Reaching out

Bay of Islands, just off Russell township

Things are feeling better today - closer to my usual sense of centeredness. I have had help from my support team on the subjective side of life and I am grateful for it.

As we move into December I realise it is important to hold that peaceful centre of light to the very best of my ability - not only for my own benefit but for everyone's best interests. It is the one constructive thing we can all do no matter how hectic our lives may be.

I wondered how many others are out there who, like me, are being thrown off course and distressed by life events. How can I reach out to help others, as I was lifted last night? 

Esotericism doesn't usually lie well with orthodox churches of any brand.  Even so, the vocabulary we have to describe divinity is limited and it is necessary to look past the religious terminology- see past the dogma- to appreciate the light of truths they hold in trust for humanity.

There is real power in this inspired Great Invocation, first translated for mankind in June 1945, which I share today. I pass it on now, in love and light, to you all. Please know you are never alone. 

The Great Invocation

From the point of Light within the Mind of God

Let light stream forth into the minds of men.

Let Light descend on Earth.

From the point of Love within the Heart of God

Let Love stream forth into the hearts of men.

May Christ return to Earth.

From the centre where the Will of God is known

Let purpose guide the little wills of men-

The purpose which the Masters know and serve.

From the centre which we call the race of men

Let the Plan of Love and Light work out

And may it seal the door where evil dwells.

Let Light and Love and Power restore the Plan on Earth.

Chapter 10 continues:

Philip glanced around as he took a chair at the kitchen table. He couldn’t believe the transformation. On his first visit to look at Bill's place the walls had been covered with scuffed and peeling teal green paint. All of that had been stripped away. The tongue and groove on the walls and all the cupboard doors were oiled and glowing with a light honey colour. The original door handles and fittings were burnished and the old window frames had been cut back, re-puttied and painted cream. There was now a clear view from the table out into the garden. It was text book restoration so far. 

He glanced up to see Bill watching his face eagerly. “I knew you would do this Billy. It’s very good.”

Bill leaned back against the bench. “I’m having a ball. It’s a long time since I did Domain Drive and I forgot how satisfying it all is. ” He gestured at the new shelving and wooden plate rack by the window and added “Hang on a second.”

Philip watched him disappear through the door to his right where the old scullery was. He came back carrying beer, cheese and a jar of pickled onions saying “Here we’ll start with this lot.” He moved around finding plates and some fresh foccaccio."By the way, thanks for sorting out my new tenants."

Philip took a sip of his beer and started to take off his tie before answering. He cleared his throat. “Bill we have to talk about that – well something related to that.”

Bill sat down and started to break up the bread and carve up some brie. “They were OK weren’t they? I mean I didn’t meet them personally but…”

“No I hear they were fine.”

“How do you mean you heard?”

“Well I’ve been pretty hectic. I’ve had an assistant minding the gallery for me. I might make it a permanent arrangement actually. It’s working pretty well.”

“Oh right. Well he thought they were decent?”

“She did, yes.” Philip helped himself to cheese and studied it carefully.

“Well that’s good.” Bill popped in a pickled onion and crunched it appreciatively. “So who’s the new lady assistant- anyone I know?”

Philip coughed. “Rhona” he said muffled by his cheese.

“What?” Bill hadn’t caught it and reached for some bread. Philip watched him without answering. Bill glanced up expecting a reply and paused. Philip sat lower in the chair and looked at the roof before saying too loudly “I said Rhona.” He looked back at Bill. “Rhona is my new assistant. She said they were fine, young but steady looking kids and sensible. OK?”

Bill was crunching onion in slow motion as he sat back in his chair and took up his beer.

“I didn’t know she was there. I would have found another way to do it if I had.”

Seeing the look on Philip’s face Bill exhaled slowly and stood up again, turning away to look out the kitchen window, holding his beer in one hand. After a while he said to the window “She would be fine about it anyway.”

Philip leaned his elbows on the table. “No Billy she was not fine. She was angry and upset but she hid it beautifully." Bill turned back to the table but stayed leaning against the bench. He shrugged. “So-I know now not to call in at the gallery and make it difficult. What’s the problem?”

Philip shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you were like that Bill.”

“Like what?”

There was no answer.

“Like what?” Bill’s face was set in a way that Philip knew from experience. He could see there was no chance he would let it drop.

“Sit down. I don’t want your weight behind the blow.”

Bill’s eyes softened “I’m not going to hit you, you’re my best mate.” He sat down and opened another beer and passed it across the table. “Say it.”

Philip sighed. “It looks from the outside like you used her. That’s what I mean. She’s a good person. You never did that to your women before, well not to my knowledge.”

Bill just stared at him. Finally he said huskily “You know nothing about it. Besides, she went back to her husband and that was that.”

Philip looked a question mark at him, which made Bill demand “What are you looking at me like that for?”

 “That might be what you hoped would happen, but it didn’t.”

Bill scraped his hair back behind his ears.  “Shit.” He got up again saying it was time to see the back porch.

