Anna and Alina had been back in London, Ontario, for just over three months. The winter had sped by with the demands of their A Plus internet business but there had been several discussions about other matters when time allowed. A favourite topic was the amazing sights they had seen on their Egypt tour.
On snowy days when they huddled around the gas fire, they pulled out the disks of photographs and watched the scenes of the Nile on the screen of the computer or on the television. They could almost feel the warmth of the sun on their faces as they saw the vivid colours and remembered the temples and tombs they had visited together on Alina’s ‘trip of a lifetime’.
“So,” began Anna after another one of these evenings when the Egyptian photographs had taken precedence over the meager offerings on television channels. “What do you think now that you have had a chance to put it all into proportion? Was the trip worthwhile, Alina?”
“You know it was, Anna! I admit there were a few scary moments, particularly when Richard’s wife made her appearance, but that could never overshadow the incredible things we saw. It was a dream of mine to go to Egypt and no part of the trip disappointed me.”
“Well, I guess it was worth all the expense and trouble to have these extraordinary photographs to savour whenever we choose to.”
“Not just that, Anna,” said Alina with a sparkle in her eyes that revealed a youthful confidence which seemed to have appeared since the December holiday. “There are all the souvenirs we brought back and the fabrics I collected. They are permanent evidence of our adventures.”
Anna looked around at the new shelf unit they had purchased in January to display the artifacts that had weighed down their luggage on the return trip to Canada. Admiring the hand-sculpted plaques and the replica head of Nefertari, together with smooth, carved, wooden symbols such as the ankh, and the small collection of sturdy canopic jars, she knew the extra baggage costs were well worth the money.
“Of course!” she agreed. “Not only these beautiful reminders but also the delicate crochet shrugs and wraps made from the multi-coloured thread you found in the bazaars, Alina.”
Her companion shrugged briefly at this touchy subject. Alina’s eyesight no longer permitted her to spend hours on the tiny stitches required by the fine threads. She had employed skilled workers to follow her instructions and create the garments, but it was hard for her to relinquish a talent she had always treasured.
Anna quickly changed the topic. “Another lingering effect of that memorable holiday was the connection you made with my half-brother, Philip.”
“Oh, don’t start that again, Anna!’ She turned away so that her face was temporarily concealed. She was aware that a smile appeared automatically on her face whenever Philip’s name was mentioned and she did not want to raise false hopes of some kind of happy ending in a situation fraught with problems.
Anna was glad to have distracted her friend from the worry about her eyesight issues but she was reluctant to let Alina pass off the unexpected link between her somewhat distant brother and her dear friend, who had rarely expressed any interest at all in a member of the opposite sex.
“Now, come on, Alina!” Anna chided. “You know I could not miss the phone calls. Have you two made arrangements to meet again?”
“And how would you expect that to happen? Philip is just finishing the hotel project in Luxor and we are immersed in the product lines for spring and next fall. The new cable-knit throws are really doing well and we have to coordinate supplies with our Scottish knitters. When exactly do you think such a meeting could occur? Not to mention where in all the world it might take place? Provided we wanted it to happen at all,” she added hurriedly, afraid she might have revealed too much to the ever-aware Anna.
“Oh, I’m not pushing either one of you, my dear,” said Anna calmly. “If you want a meeting to happen there’s always a way. Just know I am happy if it makes you happy.”
“Shut up!” growled Alina, as she gave a laughing Anna a mock push. “Change the subject, please.”
“Well, I do have something else to discuss that relates to our trip.”
Alina settled back in a comfortable chair and gave Anna her full attention.
“You remember how I finally got the photographs of my Aunt Helen? “
“The ones George uncovered from the files in his office?”
“Right! I had Maria’s Paul send them to a specialist lab to enhance the colour and sharpness, and I must say the likeness to my mother in her later years was only increased when I received the finished copies.”
“I did wonder what you intended to do with those photographs, Anna. We’ve never seen them enlarged on the screens.”
“No. I had another idea for them. What do you think of this? There was once a large painting over the fireplace in the upstairs double bedroom in the Oban house. I saw the mark on the old wallpaper where it hung. Although the room was freshened up with new paint and paper I was never able to find the right picture or mirror to put over the mantel there.”
“Are you telling me you want to make an arrangement of Helen’s old photos to hang in that room?”
Alina sounded doubtful about the effect of that idea, but Anna shook her head.
“No, I want something more appropriate. I think I will look for an artist to work from the photos and any other shots of my mother I can find, and paint a proper portrait of Aunt Helen. After all, she should be represented in the house that was her gift to me, don’t you think?”
