The Very Picture of You (20 page)

‘So much change in your life,’ Nate murmured sympathetically.

I nodded. ‘I told my mum I didn’t
want
her to marry Roy and I didn’t want there to be a new baby.’ I dipped the brush in the cobalt blue. ‘I said that we
couldn’t
leave our flat in case Dad came back and didn’t know where we were. On the day of the move I had to be prised out of it, screaming, and would only agree to go once I’d been allowed to leave a note for him to say where we’d gone – not that it would have been particularly legible, as my writing couldn’t have been up to much at that age…’

‘Poor little kid,’ Nate said.

‘So I hated Roy because I saw him as the cause of all this change. I used to clamp myself to my mother to keep him away from her; if he spoke to me I wouldn’t reply; I used to hide his shoes in the garden. I hated seeing his pictures and his books and told my mother that she should burn them on a big fire. But Roy was always wonderful to me. He told me that he understood why I felt cross: he said that
he’d
feel cross if he were me. But he added that perhaps I wouldn’t feel so cross once I met the baby.’

Now, as I mixed the colour for Nate’s hair, I remembered being in the garden of the house we’d first lived in, in Richmond. Roy sat next to me on the bench and told me that the baby would be coming soon – in the next day or two. I started to cry. And he told me that there was no need to be upset because the point was that someone was coming into the world who was going to love me. He said that that was all I needed to know…

I looked up from the painting. ‘And Roy was right. Because when I saw Chloë for the first time my anger
just… vanished. Roy would put her in my arms and I’d just gaze at her, and talk to her for hours, telling her all the things that I was going to show her when she was older. I almost fought with my mother to push the pram. In the mornings they’d find me asleep on the floor by her cot. And from then on I didn’t mind Roy being in my life, because I understood that without him I wouldn’t have had Chloë. But of course I still hoped…’ My brush stopped. ‘I’d never stopped hoping…’ I could hear the tick of the clock.

‘To see your father again?’ Nate asked quietly.

I nodded. ‘But this was very hard to imagine, because I was already forgetting what he looked like.’

‘Didn’t you have any photos of him?’

‘No. My mother said that she’d lost them. So I drew and painted him, obsessively, to try and remind myself.’ I thought of the faded drawing of him in my desk. ‘And I believed that if I did a really
good
picture of him – so that it was the
very
picture of him – then that would somehow make him come back.’

‘Which is why you became a portrait painter,’ said Nate softly.

I nodded. ‘It probably is. Because I was searching for this one
face;
hoping to see him again. I kept
on
hoping… even after I knew the truth.’ I felt my throat constrict. ‘I’d tell myself that I didn’t want to see him.’ The image on the canvas had blurred. ‘But of course I did want to, I
did
…’ My hands sprang to my face.

I heard the chair creak, then footsteps, then I felt Nate’s arms around my shoulders. A tear seeped into the corner of my mouth with a salty tang.

I was aware of the softness of Nate’s jumper, of the
gentle pressure of his arms, and of his breath, warm against my ear.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then pulled away, awkwardly. As I did so I saw that there was a red stain on Nate’s chest. ‘I’ve got paint on you,’ I croaked. ‘From my brush. I’ll fix it.’ I went to my work table and tipped some white spirit on to a tissue; then I walked back over to Nate and without even thinking about it, slid my left hand under his jumper then gently rubbed at the wool with my right. ‘There…’ I murmured. ‘It’s gone.’

I knew that if I looked at Nate I would want to kiss him; so I turned away; but he put out his hands, caught my face, and stroked away my tears with his thumbs.

‘I’m fine,’ I whispered. ‘I’m fine now. Thanks…’ I went to the sink and started cleaning the brush, in order to disguise my turmoil.

‘Now I know why you seemed so subdued,’ I heard Nate say. ‘Your father must have been on your mind.’

‘He has been.’ I turned off the tap. ‘Very much so.’ I didn’t tell Nate why, or that he himself had also been on my mind.

‘Maybe you’ll hear from him one day…’

I exhaled. ‘Maybe…’

‘What would you do if he
did
ever get in touch? Would you want to talk to him – see him?’

‘See him?’ I looked at Nate. ‘I… really don’t know.’

So much for being reserved, I thought grimly as I got ready for the party a few hours later. I’d bared my soul to Nate – impulsively telling him things that I’d never even told Polly – and had ended up being held in his
arms. Now I was going to have to go and make polite small talk with him at his engagement party.

The invitation was for eight o’clock, but I was so anxious about it that I was running late. I couldn’t decide what to wear and changed my outfit three times; then I made up my mind not to go, then I decided that I
would
go but ended up walking because my front tyre was flat, then the bus didn’t come and I didn’t have enough money for a cab because I’d forgotten to go to the cashpoint. So by the time I turned into Redcliffe Square it was a quarter past nine and I was feeling flustered and unhappy.

Nate’s flat was on the south side of the square in a big porticoed house with a huge magnolia in front that was shedding its last waxy white petals. I rang the bell and an aproned caterer opened the door, took my coat then offered me a glass of champagne from the tray on the hall table. I gratefully took one and had two large, nerve-steadying sips. I was bracing myself to enter the room on my left where the party was clearly in full swing, when Chloë came out into the hallway. I felt a stab of envy, then loathed myself for it.

Chloë gave me a radiant smile. ‘There you are, Ella!’