They installed themselves on the back steps side by side and sat in silence a while until Bill said “OK. Start at the top. What happened when I left?”

“Ring and ask her yourself.”

Bill drew on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. They sat a little longer. Bill lit another cigarette. Finally he blurted out “How is she?”

“She’s magnificent. She’s different. Still Rhona but more, I don’t know, just more so.”

Bill stubbed out his cigarette. “Thanks.” He stood up and stretched. “Shall we go get Chinese? I need a walk.”

Decision Time

Warkworth River, Northland, New Zealand

So I've been at a low ebb these last twenty four hours . There are some big decisions to be made in the week ahead and I guess it is anxiety that has drained my energy.
Let's face it: Fear is a dirty word. May be if I sit still  and keep my mind quiet the tide will turn

Drawing from Life continues:

Chapter 10

The first week working for Philip went smoothly enough. The routine of getting up and opening the gallery by ten seemed to Rhona to be useful and productive. Gracie came to the gallery after school and sat with her until 4.30 when Philip usually came in. He was in phone contact during the day too but Rhona thought he rather enjoyed their evening “post mortem”, as she called it.

She made good sales in the first couple of days, as well as clearing the back-log of administration which Philip had been trying to keep on top of in the evenings. Her employer was delighted. He told her he hadn’t dared hope for business acumen as well as art knowledge. The only negative about the position was that she found she thought of Bill often, especially when it was quiet.

It was being in Parnell that did it, she decided. It was so close to his home and their shared surroundings. When the bus went past his house in the mornings she formed the habit of deliberately looking the other way. It was childish and pathetic, she knew. So was the way she imagined him walking into the gallery and saying “Hi Rhona, I’m back. Lock up and come home with me.”

The last Wednesday before Christmas killed that particular fantasy. Gracie had finished school and come in with her for the day. They had had a good morning chatting and making plans for the holidays. Early in the afternoon a young couple came in and asked for Philip. The girl had a short bleached pixie hair cut and cerise lips. Her partner was an earnest androgynous looking boy with a satchel. Rhona asked if she could help. The girl said they were there to pick up the key for the apartment in Domain Drive. There were only a few apartments Rhona knew of on that road and only one that Philip could be involved with.

Rhona was all efficiency, unaware that she was chewing her lip, until the girl asked her if there was a problem. She dialled Philip to enquire. He sounded shocked at her question and started to stammer an explanation. She cut him short, asking the whereabouts of the keys. They were in the kitchen drawer. She briskly thanked him and hung up.

Making small talk as she located them, Rhona discovered the young man was in Auckland for six months research at the medical school. Evidently these two were older than they looked. He told her it was just by chance that they had seen the advert’ on line. The short term, semi-furnished lease suited them perfectly. They had driven past it and hoped to have a look through the place quickly before they finalised terms.

Rhona agreed it was perfect.

It was all she could do to keep a professional demeanour when they returned a little later, saying they would definitely take it. The girl was in such raptures over the “retro styling” and two bathrooms.

When Philip came that afternoon he started apologizing before he was through the front door.  Bill was to let him know when the ad’ went live but he hadn’t checked his email. He paused in front of where she was sitting behind the counter and hesitated before he reached over to touch her arm. She only glanced up saying icily “He’s away obviously.” Gracie was in the kitchen on the lap top and her look in their direction made him pause.

“Look”, he said more quietly, “can I ring you tonight?”

“There’s no need, really” She was avoiding eye contact and concentrating on making up the till for the day. He came around to her side and stood very close beside her. He lowered his voice even more. “This is awful. We’re in touch of course but Bill doesn’t know you’re working for me.” He went on explaining that he had been so busy he forgot to make better arrangements about the keys. She sat listening, reassuring him occasionally, thinking how ridiculous it was that she should be doing the comforting in this situation. Finally running out of patience, she moved aside for him to finish the job of cashing up the till saying “Forget it, life goes on.”

Philip watched her nod to Gracie and gather her things. “Right” he said in more his usual style. “I’ll see you Friday then.”

Rhona moved with Gracie to the door and looked back to wave, her lips forming a smile.

As soon as they were out on the Rise Rhona set off at a furious pace, explaining as she went. “I have been so worried about Mr Ego Egan, how he was getting on after losing his job and everything. I needn’t have wasted my energy. It turns out he’s fine. He just never bothered to get in touch.”

Gracie was trotting to keep up. She managed to say “Stink. That’s not kind.”

Rhona was puffing before she realized how fast she had made Gracie walk up the hill. She slackened her stride.

Gracie flopped into the seat at the bus shelter saying “Anyway it’s his loss. Bill’s I mean. You can tell Philip thinks so.”

Rhona sank down next to her without answering that remark. She was thinking how Philip was so professional he would be considerate to whoever was working for him. It was probably the potential for an ugly scene which appalled him the most. Still, if he wasn’t such an honourable man he wouldn’t get himself into these situations in the first place. She wouldn’t have expected his level of courtesy from anyone else.

