Dreams to Sell (19 page)

Turning his head, Jamie fastened his eyes on Roz's face.

‘And, of course, at Tarrel's, I met you. That changed everything.'

‘Are you trying to tell me that you and Ella were never really in love?' Roz asked curtly. ‘You forget – I've met her. She didn't give me the impression that she doesn't care for you.'

‘I'm not saying she doesn't care for me, but what you and I have, Roz, is quite different from what Ella and I had. Honestly, it is.'

‘Oh, of course, you're in love with me, aren't you?' Roz's tone was icy. ‘Well, I don't want to hear about it because none of it was real. If it had been real you'd have told me about Ella, and you'd have told her about me. But you didn't.'

‘I couldn't!' he cried. ‘I couldn't tell you about Ella because I thought I'd lose you, and I couldn't tell Ella about you because … I couldn't hurt her.'

‘So you thought she cared enough for you that it would hurt her to know you'd met someone else?'

‘Yes,' he said after a silence, as he ran his hand over his face. ‘That's true. You've seen those eyes of hers – those brown eyes. So trusting. That first weekend when I went back to Kelder I thought I'd tell her, but I couldn't do it, and then for some reason I didn't feel so bad about it. But the next weekend, when I was with her, I felt so guilty, I knew I had to make the break. But I still never did. The whole thing was like a nightmare, Roz, just a nightmare.' He raised appealing eyes. ‘That's why I was what you called “down”. You kept asking me what was wrong, but what could I say?'

‘You could have told me the truth,' she said quietly. ‘Maybe we might have had a chance, then. But it's too late now.'

‘No, Roz, don't say that, please. I've explained how it was.'

‘All I know is I don't trust you, Jamie. I can't.'

‘You can, Roz, you can! Something like this will never happen again, I promise you, because I've learned a bitter lesson.' He grasped her hand. ‘So, you see, it's not too late for us. We love each other, don't we? In spite of everything, that's still true.'

‘You must face facts, Jamie. We have no future, you and I. All I want now is to say goodbye.'

‘How can you want that, if you still love me? Look, I know I've behaved stupidly – badly – but nobody regrets that more than me. Please, Roz, don't throw away what we have. There'll be nothing underhand any more, we can make things work—'

‘Goodbye, Jamie.' Roz moved to the flat door and opened it. ‘We won't be working together much longer – I'm going to send off my application for that job I saw, and if I don't get it I'll get something else.'

‘You needn't do that,' Jamie said quietly. ‘I'm the one who'll be leaving.'

‘You?'

‘Yes. If everything's over between us, I don't want to work at Tarrel's any more. There was some talk when I was down last time of my old firm opening a new office – it would be a chance for me.'

‘I see.' Roz held the door open. ‘Good luck, then.'

His face struggling to contain his emotions, he gazed at her for a long moment, then turned away and went down the stairs while she listened to every step. When the outer door had banged behind him, she stood like a statue, feeling as cold, until at last she moved to her bed, where she flung herself down and let the tears flow.

‘Oh, Jamie,' she sobbed, ‘Jamie.'

And it was there Flo and Chrissie found her when they returned from work, and the three of them clung together, trying to bring comfort, but they all knew in their hearts that there would be no comfort for some time to come.

It was a warm May evening in 1951 and Mrs Burr's art class was hard at work, painting the portrait of the Art School caretaker. He was not young, which made it easier, for an earlier subject had been a seventeen-year-old student they'd managed to make appear at least thirty-five every time they added a little shadow to her lovely, unlined face.

‘So frustrating, do you remember?' Roz whispered to Norma, who'd joined the class with her in the previous September, glad to see her interested in something new after her unhappy love affair. ‘This chap's much easier, eh?'

‘Aye, he's got so many wrinkles, it doesn't matter what we add in,' Norma agreed. ‘But I don't mind having a go at any subject, do you? The main thing is to get painting, to have an interest outside work.'

