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Gallery

Oisin

gone but not forgotten
Gallery

James was stood in front of a small cityscape admiring the technique of the artist when a thirty-something, brunette drew up beside him.
‘That’s really nice, isn’t it?’ She smiled.
‘Yes.’ James nodded without taking his eyes off the painting.
‘Would you like it to hang in your home?’
Now she had his full attention. ‘I wish!’
He looked on in astonishment as the woman casually removed a Tesco plastic bag from her leather handbag, strode over to the painting and lifted it from the wall. She then slid the canvas into the plastic bag and offered it to him with a grin. ‘There you are. Your wish is my command.’

James was in turmoil. He didn’t know what to do, where to look. His head twitched about seeking security staff, C.C.T.V. cameras, anything or anybody that may have witnessed the incident. His benefactor stared at him with impatient amusement. ‘Well are you going to take it from me or not?’
Reluctantly, and more out of instinct than anything, James finally accepted it from her.
‘I don’t believe it.’ he said, aghast, ‘You’ll never get away with it.’
The woman shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’m not getting away with anything – it’s yours – a present from me.’
James shook his head in disbelief. ‘But it isn’t yours to give.’
The woman’s smile broadened. ‘Isn’t it? Just look at the signature.’
James inched the painting far enough out of the bag to study the bottom left hand corner. ‘Rebecca Botrell!’
The woman held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. And you are...’
‘James. James Cole,’ he said, nervously taking her hand.
‘Well,’ said Rebecca, ‘what do you say to a drink to celebrate your most recent acquisition?’

James was still at sea. He had popped into the gallery on his way from work to see a retrospective exhibition of one of the most successful living British artist – someone he had admired since Art College. Now here she was handing him one of her works. It was unbelievable. He had to wake up soon.

‘I don’t believe this!' he gasped. 'Do you make a habit of going around giving your work away?’
‘Only to friends and people I like.’
‘But you don’t know me.’
‘I like my work to go to people who I’m certain will appreciate it. I saw the way you were looking at it and I knew it would be going to a good home – better to go to someone like you than some philistine just because he’s got money. Now, what about that drink? There’s a nice little bar downstairs.’

* * *​

James sipped at his beer as he idlly gazed across the polished wooden table at Rebecca adjusting the skirt on her smart, tweed suit. Although he’d been an admirer of hers for quite a while, he’d never imagined her to look like this.
‘Something wrong?’ she asked, sensing his stare.
‘No.’ He blushed. ‘It’s just that I’ve heard you giving interviews on the radio but never seen you on T.V. or in magazines. You’re not at all how I imagined.’
‘It’s a little quirk of mine,’ she explained, ‘I like my work to do the talking for me, not my appearance. I purposely avoid pictures in the media.’ Her eyes lit seductively meeting his, almost mocking him. ‘Not all artists go round in paint-spattered denims you know. I hope you’re not disappointed.’
‘Not at all!’ His words sounded more emphatic than he intended. He cringed like a red-faced teenager. ‘I mean…’
‘You find me attractive?’
His already crimson cheeks darkened at the suggestion. ‘Well, yes.’ He stammered. ‘And I’m not just saying that because you’ve given me a very expensive artwork.’
She dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh come on now, if you’d had the money I know you’d have bought it. It was written all over your face.’

James was still uneasy about the gesture. ‘Yeah, I was thinking about that; the gallery is not going to be very pleased when they find that blank space on the wall. They might even report it as stolen. And aren’t you doing them out of commission?’
‘Sod them!’ Rebecca sneered. ‘They should invest in better security. They’re making enough out of me to afford it.’
‘But you’re not going to make a lot if you go around giving your work away.’
‘Ah, I make enough.’ She shrugged.
‘Not starving in an attic then?’ James chuckled, visibly more relaxed.
‘No. And not super-rich either.’ She had a sudden though. ‘Tell you what, you’re such a fan of mine, how would you like to see where I live? I've got some of my other work – my less commercial stuff that you be interested in.’
‘Are you sure,’ he frowned, ‘I mean you barely know me.’
‘But isn’t this the perfect way for me to get to know you.’ She paused for a moment with a look of disappointment. ‘Of course, if you’ve got something better you’d prefer to be doing!..’
James was almost in a panic. ‘Not at all! I’ve got nothing on for the rest of the night.’
‘Good!’ She gulped down the last dregs of her gin and tonic. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘Everything okay, Ms Botrell?’ the security guard enquired, holding the door for Rebecca as she swept passed.
‘Perfect. Thank you.’ She smiled back at him.
Much to James’ relief, the burly guard scarcely gave him a second look as he trailed several paces behind Rebecca with his treasure secreted in the Tesco bag.

* * *​
Rebecca’s hand shot out from under the sheet to snap up the ringing bedside phone.
‘Hello. Yes.’ She paused for some while and then smiled. ‘Nearly. But I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.’ She paused again to listen to the caller. ‘Yes. No problem. Just give me a few more minutes, will you?’
She replaced the receiver and immediately began to shake the body beside her. ‘James! James! !.. Come on I’m sorry but you’ll have to go.’
James slowly stirred onto his back and rubbed his eyes. ‘Huh… What… What’s up?’
Rebecca shook him harder. ‘It’s Clive. He’s on his way home.’
‘Clive? Clive? Who the bloody hell’s Clive?’ James groaned, still half-asleep.
‘My fella.’ Rebecca frowned. ‘I thought I told you. He’s on his way. There’ll be murder if he catches you here.’
James came to life with a jolt and began dragging his clothes on. ‘Right soddin’ time to tell me now, ain’t it?’
He left in a flurry of curses, tugging on his leather jacket as he slammed the door behind him.

Once he was out of the room, Rebecca moved to the window. She watched James disappear into the darkness before signalling to a shadowy figure under a lamppost that the coast was clear.

She had only to wait a couple of minutes before the bedroom door swung open and Clive breezed in to take her into his arms.
‘Aaah, Sophie,’ he breathed softly in her ear, ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘How could I fail?’ She giggled, ‘he was in such a hurry to get his trousers on he clean forgot about his present. Shame really cos he was quite cute, if a little naive.’

Their lips fused and when they finally parted, Clive stood back and removed a VHS cassette from the pocket of his “Events Security Ltd” puffer jacket pocket. He waved it at Sophie. ‘And he’s the only person on here with anything that could be that painting. All we’ve got to do now is edit out those few seconds of you taking it off the wall.’
Rebecca appeared apprehensive. ‘Are you sure it can be done?’ She sought reassurance.
‘No problem,’ Clive laughed, ‘I’ve practiced to perfection on some old obsolete tapes. Fills in the time when I’m on long shifts - well, that and working out our next scam.’

THE END
 
.....awwwwwwwwwwwww........and I was expecting a happy ending..........I'm gutted :'(.............but not suprised when considering the author :coolsmiley:
 
Di.Poppitt said:
Like SuBe, I thought we were in for a fairy tale, but I like it. :coolsmiley:
Come on Di, you should know by now that I only write weepies :'( Still, turned out okay for Clive and Sophie, d'ain't it? ;)
 
:angel: Brilliant... sorry to say though after reading so many of your written works I gussed the ending just after the bit about not having Photo's taken... Sorry Paul. :(

Chris :angel:
 
I didn't guess the ending at all Chris - how clever Oisin - very good yarn.
 
I'd have thought, if anyone, it would be Kate who would guess the end as I'm striving to match her art of ending a story.
 
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