Alina paused and a vision came unbidden to her mind, of the ashes floating on the breeze from the Nile as Helen’s sad diary pages disappeared forever.
She shook her head to dispel the scene and replied to the question.
“I think it’s a fine idea, Anna. It will be a fitting tribute to that lady who spent happy years in the McCaig Estate Farmhouse. Do you have an artist in mind for the job? It won’t be an easy assignment.”
“Not yet, I wanted to see what you thought about the plan. I’ll start to investigate possible candidates soon. I want to be able to take the painting with me on my next trip to Scotland.”
“When were you thinking of going?”
“No plans at the moment. I am happy to stay put here until the weather warms up significantly.”
“Speaking of that…..I was thinking of heating up soup for supper and toasting that whole-wheat bread. Let’s have it by the fireplace and close the drapes so we don’t see or hear the windy weather.”
“Sounds, perfect!”
The search for a portrait painter was more complicated than Anna had expected. Although she managed to track down a couple of candidates, neither one was comfortable working from photographs of dubious quality. It soon became obvious to Anna that a special kind of artist was required; one who would allow her to be an active part of the process.
A retired London teacher, who now worked as a volunteer docent at the Museum, supplied a short list of artists who worked in water colours or oils. Anna was of the opinion that a woman would be easier to deal with so she discarded the males on the list and set about contacting the two remaining names.
The first of these was no longer living in the city. The landlady informed Anna that the woman had left for Toronto to live with a friend.
The remaining candidate’s phone number went immediately to an answering service so Anna left a brief message, leaving her email and phone number and asking the artist to contact her as soon as possible. A week went by and Anna was on the point of calling again when she received an email asking her to send more details of the work she wished to have done. After some consideration, Anna composed a reply and sent it off without much hope that the response would be positive.
Thank you for getting in touch with me Ms. Drake.
I am interesting in finding an artist who will paint a portrait of a deceased relative.
Of necessity, this portrait will have to be done using photographs.
I realize this method may not be ideal but I am willing to help with the project as much as you will allow.
The person who is to be honoured in this way is very important to me and I hope you will consider meeting to discuss this further.
Anna Mason.
When no reply was forthcoming in the next week, Anna decided to start another search for a likely artist. She visited a downtown Artists’ Cooperative Gallery and viewed the paintings there, looking for ideas. Strangely, there were no portraits on display. The majority of the work consisted of what she termed ‘modern art’ with angular forms and colours unsuited to a portrayal of the human body. She left without feeling she had accomplished anything at all and also feeling somewhat annoyed that the Drake woman, her most promising lead so far, had let her down.
As she drove into the driveway of the condo complex, Anna was surprised to see a young man with a bicycle standing near her front door. She quickly surmised he was not a Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness as his clothes were very casual in style, but what he could be doing at her home was difficult to guess.
Perhaps it had something to do with Alina? She was always on the lookout for new skilled workers and this man may have mistaken their home address for the warehouse offices on the Wonderland Industrial Estate where interviews were usually held.
She turned off the engine and walked slowly around the car still watching the figure who did not turn toward her but waited patiently, holding his cycle.
An old instinct, born of the fear of stranger danger, made Anna observe his appearance more closely as she approached. A strong nose under sandy eyebrows; long hair tied back allowing his large ears to peek out from a dark baseball cap; a padded, black nylon jacket and faded jeans with a wet patch near the seat showing he had been cycling during a recent rain shower.
Confident she could now describe the man to the police, if required, Anna challenged his attention so she could see the expression in his eyes and determine if he had evildoing in mind.
Despite this precaution, her polite manners asserted themselves as she called out, “May I help you?”
“Uh, I am looking for Anna Mason? Do you know if she lives here?”
Anna was astonished to be caught in the gaze of a pair of extraordinary pale gold eyes. She stuttered in surprise. “I am she ….. I mean I live here. Was I expecting you?”
“Probably not. I wasn’t going to come but changed my mind at the last minute and now here I am on your doorstep.”
Anna was feeling more confused by the minute. Who was this brash young man and why was he here?
Her tone revealed a growing anger as she responded with, “Well, now you are here, what is your name, and what is your business?”
“Drake Design is my business,” he answered quietly.
Anna was no further forward after this information.
“But why are you here?” she insisted.
“You contacted me about some art work you wanted?”
The name suddenly clicked in Anna’s memory. Drake was the last name of the woman painter. Her first name was Lawren. Was this some partner of hers? What was going on here?