Friday was Christmas Eve and Philip was going to stay with Bill for Christmas. Not that he told Rhona that, not after Wednesday’s drama. He only said he was going out of town and that he would close the gallery until the middle of January. He left after locking up and only just made the five o’clock boat.

Despite the holiday crush he managed to find a seat inside. It was a hot afternoon and groups of excited children were thronging the decks. It suited him to be away from their exuberant noise and have the benefit of the air conditioned cabin. Normally he avoided seasonal festivities of any kind but he was keen to see Bill and inspect the progress on the cottage. He planned to surprise Grace Fielding with a visit too. There was no harm in mixing work with pleasure. Besides, being a particularly good client, she could always be relied on for conversation and hospitality.

Philip sat gazing out the window, trying to distract himself from the appalling smell of sour milk and stale food. It was also difficult to block out the inanities of his fellow passengers. He began mulling over what he now called the Keys Fiasco.

He had expected Rhona to be a bit cool to him after that business on Wednesday, but she was her usual friendly self this morning. If she was going to be working for him next year Bill will have to be told. He would have to say something about it on this visit – face to face. He didn’t want to take the flak if Bill walked in and found her there. Not to mention how unfair it was to Rhona keeping her in the dark. She obviously still felt something for Bill, even after being left like that.

Philip sighed and turned away from the window. He had never found it easy to get along with women. Rhona was the first female he had ever employed and he wasn’t entirely sure of his motivations for doing so. Still, there was no denying it was a pleasure to have her there. She was reliable, pleasant to the clients, knowledgeable and, it seemed, even tempered.

The daughter was no problem either. You hardly knew the child was there most of the time.

He smiled to himself thinking of his fiancée. He was only a baby then, a twenty year old engaged to his eighteen year old sweetheart- just three years older than Gracie was now. He thought his world had ended when she took off to Australia a month before the wedding. Well he had got over it in the end and it had cured him of chasing after girls. He had his work and his small pleasures in life that sustained him.

He sat idly watching the other passengers around him. There was a harassed mother of two school age boys near him who looked like she had been too busy to check in the mirror for weeks. Her clothing seemed to be chosen for maximum coverage and minimum care. He thought it was sad somehow. Of course there was nothing like a bit of spending money to improve a woman’s looks.

By association his mind wandered back to Rhona. She had smartened up her appearance a lot lately and obviously knew what to buy with her income. He particularly liked the outfit she had on today. It was a cool lavender coloured wrap dress, made from some light fabric that draped itself nicely about her figure. She had looked fresh and summery but professional at the same time.

He smirked to himself remembering an incident that morning.  A client had called in to settle payment on three new works for his boardroom. He kept following Rhona with his eyes and it was a job to keep his attention long enough to do the business. When she had gone out the back, the man had asked him casually if the lady was French. He said the new assistant was the greatest asset in the gallery, which Philip thought was a bit over the top.

There was no denying Rhona was attractive, in an unconventional sort of way. It was her animated movements and speech that were most appealing, though she was striking to look at these days. The thing was that she had this direct way of looking or speaking sometimes, as if she knew everything about you all along, and found you wanting. Her manner made a chap feel dodgy being on the receiving end, as he had been on Wednesday.

Philip he had been on the point of asking her why she didn’t just forget about Bill altogether, but it was none of his business. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with other people’s relationship issues. Besides, her honest answer would have been too much for him.

He shook himself and got to his feet as the boat docked. There was a distasteful crush as he made his way out on to the wharf. Nothing would possess him to take public transport over to Bill’s and he had no intention of walking, so securing a taxi was of the first importance to him. With an authoritative wave of his arm he managed to attract the attention of a cabby parked outside the ferry buildings. It was a van and would likely be shared, but it was the best that could be expected in the circumstances.

To his surprise they got away almost immediately, once the driver knew his destination. The chauffer further informed him that he knew Bill was having company because a new beer fridge had just been delivered to his house. Philip sat next to the driver in appalled silence. Throughout the entire journey as he was regaled with all the recent gossip relating to his host.

Never more glad to reach his target address, Philip paid the man off as fast as possible. He thought to call in on Grace Fielding first, to wish her the best of the season, but as he walked down her path there was the taxi driver again, yelling at him as he turned his van around “She’s gone to town mate. Back Boxing Day.”

Philip made his way to Bill’s door, which was the cottage adjacent to Miss Fielding’s.

When his friend appeared Philip blurted out “This place is a Bloody Village. They all know your business and share it with whoever they meet.”

Bill stood there relaxed and grinning. His calm voice just made things worse as first.

“Come in you poor bastard.” Philip found himself being plucked from the front step. “Who pushed your button anyway?”

“That taxi driver…” Philip was still furious. “The most unprofessional…”

“Short guy?” Bill was still grinning inanely.

“I don’t know. He was sitting down – probably short, definitely old, nosey and indiscreet.”

Bill grinned. “That’ll be Casey. He’s alright. Look mind that wiring on your left. I haven’t quite finished in the hallway yet.”

Philip raised his hand, the beginnings of a smile around his lips. It was a well known fact that he did not do camping. “You mentioned a guest room. What do you mean you haven’t quite finished?”

