Ocean Photograph

Sea Burial

A teardrop. Tiny but perfect. When the lamplight hit it, cold fires
bust into life in it's blue-white heart. A fragment of some cold star,
held captive in a minute, platinum cage. Millicent held it up,
admiringly, watching it swing hypnotically on it's fine, silvery chain.
Then, and not without some slightly ritualistic flourish, she it around
her neck. It always looked wonderful. Subtly enhancing the pale
smoothness of her d?colletage. A finishing touch. She cast critical
eyes over her reflection and
was quite pleased. Passing the brush once more through her shining
hair, she exulted in the rosy and somewhat
artificial gleam of her complexion, the results of costly cosmetics,
immaculately applied. Her glowing eyes fell
upon the eclectic collection of jars on her over-crowded dressing-table
and she smiled, savouring their
names, their delicately clinical promises. 'Thank God' she
thought.

She ran manicured hands over the green silk of her dress, smoothing out
none existent flaws, reassuring herself that
it fit was as perfect as the day she had bought it. She loved herself
in this. A jade-coloured sheath of the finest material, it tipped an
ironic wink at the nineteen-twenties whilst maintaining a startlingly
modern edge. Millicent
knew that most women of her age would would never get away with
it, but she rejoiced in the fact that the years spent perfecting
herself had paid off. Not for her the sad
decline into cardigans and dull court shoes. She saw herself,
sometimes, as heroic. A woman dazzling to the end.
Sighing, she turned away from the mirror and closing her eyes,
imagined herself bathed in the flickering
conflagrations of a thousand flashing cameras. The breathless
paparazzi. For a moment she was a goddess, heartbreakingly beautiful
and alone. Her smile was inscrutable
as she slipped from the privacy of her limousine. The dream faded but
an old sadness lingered. It blossomed like
vaguely toxic flowers in some dark place within and frightened her.
Glancing once more into her mirror, she
ignored the tracery of wrinkles that seemed, suddenly, to have appeared
across her brow. There was a knock at the door. A cheerful voice broke
her
reverie.

'Are you ready, Millie? There's still a lot to do and, anyway, I
thought we'd have a drink together before he arrives.'

'Hang on. I'm still dressing.'

She applied a little more translucent glaze, felt a tiny flutter
of anxiety. Tonight was a special occasion .

The sitting room was cosy. A soft light emanated from a number
of Art Deco lamps perched here and there around the room and a low fire
crackled and sparked in the hearth.
Next to the window, curtains drawn against darkness and inclement
weather, was the rooms' focal point. A large and
unusually luxuriant Christmas tree partially decorated with glimmering,
silver crystals and threads of tiny
white lights. The air was filled with the scent of Northern forests. By
the fire, holding two crystal glasses
brimful of champagne, stood Joseph. He smiled as Millicent came
in.

'You look wonderful as always, Millie.'

'Thanks, Joe.' She lifted a glass to her lips before continuing. ' I'm
glad to see you've put on that jacket I
bought you.

Joseph was wearing a velvet smoking jacket of a deep claret
colour over finely cut grey trousers. The antique cotton of his evening
shirt glowed even whiter against such an opulent background. He smiled
suavely, running a hand through his greying but superbly conditioned
hair.

'Well, it is Christmas, Millie. It you can't push the boat
out at Christmas, when can you? What do you think of the tree?'

They examined it together.

'I think it looks a bit Spartan, really, Joe.'

'The rest of the decorations are in the other room. Hang on. I'll
bring them in.'

They finished their drinks and were very quickly light-hearted
and busy. Joe put a record on and from some concealed corner spilled
festive music, Christmas carols and
nostalgic hits from Decembers long gone. Millicent grinned, sometimes
singing along. She was suddenly surrounded
by majestic decorations. The glacial
sparkle of so many multi-coloured trinkets was instantly enlivening.
The memories of so many Christmases gone
by tumbled out onto the rug. The tree soon lost its Scandinavian
austerity and was transformed into the image of
Dickensian plenty.

'I wish it would snow,' Millicent called to Joseph as he returned from
the kitchen with a second bottle.

'What?'

'I said, I wish it would snow.'

'Well, you'll just have to make do with rain, I'm afraid.' He popped
his head through the door, smiling, 'And
there's certainly plenty of that.'

A sharp gust rattled the window-pane and in the quietness
underlying their merry conversation and the melodic familiarity of the
music, the rain could be heard. Heavier now.
More insistent. As if, once the first cold drops had fallen, had
intensified and become torrential in the windswept
twilight, they might never stop falling. Creating a new world of winter
and wet-weather. A world of rain beyond the
confines of their brightly illuminated refuge. A world of cold and
unlit moving water.

