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Something about my questions had alerted him to my inexperience. ‘I’m an amateur. This is my first commission. My first big project. I work… worked as a hotel receptionist in Coalville.’ I lowered my eyes.
Around us the tables filled up, the evening crowd with louder voices and trays of glasses. Food orders were arriving. My stomach rumbled voraciously for food I didn’t fancy. I smelt caramelised onions. Dog breath from a nearby Labrador. My headache intensified.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
I looked up, blinking rapidly. ‘Yes. It’s just the storm. It’s left me on edge.’
He nodded. ‘And so has my presence. I’m not stalking you, you know that, don’t you?’
I twisted my fingers into a ball. ‘I thought… it’s silly, I know, because I’ve not met him. I don’t even know what he looks—’
‘I’m not your Medici person,’ he said, firmly.
I squirmed. ‘I know that now. But when I saw you in the tower, in the rain… You’ve been everywhere I’ve been, and it can’t be a coincidence.’ The sun dipped behind the slate roof of the pub. A cool shadow struck my scorched forehead.
He fingered the rim of his beer glass. ‘No, I agree. I tell you what, I’ll contact Camilla and see if she’s heard of… what did you say his name was?’
‘David Carmichael. He’s a professor of art history at Charnwood University.’ I collected the papers before they blew off the table. ‘I didn’t know him until he asked me to do this. He found me exhibiting at an art college in Coalville, near where I work.’
‘I see.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Weird. Where are you going next?’
I examined a crumbled sheet. ‘Richmond, then Bolton—’
‘Yeah.’ His frown deepened. ‘That is disturbing. And I guess you’re on a predefined schedule too?’
Now the nausea churned up into my throat, which tightened, and I spoke hoarsely, ‘The order of castles is an obvious north to south route. I suppose he might just be helpful with the planning. I have to finish by the end of summer.’
‘Me too. I don’t think Camilla is lying to me. The collection will be a gift for somebody. But yours isn’t?’
‘I don’t know. I post the digital memory sticks to David.’ I halted. There were other things to consider. ‘Are you being paid?’
He guffawed. ‘Yeah, of course. The whole collection, though. Don’t get anything for each painting. Has to be complete. I won’t embarrass you by asking you how much—’
‘But I’m not getting paid. I’m getting this.’ I patted the camera case. ‘Equipment. A digital camera. I can’t afford it on my own. Plus expenses for accommodation and a car for the duration. It’s just a rental.’
‘Considerable costs covered though. I don’t get expenses, except for a modest down payment for the paints. I’m using my savings. So I’m camping—’
‘Camping?’ I stared at the nearly empty pint glass.
He gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb. ‘Camp site the other side of the castle. I come into town for food.’
‘I’m in a bed and breakfast in Darlington. With this crazy couple…’
His eyes glazed over; he didn’t paint portraits. Another small similarity. I cropped people out of the photographs.
‘I don’t know your name,’ he said.
‘Robyn.’ I left off my surname because he had, and it felt like his trust had to earned. Perhaps we hadn’t been supposed to meet. What were the chances anyway? We could have got our days out of synch or gone off schedule and re-ordered the route. Maybe that was the crucial part for Medici’s plan, being different, and creating original pieces of artwork. What if the opposite was true, though? This very meeting could have been engineered, like a collision course. But why? I needed to find out more about Joseph. I tried the casual approach.
‘Joseph. Not Joe or Joey?’
His eyebrows furrowed as if I’d said something distasteful. ‘Robyn, not Rob or Robbie?’
I opened my mouth to say, don’t be daft why would I pick a boy’s name, when I realised his preference was perfectly valid and none of my business. ‘No, of course not,’ I mumbled, my cheeks flushed with heat.
He rose and shook off the crumbs from his sleeves. ‘I’ll be at Richmond tomorrow.’ He stared over my shoulder to the willow trees by the river. ‘I’ve never worked like this before. It’s breathless in its pace. Unnatural. I’m not sure… It’s uncanny this… what exactly? Two commissions running in parallel? I guess it’s possible we’re working for the same person. You’re right, there’s too many things in common.’
‘I know what you mean.’ I stood. I was desperate to email Medici. David wouldn’t be happy, but he was supposedly on holiday. Another option was Yvette. She might find out why Joseph was mirroring my work.
