Strokes on a Canvas Read online

  Evan was about to make a hasty exit when he realized the former soldier was smiling at him through the glass. He may have looked smarter than he had last night, but his smile was still as warm and kind as a Nightingale Nurse’s. Evan didn’t imagine the captain remembered him, but he smiled back, thinking it would be impolite not to, then turned to walk away. To his surprise, Evan’s action was mirrored on the other side of the cabinet as Captain Halstead moved in the same direction. He was still looking at Evan, still smiling, and as they both reached the end of the cabinet, Evan wondered what would happen next. Would words be exchanged? And what would those words be? If Milo remembered him from last night and he wasn’t the genial man he seemed, they might hint at blackmail or violence.

  Evan was tempted to put his head down and make a run for it, but he didn’t want to attract the attention of the museum guards. He took a breath and stepped forward, only to find Milo standing in his way.

  “Excuse me. Could I get past?”

  “Of course, but…” Milo’s smile was uncertain now, but he didn’t move from Evan’s path. “It was you I saw in the Rose and Crown last night, wasn’t it?”

  Evan lowered his eyes and weighed up his options. He could admit he was at the pub and ask to know what business of Milo’s it was. Or he could deny being anywhere near the place, or even knowing of its existence. The latter seemed the most sensible choice, avoiding all confrontation, but when he looked up and saw Milo’s blue eyes sparkling cheerfully back at him, Evan was overwhelmed by a longing to spend a few seconds more in his company.

  With no idea of Milo’s intentions, Evan answered, “That’s right. I saw you there too.”

  “I thought you did. For a moment, I thought you might say hello.”

  “I-I thought you were looking at me across the bar, but you were looking for your friend.”

  “It’s true I was keeping an eye out for Haynes, but you weren’t mistaken. I was looking at you.”

  “You were? Why would you be doing that?”

  “It’s quite simple, really. I was…”

  Milo opened his mouth to continue, but he seemed to have lost the words he’d planned.

  “Let me start from the beginning. My name is Milo Halstead, but I imagine you know that after standing so close to myself and Haynes in the pub.” Milo smiled at Evan with no trace of accusation. “What I doubt you’ll know, as not many people do, is that I’m an artist. Or at least I teach art at St. Swithun’s College. I enjoy my work very much, but when I saw you last night, you rekindled my dream of being a professional artist.”

  Evan’s eyes widened in confusion, and Milo chuckled.

  “I’m not explaining myself very well, am I? The fact is the Royal Academy is running a competition. It’s open to all and I’d love to enter, but I’ve been at a loss for inspiration. Then I saw you last night, and you have such a fascinating, beautiful face, I knew I’d found the subject for my painting. I didn’t dare approach you in the pub, but when I saw you here in the museum, I thought perhaps fate had intervened and it was meant to be.”

  Evan knew he should reply, but he was still reeling from Milo’s compliment. He could believe he might find his face fascinating, with its dodgy nose and dimpled chin, but no one had ever called him beautiful before, not even his own mother. In the absence of any reaction from Evan, Milo hesitantly concluded his speech.

  “So, I was wondering if you might like to sit for me.”

  “Sit for you?”

  “I mean model for me. Let me paint you. I’d pay you, of course.”

  To say Evan was shocked was an understatement.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Halstead, but I couldn’t do that. I’m afraid I’m not the kind of man who takes off his clothes for money. Not even for an artist such as yourself.”

  “My dear man, I do apologize.” It was Milo who now looked taken aback. “That’s not what I was suggesting at all. It wouldn’t be that sort of painting. I may ask you to undo your shirt collar, but that’s as much flesh as I would wish you to show.”

  Evan was relieved, but he was still astonished by Milo’s proposal.

  “Are you sure you want to paint me? Wouldn’t you rather paint one of your students? They must be better-looking.”

  “My dear… I say, would you mind awfully telling me your name? It seems odd having such a conversation without it.”

  “It’s…it’s Evan.” Evan supposed it couldn’t do much harm to reveal his first name, and Milo wasted no time in using it.

