MORNING SERIAL

I GAVE it a few moments’ thought but then said, “I don’t think so. I’ll take his watch, as a memento.” I held it up by the strap. “But nothing else.”

He nodded conciliatorily and stepped further into the tower. “Come with me,” he said.

I followed him up to the mezzanine, where Francis’ bed lay neatly made, and onto the balcony looking out over the valley. I don’t think I had ever seen a clearer view, as if the air was so fine and the day so warm it had improved my eyesight by several points.

“I brought Francis here,” Illie said, “and I told him I would make this place exactly what he wanted if he agreed to help me. No complications, no obligations. As long as he was happy to be here.”

I thought about this speech, took in the beautiful view, imagined my brush rippling through the colours of the white-blue horizon.

“I am grateful that you could do this for him in the last years of his life,” I said eventually. “I loved him, I don’t mind saying. When it comes to art, to my craft, he was a father to me. And even though we lost touch, I am grateful to you for giving him all this.”

Prostakov nodded, and we stood side-by-side looking out over the wood and off toward the coastline.

“I am still in need,” he said after a while.

I was not sure what he meant.

“With Francis gone,” he went on, “I am once again in need of an artist of great vision and talent to work for me.”

I said nothing. “Would you enjoy these surroundings?” he said. “You’re offering me a job?” “I think it is a shame you belittle what I am offering,” he said. “If you want to think of this as a job offer…” and he slowly waved his hand across the view, as if colouring a monochrome as he went.

It was the last thing I had been expecting. And I continued to think of it as a trick, examining Prostakov’s face for signs of the prank.

“I didn’t just invite you here to hand over all that rubbish,” he said.

> The Golden Orphans by Gary Raymond is published by Parthian www.parthianbooks. com