‘HOW ABOUT THAT?’ said Jules as he marched into the living room. Placing his new acquisition on the dining table leaning against the wall.
‘It is “wynorrific”!’
‘Christ, I’m not paying too much for your English classes, am I?’
‘Do you know the word?’ said Kwang.
‘Well yes, of course I do.’
‘Go on then, what does it mean?’
‘I’m English, you’re Thai, and you are telling me what “English” words mean.’
‘Well then, what does wynorrific mean?’
Jules was rooting in his pocket for his mobile.
‘Just a sec, I’ve got to reply to this message.’
The Google app says: “Wynorrific” means - beautiful and horrific.
‘Where were we?’ asked Jules.
‘Now that you’ve looked it up, what does wynorrific mean?’
‘No, I was answering a message. The word means something scary but lovely at the same time.’
‘Okay. Close enough. Anyway, that’s how I feel about that new artwork. Why did you buy that?’
‘This, is or will be worth a fortune.’
‘And you bought it in a junk shop?’
‘No, not junk, a previously used shop. It has some real bargains.’
‘Yeah right. Like hideous paintings.’
‘Really, don’t you like it?’
‘It’s dark, it’s drab. Why not get a colourful cheery picture?’
‘There is a beautiful flower in full bloom.’
‘Yes, at night time!’
‘If you spent more time on general knowledge instead of language skills, you would know that the “moonflower” comes out at night,’ Jules said.
‘The moonflower is white, not red. If you read a gardening book, you would know that,’ said Kwang. Her smile lit up the red flower.
‘What about the lady next to the blooms?’
‘She is maudlin.’
‘Christ, where do you get all these words?’
‘You want a girlfriend you can introduce to all your clever mates. So I’m learning. Anyway, the woman is drab looking. As if she’s been gardening in the dark.’
‘Maybe she has. I guess we’ll never know. I must research the artist’s name.’
Jules started tapping at his laptop.
‘Did you see that?’ asked Kwang.
‘What?’
‘Her eyes followed me.’
‘Oh, now she’s like “Mona Lisa”, is she?’
‘I mean it. Her eyes followed me.’
Kwang snatched the frame took it to the window, and studied the work in bright daylight.
‘She doesn’t like daylight,’ said Jules.
‘What?’
‘It says here, the artist painted a self-portrait as her final painting. She was losing her sight. She could not see in bright light as the pain was too great. Hence the dark work of art, I guess. As I suggested this is worth a fortune.’ Jules congratulated himself as he gently moved it to a safe place.
‘What is her name? You haven’t even told me. I can’t read her signature.’
‘If you look closer, you can make out “Nathara Tangina”. I’m not sure if that is Miss or Mrs.’ Jules laughed.
‘So she was not English?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not to me, but you prefer Brits don’t you?’
‘Are you starting an argument?’
‘No, I wouldn’t dare do that.’
Kwang moved to the balcony and snatched her novel from the coffee table. She flicked through pages without reading.
Jules studied the painting inch by inch.
Kwang’s mobile trilled, after a short chat with a friend, she called up the Google app.
‘What was her name? Ah yes, Nathara.’
She scratched her head, ‘Nathara - Scottish for what? Snake. Can’t be, no one would call their daughter that.’
‘Surname, Tangina.’
Again Google was busy.
‘Poltergeist. It can’t be. The artist must have made it up. Like an author has a pen name, the painter has an oil name.’ She chucked to herself.
Kwang went back to her book, again without reading.
‘I’m going to bed. Are you coming?’ asked Kwang.
‘When I’m ready.’
‘Up to you.’
This time, words, sentences, paragraphs and pages became chapters. Kwang’s head dropped, her book slipped to the sheets, and she snored gently. After some time she jerked awake, placed her book on the side table and turned off the light.
‘Jules are you there?’ She felt the other side of the bed. It was cold. She turned on her side and slept in darkness.
-
‘But madam, you must have heard the noise?’ asked the policeman at the front door.
‘No, sorry, I was asleep.’
‘Can we come in? Your neighbours called in a disturbance at this property.’
‘Yes, yes, come in,’ said Kwang.
She led the officers along the now silent corridor to the living room.
‘Oh, my God. What has happened?’ she asked.
‘You had better tell us,’ said one of the officers.
The room was a mess. Furniture was upturned, cushions scattered, plates, cups and saucers smashed to bits. The carpet had been uplifted away from the walls.
‘Jules, where are you?’ Kwang called.
One officer moved to the kitchen and immediately started shouting on his radio. ‘Ambulance, and quick.’
‘Jules, darling what has happened?’
The officer got between her and the prostrate Jules. The uniformed man felt for a pulse looked at his partner and shook his head. Kwang collapsed to the floor.
‘Madam, what happened?’
‘I went to bed, Jules was studying his new painting. The next thing I knew was you banging on the door and ringing the bell.’
‘What has happened to your husband?’
‘Boyfriend, we hoped to wed soon.’
‘But, what happened? You must have heard the noise?’
‘Is he dead? Let me hug him.’
‘I’m sorry madam.’
‘Where is the picture?’ she asked.
‘What picture madam?’
Kwang rushed back to the living room.
‘It’s gone!’
Red lights flashed through the front door glass as the door was opened for the medics.
‘Did he have a heart attack?’ asked the policeman.
The ambulance man checked for a pulse and then listened to his heart. He then rolled up Jules’ sleeves.
‘Checking for drug misuse,’ he said.
He then rolled up his trouser legs. Then pointed at the blood running down his calves.
‘That couldn’t have killed him, surely?’
‘It could if it was an adder bite,’ answered the medic.
‘Do we get poison snakes this near to London?’
A stretcher appeared.
‘Now, madam, I must take you to the station to answer some questions.’
‘My name is Nathara Tangina. And I am an artist.’
The END
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my god you're spooking me out.