
Neills was there. We nodded. Neills being in charge of the champagne, he opened the bottle and sat it in the ice bucket.
“I don’t want any champagne.”
Fahim turned on the charm. “Oh Annabelle. I believe you and Neills have had a little tiff. Let’s sort this out and make a toast to our last day … will that be okay Annabelle, dear? I’ll even have a glass and so will Neills. Won’t you, Neills?”
“It’s too early,” I said.
“Annabelle dear, when has that bothered you?” Fahim said. Neills passed him a glass. “Come now, Annabelle, let’s toast to a wonderful girl who has been so patient.”
I relented. I wanted that champagne. We clinked and I drank, my usual gulp.
“You didn’t speak with Annabelle last night as you wanted, I believe, Neills?”
“No, our dear girl got into a huff, as it’s called in English. She stormed off.”
“Oh dear,” said Fahim.
They were both watching me. Neills refilled my glass. I felt woozy after the first. I’d drunk it too quickly.
“I don’t feel very well.”
“You ate little breakfast, I believe, and then gulping your champagne, it’s not surprising,” said Neills.
My hold on reality was slipping. “I don’t feel very well.”
“What a shame,” said Fahim. “And I was going to show you the paintings I’ve made of you. Though we know you had a good look the other day. You know I’m not talented like Picasso, but he is my favourite.”
I was losing my grip on my body too now. I slithered down the chair. Neills grabbed me before I reached the floor.
“It’s time,” said Fahim. “Come on, Neills.”
My hearing was functioning, but little else.
“Neills, speak with her now. She’s conscious enough. We know she’s seen the paintings; she needs to have an explanation.”
“Can you sit in the chair for me, Annabelle?” said Neills.
One by one they held up the paintings. The ones I’d already seen.
“They’re fractured, sort of,” I said with slurred speech. “You’ve left out parts of me … on my face and my hands. Fractured, with bits missing.”
“Yes, we’ve taken fracturing a step further than Picasso. He’d be envious if he knew. Isn’t that right, Neills?”
My sozzled brain wasn’t coping.
“If you have plans for those vacant areas, why do you need me? Can’t I go?”
“It’s your input that will make these paintings perfect, Annabelle,” said Neills. “If we don’t get an answer.”
I clutched the arms of the chair and tried to stay sitting up, but my body wouldn’t work properly.
“Let’s finish this now, Neills. Speak with her … I’ll go.”
Fahim made for the door. He turned at the door as he seemed to notice something on Neills’s face.
“Stop sulking, Neills, get on with it. She has a right to know. And I’m tired of this.”
With that, he left.
Neills helped me out of the chair and took me to a bench. “You’ll feel better if you lie down.” He placed a cushion under my head.
“Tell me what?”
“I’ve contacted your father.”
“What?” I struggled to sit but arrived back where I was.
“He is to pay up or we’ll … well, we’ll commit a part of you to one of the pictures. More if need be.”
“What?” My speech still slurred. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My brain snapped, as best it could, into action.
Neills smirked and walked around the bench.
“Yes, I’ve been in touch with him. He knows who I am.”
“What do you mean? I want to talk to him.”
“You can’t. He doesn’t know where you are. You don’t think we’re stupid enough to say where we are, do you?”
“You said you couldn’t contact him, or my brother.”
“Ah yes, well I wasn’t exactly telling the truth there.”
He continued to circle me.
“I have something to tell you.” He came to a stop, face to face. “Perhaps it was a good thing you stormed off last night. It would have spoilt this moment for me. This is better.”
I was looking into the face of a madman.
“I’m your half-brother, Annabelle. He’s my father too. And if you don’t mind my saying, he is an utter prick … in that language of yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just that. My mother, my very pretty, wonderful mother, was already married to your father when he met your mother in Melbourne. They emigrated together to Australia. Plus, there was one extra who came with them. Me.”
I looked at Neills. I had to be still intoxicated. Neills – my half-brother?
“They met during the war. When my mother was pregnant with me, they married. Or so my mother thought.
“Your father was an ambitious man and worked hard to get ahead. He pushed himself onto the right people. Through your grandfather, he met your mother. Very pretty too, I believe. Though not as pretty as my mother. He was instantly taken with her. He was also taken with the connections he could make through her, because of her grandfather. So important to your father. Your grandfather could offer introductions, turn our father into an honourable man, as you like to call him. Enhance business opportunities for him.
“So, my mother was ditched. He told my mother the marriage was not valid. During the war, everything was chaotic. He had arranged for a marriage certificate, along with passports. There was a simple ceremony with a few friends they’d both recently met, as by then they were living in the Netherlands.
“He didn’t need to divorce my mother. My mother never met anyone associated with your mother or grandfather. In your father’s eyes, she simply did not exist. He paid her fare back to Denmark and gave her a measly amount of money to set her up in life. She had no one to turn to. Her life was filled with your father and me. She adored him. I might add she had to beg for that money. He then told her not to ever contact him again. And so, both my mother and me were out of the picture. Your father was a free man.”
Fifty-six
There was madness in the man. He circled and paced, eventually coming back to my side. He spoke close to my ear.
“We returned to Denmark, my mother and me. Her parents had died during the war and she was orphaned. She had the shame of returning with a son and no husband. She made up a lie that he had died and she had no other choice than to return to Denmark. The most humiliating part of the story is that my mother will still not speak unfavourably of him. Not that she brings him up, but occasionally I’ll ask a question. She either evades the question, or remarks that people react in different ways. She excuses him.”
He paused, circled me, came back to face me.
“Eventually she was able to establish herself. People stopped asking about the father. People accepted her as she was. Loved her. She found a job and was respected for her hard work. She still works at the same place.”
He stood looking at me, staring. I looked back at him, but his eyes were so crazed, I had to look away.
“So, there we have it. I’m now waiting for your so-called honourable father to get back to me, with the money I believe he owes my mother and me.”
“You have the wrong man. That is not my father. You’re a fool, Neills. You’ve got the wrong man and, by the sounds of it, the wrong half-sister too.”
My words were purposeful, but I was still slurring.
“I don’t think so. You only need to look at my facial profile, your brother’s and yours. Besides, your father has acknowledged my existence by not denying it.”
“Why would he believe a phone call? I don’t believe he would.”
“Ah, you see … I picked out photos of those I took, and another one of a painting with the ear missing. I faxed them to him. Your ear and the painting will meet, if your father does not send the money I’ve asked for.”
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you mean; you faxed them. You can’t send a photo that quickly.”
I was so drowsy I barely understood what he was talking about, but knew such things were not possible.
“There hasn’t been time to post any photos. Even your instant ones,” I said.
“There you are wrong, Annabelle. Fahim has all the latest gadgetry on board. It’s a wired facsimile transmission.”
“Well, my father hasn’t got whatever that is, so how can he receive it?”
“Fahim has connections. Your father received it.”
