having discovered an ability to do this.”
“I should hope so.”
At their next session, Stella presents Dr. Bridge with a drawing of a face. A young man, with only some of his features depicted, looks straight at the viewer. One eye is vividly represented, but little of the right eye or indeed the face below it shows. The side of a nose as well as a half lip and a half chin have been completed. “Is this someone you saw in France?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
A handsome face, even with its injuries. A full head of hair has been mussed about, as in a wind. The jawline is strong, the half lip full. The good eye and cheekbone suggest strength and steadiness.
“There are parts of the face missing,” Dr. Bridge says.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Why this face?”
“It was quite clear to me in my mind. I’ve done another.”
The same man in profile. Grime in the wrinkles of his neck. Most distinctive is the shape of the head, with its almost Egyptian curve at the back.
“How I would have liked to have drawings of heads like these before I performed operations on the men I’ve treated,” the doctor says. “But what a waste of your talents that would have been.”
Stella cannot think of any better use for them.
“The man you’ve drawn here: is this someone you seek at the Admiralty?”
Dr. Bridge moves slightly away, and Stella turns to him. “I can’t picture at all the man or woman I seek at the Admiralty. It’s not a memory or a dream, merely a strong urge to go there.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t had better luck. Do you intend to continue, knowing how unlikely it is you’ll encounter this person?”
She can feel herself blushing. “I’m certain that if I could get inside the building, I would find what I’m looking for.”
“I may be able to help you with that,” Dr. Bridge offers. “I’ll go with you. There’s an old friend of mine there, an officer. I’m sure he’ll leave our names with the guard. Perhaps after Christmas week? I might have done this sooner for you, but I was hoping that you would let the concept of the Admiralty go and try to solve your problems through our discussions. But when I saw how our walk in the garden caused such a stir, I reconsidered.”
Stella is amazed.
“We shouldn’t be too hopeful about the visit,” Dr. Bridge warns.
Two days later, after several pleasantries, Dr. Bridge asks to see the drawings again. He stops at the face. “I’m wondering if you connect this man with the garden.”
The comment surprises her. “No.”
“In sequence, you went straight from the garden to the man. In the last picture in the series of the garden, the flowers are trampled, and you yourself suggested France. Is there a link between tangled flowers and the face?”
Stella closes her eyes. “There must be,” she says. “But I can’t see anything apart from the obvious. Soldiers often ruined flowers in France. The landscape has been devastated. Perhaps he is a soldier?”
“Or maybe something at that house, in that garden, was ruined, causing you to make the link between the garden and France.”
“I have another drawing,” she says, wanting to change the subject.
He takes the paper from her and sets it on top of the others. “I take it this is the OAB? The Admiralty?”
“The side entrance.”
“You couldn’t finish the man coming out the door.”
Stella shakes her head.
“Is this the person you hope to meet?”
“Possibly.”
“It’s interesting he’s not in uniform.”
A uniform never occurred to Stella. The faceless man is tall and well dressed.
“You’ve written ‘Unfinished’ over the drawing,” Dr. Bridge says.
“I was frustrated.”
She has drawn the lines of masonry, the wrought-iron gate, and the figure of the guard who stands just outside the entrance. The frame of the drawing encompasses the doorway and the immediate environs. She has depicted the back end of a motorcar waiting at
“I should hope so.”
At their next session, Stella presents Dr. Bridge with a drawing of a face. A young man, with only some of his features depicted, looks straight at the viewer. One eye is vividly represented, but little of the right eye or indeed the face below it shows. The side of a nose as well as a half lip and a half chin have been completed. “Is this someone you saw in France?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
A handsome face, even with its injuries. A full head of hair has been mussed about, as in a wind. The jawline is strong, the half lip full. The good eye and cheekbone suggest strength and steadiness.
“There are parts of the face missing,” Dr. Bridge says.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Why this face?”
“It was quite clear to me in my mind. I’ve done another.”
The same man in profile. Grime in the wrinkles of his neck. Most distinctive is the shape of the head, with its almost Egyptian curve at the back.
“How I would have liked to have drawings of heads like these before I performed operations on the men I’ve treated,” the doctor says. “But what a waste of your talents that would have been.”
Stella cannot think of any better use for them.
“The man you’ve drawn here: is this someone you seek at the Admiralty?”
Dr. Bridge moves slightly away, and Stella turns to him. “I can’t picture at all the man or woman I seek at the Admiralty. It’s not a memory or a dream, merely a strong urge to go there.”
“I’m sorry you haven’t had better luck. Do you intend to continue, knowing how unlikely it is you’ll encounter this person?”
She can feel herself blushing. “I’m certain that if I could get inside the building, I would find what I’m looking for.”
“I may be able to help you with that,” Dr. Bridge offers. “I’ll go with you. There’s an old friend of mine there, an officer. I’m sure he’ll leave our names with the guard. Perhaps after Christmas week? I might have done this sooner for you, but I was hoping that you would let the concept of the Admiralty go and try to solve your problems through our discussions. But when I saw how our walk in the garden caused such a stir, I reconsidered.”
Stella is amazed.
“We shouldn’t be too hopeful about the visit,” Dr. Bridge warns.
Two days later, after several pleasantries, Dr. Bridge asks to see the drawings again. He stops at the face. “I’m wondering if you connect this man with the garden.”
The comment surprises her. “No.”
“In sequence, you went straight from the garden to the man. In the last picture in the series of the garden, the flowers are trampled, and you yourself suggested France. Is there a link between tangled flowers and the face?”
Stella closes her eyes. “There must be,” she says. “But I can’t see anything apart from the obvious. Soldiers often ruined flowers in France. The landscape has been devastated. Perhaps he is a soldier?”
“Or maybe something at that house, in that garden, was ruined, causing you to make the link between the garden and France.”
“I have another drawing,” she says, wanting to change the subject.
He takes the paper from her and sets it on top of the others. “I take it this is the OAB? The Admiralty?”
“The side entrance.”
“You couldn’t finish the man coming out the door.”
Stella shakes her head.
“Is this the person you hope to meet?”
“Possibly.”
“It’s interesting he’s not in uniform.”
A uniform never occurred to Stella. The faceless man is tall and well dressed.
“You’ve written ‘Unfinished’ over the drawing,” Dr. Bridge says.
“I was frustrated.”
She has drawn the lines of masonry, the wrought-iron gate, and the figure of the guard who stands just outside the entrance. The frame of the drawing encompasses the doorway and the immediate environs. She has depicted the back end of a motorcar waiting at
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