The Strange Fate of Kitty Easton Read Online Free PDF Page A

paces and then stopped in amazement by the entrance to the porch. He could feel himself smiling at the sight in front of him and he intercepted a look between the two women. They had all been careful not to tell him what he would find.
    The curved archway almost seemed to move, covered as it was with creatures, both real and fantastic, as well as fruit, leaves and vines. He could make out a boar, a horse, a bear, a dragon and a griffon, a strange, spotted sort of cat and a pelican with its chicks gouging its own chest to feed them. There were two capering round-faced imps and, on either side, as capitals to slender columns, two fierce male faces gazed outwards, their hair curling into vegetation, leaves sprouting from their mouths. Not an inch of stonework was undecorated.
    ‘Extraordinary,’ he said. Absolutely wonderful.’ He moved back a couple of paces and pointed. ‘Green men. There’s a whole medieval bestiary here. And yet I’ve never heard of this church.’ Even in his delight he was puzzled. ‘There’s something like it, I think, on the Welsh borders but...’ He looked at Frances. ‘It’s a real treasure. Unique.’
    Gazing at the forest of pagan creatures, he understood why William was so keen for him to see the church.
    They pushed open the heavy door and came into a space still just lit by daylight. After the external arch, it was a disappointment. The Victorian additions William had mentioned were all too obvious. They dominated the church: a heavy Victorian Gothic pulpit and lectern, some highly varnished pews and, in rich blues, golds and reds, a stained glass window of a penitent Magdalene with her rather masculine jaw and extraordinary waves of luxuriant red hair protecting her modesty. Her rich light threw a crimson wash over the white walls and stone floor.
    He gazed around; there were only two other, very simply coloured windows. The west window was just a chequerboard of pale blues and yellows, and to the side, near an octagonal font, was a small glass bearing the Easton coat of arms. A framed painting behind the altar showed another female saint, standing by a tall tower, sparks fizzing between her feet, her face peaceful despite the lightning that crackled in the black clouds above her. It was the church’s patron saint, St Barbara, he realised after a second, and it was the only time he had ever seen her in an English church.
    He looked down. The floor had a strange, thick black surface, with patches of decay. A few inches around the edge, the material was in the process of being stripped away, presumably the work William had temporarily interrupted to get Laurence’s opinion. He took out his penknife and stuck the blade in a short distance, then pressed it with his finger. It was some sort of bitumen. Where the surface had been removed, parts of a few slender rectangular tiles in white and black had been exposed in an unusual woven pattern. The tarry application might have been a cheap way of covering damaged paving but it would probably be worth removing; it was not in good condition and to strip it away would be more labour- than cost-intensive. If necessary they could replace the cracked stones beneath. Whatever the result it would look less gloomy than the present surface.
    ‘Where is the memorial window going?’ he said to Frances.
    ‘It’s replacing the chequered window at the back.’
    Frances indicated the large west window. Afternoon light shone obliquely through it.
    ‘William’s sketched out an idea,’ said Eleanor. ‘It’s extraordinarily good. Beautiful. Very different. Possibly the best thing he’s ever done. I hope you’ll go and see it.’ Then after a pause she added, ‘He still needs reassurance after not working for so long.’
    He remembered visiting the Bolithos in London for the first time and how struck he had been by the startling modern art in the room. He wished William’s own tastes would prevail here, so that hope in the face of immense loss and