Paint Me True (6 page)

I glanced through today’s mail and noted most of the letters had been mailed yesterday. First class mail in Britain really was first class. “Sure,” I said. “It’ll give me an excuse to stay long enough to finish it.”

“Sounds like a plan. You must think I’m ridiculous, calling you out here over just a broken arm.”

I went over to put today’s mail on the stack on the table. “You don’t need an excuse. I’m always happy to visit.”

She smiled at me. “Here, can you actually take these letters to the recycling bin? You know what I’d love? A portrait of Paul.” He had been her husband, and had died in a car accident before I ever got to meet him.

“Yeah, okay. Do you have a picture you want me to base it on, or do you have a moment that you’d like me to paint that you weren’t able to get a picture of?” I dug the letters out of the wastebasket and saw that the date on the top one was Friday’s. My steps slowed as my mind chewed that over.

“Ooh, I’ll have to think about that.”

“Your housecleaner comes Fridays?” I asked

“Mmm-hmm.”

“There are letters here that would have arrived Saturday.”

“Hmm?”

“Someone picked up the mail on Saturday. Would your friend who has the key do that?”

“She’s in Tenerife, honey. I’m sure she’s still gone.”

I walked through to the kitchen, dumped the mail in the recycling bin, and checked the row of pegs by the back door where the car keys hung. There was no spare key. “Someone was in your house Saturday, but they didn’t take anything. I mean, they left your laptop and stuff.”

“That’s... that’s odd.”

“Think, would anyone else have a key?”

“No, I got the locks changed when I married Paul, and I’ve been very careful about who gets keys. No one has one to keep, and I change the location of the one I hide out front every time I tell someone where it is – save for you, of course. You’re the only person.”

“What about your kids?”

“They live clear out in Bristol and up in Leeds. I don’t think they’d be by.”

“And your cleaning lady?”

“Right, yes, she has one. Maybe she stopped by again Saturday, or maybe she was late last week?”

I stepped back into the entryway. “Would it be an overreaction to call a locksmith and change your locks?”

“No. That’s the easiest thing to do, isn’t it? Yes, why don’t we do that?”

I nodded and went to find the phone book. I heard Nora move into the sitting room and plop herself down.

“Sorry,” I said, “we were talking about Paul. How did you guys meet?”

“I came over here for my junior year abroad. Did you know that?”

“Huh-uh.”

“Yes, I came over here for my junior year abroad. I was studying English and the outfit that organized this put us up in a house off the High Street, but I did some of my tutorials at Balliol College. You know the one? It’s on Broad Street.”

“Right by the intersection of Cornmarket?” It was a fairly well known college, though I couldn’t conjure up a picture of it just then. I joined her in the sitting room, the phone book tucked under my arm.

“Yes that’s the one.” She put her feet up and turned another page in the catalog she was perusing. “Paul was a student at Balliol.”

“Oh, he studied here too?” I settled into one of the armchairs with its cushions so soft that it felt like I was being held in a plush embrace.

Nora nodded.

“But he lived here at the house?”

“He lived in the college.”

“Do you remember the first time you ever saw him?”

“Oh yes.” She smirked. “I was at the Porter’s Lodge, you know the little front gate of the college? The porters are the ones who prevent just anyone from going in to wander, and that porter thought I had no business there at all. He kept saying that Balliol didn’t take American study abroad students, though that’s where my tutorial was.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I was there arguing with this pompous man- you have to remember, I’d never been on an airplane before I came here.”

“Seriously?”

She shrugged, as if embarrassed to admit the fact. “I was so far out of my depth. You’ve seen the small town I’m from. I might as well have gone to a whole different planet.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Anyway, I was there arguing and trying not to cry. I felt so lost. Paul stepped into the lodge from the quad and took my breath away.”

“Did he talk to the porter for you?”

“Oh no, didn’t even look my way. Stood for a whole five seconds, reading a piece of paper, and then he walked on past and out onto the street.”

“So what did you notice about him?”

“He had the most intense eyes. Blue-gray, like mine, and he carried himself with such confidence. He was tall and muscular, and even though he wore the same kind of sweater that every other guy seemed to be wearing, with brown corduroy trousers, on him they looked right. He could have been a model for that kind of clothing. And the way he looked at the paper was just so... I don’t know. Brooding. He smoldered, if that makes sense. No, I guess that sounds silly.”

“I get what you mean.”

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw him. You know that feeling when you really notice someone. They just stand out to you and you want to get to know them?”

I nodded.

“Well this was that, times a million. I mean, I was speechless after he walked through. I never thought in a thousand years that I’d meet him, let alone date him. It was love at first sight.”

“I guess I’ve never felt that.”

“Which is a pity. True love is all about those once in a lifetime moments when you don’t just find yourself a good guy who’s nice enough, but you find that man who’s beyond your wildest dreams.”

I cast my mind back to the first time I’d met Len. I’d joined the singles ward when I’d moved to Portland and my very first week there, I’d seen Len. He was already in his seat in the front row, wearing a tie that was coming apart. I didn’t know that ties could be worn out like that, but his had been. The inner liner showed through several holes around the knot. He had a PDA in his hand and was poking away at it with his stylus – that’s how old and out of date his PDA was. It had a stylus, and was covered in duct tape. His shoes were beat up old sneakers, also with holes in the leather, and his pants were so wrinkled, it looked like he’d slept in them.

I sat in the back row and Jenna Knight was the first person to find me. She was in one of her usual, sensible, straight skirts with a white blouse, and she sat down next to me with a businesslike air, her blond hair pinned back from her dainty, heart-shaped face. “You’re new. I’m Jenna.” She held out her hand.

