Something Good by Fiona Gibson

Author:Fiona Gibson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Red Dress Ink
Published: 2008-01-20T22:00:00+00:00

27

Archie’s studio was a proud, stone outbuilding with an end wall replaced by glass. Jane stepped inside, where mass introductions were taking place. There was a young, fresh-faced girl with cropped reddish hair and dangly feather earrings named Paula. A woman with a rich laugh and pregnant bump who spelled her name each time she introduced herself: D-o-r-i-n-a. There was an elderly man, whose pinched eyes and pulled-in lips gave him an air of general discontent, and a younger man in a checked flannel shirt with meaty forearms. “So you’ve come all the way from London?” he asked.

“I’m looking on it as a holiday,” Jane explained, then, fearing that she’d sounded too flippant added, “It was Archie’s work that got me interested in stained glass.”

“Really?” Archie Snail stood in the doorway. He was shorter—way shorter—than Jane had imagined: five foot two at a guess, with a paunchy middle and a round, hot-looking face that made Jane think of a pink balloon. His mouth formed a terse smile as he strode toward her.

“This was years ago,” she added quickly, “at the Barbican. You were showing those pieces with the tiny segments, all the fiery colors—”

Amusement flickered across his face. “Ah, yes. The good days.” He glanced quizzically around the studio as if trying to figure why these random strangers with expectant expressions had clustered around his table. He marched across the room and lowered himself on to a seat behind a small desk in the corner, clutching its edge like some wooden security blanket.

An awkward silence descended on the room. The check-shirted man winked at Jane. “Okay,” Archie muttered, “what I’m hoping to do is show you folks some influences and techniques, arr…” He drifted off, as if suddenly remembering that he had something vital to attend to at home: a leg of lamb in the oven, or a pan of milk on the stove. “So, um,” he continued, “what I’ll do is get started and, er, do something.”

His mouth clamped shut, and he checked his watch. Surely he hadn’t run out of things to say already? Jane was overcome by a wave of foolishness. What had she been thinking, dragging Hannah and Zoë and Nancy all the way here? Archie had picked up a pencil and was scribbling urgently on a pad: making notes, perhaps, on how he might possibly struggle though the next five days.

The door opened and another man strode in. He was tall and angular, with finely sculpted cheekbones and intense blue-gray eyes that hinted at mischief. “Hi, everyone,” he said, “I’m Conor, Archie’s assistant. I’ll show you round the studio, and if anyone needs anything, just ask me, okay?” Jane saw Archie throwing him a relieved look. All the women, she noticed, were gazing at him intently. “If you can’t find me,” Conor added, “I live down at Seal Bay. Just drop by anytime.” Through the window he indicated a tiny white cottage perched at the point where fields met cream colored sand.

“Aren’t you lucky?” Paula enthused.

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