The Darkest Hour

Tony arrived at the farm as Evie was coming in from the stables. She stopped and gazed at the little car as the engine stuttered to a halt. For a moment Tony sat without moving, his head bowed with exhaustion, then he looked up and saw her framed in the stable door. His face lit up. He climbed out of the car.

‘Would you like to come out to supper?’ He grinned at her. ‘Please. I shall starve to death unless you do.’

Evie laughed. ‘Why, do you plan on eating me?’

He nodded. ‘If only.’ He gave her a cheeky smile. ‘No, I thought we would go down to the pub. It’s been a gruelling day. We’ve been up for most of it. Jerry is still active now,’ he glanced up, ‘but we’ve not been called so we’ve got a couple of hours.’

As they stood there in the farmyard they could hear the distant thump of explosions over to the west. ‘Portsmouth is taking a beating again tonight,’ Tony commented sadly.

Evie scanned his face, noting how tired he was, how the circles under his eyes shadowed his smile. ‘I’d love to come out with you,’ she said. ‘Wait, I’ll tell my mother I won’t be in for supper.’

They sat opposite each other at a table in the smoky dining room at The Victoria in Bognor.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ Evie said. She sipped her shandy, still studying his face. She ached to pull out her pencil and sketch him.

He smiled. ‘Not much to tell. I am – I was – a law student. Only child. Doting parents.’ He gave a little apologetic shake of the head.

She nodded. She hadn’t mentioned the portrait. It was to be a surprise. She felt unaccountably shy suddenly, as he looked up and held her gaze. He smiled at her.

‘You’re beautiful.’

She laughed. ‘Untidy. Farmer’’s hands. Dreadful clothes sense. I don’t think so.’

‘You have a lovely clothes sense.’ He glanced down at her frock. It was a deep blue, with a marcasite brooch at the neck. She had changed from her overalls while he turned the car in the yard. ‘One day I will drape you with furs and diamonds!’

She giggled. ‘That sounds wonderful. But not me. I am always covered in charcoal dust and paint stains.’ She held out her hands to prove the point. They were sturdy hands, rough from the hard work around the farm and there were traces of bright blue around her nails. He caught hold of them and held them for a moment. She thought he was going to bend forward to kiss them but he sat still, staring at her face, his eyes dreamy, just holding them. She found she could hardly breathe suddenly. Her heart was thumping unsteadily in her chest as she lost herself in the blue of his eyes. It was several minutes before he looked away and at last he gave her fingers a squeeze and let them go. Far away they heard the sound of the air raid siren.

7 (#ulink_e5c53328-8933-535d-beed-47c1cbfcb9e4)

Sunday 14th July

‘Why didn’t you call us?’ Phil pushed a glass of Pimm’s into her hand as they stood round the cooker in his and Robin’s kitchen next morning. ‘You know we would have come.’ Behind them the table was littered with Sunday papers and the room smelled deliciously of the major fry-up Robin was conjuring into existence in the huge pan.

‘I can’t keep calling you every time I think I have seen something which isn’t there,’ Lucy said crossly. ‘I just can’t.’ She saw the two men exchange glances and she glared at them furiously. ‘I’m beginning to think I’m going mad. I admit I am getting a bit obsessed with the picture and Evie and everything, but he was so real.’ She hadn’t mentioned the fact that she thought someone had painted out the figure behind Evie. This morning the picture was untouched, the young man once more grinning cheerfully over Evie’s shoulder. ‘Do you think he’s a ghost?’ She chewed her lip for a moment. ‘No. The whole thing is getting ludicrous. It was probably the storm. I hate thunder, it always gives me a splitting headache and I was tired anyway. I was probably hallucinating, no more no less. And it wasn’t as if the figure was frightening. Not really.’ She paused thoughtfully.

‘But you think it was Ralph. Did you try and speak to him?’ Robin put down his spoon and grabbed his glass.

‘I think I said his name.’

‘And he didn’t reply?’