“Eliza,” I said. It felt a little odd to shake hands, but that, I’d soon learn, was Jenna’s way.

“Welcome to the monkey house. Gah.” She made a shooing motion at Len. He’d seen us and was smiling our direction. At her gesture, his eyes twinkled and he turned back around.

“Who’s that?” I said.

“His name’s Len. He’s the clerk, so he’ll come bother you about your records and all that.”

“You don’t like him?”

“He’s annoying. Seriously, don’t speak to him any more than you have to. He just talks about video games and stupid stuff like that, as if you’re supposed to care. Oh, here he comes.” She rolled her eyes.

Sure enough, he was advancing up the aisle. I waited until he was close enough to hear me. “You need my name and old ward?”

“Yup.”

“Eliza Dunmar. Sa-”

“I’m Len,” he cut me off.

“Yeah, hi. Eliza. I was in-”

“So what brings you to Portland?”

“Dork,” said Jenna under her breath, which I know Len heard, but he didn’t react.

I had no prepared answer to that one, and I realized this was a mistake. What was I supposed to say? I’m here because of free housing? “I’m an artist,” I blurted, as if the connection between my art and living in Portland were somehow obvious.

Perhaps it was to a person like Len, because he just nodded and said, “Nice. So am I, more or less. You know. I’m a sysadmin for a law firm.”

“Um... what?” said Jenna.

He smirked at her.

She gave him a look that would have made an oak tree wither.

But it didn’t affect him. He turned back to me and said, “Give me your email and I’ll send you the records transfer form-”

I realized then that I’d zoned out on Nora. My mind withdrew from Portland and returned to my body in Oxford with an almost audible thud. “Sorry.”

“Good thoughts or bad?”

“Bad. Let’s talk about Paul some more.”

“Oh, all right.” She winked.

This time I focused on her entirely and let the room melt away as she told her story.

I
never
let myself be caught in jeans and a sweatshirt again. The first thing I did when I got to my room was change into a skirt. I shook my hair out of its ponytail and put on some lipgloss. The next time Paul saw me, I was determined to look more sophisticated. And I did see him around Balliol. I began to make a habit of passing by or through the college whenever I could and when I saw him, I’d duck behind the nearest wall and spy on him. Silly of me, I know.

A couple of weeks into my course, I was trying to get back home in time for dinner and I almost ran right into him on a street corner. He caught my arm and I just about fainted when I saw who it was.

“You all right?” he asked. He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke.

I just stared at him.

“I’m Paul.”

“Nora.”

“You American?”

“Yeah.”

He looked me up and down. “What brings you to Oxford?”

“I’m majoring in English literature.”

“Ah, right. Well, this is the place for that then.” He chuckled. “I’m reading history.”

“Reading?”

“It’s what my degree is in. I’m a finalist. I graduate in the spring.”

“Oh, okay.” Since he still hadn’t let go of my arm, I felt weak in the knees.

“You been to England before?”

“Never been outside of Utah before.”

“Must be quite a change, then?”

I nodded.

“Sorry, you trying to get somewhere?”

“Just back to my house for dinner.”

“What, you live out?”

“Um... I live in a boarding house with the other people on my exchange program.”

“Oh, so do they feed you well or is it just rubbish food?”

“Um, I dunno.” My mind wasn’t working real well. I must’ve rehearsed a million conversations with him in my dreams, but that didn’t make the actual conversation any easier, you know? “Just, lots of boiled vegetables and stuff...”

“Chippy is better than that.”

My confusion must’ve shown in my face, because he started to laugh.

“You have chippies in America?”

“I... don’t think so.”

“Ah, no, you must have them.”

I shrugged. “Maybe we call them something else?”

“A fish and chip shop?”

“Oh, sure, I guess.”

“Real English culture, that. Tell you what. Come with me to the chippy. All right?”

“What, now?”

“What? You’d rather have potato and leek soup or some rubbish like that?”

“Um, okay.”

He smiled, like he was proud he got me to change course. “All right, let’s go.”

“T
he chippy’s over off the High Street,” Nora explained. “Kind of down an alley, past where the Chaing Mai restaurant is, or was. I haven’t been down there in ages.”

“Was the food good?”

“Disgusting. Batter fried sausages and greasy fish and chips. Might as well just eat fried lard, not that I cared. He paid and put vinegar on my fries so that I could have them the ‘real English’ way. I thought I’d faint at any moment. It was like a dream. I wanted to pinch myself, literally.”

“Was he just friendly like that?”

“No, I think he’d seen me skulking around.” She smiled. “And apparently he didn’t mind it.”

“I’ve never had a date like that,” I admitted.

“Well, sounds like you’ve been dating the wrong men.”

I
woke up fully clothed on top of the covers of the bed in one of the guest rooms. I had a hazy memory of helping Aunt Nora to bed before I staggered here. Everything was dark, which meant it was after sundown. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was four in the morning. That was the problem with jet lag. I was now wide awake and would be tired again before bedtime.

Still, there was no point just lying there. There was a bathroom just across the hall from this room, so I took a quick shower in the antique, footed tub. The chrome was all gold tone, which gave it a luxurious look, and the shower curtain was heavy linen, lined with plastic. I dried off with one of the fluffy towels, dressed, and went back to the guest room. This was the one I usually stayed in, and the last time I’d been here I’d left acrylic paints in the closet. They were there, just as I’d left them.