“Well the roof’s on isn’t it? The plumbing works. Some rooms have power. You can rusticate a few days Phil. Come and get a beer.”

On Women Friends

This afternoon I went with my sister to visit one of Mother's friends. We took along food and garden offerings, little tokens of the companionship she and Mother shared- and despite my earlier misgivings it was a wonderful afternoon.

Before she died my Mother had asked me to make this visit, telling me which plants she wanted me to take. She knew how this small request was a Big Thing for a very private person to do.

I always thought there was a knack to friendship amongst women - some mysterious code of conduct I had never been inducted into. Friendship with men and mixed company seemed so much easier. No such friend ever sought to intrude into my innermost thoughts, we just got out and did stuff-easy.

Today I saw there is no secret woman code. When there is a match of interest and temperament, and lashings of good will,  the level of acceptance generates rapport. It must be this rapport that meshes women together, stitching us in concentric circles of relatedness. 

Most of my Mother's friends are strong, independent women leading busy lives. The one I met today was no exception, yet she made the visit so easy we stayed for ages- sharing ideas, family happenings and time together- stitching a new segment into the cloth of interlinking friendships. Thank you Claudia. 

Drawing from Life continues:
That week, and for some time afterwards Rhona found concentrating on any task was an effort. There was such a potent sense of loss clouding her mind that the usual routine activities seemed trivial. On Thursday she was late dressing and nearly missed the bus to work. Once there she began packing orders with an assumed composure. Nevertheless she caught Paul eyeing her several times with concern.

While dinner was cooking that night Rhona finally brought her sketchbooks and pencils out of hiding. All day at work she had been thinking of Eric and what he had told her when they had discussed personal power. It was only a general, theoretical conversation but the emphatic way he gave his recipe for success had embedded itself in her mind:
 “The key is to be gentle on yourself, but relentless. Be ruthless in clearing away any behaviour or attitude that inhibits your goals.” 
Her own goal was to return to a creative life, he had known that without being told, as he had known most things. Being without him now she craved such work- anything to shift her focus from the past to the future.

Gracie had a lot of homework that evening but appetite got the better of her, as it often did. She came out of her room to find Rhona working at one end of the dining table.

She picked up the spiral bound notebook her mother had on the table and flicked over the pages. “I didn’t know you could do this. Cute, hey that’s Charlie’s cat isn’t it?”

Rhona put her pencil down and leaned over the book as Gracie held it.

“I did that one today. She just came and sat down on the packing bench right where I was working. It was so lovely and just what I needed, you know, to have her there just being comfortable beside me.”

“Awesome. This is cool, the one here with the faces in the bus window.” Gracie looked up at her “I’ve never seen you drawing before.”

“Well most of the time I have that little book in my bag. I have to practice if I’m going to get back into it.”

Gracie put the book back on the table and sat down, asking what she meant.

It was a shy sort of smile Rhona gave her, as she explained her new ambition to work as an artist.

Gracie approved. “Wow. Hey Auntie Grace would be pleased. She always says it’s a crime not to use your talents.”

Rhona hunched her shoulders and put the pencil down, moving it exactly parallel to the spine of the book. “Maybe, but I’m not brave enough to tell anyone just yet.”

Later that evening Rhona rang Valerie, and invited her over. She put the phone down afterwards smiling and shaking her head. Val had just given her what she called “a right tune up” for failing to keep in touch. Her cardinal sin was forgetting to clear her answer phone. Rhona couldn’t start to explain about Eric Bates. Val was right- she had disappeared off the radar for a while, but she was wrong in attributing that silence to depression. It was true the answer phone hadn’t been cleared though. She had forgotten to check when she got home.

Rhona played the tape, becoming very still when she heard Philip’s voice. It was a fine, low pitched voice that matched the man. He spoke in an unhurried way but it was clear the business was urgent. He would like her to work for him on the remaining weekdays, except Thursdays, from now until Christmas. She knew that if he had asked a month ago she would have agonised over the decision for hours, worrying if she was informed enough or capable enough- or any of a dozen other concerns. Now she had no hesitation over her own abilities. She did, however, wonder if it was wise to agree. He was Bill Egan’s best friend.

When she returned the call Philip was completely business-like. He apologised for making arrangements at such short notice. He really did need help to keep the gallery open while he was so busy with other work. There was both surprise and pleasure in his voice when he accepted her offer to come in the next day.

While she was in this administrative frame of mind Rhona checked her email. She was deleting the advertising ones and idly watching the list flick over when one caught her eye. “Le Domino Noir” was the subject. It reminded her of an opera. It was an opera she was sure, but the sender Justin Clarke was not known to her. She clicked on it anyway, out of curiosity.

He was based in Nagasaki, of all places, and coming to New Zealand for three weeks around Easter time, part holiday and part work. He had known Charlie years ago when they were both training in London and flatted together. All very nice she thought, but nothing to do with me unless he wants to come and stay. That seemed unlikely.
Reading on she discovered he was in the fashion business, with a predominantly mature Japanese and American clientele. This would be possibly his last collection, which he planned to launch on his website for the Northern Hemisphere winter. Would she be interested in collaborating with him?

