© Ayr/Gray

She stared around the gallery. The main room had all the great masters in the old wing, very dull, she thought, but this part is new and rather posh, how nice.

She lifted a glass from the tray, sipping the bubbly, then she glided around the room. Some rather good paintings, modern in an interesting way but nothing particularly could her eye. But then she sees an imposing sculpture. It rears up, a hooded man and a gaping maw, and it looks rather frightening. Does his expression reflect the artist’s angst?

Apocalypse by Cliff Davies

She made her way up to the second floor. Then suddenly two men – clearly artists – both of them held up their fists. She hedged away, gripping her glass in her hand. People began to stare. Then a moment later, the fight began on the staircase. But it finished as quickly as it started. What was that about, she wondered, as the two artists shook hands and left.

Two hours later, her flight was called. She smiled quietly as she’d acquired a little picture from the gallery wall, where she’d stashed her big bag.

next episode

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