The Devil's Mask Read Free Page B

lawyering because it’s more sensible than art, but in truth that’s where my heart lies. Unfortunately, heart and talent do not always coincide. I have a limited aptitude for pictures: though I can form a drawing well enough, I am completely bamboozled by paint. I’ve tried watercolours, egg tempura and oils, all with the same, muddy results. So my artistic endeavours are limited to the making of sketches in ink … and in private. Who would want to hang a scratchy impression of a spade, rain-cloud, or side of beef on their wall, anyway? Nobody. Since those are the sorts of things Ifind myself compelled to produce, I prefer to keep the results between shut covers. The only time I’ve made an exception to this rule still makes me wince: in a fit of openness – or to impress her, if I’m honest – I showed a series of unconvincingly optimistic drawings (a robin’s nest, daffodil bulbs, a rowing boat) to Lilly not long after we first met. She declared herself ‘charmed’ by them. Ever since then I’ve kept my sketchbooks in a strongbox with a good lock. The law is at least a realistic means of making my own way in the world.
    I ground on through the remains of that morning – more out of loyalty to Carthy than anything else – only pausing once, towards lunchtime, when I came across a document which, when I’d read it, propelled me from my desk to stand before the window again, eyes lifted to the sky. I thought for a moment, chewing on my lower lip. Seagulls knifed this way and that above the rooftops.
    â€˜You may as well call on her for lunch if the alternative is such productive mooning.’
    Carthy had appeared in the doorway again. I would have liked to tell him that I had not paused to think of Lilly all morning, but in trying to persuade him of that, I sensed I would achieve the opposite, and besides, I felt a stab of something approaching shame at admitting the omission to myself.
    â€˜Perhaps I will,’ I said.
    â€˜Don’t look so happy about it! This phase will soon pass. I remember it well. No sooner have you popped the question than the napkin-and-bunting conundrums begin.’
    Carthy was avoiding addressing the contents of the folder with this prattle. For now I did so, too.
    â€˜After submitting to the colour swatches for half an hour, I’ll be sure to return to work refreshed.’
    â€˜All excitements are relative, it’s true,’ said Carthy, brows creased in mock-concern. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. Pass on my condolences to the bride.’ Continuing in his attempt to lighten my mood, he pushed off the doorjamb as if underwater and lurched down the hall affecting the walk he’d developed for his Caliban in the Law Society’s last Tempest .

Three
    I went out. I set off across Queen Square in the direction of the Alexanders’ great house, but found myself dawdling, and ultimately doglegged right towards the docks. I would be seeing Lilly soon enough. Now wasn’t the moment to go visiting. Instead I allowed the thought of the down on the back of her neck, visible in strong sunlight when she wears her hair piled on top of her head, to buoy me on to the waterfront, where the sun was indeed out, and swarming in the harbour with a violence that made molten gold of the water’s surface.
    Before my eyes had adjusted to the brightness a cart was upon me – my fault, I had walked into its path – and the horse drawing it, unable to sidestep or stop, had shouldered me into a stall selling fruit, vegetables, and trinkets made from animal parts. This produce was now rolling with me on the filthy cobbles.
    â€˜Out of the fucking way!’ called the driver, after the event.
    I could not recall the last time I’d had the breath knocked from my lungs, but the feeling (and taste, of gunpowder and rust) was instantly familiar, and sickening. I gathered myself on to all fours. The stallholder,