‘No, but.’ She frowned uncertainly. ‘I felt he wanted to. He looked straight at me.’ She glanced at Robin, then at Phil. ‘Have either of you ever seen a ghost?’

Both men shook their heads . ‘My mum believed in ghosts,’ Phil said after a moment. ‘She saw them, but she was Irish.’ He grinned.

‘Do you have to be Irish?’ Lucy smiled miserably.

‘No, of course not.’ Phil became serious. ‘No, I think they could exist. A lot of people say they have seen them.’

‘I don’t know much about ghosts,’ Lucy went on. ‘He wasn’t transparent or anything. But what else could he be? He looked like a real man and yet he wasn’t.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t explain it.’

‘But it wasn’t a hallucination, was it? However much you try and convince yourself.’ Robin put down his glass and turned back to the pan. ‘So, what we need is an expert on these things. An exorcist maybe?’

‘No.’ Lucy said sharply. ‘I don’t want him exorcised.’ She sat down at the table and pushed aside the papers. ‘If he is a ghost, I want to know what he wants.’

‘Then you need a medium,’ Phil put in. He reached for the jug of Pimm’s and topped up her glass. ‘Someone who can talk to him and ask him questions. My mum used to go and see a medium.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘So, what is wrong with that suggestion?’

‘I think it is me he wants to talk to. It’s to do with the picture, isn’t it? Even if he’s not in it.’

‘Did you tell the guy at Rosebank what you had seen?’

She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t the right moment.’

‘Why not? Presumably Ralph was his uncle.’

‘Great-uncle.’ Lucy nodded.

‘For all you know he haunts him as well.’

‘No. I asked him that.’

The two men looked at each other again. ‘Ah, so it is just you he haunts?’ Phil said.

‘Looks like it.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘Great, isn’t it?’

‘He’s not trying to scare you, though. He definitely wants to tell you something.’

‘That’s if you assume “he”,’ Robin hooked his two forefingers in the air to convey the inverted commas, ‘is anything at all.’

Phil and Lucy turned towards him. He bent over the cooker and flipped a rasher of bacon over in the pan. ‘Lucy was the one who said she was hallucinating,’ Robin protested. ‘This does all seem a bit far-fetched, you must admit.’

‘Lucy thinks he’s real,’ Phil said.

‘No I don’t,’ Lucy wailed. ‘Or at least, yes I do. What does real mean, anyway?’

‘OK. Stop the conversation right there.’ Robin put down the spoon and clapped his hands. ‘Food is ready. This, Lucy, is our once a month treat, a reward for all that healthy porridge we have for breakfast the rest of the time, so I want no arguments. You eat what is put in front of you, right, my darling? Sit down guys and girls and let us eat. Our brains will work much better on full tummies!’

Lucy laughed. ‘We are sitting down. Hadn’t you noticed?’

‘Good.’ Robin hefted the pan onto the table. ‘Help yourselves. Bacon, egg, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast is on its way. Coffee, more Pimm’s.’ He sat down opposite them. ‘Three cheers for the cook?’

‘Definitely.’ Phil loaded a plate from the pan and put it down in front of Lucy. ‘I bet you didn’t have any supper last night.’

‘No, as a matter of fact.’ She had said he wasn’t frightening, and he wasn’t. But something was. She thought back for a moment to the cold terror which had gripped her as she closed the door on the studio. She had gone through into the living room and huddled on the sofa hugging a cushion until she had fallen into an uneasy sleep.

‘There is one thing, though,’ she picked up her knife and fork, ‘he never moves. He doesn’t smile. He is just – there. I feel he can see me, but thinking about it, I wonder if he can. I think I am just someone in front of him. I tried to convince myself last night that, even if he is not in it, he is a part of the portrait. Like the smell of oil and turpentine would be if it was new. Did he attach himself to it in some way when it was being painted? Is he no more than a shadow stuck on the paint before it dried?’

There was a long moment of silence. ‘That sounds desperately sad,’ Robin said at last. ‘I think I would rather he was a proper ghost.’