A book of silences

Chapter four - the prowler

 Days passed at school, and Bee's wrecked studio was soon repaired. She had the technicians put a big brass padlock on the door, and add a steel bar behind it, ignoring Cat's pointed remarks about the lack of a roof for her space making it useless  . After a couple of days, she'd started making her ethereal sculptures again, but surrounding them with boxes and bars and spikes. No-one made the obvious comment. Bev, meanwhile, threw herself back into her painting, tracking acrylics throughout her space and driving the two students who shared a studio with her to despair. She did extra shifts in the library and the cafe where she worked (she had a younger brother coming) and spent most lunchtimes in the canteen hoping for a glimpse of Guy Devereaux.

The big news, however, was that Bee had spotted 'The New Blood' wandering around the Art School again. Disappointingly he wasn't, in fact, the prowler, or (probably), a criminal of any kind. She'd seen him entering the Dean of Fine Art's office and had summoned the rest of the gang by text to meet her. They'd spent twenty minutes lurking by the notice boards before he'd emerged, chatting pleasantly with the head of faculty, and shaking his hand before setting off up the corridor. A bit of casual shadowing ensued, the gang taking it in turns to discreetly follow the Not-Prowler, marred only by whispered arguments about who's turn it was to tail their target. They'd followed him as far as the post-grad studios, where Bee had almost bumped into him waiting around a corner.

"Are you following me?" he'd said, standing, arms folded outside one of the visiting artists' studios. There was a new nameplate on the door,

"No," said Bee, thinking quickly. "But she is!" She pointed an accusing finger at Bev.

"No, I'm not!" Bev spluttered, then gestured at Cat, who was nearby pretending to study a poster with great interest "She is!" she declared triumphantly.

Cat, stunned by Bev's betrayal shook her head defiantly. "I have never met you before in my life. Who are you, chunky girl?"

There was a moment of silence. Bev's muscular build was one of the few things she was sensitive about. "Chunky!" said Bev, "Chunky! Look who's talking, midget! Are you even old enough to be here?"

Bee, seeing a major brawl about to ensue, threw herself between the two combatants imploring them to act their age and attempting to quell the argument in the same way as a bucket of petrol quenches a fire. Soon all three girls were shouting and waving hands at other, trading insults with abandon.

This was, in fact, a classic Addams family ploy, start arguing to avoid further questioning, letting the argument becoming more and more heated, until they could all storm away and meet later.

After watching the argument with interest for some minutes, the man coughed and gestured towards the door. "Would you like to come into my studio?" The arguments stopped instantly.

                                                                                      .....

"This is amazing!" gasped Bev, standing in the middle of the large studio space. She was, quite literally, surrounded by paintings, twelve medium sized, multi-coloured canvases. Each was mounted in such a way that they leaned over her slightly, focusing themselves on the middle of the studio where she stood. And content! Each panel-like picture depicted a different person sitting, staring at the viewer, painted in heavy impasto acrylics, the colours so intense they seemed to vibrate off the canvas. Here was an elderly woman, slim, sitting very upright in a straight-backed chair, grey, shoulder length hair framing her face, the fine bones of her hands visible where they lay in her lap. Her lips were pursed slightly as if considering Bev coolly, and perhaps finding her lacking in some way. It wasn't really a comforting picture, mind, as something in the woman's eyes made you wonder what she would do if you were not what she wanted.