Rhona read the mail through twice more. This was an ambitious call. Could she manage photography at this professional level? There was a link to his website and a series of contact details in the mail. Her forefinger flicked back and forth across her leg as she waited for his site to load. It did so quickly and the layout impressed her with its understated and elegant presentation. She found his profile further in.

There was a photo of him- a grey haired man in his sixties, immaculately suited and clean shaven with impossibly even teeth. Justin Clarke seemed to specialise in sculpted minimalist lines, using tailoring and drape of superlative textiles, rather than the artifice of frills flowers and applied ornament. It dawned on her that no mention of price was to be found anywhere on the website. The text was speckled with words such as “bespoke” and “individual” which told her all she needed to know about his target market.

Rhona glanced from the screen to the board above the computer where she had pasted some of her recent photos. Fashion photography was a whole other art form and not one that had engaged her interest, beyond an appreciation of clothes. Surely Charlie had oversold her talents this time. What could he possibly want from her? She decided to ask about it before she replied.

 The rest of her mail took only minutes to clear, it was mostly school newsletters and sports notices for Gracie. Nothing from her older children she noted wryly. She had been amazed at their rancour over the separation. She raised an eyebrow at the screen “what would they say if they knew I was wealthy now?” she asked herself in an innocent tone. She had made no effort to inform her older children of her new financial status. It was impossible to do so without drawing attention to John’s deceit.

There was nothing from their father either. Since the solicitor became involved John’s constant mail and unannounced visits had stopped.  So, despite Susan’s earlier pleas for reconciliation, she could only assume that he was as comfortable with their new arrangements as she was. Either that or Marcus had given him good incentive to stay away.

She called out to Gracie. “I’m just going to ring Charlie and find out what he’s been up to. Some fashion designer is emailing me about Easter.”

Gracie put her head around the door. “What fashion designer Mum?”

Rhona rolled her eyes. “Justin somebody – it’s probably a mistake but I’ll find out.”

“Charlie doesn’t make mistakes. It’ll be another one of his glamorous friends I’ll bet- like that textile artist he brought here last year. Come in the lounge then, I want to listen in.”

When Charlie answered Rhona let him know they would have to swap to weekend walks until after Christmas because she would be working for Philip. After letting him distract her with minor matters she came to the point of her call. “I have just had an email from Japan. Start at the beginning and tell me what you’ve been organizing.”

There was a deep throated chuckle at his end. He clearly thought he had excelled himself this time. He gave her the background, stressing that Justin was looking for all sorts of people at the New Zealand end. “models, major domo, camp mother, all sorts” was how Charlie described the requirements.

Rhona suggested it would be simpler to use an agency. Charlie clearly thought she had no conception of how things worked, telling her  “He is using an agency darling, but there is such a thing as the network too you know.”

She was curled up on the sofa, grinning at Gracie who, from her vantage on the floor, was hanging on every word.  She sniffed dismissively, teasing him, and added “Anyway there can’t be any shortage of good photographers in his part of the world either.”

“He wasn’t after a photographer.”

“Well what’s he writing to me for then?”

“Because he wants a model.”

Rhona frowned. “But I don’t know any models. I’m a housewife.”

She rolled her eyes when he told her sharply to use the past tense in front of the H word.

Charlie left a theatrical pause before saying delightedly “He wants you to model.”

Rhona threw one foot in the air and made the very indelicate sound of a balloon being deflated. “Ha” She made an effort to pull herself together. “Don’t be wet Charlie. Send him a photo. I’m a dwarf on the wrong side of forty-five!” She broke in to more fits of hilarity. When a reasonable pause came Charlie said, still sounding pleased with himself, “He has a photo, several. That’s how he knew you were perfect.”

“What?” She sat up straight, suddenly serious. “What photos?”

She looked down at Gracie in horror when he told her he had sent away some photos Paul had taken of her. They had been fooling about with cameras one weekend, eons ago it seemed.

The girl was sitting with her chin on her bent knees, her eyes dilated with excitement.

Charlie sounded excited too. “It’s true. Didn’t he mention he designs for petite women, mature women.”

Rhona tried to speak calmly. “Yes but Charlie be realistic. Apart from genetic blessings good models are trained professionals. They start when they’re kids Gracie’s age. Besides there isn’t a lens effect soft enough to cover all my wrinkles. I just couldn’t.”

He insisted that was no objection in a digital world. “Besides, Justin wanted a real woman- with real personality- not a professional model. His whole creative idea for the shoot hinges on it.”

She jumped up from the sofa, narrowly missing Gracie, who dodged quickly out of the way. She began raking one hand though her hair and inspecting the ends with disgust. Charlie waited out the silence while she looked down at her daughter nodding and wriggling frantically. Finally she said “I’ll go if Gracie goes. Not even for Charlie Rivers will I go alone. I don’t suppose you’re going to be there to hold my hand. Anyway Paul would hate it.”