‘Very true,' Roz agreed, smiling to herself, for though Norma had enjoyed painting Mrs Burr's earlier cones and spheres, still-lifes and bunches of leaves, her real interest now was something quite different. Oh, yes, a certain young man named Tim Clunie, who sat behind them in the class, painting in a great, bold, dashing style and frequently calling out remarks to Roz and Norma, but mainly Norma. In fact, he had already taken her for a drink after class several times. Roz had always excused herself, not wanting to play gooseberry and hoping that this could be the real thing for Norma, who so desperately wanted a ‘young man' in her life. It would be wonderful to see her happy.

As for herself – well, she wasn't unhappy any more. She did have serious anxieties concerning Dougal, who, after all he'd said about never fighting battles, had been posted to the war in Korea, and also for her mother, who was only just coming to terms with that, but the searing pain of her split with Jamie was over. Now she could get on with her life, which, if it was not very exciting, at least did not hurt.

It was true, there'd been disappointment, when she'd crazily thought Mr Banks might just possibly have considered her for Jamie's job after he'd left for the Borders, but she'd never really had hopes of it. When, therefore, he'd appointed the plump candidate at the original interview to run the department, she'd accepted it with good grace. She and Mr Appin got on together from the start, for he proved as easy-going as Mr MacKenna, and the calmness of the new arrangement after the roller-coaster of the time with Jamie quite suited her, she being something of a convalescent.

But then she'd begun to look around for new interests, this evening art class being one, though she was also considering trying a second class in social studies in the autumn. All in all, life was becoming bright again for her and for Chrissie, who now had a new man in her life, if Bob MacGarry from up the stairs at Deller Street could be called new. But Chrissie seemed very happy again, except, like Roz, she worried about Dougal. And, of course, Flo.

Time was passing and Mrs Burr, a sweet-faced woman in her fifties, was making her rounds, putting a touch here, a touch there on everyone's canvases, always being very diplomatic in making suggestions and never upsetting people so that they didn't want to return.

‘Oh, very bold!' Roz and Norma heard her commenting on Tim's work. ‘I'm not sure if the Cubist style quite suits our Mr Muir, but it's certainly very interesting. Well done! And Norma, my dear, how did you get on? Why, I think you've caught Mr Muir nicely, though you've perhaps made him a little too serious, don't you think? If we were to curl his mouth up a little, maybe? Just a flick of the brush – there!

‘And Roz, you've got his eyes just right, haven't you? Deep set, quite dark in colour. But does it seem to you that you've given him a beard, instead of just a little shadow? You can leave adjusting it for now, though. We're running out of time.'

Moving to the front of the class, Mrs Burr clapped her hands for attention. ‘Now, listen everyone, we only have one more class before we end the course and then have our outing. This year, it's to be to Kirkcudbright – the artists' town, as it's called. Please give me your names next week so that I can book numbers for the coach. Wash all your brushes and leave your canvases on their easels as usual, but first join with me in giving Mr Muir a big hand for being such a wonderful subject!'

There was loud applause for the caretaker, who came down from the dais rubbing his stiff legs and giving an embarrassed smile, after which Tim, curly black hair on end and paint down one cheek, came over to Norma and Roz.

‘You going to Kirkcudbright?' he asked, looking at Norma.

‘Oh, yes,' she answered quickly. ‘How about you?'

‘You bet! Fancy a drink again tonight?' He turned to Roz. ‘How about you, Roz?'

‘Thanks, but I've got to get home,' Roz replied kindly as she gathered up her brushes, but Norma, blushing, said she'd love to go for a drink.

‘Right, let's get tidied up, then. Usual place, eh?'

‘Usual place,' Norma echoed, with a beaming smile.

Departing for her tram, Roz was also smiling.

Fingers crossed all goes well there, she thought. And fingers crossed, too, that she would find her mother in a good mood after she'd attended a therapy session at the hospital that day. Following Dougal's posting to Korea she'd been so down that her doctor had recommended a new idea for treatment, which was meeting and talking with other sufferers. After initial hostility, Flo seemed mainly to enjoy it, though as usual with her, you could never tell how things would go. Sometimes she was in a good mood when she returned, sometimes she wasn't. Roz would just have to wait and see how she was that evening.

As soon as she went into the flat, she could tell that this was not going to be one of the good times. Her mother's face was blank of all expression, but her blue eyes on Roz were cold.