A sharp knock at the door. He was disconcertingly prompt. With
an almost superhuman haste, Millicent and Joseph returned boxes of
unused decorations to their secret understairs
spaces. They composed themselves, Joseph taking a few calming breaths,
Millicent checking her reflection for
flaws. There was a moment of stillness, of expectation. Then the
knocking came again, more assertively this time. They
paused, nervously, behind the door before opening it. This was strange.
Usually they were the image of
relaxed confidence when welcoming guests. Joseph shaking hands warmly,
Millicent producing what she liked to
think of as her 'radiant' smile. This evening, though, there was an
atmosphere of trepidation, a certain unfamiliar shakiness. Getting a
grip on things, Joseph immediately put this down to the excitement of
decorating the tree, of wearing his smoking jacket for the first time.
Changes of routine were always slightly disconcerting.. They opened the
door and presented their famous 'united' front. And there he was. The
jollity could begun.

'Welcome to 'The Mermaid Hotel'. My name's Joseph and this is
my wife, Millicent.

'Good evening to you both. I believe you're expecting me.'

The stranger stepped lightly over the threshold, carrying a small
suitcase and a black leather box tightly fastened with tarnished,
silver buckles. He wasn't a young man, by any
means, but his movements were rapid and he was possessed of a certain
unaffected grace. There was wiry
youthfulness about him and a ruddiness in his face redolent of years
spent outdoors in wholesome country air.
Droplets of moisture from the rain-filled atmosphere added lights to
strands of his thinning, snow-white hair. His
intelligent eyes were shrewd but not unkind. Millicent spoke.

'Here, let me take your coat and,er, a Merry Christmas to
you, too.'

The ice was broken and there was smattering of relieved laughter.

'Your decorations are marvellous. A real joy. Did you do
them yourself?'

'Er, yes,' Millicent was hanging-up his expensively-cut
but threadbare overcoat, feeling flattered, flirtatious even.

'Garlands of real Holly. There's nothing to beat the real
thing, is there? I'm tempted to grab a few shots of those leaves. There
just so glossy aren't they?'

'And your name is?' Joseph cut in.

'Oh, I am sorry. Jicky. Jicky Montegue. Very pleased to
meet you.'

'Jicky. That's a very unusual name.'

'No, not really. Lots of my friends are called Jicky.'
There was a quizzical silence. 'Is my room upstairs?'

'Oh, yes. Yes, it is. It's this way. I hope you like it.'

It had never taken very long for guests to settle in at 'The Mermaid'.
Joseph was proud of the homely atmosphere he and
Millicent had worked hard, over the years, to create. Guests
were encouraged to view 'The Mermaid' as a rather sophisticated second
home and make themselves absolutely
at ease. Jickys' room was a large one on the first floor at the front.
Its' view of the sea was quite spectacular.
The room was understatedly lit by a couple of small lamps, one next to
the bed and one on the dressing table. Joseph had already set a fire in
the grate
which was now well-established and burning heartily. The
curtains were drawn to keep out any draughts. Jicky seemed
pleased.

'Mmn, this is wonderful. I can see that I'm going to be very
comfortable here. Very comfortable indeed. And the bathroom?'

Millicent darted quickly out into the corridor, gesturing towards
a door a short distance away.

'It's just there. And no need to be frugal with the hot
water. There's always lashings of it.' She blushed and turned away.
'Anyway, I must get on. I've a bird in the oven.'

'Wonderful. I'm just going to freshen up a little and unpack my
equipment so I won't be very long. Perhaps we could take a few minutes
to discuss the project. I'm sure
you've got some very interesting ideas.'

'I thought we might have a chat over dinner and you'd be welcome
to join us for a drink before hand. It is
Christmas after all.' Joseph found himself suppressing a sudden
impulse to laugh. They left Jicky alone to unpack.

He opened his suitcase and took out a few things, his bottle of
'Creed' aftershave, his antique brushes and gentleman's shaving kit. He
laid his neatly folded pyjamas on
the pillow then walked over to the dressing-table. Peering onto the
mirror, he passed a brush through his hair and
straightened up his clothes, finishing with a splash of fragrance. He
returned to the bed and spent several frustrated
minutes struggling with the buckles of the black leather box. Finally,
he opened it, placing the astonishingly
modern camera on the bed and preparing some roles of
film.

A feast. Millicent had really gone to town. Admirers of her almost
other-worldly glamour were often shocked to
discover that her qualities extended far beyond the realms of mere
ornament. She could function on a practical
level, as well. The dining room had been transformed, it's
walls festooned with wreathes of ivy interlaced with star-like
brilliants. In the candlelight, the damask table-cloth
glowed an even more vivid red. And there was so much food, more than
any of them could eat. Plates piled high
with perfectly roasted potatoes, steaming green beans and
carrots.