“Look, we can’t stand here all afternoon. You had better come inside till we sort this out. Leave your bicycle in the driveway. It will be safe there.”
She quickly turned the key and opened the door leading the way inside and taking off her coat at the same time. She looked at herself in the mirror over the hall table that held keys and messages and saw a flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
How frustrating this encounter was proving to be! The sooner she could work out the mistake and get rid of the man, the better she would feel. She stood by the open door as he came back to the front of the house.
He removed his cap and ran his fingers through the tousled front locks of his fairish hair. Without being asked, he bent down and removed his boots, placing them neatly under the hall table.
Anna hoped he would not be staying long enough to justify this gesture. She decided to take the offensive.
“I did contact an artist by the name of Lawren Drake for a commission but I have not heard from her.
Is there some mistake here?”
“Not really. You are looking at Lawren Drake.”
Anna’s impatience vanished as she realized her error. She had assumed the name Lawren belonged to a female, not this incommunicative man standing before her in his stocking feet. The mistake was all hers.
“You had better come into the kitchen. I am in need of a cup of tea while I reset my brains. Can I offer you something Mr. Drake? “
“Just Lawren, please, but I will take some tea if you are making it.”
The routine of making tea allowed Anna some time to gather her thoughts. She was wondering how to politely dispose of the man as she could not see him being sympathetic to her needs with regard to the tricky business of the portrait. She might, however, have insulted him with her assumptions and a chat over tea would compensate for that and allow her to bid him farewell as soon as possible. What Alina would say if she came home and found this strange man in her kitchen, did not bear thinking about. She would probably call the police before Anna had a chance to explain anything at all.
As Anna busied herself with cups and spoons and enquired as to his preferences for milk and sugar, she noticed the stranger’s attention was not on his replies but rather on the kitchen and dining room which he seemed to be studying intently. The thought that he might be ‘casing the joint’ occurred briefly, but she banished that thought from her head. There was nothing immensely valuable visible in his view and should he pounce at her, heaven forbid, she had a selection of heavy cooking utensils immediately to hand.
Clearing her throat to summon back his attention, she placed the tea tray in the centre of the glass table and prepared to listen to the reason why this man had such a confusing name.
“My father was always interesting in art and artists. He was only a hobby painter who admired real artists, especially The Group of Seven. He named me after Lawren Harris in the hope that the name would influence me to paint the great Canadian landscape.”
“Did it work?”
“Sadly, no!” He chuckled remorsefully. “He has never reconciled himself to the fact that I prefer the human landscape to the great outdoors.”
“Your father must surely be pleased you did pursue art?”
“I doubt that. He hoped I would be more successful and, clearly, I am not.”
Anna was beginning to find this personal conversation somewhat embarrassing so she moved on to the issue that concerned her. “Are you at all interested in my project, Lawren?”
He turned his intent gaze from the depth of his tea cup onto Anna’s face and she was startled to see the strange colour of his eyes darken to a deep gold hue as he considered the question. For a moment she wondered what age this fellow might be. There was something neither young nor old in his face.
“I am not sure. I need to get a better sense of your intention here. A portrait is a very subjective thing and a painting of a dead person can only show the surface and that is never satisfactory for an artist.”
Anna looked away from his penetrating eyes and responded reluctantly. “I am willing to try to provide some background for you, but I must confess that I have not ever met the relative whose portrait I wanted you to paint.”
This information seemed to have settled the doubt in Lawren Drake’s mind. He rose quickly and brushed his hands together as if discarding the entire prospect.
“I can’t honestly take on this assignment when there is little hope of producing something either one of us would find adequate.”
Anna saw all hope vanishing of ever completing the idea of honouring Helen Dunlop in this way. She stood to lead him out and simultaneously discarded the thought of protesting the artist’s decision.
He appeared to have some integrity about his work and in a way, it was too bad he was not interested.
Anna got the sense he would have done a better-than-average job of it, if he had been willing to try.
“I am sorry to have wasted your time,” she said, as she fetched his jacket from the closet.
He turned on his heel as soon as he thrust his feet back into his boots and, without replying, grasped the door handle as if to leave. Then, unexpectedly, he straightened up and became very still.
Anna drew breath and watched, curious to know what he might be thinking.
“Don’t give up!” he declared, and quickly ran out into the rain without another word of explanation.
Anna closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.
“How strange!” she wondered aloud.
Dismissing the entire encounter, she walked back into the kitchen to clear away the dishes before Alina arrived home from the warehouse. There would be something unusual to discuss over their meal tonight she concluded with a rueful shrug of her shoulders.