PORTRAIT OF A LADY

 

                                                                            Chapter Fifteen

                                                                       Back To Brook Farm

 

 

Steve had no regrets about the life he had chosen to live, but something was telling him that things were changing, and that a new chapter in his life was about to open. Perhaps that unknown force was at work again and the change had already started for now he was back in his familiar and for the most part unchanged home town.

          The steady walk to reach the market town of Oatley, where half a lifetime ago he had shared a table in a little cafe with William Farrah, was now behind him. That had been a turning point in his life, and looking back he wondered what might have become of him if that unoccupied seat had not been the only one in the cafe.

          And what of the cafe and the market stalls. The first was now a ladies hairdressers, next to it was a Salvation Army building which Steve remembered. It seems to have always been there, but he had never ventured inside. Similarly the market stalls were gone and in their place was a large store for food, newspaper and books, and all the other things that for about twenty years he had quite happily lived without.

          Steve wondered what other changes he might find but he put that thought aside. "Another day will do for that." he told himself, content to remember the cafe owner and the young lady who usually served him during his years looking after the farm, and when he was 'in town' on business.

          "But not on that day." he recalled his face spontaneously breaking out in a smile. "That was the day I 'properly' met Farrah." He could see it now in his mind's eye and a thought occurred, "Would it have made any difference if she had not been off poorly that day? For one thing she would have known I was not Farah's son and most likely Farrah would not have taken pity on me. I might even have finished up in jail." One other thought entered his thinking. "On such a small thing my live was changed forever."

          He wandered on, each thought matching his steady stride.. He knew only too well that few people if any, would remember him. 'If they thought of me at all they would probably say, "I wonder what happened to him."

          Eventually he came to the art gallery where one he had reigned supreme. So many memories came flooding back; too many to cope with. a notice on the window proclaimed a forthcoming sale at the end of the week. Steve’s curiosity got the better of him and he opened the door and went into the gallery hoping, perhaps forlornly, that one of his own pictures might be on display.

          That he did not find one was no great surprise but what did surprise him was that he seemed to have lost the ability to appreciate art as he had before. He wandered around the walls and screens unimpressed by the works of art on display. That is until he came across one which stopped him in his tracks unable to move on. He stared at it for what seemed a long time and the lady he was looking at stared back, with just a hint of a smile. The card at its side said simply, 'Portrait Of A Lady' and Steve was transfixed and he remained rooted.

          Indeed he would have remained there for much longer had not an authoritative voice invaded his contemplation. "Everything alright sir? It enquired.

          It was a security person who had clearly decided that this 'tramp' was in the gallery for no other reason than to keep warm. It soon became clear that Steve was being 'asked' to leave, and despite the intervention of a middle aged lady who was also looking at the same picture he was shown the door.

          "But he was not doing any harm." protested the lady.

          Steve thanked the lady her support. "Thank you, but it will be better if I go."

          Somehow undisturbed by that incident he continued his walkabout, but he could not get the image of 'Portrait Of A Lady' out of his mind. Wandering on and after a while he found himself back at the Salvation Army building. He had only a slight recollection of the building and yet it looked as though it had been there forever. Perhaps it was curiosity but he spent some time looking at the notices and trying to see through a window. What he did not see was an elderly lady looking at him from the other side. Not, that is, until she left the building by a side door and came out to him.

          "Can I help you with something?" She asked pleasantly. It cannot have been difficult for her to recognise a 'man of the road'. His scruffy grey beard and tangled hair was enough, plus his clothing apparel, old and worn out, as we're his shoes, and her approach was gentle.

          "No." Steve said quickly, edging away from the door. "Thank you; I was just looking."

          "Have you found somewhere to sleep tonight?" She asked, before he could make his escape.

          "Er, no," Steve was embarrassed at the question. "but I'll be alright."

          "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," she continued. "I know it can be difficult but just in case," she paused trying to get a sense of Steve's demeanour, "we have a hostel less than a quarter of a mile from here. If you like I can find out if they have a spare bed."

          Strangely Steve followed the lady's lead. Whether it was her kindly attitude or whether it was the thought of a bed; a rare luxury; or whether subconsciously he was not certain about his lifestyle, or indeed his life, might be coming to an end. Maybe he was trying to find a way back into the civilized world. Of this he was unsure, but perhaps he was just tired; and it looked like it might be a wet night.

          "That's very kind of you. Er, yes please." he replied as he followed her indication to "come in’, while I phone." While he was waiting he noticed some tables at the end of the room with clothing and other items on them. Steve was wondering across to look when the lady returned.  

          She had been as good as her word and before long he was walking down a side street looking for an address she had given him. His mood was one that he had rarely experienced since he said 'goodbye' to his farm and a tradition lifestyle. Uncertainty! That’s what it was. There had been very few times when thoughts of regret or misgivings had invaded his mind. Even during the many times when things had been hard, when bad weather or shortage of food conspired against him, he had never felt the urge to 'give in'.

          But now! He felt that he was being drawn in; being pulled back to a way of life he had so long ago rejected.

          But more than that Steve felt no desire to resist.