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The Monkey Puzzle
Tree Pt II |
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Harry sat on the window
seat in his flat. The London traffic crawled by noisily below him and he
watched distractedly as a black cab sliced in front of a large maroon
coloured Rolls Royce. The angry sounds of several car horns blasted out
into the morning air. The rain in London seemed even more bleak than it
did back at home; back on the south coast. At eleven o’clock on a
Sunday morning, he could have been walking in Lymington town centre, to
the Kings Head on the historic old cobble-stoned hill leading down to
the quay, where he could have a fantastic lunch and a pint of his
favourite beer. Instead, he was sat here, the nearest decent pub a £5
taxi fare away where uninspiring food would cost a fortune. He wasn’t
short of money; his small marketing company was doing extremely well in
fact. In the three months since he had lived in the city, business had
really taken off. He sighed. The breath from
his mouth steaming up the window before him, casting a surreal fog over
the scene below. Harry had never felt so alone, so unaccomplished, so
unhappy. His mind returned to
thoughts of home, and to the article he had read in the doctors surgery
a few weeks earlier. Moving away from the
window, walking across the large living room to his hi-tech kitchen,
Harry decided that he would have the next week off. There were things he
was going to have to do. -oOo- This time, he walked into
the waiting room with renewed vigour and a purpose. Standing in the
middle of the room he looked directly into the sullen faces of the five
people sat at strategic distances from one another and smiled broadly.
“Good morning everyone! What a thoroughly beautiful day it is, don’t
you think?” As a young woman of about
22 dropped her newspaper in surprise, Harry walked over to the table,
searched through the old pile of magazines, picked out the familiar
heading of the one he had read some weeks before, and tucked it under
his arm. Striding confidently towards the door, he turned, and shot
another huge smile across the room. “Well, that’s me all finished
for the day, bye-bye!!” As he left, Harry chuckled
to himself. How he would love to see the looks on their faces right now. It always seems to be
that, when you are in no particular hurry to find a cab, one pulls up
almost magically as you look out into the road. This was one such
occasion. Within minutes, Harry was sat reading the article about Sally
Gann again as he was chauffeured across London. Once more, he became
absorbed in the simple, fateful story of Sally’s first, and only love.
Reading beyond her quote, he learned that she had never married and that
during her lifetime, she had painted over 20 different scenes featuring
the tree with which her life had become so entwined. The most famous of
her paintings, the article reported, was owned by George Harrison, the
ex pop-star from The Beatles, who reportedly paid £400,000 in 1963 for
a scene of the two doves flying in a vivid pink autumn sky above the
Monkey Puzzle tree. One other well-known example of her work was on
display in the National Gallery. Finally, he found what he had been
looking for. At the end of the article there was another picture of
Sally. In the small photograph, she was sitting on a garden chair on a
huge, well kept lawn. Underneath the picture it said: Ms.
Gann relaxing in the gardens of the Boldregreen Nursing Home. Harry looked up
triumphantly. His quest now had some direction and a clear purpose. He
knew where the Boldregreen was; it was a truly magnificent house that
was once owned by a very important local family. Once he got home and
packed, he could be on the road and at the doors of the nursing home
within two hours. -oOo- Passing through the
fourteen-foot high wrought iron gates, Harry knew that the house would
not disappoint. He had seen the gates from the road many times before,
and had often tried to imagine the building that they protected. As his
Jaguar rounded a tight corner he felt himself stop the car impulsively.
This view needed savouring. It was the perfect
symmetry that really caught his breath. The large house was approached
by a long shingle drive, which led you precisely down the middle of the
glorious lawns, before opening to a forecourt which was handsomely
adorned by the most elegant of fountains – Three mermaids, facing
eachother in a small circle, arching their backs outwards. Their hands
outstretched before them, each helping to support a small dolphin. From
the top of the dolphin’s head, water surged into the air before
dropping back onto the heads of the mermaids and cascading down into the
pool below. The building itself was
impressive. Seven steps led up to the large double doors, and Harry
could not count the number of windows which appeared so evenly spaced
along the length of the front elevation. Four stories high – that much
he was aware of. He pulled up next to
another car and applied his hand brake, his eyes still fixed firmly on
the building before him. Clearly in this world, there were nursing
homes, and there were nursing homes. Climbing the stairs, Harry
noticed just how well kept everything seemed to be, how clean. It must
cost very serious money to be cared for here. The doors looked even more
impressive this close up, he wasn’t sure whether he should knock or
just walk in. The two golden Lion’s head doorknockers looked as if
they would make a noise that would resonate loudly throughout the entire
house if they were used, and as this was a nursing home, he felt sure
that to walk in would be acceptable. He was quickly re-assured
as he entered and was greeted by a smiling lady sat behind a desk in the
entrance hall. “Good morning Sir.”
