Free Light by Eric Rendel Page A

interest in the goblet and, if possible to buy it
from her with Ben Tiferet’s money.  So, a hasty appointment had been made for
the early afternoon and, at the agreed time, Jake was sitting in Ben’s hired
car outside the large detached house in which the girl apparently resided with
her mother.  It was quite obvious from their initial telephone conversation
that Miss Linford was not particularly happy to see a reporter.  Whether this
was just because she shunned publicity or because she had something to hide,
Jake did not know.  He was confident that he was enough of a journalist to
decide which it was.  He had claimed, of course, that the meeting was about her
painting and that he was from the local paper.  At least that would be
believable and he did have a press card that could be produced.
    Jake had invested his time well and spent
a couple of hours looking at some of Cherry Linford’s work that was currently
on exhibition in the nearby library.  He could not say that he was a great fan
of abstract art but it was clear from the use that she had put to colour that
Cherry Linford was one angry young lady.  The question was, why?  Maybe he
could use that as an opening.
    Jake rang the doorbell.
    A few moments later he was greeted by a
striking middle-aged woman.  The mother, no doubt.  If he did not know better
he would have said that she was Jewish from her appearance but he guessed that
was most unlikely.  He introduced himself.
    ‘Cherry is expecting you.  Come into the
lounge.  Would you like a coffee whilst you are waiting?’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Jake followed the woman into the
tastefully decorated room.  This was obviously a house owned by people with
money who took a pride in beauty.  Virtually all the furniture seemed to be
antique and Jake felt quite certain that there was not a reproduction amongst
them.
    He sat there on a leather Chesterfield
with his coffee before him and waited nervously for his subject.  A few minutes
later the mother, Hester, as she introduced herself, re-appeared.
    ‘I’m sorry, Mr Tranton.  Cherry asks if
you would go upstairs to her studio.  I’ll show you the way.’
    As Jake climbed the stairs for the first
time he wondered what the artist would be like.  At the auction he had only
seen her from the rear and, based on her telephone manner, he rather expected
an ogre.  The very last thing he thought he would see was a beautiful young
woman but that was just what he saw as he walked through the door.
    ‘Mr Tranton,’ she stated in a soft, quiet
voice without moving from her seat.
    She looked fantastic.  Deep auburn hair
cut above her shoulders and warm skin that seemed to glow with health.  Her
emerald eyes were striking and sparkled with their own magic.  Jake could have
stared at her for ever but he knew that he would have to control himself if he
did not want to appear a fool.
    He turned away.  The studio had no natural
lighting at all.  He wondered how anyone could paint in those conditions. 
Surely artificial light gave a different appearance to the colours the girl
utilised.  It was something he could ask during the interview.
    The focal point of the room was the easel
before which Cherry sat.  Upon it was something that Jake could only call one
of the most hideous monstrosities that he had ever had the misfortune to see. 
It was awash with reds and crimsons, furious spirals of livid colour that
seemed to say, ‘I hate you,’ and, in some way, Jake felt quite guilty in its
presence.  There was no doubt at all, as much as he disliked abstract art, this
composition was an image of raw power.  Cherry Linford was an accomplished
artist.
    As his eyes scanned the walls of the room
Jake saw the prints that hung there.  Nothing of the girl’s work but the images
were equally haunting.  There was Münch’s Scream , a painting that seemed
to cut through sanity like a knife and there also were pictures that had been
drawn, painted or even photographed