  “My dear Evan, there are many handsome boys and girls in my classes, but not one of their faces has so much character or natural beauty as yours, and none has ever captured my attention so inescapably. I’ll understand if you don’t wish to participate, but I’d be most grateful if you would consider it. Let me give you my telephone number, and you can let me know your decision.”

  Evan didn’t want to admit his lodgings had no telephone, and he’d never dared ask his boss, Mr. Bailey, if he could use the one at work. So he made a swift decision, which he hoped wouldn’t turn out to be a rash one.

  “I’ll do it, and you don’t have to pay me. It’ll be a pleasure to help out.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Evan, but I must give you something for your time. I know it may seem like lounging around, but sitting for a portrait is jolly hard work.”

  “I’m sure I’ll cope.” Evan had worked down the pit when he was younger, and he doubted sitting still for a couple of hours would be tougher than shifting trucks and breathing coal dust all day. “Let me see the portrait when it’s done. That’s all the payment I’ll need.”

  “If you’re sure. It might require a number of sessions.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Evan that sitting for a portrait might take more than a day. He’d assumed the subject would be surplus to requirements once the essential features were done, but Evan had no objection to spending more time with Milo than he’d expected.

  “That’s not a problem. When would you like me to start?”

  “As soon as possible. When would be a convenient time for you?”

  “I’ll be at work all week, but I finish early on Saturday. Although I did say I’d do something with Sandy.”

  Milo smiled. “Is Sandy your sweetheart? I wouldn’t want to steal away your time together.”

  “Sandy’s my friend.” Evan laughed at the thought of Sandy being his sweetheart, even if he was pretty enough to pass for a girl if he put on a dress and some makeup. “It’s short for Alexander. He’s one of the other lads at the boarding house. We’ll probably go to a film or have a drink at the pub. But if you’re free on Sunday, I could sit for you then.”

  Evan put his hand to his mouth, realizing he may have offended a man as well-brought-up as Milo. “I’m sorry. I suppose you go to church on Sunday and wouldn’t think of working on the Sabbath. I’ll tell Sandy I’m busy this Saturday.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. Good friends are hard to come by, and you should do your best to hang on to them.” Milo lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I’m not a great churchgoer, so Sunday will be fine. Would two o’clock in the afternoon be all right?”

  “Two o’clock would be perfect.” Being a bit of a heathen himself, Evan was glad he’d get his Sunday lie-in. “Where should I go? And what should I wear?”

  “Wear whatever you like. It’s your face I’m interested in. And could you meet me at the college? It’s on Mews Street. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve not been in the place, but I walk past it every day. I work at Bailey’s, the big grocer’s round the corner from there, and I live up on Canberry Road.”

  He’d divulged in one sentence more information than was probably wise, but Milo made him feel so at ease, Evan thought he might say anything.

  “That’s settled, then.” Milo held out his hand and Evan shook it, as he’d almost done last night. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  With one last smile, Milo released Evan’s hand and turned to walk
across the gallery. When he was through the door and out of sight, Evan discreetly raised his hand and breathed the aroma left by Milo’s skin. There were faint chemical traces of paint and turpentine mingled with an exotic, spiced scent, which may have been soap or even perfume.

  Evan made up his mind to take a bath on Sunday morning and be sure he had clean clothes to wear. He also planned what he was going to tell Sandy over their makeshift supper that night. Sandy wouldn’t believe that an upper-class artist wanted to paint his portrait, but then Evan could hardly believe it himself.

  Chapter Three

  “Is that him?” Sandy whispered as they walked down Mews Street.

  “Bloody hell, no. I said he was in his thirties, not his hundred and thirties.” Evan tutted at the sight of the elderly man Sandy had pointed out. “And I said he was good-looking.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not a great judge of men’s looks.” Sandy’s gaze rested on a girl walking by in a navy blue coat and matching hat. “What does he look like again?”