Charlie resisted the temptation. “No I hadn’t planned to go.”

“See. I thought not. Why do I love you Charlie? Remind me will you?” Gracie had her fist in her mouth and was making muffled choking noises. “You do realize how many of my panic buttons this is going to push.”

When she got off the phone Gracie leaped on her shrieking “Awesome” and “he’s amazing.” She tried Rhona’s patience parodying models and photographers in mime.

When she stopped prancing about she asked “Can I really come too?”

“What? Of course you’re coming. I’m scared to death. Besides you’ll love it. Right now I want to panic OK?”

“Cool. Can I tell Francie?”

Rhona just flapped a hand, pushing Gracie off her in a mock wrestle. As she went out on the porch for a cigarette she muttered to herself “damn- models probably don’t smoke either.”

Looking Back

I have started researching a new local history topic. Originally I set out to write historical fiction, based around the lake on the North Shore, Auckland. By some synchronicity the period I had chosen - 1845 to 1870 - has very little coherently ordered material available. So I am poring over old newspapers and family files to piece events together for myself. All good - but there is that ever present snag there for historians: we tend to look at the past through a distorted glass, coloured by the subconscious attitudes of our own time. Let's hope I can see clearly enough to pick out the defining features of life by the Lake two centuries ago- and go a little way to imagining what the colours and textures of the community looked like from their eyes.

Meanwhile we continue in the 21st century with Chapter 9 of Drawing from Life

The next morning Mr Bates ushered Rhona in with his characteristic charm. He seemed in unusually high spirits. While she sat forward on the edge of her seat, fiddling with her sleeve cuffs, he seemed to exude confidence and energy. Even his voice had the strength of a younger man. When she asked him what there was to be so chipper about he told her how happy he was that she had called him. “You salved my conscience you see.”  Even though he hadn’t known she was the subject in his painting he explained that he had known who she was from the first day they met.

Rhona asked with an edge of suspicion in her voice “How do you mean?” Here was more intrigue, as if she hadn’t had enough already. She stiffened when he explained he had worked closely with her father for many years. He went on, apparently oblivious to her unease. “Our arrangement came to an end because we differed over business practice. That is to say, I refused to be involved in his personal vendettas.”

All she could say was “I see.” There was a familiar sensation of entrapment, strangely at odds with her surroundings. He was elaborating anyway and not expecting a response. She listened to Mr Bates describe his last six months as a consultant to the Chalmers group. When he mentioned that her future husband was a new graduate recruit to the media group at that time her hands clenched into tight fists on her lap.  He was genuinely surprised she hadn’t known that.

She thought how simple minded she must seem to him not to have realized. Her remark “I thought it was just the families were old friends,” seemed lame even to her own ear.

Apparently John Manners hadn’t left the company until just before their marriage- when it was understood he would be managing her affairs. Her father had obviously arranged it all. “I wasn’t even living at home. I had nothing to do with them. ”Rhona forced herself to breathe deeply. “You remembered all that? On a bus ride?”

“Not all at once, but the name struck a chord. The rest fell into place later.”

Rhona asked why he hadn’t said anything of this connection before, adding “Why couldn’t you be straight with me?”

He leaned over to place his hands over her tightly bound arms. “I saw little to gain in such a disclosure and…much to lose.”

Rhona could not bring herself to return his display of affection. “And?”

“And I saw an opportunity to do something of tangible value for you.”

Rhona went to the beach-side windows, still holding her arms around her body. Eric was saying “I was waiting for you to share the whole of your concerns. I wanted you to trust me with everything.”

She thought how odd it was that she had come here to escape those very thoughts and concerns he was referring to.

Rising slowly from the sofa, he came across to join her. He spoke softly. “We cannot deny malice exists Rhona. It makes its home where ignorance abides.”

Eventually she blew out her cheeks and threw her arms out wide. “Yes willful ignorance. You are right Eric. Well. How serious we are. Show me your worst Mr Bates.”

He tucked one side of her copper mop behind her ear and turned her around playfully. They returned to the sofa where there was a plate of ham sandwiches on the tray and a folder beside them on the table. She helped herself to both. He sat back eating in silence watching her flick through the paperwork he had assembled.

 It was quite a dossier she saw. There was information about the trust. He had gathered data on several properties around Auckland and elsewhere, more concerning a share portfolio and bank account details she did not recognise. It all testified to the illusionary construction her marriage had been. Inside that phantasm she had raised her children and lived her life. The rest was evidently fiction.

She closed the folder, her eyebrows signaling a question mark as she looked across at him. Mr Bates smiled cheekily “I am waiving my usual fee. This one was for you and for Roger. Marcus Bearing will collect it this evening.”

Rhona placed the dossier back on the table saying “Dissembling aside, I could never begin to thank you enough for it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to start.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a little wrapped box, placing it in the centre of the folder. “I would like you to open this, with my fondest regards.” He sat back looking pleased with himself. She stood and came around to his side to sit with him, picking up the box as she came.

