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.”