The various meats were tender, almost too succulent. Jicky
filled the air with his odd jokes and stories. Chiaroscuro remnants of
his clumsy adolescence. Darker tales of
his stormy marriages. He was really a genius with conversation.

'Oh go on, Jicky, have a bit more breast. Or are you really a
leg man.'

Millicent was laughing, feeling excitable. A little out of control. She
glanced naughtily at Joseph, allowing her hair
to fall a little provocatively over her left eye.

'That's a fabulous pose, Millicent. Make a fantastic picture. Hold it,
just...

He produced his camera from under the table and they were momentarily
dazzled by the flash.

'Fabulous, Millicent. You're a natural.'

'Perhaps now would be a good time to have our little talk, Jicky.'
Said Joseph, topping up his glass.'

'Yes, absolutely. I'm keen to get started. Some publicity
shots, isn't it? Of the hotel, or did you have something else in mind?
'

Instantly, Joseph was all business.

'As I explained to your agent over the phone, Millicent and I are
looking to enhance the profile of our establishment
nationally and we've spoken about publishing a new, eye-catching
brochure in order to achieve this end. It's a kind of 're-branding', so
to speak. We'd like to attract a new
clientele. Media types, for example.'

'And you've had a look a some of my work?' Jicky leaned forward
gulping down a mouthful of champagne.

'Yes, and we were both very impressed. It's just so interesting.
So...'

'So, avant-garde?'

'Yes, avant-garde. And I thought we could use my wife in the
pictures. She was a model once, in her younger days so she knows the
ropes.'

Shooting a penetrating look in Jicky's direction and employing
her much-practised movie-star intonation, Millicent interjected:

'I'm feel sure we could work well together. I'm not unused to
showbiz circles so I'm accustomed to the artistic personality. And
working in front of the camera, of course.'

'And you'd like to pursue a festive theme? Maximise the
potential of the Winter season?'

'Exactly. It's so lovely here at Christmas. And if this one is
a success, we could maybe think about doing a few others. A summer one.
Perhaps autumn. I've even thought of
doing postcards and calendars. Featuring images of Millie in tastefully
surreal poses.' Millicent smiled coquettishly.

'She's certainly a very singular looking woman. We could try a
couple of test shots now if you like.'

'Just give me a few moments to re-do my eyes.'

Millicent dashed excitedly from the room.

The idiosyncratic whirring of the camera and its sudden flashes seemed
very much like wishes fulfilled for Millicent. Half-closing her eyes
she could almost believe that her highly evolved fantasy life as film
star and cultural icon, had , by mysterious means, turned out to be
true. Coiled up on the floor, basking in the compassionate brightness
of the firelight , she felt not unlike the young
Elizabeth Taylor. Vibrating with a dangerous electricity.

'Fantastic, Millie. And again. And once more. Great.'

Joseph's heart was swollen with pride as he watched his wife begin a
new series of uniquely erotic poses.

'What about trying some outside. Down at the sea, perhaps. I've got the
right kind of equipment for night shoots.

We could experiment with some interesting effects.' Jicky's
eyes were alive with enthusiasm.

'But it's raining, Jicky. It'll ruin my makeup.'

'Experiment is all, Millie, darling. Fortune favours the bold,
y'know. What do you think, Joseph? We could get some really fascinating
shots. Millie in her lovely green dress
against a background of halflit waves. It could be fantastic.'

Joseph considered for a moment before agreeing.

'Yes, might make the brochure really stand out. We can finish
that bottle on the way down.'

A fine, penetrating rain was drizzling over the streets as they set
off. Millicent struggled for a moment with her umbrella, teetering in
her high-heels. The eccentric nature of what they were doing energised
them, kept their
spirits high even in such unpleasant weather. A group of children ran
past laughing and screaming, some carrying
lanterns baleful turnip faces candlelit in the gloom.

'They're out late. They should be at home on a night like this.'

'Well, it is Halloween, Millie. They're playing trick or treat
or whatever it is. Scaring off witches.'

'Oh, god,yes. What with all the decorations and everything, I'd
quite forgotten that it wasn't really Christmas. I must be losing my
grip.'

'It's a very interesting thing you're doing, having Christmas
months before it actually happens. I don't think I've encountered
anything quite like it before.' Jicky allowed his
curiosity to surface.