“Eric…” He placed his hand over hers in a strong grasp where she sat holding the parcel.

“Humour me.” There was urgency in his voice now. “I am literally twice your age, more even. I know what I am doing. I want you to have this.”

 Inside was a brooch constructed in platinum. The open-work wings of the butterfly in flight sparkled with tiny diamonds. Its segmented body and antennae were formed of graduated sapphires and aquamarines. It replicated precisely the form of the drawing on her card.

As she met his questioning eyes she said “It is magnificent. Thank you” He touched her cheek, then held her chin in his finger and thumb. “I have both met my ideal woman and done her a service. What else could a chevalier desire?” He took up the brooch and pinned it to her shirt.  She knew what he was telling her when he added “I shall go on from here a happy man.”

Marcus rang Rhona on Wednesday to let her know that he had spoken with her husband. He made no reference to Mr Bates. He told her negotiations were continuing on her behalf, without elaborating further. She emailed Mr Bates on Thursday morning to bring him up to date with these developments.  When he had not replied by the evening Rhona attributed her anxiety to her general state of nervous tension. By nine o’clock she found herself ringing him to make sure. There was no reply.

She went to bed convincing herself that he may be out at bridge, or perhaps having an early night. At 2am she woke thinking of him and lay staring into the dark, hearing his voice saying “Fly little one.”

The funeral was, ironically, on the next Tuesday morning. Rhona walked down to the cemetery chapel and sat near the back with the young couple who had done twice-weekly domestic work for Mr Bates. She left immediately after the ceremony, skirting around the back and into the side streets, avoiding tea and cakes and polite inanities.

Several days later she received a call from solicitors acting for the estate of Mr Bates. He had left a wrapped parcel on his bedside table addressed to her, evidently intending to post it. They would send it on.

 When the package arrived it was clear that it had been opened and re-taped. At least the letter inside had not been tampered with. Rhona took the picture and the note to her room. Mr Bates had long ago chosen a plain oak frame for Roger’s oil. Neither the genre nor the subject was to her taste but she propped it up on the pillow and decided the frame enhanced the small size of the painting, with its intimate subject of metamorphosis. The enclosed note read:

My dear Rhona

 “We still remain we”, as Robert Graves said.

The picture I entrust to you. I would not have it exposed to the eyes of those who know not the privy place it holds in my heart.

Eric

She restored everything to the packaging and placed it at the back of her wardrobe. It was her most privy place.

My thanks for Flickr for this image of the  Sun clock on
Chartre Cathedral

This November is interesting. Light festivals are taking place, Christians are preparing for their upcoming festival of goodwill and rebirth. The Son/Sun is a hot topic in secular conversations too with the eclipse a few days ago - and the Lunar eclipse is coming up.
At the back of all this is the awareness of Light. Modern man has literally lit up the globe with his use of electricity and gas, as the Christmas tree lights popping up in shop windows testify. Yet these lights are nothing when compared to the source they spring from.
The light that powers our Universe is All that Is. This energy, so unlike the emotive sentiment which goes by the same name, is that stupendous force of Love.
Down at street level we can all enhance the light in our lives by little acts of good will, by choosing the peace of silence rather than sharp criticism, by the generosity of a smile to a stranger - we are all related aren't we?


Chapter 8 continues:

Rhona made a phone call later that afternoon to her Aunt Grace, who was full of news about the sale of the cottage next door. The new owner was single and apparently keen to renovate. Her Aunt was delighted there would be no children on her side boundary and relieved that Rhona’s expressed desire to buy it as a weekend place was now out of the question.  “It was never a practical notion," Grace pronounced."Now you can give up any ideas of taking it on.”

Rhona realised they would have to get this out of the way before she got to the point of her call. Assuring her it was never a serious prospect, she added as an afterthought “I don’t have the wherewithal to buy anything at the moment anyway.”

 “Why are you pinching and scraping?” Grace demanded. She seemed to think Rhona had been left money in trust and accused her niece of gross mismanagement.

This was all news to Rhona. At first she thought Grace was confused but it seemed unlikely, given the amount of detail she recalled- even down to the fact that John had been a trustee. When Rhona  confessed she had never seen a statement or recalled signing any papers Grace expressed a very low opinion of her financial literacy. “Surely your solicitor set you straight?”

Rhona had to admit she hadn’t consulted one, which sent Aunt Grace into an impressive display of indignant outrage. She calmed down as quickly as she had exploded, Grace always did. Finally she remembered to ask Rhona the reason for her call.

 It hardly seemed important now. “I met someone you may remember- a Mr Bates.”

“Oh lord, you don’t mean Eric Bates do you? How did you come to meet him?”

“Oh just by chance.” Rhona had no wish to elaborate.

“Is that so? If anyone could find out what John was up to with your money it would be Eric Bates.”

Rhona could think of no reply to that. Her Aunt invited her for the day on Saturday. The new people were moving the builders in next door the week after, so she wanted to see them before the chaos set in- or so she said.

