Sea Spray & Skree of Gulls

There was real summer heat today. I wanted to be where I could smell salt sea spray and hear gulls calling while taking the long view of a clear horizon- something to do with packing up my house and moving on at last?
When I found these photos of Russell, Bay of Islands this afternoon I thought I would share them with you. Can you hear the sound the sea makes along the sandstone rocks? That's home calling.

Drawing from Life: Chapter 11 continued

Philip had encouraged Bill to stay with him in a reciprocal arrangement. He seldom entertained more than one or two friends at home and Bill was one of the very few he ever asked to stay. His guest was barely in the door of the apartment before he began unveiling the schedule for the evening ahead. He had been given tickets at the front of the circle for the Town Hall performance of Yo Yo Ma with the Auckland Philharmonia. It was the Elgar and supper was promised afterwards. 

When he traveled Philip often bought a few antique pieces, but Bill had never seen him out with anything like the set of opera glasses he took to the Town Hall.  Philip had been cracking jokes and watching the growing audience for some time before he suddenly sat up straighter and trained his glasses on the area to the left of the center stalls below him. Bill craned his neck over the rail trying to see what he had found but the orchestra was led in and the lights dimmed.

The first part of the programme was pleasant but nothing Bill found inspiring or particularly to his taste. Philip also seemed distracted so they were one of the first to leave their seats in the interval and progress downstairs to the bar. As they moved aside with their drinks Bill was amused to see Philip scanning the room. Here he was thinking they were on holiday. It wasn’t work on his mind though. He told Bill he had seen Rhona with her daughter in the audience.

Bill shrugged thinking it was unlikely to be her.  At the same time Philip gestured with his glass.“Here she comes now.”

Bill could just see her profile. She was in a party of four or five others. A dumpy woman was hogging the attention. Her penetrating voice could be heard from his vantage point by the wall. A bean pole, obviously the husband, had a young girl on his arm, perhaps his daughter. There was a second younger couple to one side of them.

Rhona was side on to him now and partly hidden by these taller people around her. Bill found he had shifted a little to keep her in view. She was so tiny she kept passing in and out of his line of vision. Her hair was longer. Shiny auburn curls were resting on the nape of her neck.  He had to crane to keep her in sight for any length of time.

Her soft blouse was a very pale ice blue colour but he couldn’t see much beyond her head and shoulders. Philip coughed and nudged him, making a show of looking away towards the bar. He muttered out the side of his mouth “Don’t stare like that. She’ll feel it.”

Bill just grunted. They were well to the back of the room and unlikely to be seen in that mill. He saw the skinny man making his way to the bar. Philip nudged him a second time. “Are we going to talk to her?”

“No,” he said.  It came out too loudly and a woman in front of him turned around to stare. He lowered his voice. “No. I was just thinking I’d step outside and have a smoke. You go ahead and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

When Philip took his seat later he said “I didn’t mention you were here – just with a colleague. She may have guessed though.”

Bill leaned over the balcony rail watching the stage crew changing the layout to accommodate the soloist. “A pretty rare chance to hear this guy I guess.”

Philip didn’t move forward but, from behind him, said “No, that wasn’t it. She mentioned it weeks ago. How she and a friend had talked about coming to this when it was first advertised but he died a few months ago. I should have realized she would make it a special celebration. I should have thought, but I was offered the tickets and…”

Bill was hardly listening. He just nodded without turning around from watching people come in to the stalls below him.

The lower part of the hall was almost full again now and the final bell had gone. Attendants were standing by to close the doors as the last stragglers made their way in. In the space between his arm and the rail Bill saw a shimmer of red hair. Rhona was laughing and apologizing as her party made their way to their places. He leaned over to watch her.  She had narrow black trousers on and the shirt was actually a short jacket, tied in at the waist.

As she was turning to sit Rhona suddenly stopped and swiveled to look directly up, scanning the circle. Bill leapt back from the rail to see that Philip had been watching him.

The E minor Cello Concerto was not one Bill knew well. The prevailingly somber mood of the work didn’t do much to lighten his own. They sat on a bit afterwards. It seemed obscene to jostle with strangers after such an experience. Philip was the first to recover, standing resolutely and saying firmly “We want a beer. Let’s go.”

Little was said until they were seated across the road with one of the house ales and a solid snack in front of them. Bill remarked casually “So has Rhona quit on you then? I thought you two got along fine.”

“Yeah we do, but I know better than to try and change her mind.”

Bill remembered arguing with her. “She has strong opinions on some things.”

Philip nodded. “I was stupid enough to stray into a general discussion on some of the latest offerings I’ve had in the gallery. I asked her opinion on a couple.”
“And?” Bill made his selection from the platter with studied concentration as Philip gave his an edited summary. “She said she was paid to sell, so sell she would, but nothing would ever make her agree that triviality, obscenity, or perversion came within her definition of art.”

Bill was grinning. He could just hear her saying it. He reached and pushed the seafood platter further over. “Here have some calamari Phil, you’re upsetting yourself.”

Philip hardly ever talked about work. Now it seemed he had nothing on his mind beyond the gallery – specifically Rhona and the gallery. He was going on about how you couldn’t say that sort of thing in his trade. He could understand preferences of course…Bill let him go on, describing various incidents where Rhona had shown some or other surprising quality. Anyone else would be diagnosed with infatuation, but he knew Philip had never suffered from that affliction.

 He tried to lighten things up by commenting that at least they both had the house to themselves when they got home. Philip took the last slice of smoked fish off the platter and changed to a light bantering voice. “That’s right. If I want to be boring, or petty, or, God help us, even pompous in my own home, I can do so with a clear conscience.”

 Bill placed his empty glass down firmly “Amen to that.  Are we going home or on to higher things?”

Philip’s face transformed into an expression of eager anticipation. “I have the most delectable bottle of port you ever laid eyes on at home. Come on.”