  “Like that.” Evan grabbed Sandy’s arm and pulled him into the doorway of Yardley’s sweet shop. “He’s the dark-haired bloke by the college gate.”

  “The one in the glasses?”

  “That’s him. What do you think?”

  Sandy peered at Milo from their vantage point.

  “He doesn’t look like a maniac, although you never know what he might have in that satchel. Could be a gun or a knife.” Sandy broke into a grin. “Or maybe he’s into peculiar stuff. Might be a whip in there, or a—”

  “That’s enough of that.” Evan was nervous enough without Sandy putting daft ideas into his head. “But thanks for coming. I’m glad someone knows where I am and who I’m with. I’m sure there’s nothing to bother about, but I don’t really know this chap, so…”

  “So, if you’re not home by dark, I’ll send out a search party.”

  “Thanks, Sandy. Do I look all right?”

  “You look gorgeous.” Sandy laughed and slapped Evan on the back. “Now, go and sit nicely for the painter man. And tell him I want to see that portrait when it’s done.”

  Evan could still hear Sandy tittering as he walked toward the college gates, and it was soon apparent that Milo could too.

  “A friend of yours?”

  Evan shook Milo’s outstretched hand, which he noticed was freckled with bright yellow paint.

  “That’s Sandy. He walked down with me.”

  “Ah, yes, your Saturday chum. Did he insist on coming along to check I wasn’t a psychotic fiend?”

  “Something like that.” Evan chuckled and followed Milo through a small gate to the side of the main entrance. They bypassed the building’s imposing front doors and turned the corner to its plainer side, where Milo took a bunch of keys from his satchel and opened a door with peeling green paint. Evan breathed the aroma of paint and turpentine once more as they climbed a winding staircase to a whitewashed corridor with black doors at regular intervals on one side and windows on the other. While Milo unlocked one of the doors, Evan looked out over the city landscape.

  “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” Milo moved from the door to stand next to Evan. “I often come out here when I’m searching for inspiration. All those buildings, trees and cars. People going about their daily lives with no idea I’m looking down on them.”

  “I hope you don’t look too closely in the direction of St. Mark’s.” Evan nodded toward Beston House. “You can see my bedroom window in the building to the right, and it’s sometimes quite a mess.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of clutter. I generally find the most interesting people have the untidiest bedrooms.”

  Milo didn’t seem embarrassed to admit he’d seen a fair number of people’s bedrooms, and Evan nodded as if he were equally experienced in such matters. Then he followed Milo into the unlocked room, which was much as Evan had imagined an artist’s studio would be. The ceiling was high, with grubby skylights letting in a milky light that fell upon objects strewn about the room. Half-covered canvases of all sizes were propped against walls and chairs, while a table swathed in emerald silk was home to a motley selection of items including a lidless teapot and a silver picture frame. Milo gathered a pile of patterned fabrics from a chair and dumped them onto the floor.

  “I’m sure your room isn’t as much of a muddle as this. I use my artistic nature as an excuse for my untidiness, but the fact is I’m frightfully lazy.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It looks like you work very hard, if all these pictures are anything to go by.”

  “I’m afraid I’m excellent at starting works, but not terribly good at finishing them.”

  Milo drew back a white sheet to expose a partially painted portrait. The style was unconventional to Evan’s uneducated eyes, but he could see that Milo was talented. A wild jumble of fine brushstrokes and broader streaks combined to create a woman’s pale skin, her brown hair and blue eyes. Only the upper part of her face was completed, the chin and neck rough pencil lines and smudges.

  “Is she one of your students?”

  “Gosh, she would be flattered.” Milo gazed at the picture with obvious affection. “It’s a picture of my mother.”

  Evan would normally be mortified by such a social blunder, but he lingered over the half-finished portrait. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “I think so, but then I am rather biased.” Milo smiled as he turned to Evan. “I suppose we’d better get started. Would you like to take a seat?”

  Evan sat on the wooden chair that Milo had cleared.

  “How should I sit? And where do you want me to look?”