 Rhona replaced the receiver, knawing at her bottom lip. She knew her father had been a very wealthy man but she had never been on good terms with him. Even if only a portion of his wealth came to her it must have been a substantial amount. She flopped on to the sofa. No wonder John wanted to keep her from seeking a legal divorce settlement. He had banked on her innocence. No, she thought, on my ignorance and trust in human nature- the bastard.

Rhona sat frozen there until after 5 o’clock. Oh my God. Oh My God ran over and over in her head. She tried to breathe over it and think calmly. Gracie walked in after practice about then, demanding to know why she was so upset. Over the meal Rhona explained she needed to get some legal advice about their situation. She didn’t mention any details.

Later that evening, she dialed Mr Bate’s number for the first time. He recognized her voiced immediately - and the anxiety behind it.

In answer to the question she hadn’t yet asked he said “Tell me your difficulty.”

She told him of the news of a trust, of her separation and subsequent position. She mentioned the meagre allowance she had from John since he left and alluded to her reluctance to consult a solicitor because of his threats. It took some time to relate the whole story. Mr Bates encouraged her to speak without interruption until she came to her request. “Would you advise me? What I should do?”

His voice was kind but his reply was business like. “First of all: do you know a solicitor you would use if you felt able to?”

“Grace uses Marcus Bearing.”

“Yes a good choice. I know of him. His father I know better. I suggest you ring him and request an interview. Ask for Monday if you will. That gives us time in which to gather some information through other channels.”

Rhona was silent, unsure what information and what channels he was referring to. His matter of fact tone was reassuring as he suggested she leave the rest of the matter alone, discussing it only with himself or her solicitor. There seemed no alternative but to follow his directions.

Marcus Bearing came out from behind his desk to greet Rhona as soon as she was announced. He was a tall well built man in his late forties. Although his figure was showing signs of a comfortable middle age his face had the animated open cast of a younger man. He was smiling widely as he said “This must be the first time I’ve met you without your Aunt Grace.”

Rhona took the arm chair offered and perched on the edge of it. He returned to his own seat and pulled himself up to the desk. There was further family small talk until he asked her how he could help. Rhona took a deep slow breath before beginning.

“John has left us Marcus. I’m not sure where to start.”

He sat back in a relaxed way, unconsciously flicking his pen with his finger. He had already guessed the reason for her visit, having heard gossip to that effect. He asked her whether John had made any overtures about settlement. Rhona frowned at the carpet while she tried to explain how insistent her husband had been that she should not consult a solicitor.

“Really.” Marcus had leaned forward and was beginning a list of bullet points on his pad. He encouraged her to keep talking until she mentioned something about Grace and a trust.

He smiled up at her and held up his hand in a stop sign. “Just hang on there a minute Rhona. I think what your Aunt means is that he has financial reasons for objecting to a legal settlement.” He took the opportunity to pause and confirm dates of birth and other data relating to the marriage.  He asked “Now what’s this maiden name? It was Hagar back in our student days, wasn’t it?” He looked up at her, obviously delighted with his own powers of recall.

She explained  she had used her mother’s name from the time I left home. “I was christened Rhona Chalmers, as it says on the marriage certificate.”

Marcus was flicking his pen with his finger again. “Chalmers. Now that’s interesting.”He shook his head, smiling, and waved a hand in dismissal. “Just a coincidence probably, Dad had a bit of a gathering at his place last Saturday. It was mostly his older cronies and family, one or two strays. They must have been talking over old times or something.” He grinned at her. “You know how they go on. Anyway that name came up – Chalmers. Was he something to do with media and paper mills and that sort of thing, your father?”

She nodded cautiously, silently considering Mr Bates’ definition of retirement.  When she shifted uncomfortably in her chair Marcus dropped his pen casually and sat back from the desk. He promised to “look into that business” and get the things rolling on a separation agreement. That was all there was to it apparently. A few moments later she made her way out to the lift rather shakily. It occurred to her between floors that she ought to get the locks changed as Charlie had suggested.

As soon as Rhona left, Marcus put through a call to his parents’ house. When his father answered Marcus came straight to the point, asking how the subject of the Chalmers empire tied up with him having Rhona Manners nee Chalmers appear in his office. “What’s going on?”

 He was surprised that a trust had indeed been drawn up by the firm. When Marcus explained that Rhona had known nothing about it he was amazed to hear his father say “So I understand. That’s what Eric and I were talking about the other night.”

Marcus whistled. “There’d be a lot of money involved.” He paused then said “I knew this was going to be trouble. She was always a worry that girl.”

Mr Bearing ignored the remark and suggested he get hold of Eric Bates. “He’s been compiling a bit of a dossier on your old school chum John Manners. He met Rhona by chance a month or two ago.”

Marcus sat thinking for some time after that call. He realized that what was being suggested here was loosely termed a “gentleman’s agreement” to secure the best outcome for his client. Whether John Manners would ultimately face a criminal prosecution was not his immediate concern. If the document had been drawn up in his father’s time as senior partner, how had it been administered in the interim? Had they failed somehow in their duty of care? Marcus Bearing went home a worried man.