Free Hope's Road by Margareta Osborn Page A

dainty feet rather than the haunches of a lion and she was adorned with the most incredible wings of iridescent colours, open to catch the rays of the sun. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, appearing to lean into the wind, face upturned as though she was sensing something. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile touched her face. It seemed the creature was about to take flight into her future. Tammy stared at the figure some more. Then it hit her what the angel was smelling, seeing, leaning towards.
    Freedom.
    â€˜She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ A voice came from the right. A tidy-looking stranger stood beside her. She was kitted out like a solicitor or a banker in a suit. ‘Alice Stringer. I own the gallery.’ The woman caught Tammy’s look of surprise. ‘No, I don’t normally dress like this but I’ve just come back from the bank. Got to walk the walk, talk the talk.’
    Tammy blushed. It wasn’t the first time she’d wished her thoughts weren’t transmitted so plainly to her face. ‘Tammy McCauley. I’m sorry. Stereotyping I guess. Arty types don’t normally – ’
    â€˜Dress in suits, I know. I’ll go out the back and slip into my kaftan if that makes you feel any better?’ Alice Stringer’s green eyes glinted mischievously.
    Tammy warmed to the woman immediately. ‘So . . . how much?’ she asked, waving her hand towards the window.
    â€˜I’m not sure I want to sell her, actually.’ Alice’s gaze moved greedily over the picture. ‘But who am I kidding? I need the sale. This is actually a numbered print of an original painting. It’s one of a series of three. I have number two in the shop but it’s just arrived so I haven’t unpacked it yet. I’m trying to get number three but it’s taking a while.’
    â€˜Who’s the painter?’
    â€˜Reyne Jennings. She’s becoming big in the art world. Her original paintings are starting to sell for a lot of money.’
    And Tammy could see why. The execution and detail of the print in front of her was exceptional.
    â€˜Would you like to see the second one?’
    â€˜Would I ever!’
    â€˜Well, you finish your lunch and I’ll unpack it.’
    Tammy looked down at the forgotten roll in her hand. The bite she had taken tasted awful. ‘I don’t want this any more. I’ll just get rid of it and follow you in.’
    Tammy moved up the street to deposit her rubbish, contemplating the picture. She had inherited a love of art from her grandmother. Shon had never had any time for it, so she hadn’t bought anything since they’d married.
    What was stopping her now though? Why should Shon dictate to her any more?
    She walked into the gallery and found Alice on her knees extricating another print from its packaging. When the picture was finally revealed, both women sucked in their breaths. It was unbelievable. The angel had taken off and was flying. Slipstreams and eddies buffeted her magnificent wings, causing the iridescent colours to sparkle in the sun. Her free-flowing clothing reminded Tammy of a picture she’d once seen in a children’s Bible of the Archangel Gabriel. The sheaths of cloth around the figure in front of her floated with serene grace. The expression on the woman’s face was one of sheer bliss. Freedom. Happiness. Love. The print was numbered 4/100, exactly the same as the one in the window.
    Tammy knew she had to have them. They contained everything she was feeling, especially the need to throw off the shackles of submission and subordination forced on her these last few years.
    â€˜I’ll take them. Both of them.’
    â€˜Don’t you want to know how much first?’
    â€˜No. Yes. Well, how much?’
    Alice named a sum which made Tammy pause. But she swallowed and said she’d take them all the same. She might just