‘Had a good time?' she asked. ‘Enjoyed your painting? You're usually full of it.'

‘Yes, I did enjoy it,' Roz replied, taking off her jacket. ‘We were painting a portrait of the caretaker this evening.'

‘The caretaker?' Flo laughed. ‘Not a very expensive model, then.'

‘He was a very good model, as a matter of fact. Held his pose well.' Roz washed her hands and filled the kettle. ‘And Mrs Burr's fixed on a place for our outing – it's Kirkcudbright, the artists' town, as folk call it.'

‘If that's tea you're making, I don't want any. I had enough at the hospital, with all those folk nattering on. Some of them just like the sound of their own voice, I sometimes think.'

‘Well, I want some tea,' Roz said, preparing it. ‘And why are you complaining about the other people at the session? You usually like talking to them.'

‘Oh, I don't know, tonight I just couldn't be bothered.' Flo moved her head restlessly. ‘I keep wondering how Dougal is managing out there in that foreign land. I mean, why do our Scottish soldiers have to go and fight somewhere like that? It's nothing to do with us if those Koreans want to fight amongst themselves, eh?'

‘I think the United Nations stepped in when the North Koreans invaded the South, and the Americans and other countries sent in troops to help the South. It's not just our soldiers who are out there, Ma.'

‘Seems to me it's a shame anybody is, then. And we just go on with our lives while Dougal's out there, putting up with I don't know what. Look at you, for instance, all excited about going to Kirkcudbright, and Chrissie out enjoying herself with Bob MacGarry!'

‘Doesn't mean we're not thinking of Dougal as well,' Roz said, drinking her tea and keeping calm with difficulty. ‘And talking of Chrissie, I think I hear her now.'

How pretty she is these days, Roz thought as her sister came in, smiling, her bright hair springing from her brow, her blue eyes shining. So different from the way she'd looked after Richard had left her, when she'd appeared so weary, so woebegone – almost plain. Seemed Bob MacGarry had worked some sort of magic on her since he'd persuaded her to go out with him, even when at first she'd said she wasn't interested. He was interested, though, and maybe that had been the balm that was needed to soothe Chrissie's wounded heart. His interest, his admiration, had certainly given her her looks back, and now probably much more. Were they in love? Roz thought they must be, and this time the love was not one-sided. This time, Roz prayed, all would go well for her sister, and in fact wasn't really worried that it would not.

‘Hello, you folks!' cried Chrissie, taking off her light coat. ‘I'm back!'

‘So we see,' said Flo. ‘What was on at the pictures, then?'

‘A Hitchcock film.
Strangers on a Train
. Really creepy. I was so scared!'

‘And enjoyed yourself no end,' laughed Roz. ‘Why didn't you bring Bob in for a cup of tea?'

‘He said he'd better not. He wants an early start tomorrow.' Chrissie felt the teapot. ‘Cold, eh? I'll make some cocoa instead. Ma, how was the therapy?'

Flo shrugged. ‘Waste o' time, in my opinion. What's the good o' talking?'

Chrissie and Roz exchanged glances.

‘Now, why say that, Ma?' Chrissie asked. ‘You've found it useful before and the doctors recommend it.'

‘Doctors.' Flo rose. ‘I'm beginning to wonder just how much they know. Anyway, I'm off to my bed.'

‘Have some cocoa first, eh? Might make you sleep well.'

‘No, I want to go now, rest my legs. But you girls might think about getting a letter off to your brother sometime. You know how much letters mean to him.'

‘Ma, I've just sent one!' Roz cried. ‘And Chrissie added a note. You don't need to remind us.'

‘All right, just as long as you don't forget him. Goodnight, then. And put the lights out, eh?'

‘Bad day?' asked Chrissie, making the cocoa, when Flo had left them.

‘Seems like it,' Roz answered. ‘But you know she has good days and bad days. We've just got to weather 'em.'

‘Shame, when she was doing so well before Dougal had to go to Korea. I thought she was better.'

‘She'll get better again. It's like being on a see-saw, up and down, up and down.'

‘And at the minute, down. Hey, I never asked you about your painting, Roz. How did it go?'