  Milo crossed to a canvas set on an easel, where he took off his glasses and placed them on a desk. He looked over at Evan, his right eye partly closed, apparently focusing on a spot between Evan’s nose and his lips.

  “Just look at me. You can smile if you like, or not if you don’t. Feel free to talk or move around a little, but keep looking at me. Is that all right?”

  “Fine by me. It’ll be like sitting at the pictures watching a film. Although I wouldn’t talk in a film, of course.”

  “I’d expect nothing less from a law-abiding man like yourself.”

  Evan knew Milo’s words had been meant as a joke, but a shiver slid from the nape of his neck to the bottom of his spine. He’d been afraid of the law too many times in his life not to be affected by such a comment. Milo didn’t seem to notice his unease as he picked up a pencil and started to make unseen marks on the canvas. His movements were quick and decisive, and Evan didn’t dare move or make a sound. He’d never seen such concentration and imagined the portrait would be done in a day if Milo continued to work at this pace.

  After half an hour of frantic activity, Milo paused and stood back from his drawing. Evan shifted in his seat, feeling the first tingle of numbness in his buttocks. When Milo frowned, Evan moved back to what he hoped was his original position.

  “Am I sitting right? I’m sorry if I—”

  “You’re sitting perfectly. And I apologize if I was frowning. I always look stern when I’m working, or so people say.”

  Milo began to draw again, this time more slowly and thoughtfully. It was a short while before he spoke again. “What kind of films do you watch, Evan? When you go to the cinema?”

  “Whatever’s on, really.” Evan hadn’t expected to talk about himself, but he loved going to the pictures and quickly warmed to his subject. “I like most things. Comedies, historical adventures, even the odd romance. I think Harold Lloyd’s fantastic. Buster Keaton too. He’s got such an expressive face. Not so keen on Charlie Chaplin though. I don’t know what people see in him, to be honest. But I’ll watch anything with Rudolph Valentino. He’s a brilliant actor. I can’t wait till we get proper talking films, so I can hear what he sounds like. They’ve done shorts, you know, in America. It won’t be long before we get them over here, and—” Evan realized he was rambling. “I’m sorry. I do tend to go on when I start talki
ng about films.”

  “You can talk as much as you like.” Milo added another pencil stroke, his eyes flickering from Evan to the canvas. “It helps me get an idea of your character. And it’s lovely to hear someone so enthusiastic about a subject. Please do carry on.”

  And so, Evan did carry on. He told Milo about the first film he’d seen, Brewster’s Millions, about the journey he used to make into Buxton to the nearest cinema, how excited he’d been when he glimpsed Douglas Fairbanks in Leicester Square. Then he talked about other things, about music and books, and this time Milo joined in. They found their tastes were remarkably similar, comprising such eclectic artists as Berlin and Stravinsky, Buchan and Forster, and they chatted animatedly as Milo continued to work. When Evan glanced at his watch, he was surprised to see almost three hours had passed since they’d begun. Milo squinted at the clock on the wall.

  “Goodness. It’s five o’clock already. You’ll be wanting to get home.”

  “Not particularly. I can stay if you like.”

  “I’ve taken enough of your time for one day.” Milo put down his pencil and took his glasses from the desk. “Will you be able to come again next Sunday?”

  “I’ll look forward to it. I’ve enjoyed this afternoon.”

  “That’s good to hear. It’s a shame we can’t meet sooner. I rather lose the thread of a work if I take too long a break from it, but it can’t be helped.”

  “I could sit for you during the week if you wanted. I have my half-day on Wednesday if you’re free. Or I could do one evening after work.”

  “It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I’m busy on Wednesday, and the college governors are very strict about allowing anyone in the building at night. There was an incident after hours involving male and female students, so apart from the odd evening class, the whole place is locked up tight by six. I had to grovel to the principal to be allowed in today.”

  “That’s a shame. I wouldn’t have minded.” Evan hoped Milo wouldn’t read suspect intentions into his next words. “Is there anywhere else we could meet? Do you have another studio at home?”