She surveyed him quickly and efficiently. “Ummmm, Hi. Listen I’m
sorry to bother you, and you’ll probably find this a very strange
request, but I was wondering if I could see Ms Gann.” He had probably
sounded rude, or off-hand, but his mind was elsewhere. As he spoke, he walked
over the marble floor towards the receptionist’s desk, marvelling at
the quality of the antique. She looked at him long and
hard, making his walk seem to take forever. He was suddenly acutely
aware of how loud his footsteps sounded in the large, open room. Harry
felt like a naughty school child. He stopped walking, clasping his hands
together in the way he always had when he was nervous. The silence was
deafening and at that moment, the notion to turn on his heels and run
seemed a very attractive one to this successful and usually confident
young man. “You are referring to
Ms. Sally Gann, the artist, I presume?” Her tone was different, no
less polite, but somehow different. “Well, yes.” He was
now aware of just how hard he was wringing his hands together. Finally, the receptionist
managed to place the face of the nervous young man before her. He had
been in the year above her at Priestlands School in the town and she had
had a massive crush on him when she was 13. He had the most incredible
eyes. It wasn’t so much the actual colour as the way they seemed to
twinkle when he smiled. It was doubtlessly Harry Bartram. Feeling herself flush as
she remembered the way he once made her feel, Julie Clark raised to her
feet, subconsciously displaying her excellent figure to him. Noticing
his sense of nervousness, Julie flashed him a warm smile. “It’s been
a long while since someone came here asking for Sally Gann, Mr Bartram.
Please take a seat and I will fetch Mrs. Drodge, the owner of
Boldregreen” Harry was feeling too
uneasy to notice that the receptionist had used his name. Obediently, he
lowered himself into a comfortable chair as Julie walked smoothly from
the room and started to take in the details of the entrance hall. He had
seen opulence before of course, he had met many seriously wealthy
people, but this house had something that impressed him greatly, he
couldn’t put his finger in exactly what it was. It just seemed, well
– perfect. The lady who appeared a
few moments later from across the hallway was very well dressed and
would most definitely have been an extremely beautiful woman when she
was younger. Her smile was warm; charming, and Harry finally began to
feel a little less awkward. “Good morning Mr
Bartram, I understand that you are enquiring about Ms Gann.” Mrs Drodge extended her
hand in welcome, which Harry shook gently. “Well, yes, I would love
to speak with her, if she is taking visitors.” “We used to be plagued
by visitors wishing to meet her, Mr Bartram. We had to increase security
quite extensively. All that is no longer necessary. You see, Sally Gann
passed away three and a half years ago, at the very grand age of 101.” Harry felt himself flush
with embarrassment and disappointment. It hadn’t occurred to him that
they magazine from the doctor’s surgery could have been years old. How
dumb! If he had bothered to have done his maths, he would have known
that the artist would have been well over a hundred by now. Speechless, he sat there,
looking stupidly up at Mrs Drodge, barely noticing that Julie had
followed behind her. He was numb, his tongue felt as though it were too
large for his mouth and he felt the colour draining from his cheeks. How
could he have been so damned thoughtless? It was Julie who broke the
awful silence. “Mrs Drodge, do you think that perhaps Elizabeth
Fairmile might take a few minutes to speak with Mr Bartram?” The suggestion seemed to
lift a cloud from the room; Mrs Drodge’s eyes seemed to open wider
with relief and surprise. “Yes of course! Betty would be delighted to
have a visitor!” Harry looked quizzically
at Julie Clark, finally registering a vague recognition of her as she
smiled triumphantly back at him. “Betty Fairmile is Sally’s younger
sister, Harry” “Julie?” It finally
dawned on him. At last! She thought as
she headed for the stairs and up to Betty’s room. He DID recognise me! Mrs Drodge put her hand
gently onto Harry’s, getting his attention. Mr Bartram, Betty Fairmile
is a very old woman, and she only has one regular visitor. She is a
friendly lady and she will happily talk with you until she is exhausted.
Julie tells me you are a decent person and I trust that you will end the
meeting before our guest gets too tired and excited?” He nodded, finally
remembering his manners as he got to his feet. “This is very good of
you, Mrs Drodge” “Don’t mention it”
She smiled at the good-looking young man before her. Betty would be so
pleased to think that a young man had bothered to dress so nicely in
order to meet her, and the small bouquet of flowers he had been
nervously clutching in his left hand would make her feel doubly special. From the first floor
balcony Julie’s soft voice drifted down to the entrance hall.
“Harry, Mrs Fairmile will see you now..” -oOo- “Thank you for agreeing
to see me, Mrs Fairmile.” “You are more than
welcome Mr Bartram. Rarely do I have the treat of being visited by
someone other than my grand-daughter. She’s a lovely girl, pretty and
kind, but she runs out of new things to talk to me about. It doesn’t
stop her visiting everyday though, the sweet thing.” Betty Fairmile’s voice
was captivating. For such an old lady it conveyed a sense of serenity,
wisdom and vigour. This was no frail old maid. She hadn’t been
expecting anyone and yet she had dressed with impeccable taste. Her
room, too, was beautifully laid out and Harry could not help noticing a
picture hanging one of the walls – a scene of two little girls dancing
around the base of a monkey puzzle tree. “I understand that you
wish to learn about my sister, Sally?” she enquired. Betty’s eyes
followed the direction of Harry’s stare. “Yes, that’s one of hers.
She was an extremely accomplished artist, my sister.” “Indeed she was Mrs
Fairmile.” “Please, call me Betty.
Everyone does.” He smiled at her, and she noticed how his eyes danced in the afternoon sun that was streaming through the window. “Betty it is, then. And you must call me Harry." |
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