The girl in the blue dress

The girl in the blue dress
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Romance - Harlequin

Can a man fall in love with a painting? The girl in the blue dress was in a portrait that Franklin Lowell had owned and admired for years. And when, at last, he met the original model for the picture, it seemed to be too late. Not only was she in love with the artist who had painted her, but Franklin himself was engaged to another woman.

BEVERLEY spread out the "Northern Counties
Advertiser" upon the dining-room table and turned the pages quickly until
she came to the section headed "Miscellaneous." Then she ran a
trembling finger down the distressingly long column until,

"It's in!" she cried. "There it is.
They've put it in this week. Oh, dear, rather near the end, I'm afraid. But
perhaps some people start reading from the bottom of the column."

"Why should they?" enquired Aunt Ellen, who
was inclined to ask questions like that, owing to a pessimistic outlook on
life.

"Well, one does sometimes, you know. At least,
I know I often do. With the telephone
directory, for
instance."

"This isn't the
telephone directory, " said Aunt
Ellen.
To which objection there was not, of course, any really good reply.

" 'High-class dressmaker and tailoress, '
" Beverley read aloud, though she could, in actual fact, have recited the
advertisement in her sleep, " 'welcomes work, either in own home or
visiting by the day. Original designs. Reasonable terms. Highest references. Apply
Box 641.', You know, I think it sounds
really
attractive."

"Except that everyone has different ideas on
the meaning of 'reasonable terms, '" replied Aunt Ellen
gloomily.

"Oh, Aunt Ellen, you're hopeless!"
Beverley laughed. "I shall go and show it to Mother. She is
always optimistic and cheering."

"That's probably why she is often
disappointed."

Aunt Ellen shook her head in a
disillusioned manner.
But Beverley was
already in the next room, standing by her mother's bed, smiling down at her.

"It's in. Mother! And it looks
fine."

"Let me see, dear." Mrs.
Farman, whose spirits

had never been really subdued, either by years of
crippling arthritis or recent widowhood, took the paper eagerly. "Why, what
a good position for the
advertisement!"

"Do you think so?" Beverley's
dark eyes shone.

"But, why, exactly?"

"Because it comes just where
anyone would fold the paper. Look, there it is, right at the top of
the fold."

"Oh, Mother, you're quite right!
You really do have a talent for seeing advantages. Aunt Ellen said 'oh, well, never
mind."

"No, no, don't worry about Ellen's gloom, bless
her heart, " Mrs. Farman said cheerfully. "She is pure gold, but in
its rather lumpy state. She always expected the worst, even when we were
children. I remember once, " she put down the paper and looked reminiscent,
"that she even refused to fly her toy balloon in case a bird pecked it.
And the odd thing was that when I at last persuaded her to do so, a wretched
bird did peck it. Isn't life exasperating?"

Beverley laughed, but she hung over the newspaper
again eagerly.

"It was an inspiration of yours that I should
offer to go out to people's houses. Hardly anyone will do
that nowadays. And yet it's much the best way
really;

At any rate in a scattered country district like
this."

"Of course." Mrs.
Farman nodded emphatically.
"It
was always done when I was a girl. We had a Miss Popplejohn, I remember. She
wore high-necked blouses and what used to be called a false front,
fuzzy hair looming rather menacingly over the brow,
you know, and had very cold hands."

"Oh, Mother, " Beverley looked doubtful, "do
you think that's what people still expect? Because if so, I don't fill the bill
at all."

"But, darling, think what a lovely surprise
you would be if anyone were expecting the Popplejohn pattern. You are a great
improvement on her."

"So long as I look sufficiently old and
responsible."

Beverley glanced rather anxiously in the mirror
opposite, and felt that her wide dark eyes and her fair hair and rather round
face did not suggest either
age or
responsibility.

"Do you think I look
twenty-two?" she enquired.

"No. You look about nineteen, "
replied her mother exactly. "But you also look very nice and capable. I should
engage you on the spot, myself."

"But then you're not altogether
unprejudiced, " laughed Beverley. But she felt immensely cheered.

That was the amazing thing about Mother. Although
she had been an invalid for so long, and although things had been very
difficult indeed since Father died, less than a year ago, the fact was that she
was the recipient of more confidences than anyone else in the village, and an
acknowledged tonic for any-
one who was
feeling depressed.

It was odd that her sister was so very much the
reverse. Unless, of course, Aunt Ellen was right in saying that someone had to
have her feet on the ground, whatever that tiresomely often - repeated
phrase might mean.

Unquestionably, the smooth running of the
house-hold owed much to Aunt Ellen, and both Beverley and her mother were
gratefully aware of this. Her practical skill, her genuine kindness, somewhat
too well concealed beneath a critical exterior, her true devotion to her sister
and her sister's child, these were all qualities which might have endeared Aunt
Ellen to one. If only a little light-hearted gaiety and hopefulness had gone
with all this.

As it was, when the two widowed sisters had joined
forces, after the sudden death of Beverley's father the previous year, there
was no doubt that the practical advantages were considerable. And so one
over-looked some of the more trying aspects of an other
wise convenient arrangement.

Above all, the presence of Aunt Ellen did release
Beverley for work which would augment the very
modest family resources.

For two years she had worked in London, during
her father's lifetime, in one of the top fashion
houses,
thereby gaining invaluable experience in the profession she was
determined to make her own. In her more extravagant moments of phantasy, she
saw herself as a great dress designer one day. But, even in her humblest view
of the future, she knew, quite objectively, that she was exceptionally gifted, both
as a designer and as an actual worker.

She was, as even the head of
the London workroom
had admitted, by
nature a "cutter." Which may sound like a sort of boast to some, but
which is, in this connection, an accolade accorded only to those who may be
trusted with the styling of a dress or coat,
as
well as the detailed sewing.

Had her father lived, Beverley would probably have
pursued her career through the various stages of the fashion world in town. But
recently, knowing how
greatly her mother
depended on her, both personally
and financially, she had decided to try
the experiment of living at home and being more or less an
independent worker.

She knew she could not hope to make a good living
in her own village alone. But her advertisement had been worded with the
intention of finding some compromise between coming to a dead end in the
village and leaving home altogether, even for Castleton, which was the nearest
big town.

During the next few days, Beverley waited eagerly
for the first replies, which she imagined being sent on in batches of two or
three (possibly even six or eight), every few days.

To her mother she made all sorts of hopeful
confidences. But there was one other person with whom she also shared her
hopes. And that was Geoffrey Revian.

Not that Geoffrey was overwhelmingly interested. You
could hardly expect a real artist to find the ups and downs of a dressmaking
venture entirely absorbing. But at least he tended to show an amused and
friendly interest in most things which concerned Beverley.

She had known Geoffrey since she was twelve, and
loved him since she was twelve and a half. Although he was six or seven years
older than she, it had always
seemed quite
natural for him to confide his hopes
and his difficulties to her, and
there was little she
did not know about the
crises of his early twenties,
when he had had such a hard struggle to
set his feet on the path he was determined to travel.

Beverley knew all about how his father had wanted
him to go into his nourishing drapery business in Castleton, and how Geoffrey, who
had never wanted to be anything but an artist, had steadfastly refused. Thanks
to a very small income left him by his grand
mother,
he had been able to stick to 'his resolve. But
it had been a bitter
struggle, both financially and per
sonally.