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I chuckled at her embarrassment. ‘Well, I’m sticking to a theme, then, aren’t I? What about you?’
I crouched down and flipped open the lid of the wooden paint box. Battered and tarnished, the square container had antique properties that dated it. Months ago it had belonged to an admirable friend, who gave it to me, knowing it would be usefully employed, and I had carried it all the way from the Ionian Sea. Inside, the contents were neatly arranged and clean. I selected a tube and squirted the paint onto the plastic palette.
Robyn continued my education. ‘The prison block, which adjoins the keep. It started out as an armoury, built in Victorian times. I have to work both keep and block into the photograph.’ She blocked out her face with the camera and scanned along the wall.
‘You know quite a bit.’ I added another colour, then picked up a brush.
‘I’ve this antiquated guidebook written by a castle guru. He points out the quaint stuff like the conscientious objectors’ graffiti on the walls of the cells. Pity I can’t photograph them, they’re out of the public eye.’ The shutter clicked.
I hadn’t read any guidebooks. I avoided postcards too. ‘How frustrating for you. What else are you taking pictures of?’
She lowered the camera. ‘This is my old film camera; I use the digital for Medici’s list.’ She fiddled with a setting, embellishing the procrastination. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. It depends on my mood.’
My confidence in her story grew. She was obsessed with something, and she didn’t trust me enough to say what it was. I stirred two colours into one blend until it mirrored the hue of the stones.
‘So you have some freedom?’ I asked.
‘It’s mutually beneficial, yes. Kind of. I’m not into latrines or cell blocks. They don’t make me feel anything.’ She glanced away. Her voice had a despondent edge to it.
I had stumbled onto something. There was a weakness to her story, something she hadn’t told me, and I was drawn to find out more about her. Now there was plenty I hadn’t said, but bartering wasn’t an option for me and I’d rather she opened up first. With a few nudges, and luck, she might just reveal what it was she was actually doing so far from home.
Twenty-Two
‘Ihave to go,’ I said. ‘The cell block awaits.’
‘Okay,’ he said, pausing mid-brush stroke. ‘I’ll be longer.’
‘Yes.’ I hung the camera around my neck. ‘Are you staying in Richmond?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Outside.’ He glanced in my direction. ‘Farmer’s field. You?’
‘I’ve escaped Darlington.’ The bickering couple were no longer amusing me. I had left the tiresome accommodation with a stronger appreciation of the bond between my parents. They argued, yes, but never to the extent it was part of their daily routine.
‘Camping has its up and downs. The toilet facilities are trying.’ He grinned; ‘Cheap plastic and far from golden.’
‘I don’t want to imagine, thank you. I did manage to use the washing machine and so I feel thoroughly cleansed.’ The mundane things in life had risen to a whole new level of appreciation.
The smile on his face disintegrated. He looked down at his splattered jeans. ‘Oh. Yeah, well, I’m hoping the next place will have better facilities.’
I covered my mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. I’ve gone over a week without a washing machine and it’s so odd not to have one to hand.’
He dabbed his brush on the paper and colour spread upwards, mimicking the walls. ‘I’ve travelled a lot and put up with worse.’
I wanted to know more, right there, but he was concentrating harder, and his eyes were scanning the stonework.
‘I’m staying here,’ I said, ‘in Richmond tonight; it’s close enough for Middleham Castle.’
The brush stopped moving. ‘Middleham? And then you’re going to—’
‘Bolton?’ Now our eyes locked together. ‘Yes. The day after Middleham. It’s on the list, remember?’
‘Yes, I know. I just thought for a minute you were going to do your own thing.’
I laughed. ‘What? Go off piste again, like you did at Easter?’
‘Well, I had my wrists slapped for doing that. He wouldn’t know, would he? How would he know? You needn’t say anything. I mean, nobody’s put trackers on mobile phones yet, have they?’
I flinched. I hadn’t told him that Medici had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly where I was and what I was seeing.
