Mortal Ghost by Lowe L. Lee

Author:Lowe, L. Lee [Lowe, L. Lee]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2009-03-14T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

‘I’ve brought you something,’ Jesse said.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a miniature snowdome no bigger than an egg. Unlike the usual plastic souvenirs, the dome was surprisingly heavy. He shook it, and the delicate ballerina inside was surrounded by white snowflakes swirling in a slow dance, snow that glittered with a silvery metallic sheen. Sarah gazed at it in astonishment.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘A second-hand shop near Siggy’s place. It’s quite old, I think. French, probably. The base is made of porcelain, and you can see the irregularities in the glass.’

‘She’s so lifelike,’ Sarah said. The flakes were still drifting downwards.

‘Hand-painted,’ Jesse said with a touch of pride. The globe had been a find, spied by accident in a jumble of paperweights and tarnished brass ornaments when he’d gone into the shop for a look at some old books, none of which proved anywhere near as interesting.

Sarah held the dome up to the light, gave it another shake, and watched the snow eddy around the dancer, whose arabesque was rendered with exquisite precision. Even her tiny tutu was pleated and marked out in silver and blue.

‘She looks as if she were about to meet her Snow Prince.’ Sarah smiled at Jesse. ‘Thank you. It’s the best gift I’ve had in ages.’

Jesse flushed with pleasure.

~~~

Thursday evening Thomas came by and within a short time succeeded in persuading Sarah to go out—something no one else had managed, Jesse acknowledged with mixed feelings, since her rape. There was a vernissage in the art gallery where Thomas had a part-time summer job.

‘Brilliant paintings,’ Thomas said. Then a broad grin, ‘And great food.’

People were spilling out onto the pavement like plump and glistening larvae by the time the three of them arrived at the gallery. At first Sarah shrank back, but Thomas hooked his arm in hers and steered her towards a smaller exhibition room at the rear, while Jesse stopped to snare some vol-au-vent cases stuffed with prawns, then a fistful of miniature meatballs.

The artist, who had the odd name of Feston Blackbrush, painted colourful tongue-in-cheek portraits, bizarre still lifes, and phantasmagorical landscapes which showed a strong liking for Hieronymus Bosch. It was difficult to move freely, and Jesse soon found himself tided in front of a large triptych occupying nearly an entire wall of the gallery—a modern take on The Garden of Delights. One fornicating couple, Jesse swore, were none other than Mal and Angie, or their doppelgänger.

Unable to find Sarah in any of the exhibition rooms, Jesse was heading through the doorway into a back corridor when he came face to face with Tondi, dressed in more skin than cloth. Inadvertently his eyes went to her midriff, where now a small red stone glittered in her belly-button.

‘Like it?’ she asked.

Jesse tore his eyes away. He felt his cheeks redden.

‘No problem,’ she said, stepping closer. ‘I thought you protested a little too much last time.’

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked belligerently.

‘Same as you, I imagine. Looking at the paintings.

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