'Well, Millie likes Christmas and I thought it would make a nice
backdrop for the photos. Cosy. And it's not the first time we've done
it. It's very quiet
here in Robin Hoods' Bay. And what with the Hotel being a little out of
town anyway, up here on the cliffs, there's not
very much in the way of entertainment , so we've hit on this Christmas
idea as a way of breaking the monotony. We had
Christmas in May once. Very unusual. Our guests loved it.'

'Stay right there, Millie. That's marvellous.' Jicky snapped
Millicent gazing wistfully out from beneath the rim of her
umbrella. 'That could make a great cover shot.'

They took the Clifftop Path down to the shore. Conversation
dwindled and soon little could be heard but the distant keening of a
solitary gull carried far out over the ocean on
salty winds. The beach was bleak when they reached it. The sea exhaled
a heavy, marine darkness and for a few
moments the shoot didn't seem like a good idea at all.

'Let's get a bit nearer to the water. There's a boat that we
might use as a backdrop.'

A sturdy looking rowing-boat was beached a little way from the
breakers. Austere and toughened by years of harsh weather, it provided
the perfect foil to Millicent's pampered
femininity. The sight of his wife reclining in it reminded Joseph of
pre-Raphaelite paintings he'd seen in York.
Pale skin and the intimation of tragedy. He wished he'd stayed at home,
had a drink by the fire.

'Try to look a bit sexier, Millie.' Jicky was back on top form
and Millicent was enjoying the attention. 'Why don't we take the boat a
little way out onto the water. Give the
impression that you're far out to sea.'

'I'm not sure that's...' Joseph could feel apprehension emerging like
sweat from his pores.

'Oh don't be so boring, Joe. It'd be fun.' Millicent was girlishly
enthusiastic.

It didn't take long to get the boat into the water. Time passed with
supernatural speed. With Joseph rowing strongly, rhythmically, there
was an almost trance-like momentum. Millicent, at least, was thrilled
by it all.

'How far out do you want to go, Jicky?'

'Oh, Quite far, far enough to create a truly original
atmosphere.'

The weather was blustery and there had been a break in the rain. The
drift of ragged clouds across the sky was not
enough to fully obscure a wintry sky, a scattering of faint points of
light. Millicent thought of singing. Thought
better of it. They travelled quietly, not saying much .

'Now, Millie, let's have your best stuff. Really go for it.'

Millicent stood up unsteadily then turned on her charm. All the while,
Jicky's camera flashed, the pale light illuminating the restless
surface of the sea. Behind them, the towns' neon lights were clearly
visible, retreating into
romantic distance. Postcard pretty. All was quiet but for the
shrieking of gulls on the wing, the gusts of wind over
the water, the clicking of the camera. They didn't notice the black
clouds encroaching until it was too late. The
storm blew up suddenly, spitefully. There was a lot of rain, heavy and
icy, seeming to come form all directions.
Jicky dropped the camera into the bottom of the boat where it
lay damaged, occasionally snapping unwanted photographs, it's brief
flashes reaching out into the weather
like a distress beacon. The sea was high. Waves leapt over the side.
Then a big wave broke over them, bigger that
before, filling mouths and eyes with freezing brine. Millicents'
desperate calls were lost in the screaming winds.
Joseph glimpsed Jicky frozen in the momentary lightening of the damaged
camera then, in the ensuing blackness,
he was gone. Lost in the turbulent water.

They could hear his voice shouting for a long time on the
starboard side. But he was invisible to them. Millicent thought of his
white hands reaching out, then shut her
eyes tight, blocking out the truth. Something she had learned to do
long ago. When it got light it was calm again. They sat in the boat
rocked by the gentlest of waves. Drifting and rudderless. Unable to
speak as ocean-going currents carried them far from
home.

After a while Millicent, ashen and smudged, began to whisper.

'Do you think he's dead, Joe? Joseph?'

'Yes, I think he's dead.'

The overarching autumn sky, cloudy and indifferent, was filled with
birds.

'But he was quite strong wasn't he?'

'He's dead.'

A wave the colour of gunmetal splashed over the side, drenching again
their already sodden clothing.

'We've lost the oars.'

The wind was strengthening again. The sea seemed black in the far
distance. Millicent felt drowsy. Her eyes were
heavy. Somewhere in her mind, submerged and distance, words
could be heard. Snatches of speech
half-recognised, spoken, almost inaudibly, from the past. 'Wave
after wave, each mightier than the rest..' Clouds, bruised and swollen,
were towering in the North. 'Til last, a
ninth one, gathering half the deep...' She imagined the electrical
violence of lightening discharged within. '..... full
of voices, slowly rose and plunged, roaring...' She felt heavy drops on
her skin as the rain began to fall. When she
spoke, her voice sounded new.

'We've lost the oars.'

'...And all the wave was in a flame.'

Ends.