White Nights - Ann Cleeves [4]
But his attention was turned to the visitors. ‘There’s someone who seems very keen.’ She followed his gaze to a middle-aged man, who was smart in an arty, unbuttoned sort of way. Slim, almost girlish figure. Black linen jacket over a black T-shirt, loose black trousers. He’d been standing in front of an early self-portrait of Bella. It was Bella at her most outrageous. She was dressed in red with a scarlet gash of lipstick as a mouth, her hair blown away from her face, at once disturbing and erotic. It was an oil, the paint thick and textured, the strokes very free.
Then he moved on to stand next to Roddy Sinclair and to stare at a work of Fran’s, a drawing of Cassie on the beach at Ravenswick. Something about the intensity of his looking made her uncomfortable, though it wasn’t the sort of picture that would allow him to recognize Cassie in the street. He looked horrified, she thought, not keen. As if he’d just witnessed an atrocity. Or seen a ghost.
‘He’s not local,’ Perez said. Fran agreed. It wasn’t just that she didn’t recognize him. It was the man’s style, which marked him out as a soothmoother. The clothes; the way he held himself and looked at the picture.
‘Who do you think he is?’ She looked over her glass, tried not to seem too obvious, but still he was staring at the drawing, lost, so she didn’t think he’d notice even if he turned round.
‘Some rich collector,’ Perez said, smiling at her. ‘He’s going to buy everything here and make you famous.’
She giggled. A brief release of tension. ‘Or the arts reporter for one of the Sundays. I’ll feature in an article about the next new talent.’
‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
She turned to look at him, assumed that he was joking again, but he was frowning slightly.
‘Really,’ he smiled again. ‘You are very good.’
She wasn’t sure what to say, was groping for something witty and self-deprecating, when she saw the man turn round. He fell to his knees, much as Roddy had done when he was playing the violin. Then he put his hands over his face and began to weep.
Chapter Three
Perez thought that at this time of year everyone went a bit crazy. It was the light, intense during the day and still there at night. The sun never quite slipping behind the horizon, so you could read outside at midnight. The winters were so bleak and black that in the summer folk were overtaken with a kind of frenzy, constant activity. There was the feeling that you had to make the most of it, be outside, enjoy it before the dark days came again. Here in Shetland they called it the ‘simmer dim’. And this year was even worse. Usually the weather was unpredictable, changing by the hour, rain and wind and brief spells of bright sunshine, but this year it had been fine for nearly a fortnight. The lack of darkness hit people from the south too. Occasionally their reaction was even more extreme than the locals’. They weren’t used to it: the birds still singing late into the evening, the dusk which lasted all night, nature slipping from its accustomed pattern, all that disturbed them.
Watching as the man dressed in black knelt in the pool of sunshine and burst into tears, Perez thought it was a case of midsummer madness and hoped someone else would deal with it. It was a theatrical gesture. The man wouldn’t have come here on his own initiative. He would have been invited by Bella Sinclair, or been brought by a regular visitor. The Herring House wasn’t easy to get to from the south, even once you reached Lerwick. So it would be about a woman, Perez thought. Or he would be another artist, wanting to draw attention to himself. In his experience, people who were really depressed, who felt like crying all the time, those people didn’t seek out the limelight. They hid away in corners and made themselves invisible.
But nobody went to the man’s assistance. The people stopped talking and watched in a fascinated, embarrassed way as he continued to sob, his face turned up now to the light, his hands at his sides.
Perez could sense Fran’s disapproval beside him. She would expect him to do something. The