‘I’m so late,’ I mumbled. ‘Sorry.’

‘Never mind – you’re here now: come and join the party.’

‘Can I just take a moment? I’m a bit… stressed.’ I could hardly tell Chloë why. I had another sip of champagne and began to feel its sedative effects. I managed to smile. ‘You look lovely.’ Chloë was wearing a turquoise silk shift that skimmed her slight frame. She seemed so young, but now it struck me that she was just the age
that Mum was when my father left – except that Mum had a five-year-old child. I thought again how unusual it was for an ambitious young dancer to jeopardise her career by having a baby. Perhaps Mum’s pregnancy was accidental and that was the real reason why she and my father had had a register office wedding. What she’d said about his lack of religious belief had somehow rung false.

‘Thanks,’ Chloë said.

As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear I saw something sparkle and the skewer twisted again. ‘Oh, show me your ring!’

She held out her hand. A large marquise diamond winked and flashed. ‘Now I
really
feel engaged,’ she said, widening her eyes with mock anxiety. ‘We chose it a month ago, but it needed to be made smaller so I collected it this morning while you were painting Nate. He’s enjoying the sittings,’ she added as I followed her into the living room. Anxiously I wondered whether Nate discussed them with her. ‘Not that he tells me
what
you two talk about.’ I exhaled with relief. ‘But he came back reeking of turps – I teased him that he must have been doing some painting himself…’

There were perhaps twenty people in the room, which was long and wide with a deep bay window. On the white marble mantelpiece were a number of engagement cards and on the wall above it hung a large, semi-abstract seascape in boiling blues and greens. On the other side of the room was a pale-gold damask sofa on which I instantly imagined Chloë and Nate curled up together.

At the garden end of the room I saw Nate, in jeans and a white shirt, chatting to his guests. Seeing me, he
extricated himself and walked towards me. It was like one of the dreams I have of him, in which his face slowly emerges out of a crowd of strangers and I have this sense of happiness and relief. Now though, knowing how powerfully I was drawn to him, I felt only pain and dismay.

‘Ella,’ he said warmly.

I recalled the gentle pressure of his arms around my shoulders, the feel of his hands on my face.

‘Hi, Nate – sorry I’m late. What a great flat!’ I turned to Chloë. ‘So is this where you’ll live after the wedding?’

‘That’s the idea. Nate rents it, so when the lease is up we’ll buy a place of our own. In fact, I like the streets where you are, Ella.’

My heart plunged at the prospect of having Chloë and Nate living nearby – seeing them walking along hand in hand, or unloading their shopping from the car, or pushing a buggy…

‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Though bear in mind it can be tricky living near the football stadium.’

‘True,’ Chloë agreed. ‘How often do Chelsea play at home?’

‘Every other Saturday, but also during the week: the roads get
so
congested – and it’s dreadfully noisy.’ I suddenly wished that she and Nate would go and live in New York – a scenario I’d dreaded when they’d first got engaged.

‘Well, we’ll see,’ she said. ‘There’s no rush – is there, Nate?’

‘No. No… rush at all.’

Suddenly Chloë’s ‘old phone’ ringtone drilled through the noise and chatter. She took her mobile out of her
pocket and peered at the screen. She frowned. ‘I’m sorry …I’ll just…’ She went out into the hall, leaving Nate and me to chat.

So we talked about property prices in this part of London and about when interest rates might start to rise. Without the intimacy of the studio we were politely going through the conversational motions. This is how it’ll have to be, I reflected, once the portrait’s done.

Then one of the caterers came to speak to Nate; as I glanced around, I saw that Chloë had returned and was talking to an old school friend of hers, Jane. So I squeezed past them to talk to Mum and Roy, who were standing near the window. I caught snatches of party babble on the way.

– Wedding’s not long now.

– So did he get down on bended knee?

– Capri’s
a lovely
honeymoon destination.

– Actually,
I
asked
him!

Mum was deep in conversation with another friend of Chloë’s, Trish, and her husband Don. Seeing me, Mum extended an elegant arm and drew me to her while she continued to wax lyrical about Nate.

‘He’s
so
attractive,’ Trish agreed. ‘Obviously very steady… yes… perfect for Chloë – well, he’d be perfect for
any
woman, really – but not as perfect as
you
,’ she added to Don with a laugh. Then Trish began telling my mother about the jazz band she and Don had hired for their wedding, and about the awful problems they’d had seating his divorced parents. As she and Mum began discussing the pros and cons of a formal receiving line, I broke away to talk to Roy.

He smiled at me. ‘So how’s our Ella-Bella?’

‘Fine, thanks.’ I took another sip of champagne. ‘A bit wedding-weary though.’

Roy sighed. ‘I know what you mean… but…’ He fiddled with his bow tie. ‘I do hope you’re pleased for Chloë, Ella.’

I looked at him, shocked. ‘Of course I am. Why do you ask?’

A red stain had spread up Roy’s neck. Did he
know
? I wondered. Had he seen it in my face like Celine had done? Did I have
I
Nate!
stamped on my brow?

‘Why are you asking?’ I repeated nervously.

‘Well…’ Roy shifted his weight. ‘To be honest, I thought you might not be entirely happy about her getting married.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ My pulse began to race.

Roy ran a finger round his collar. He knew. He and Mum both knew. ‘Because it must be
hard
for you,’ he said, ‘seeing your mother and me
fussing
over your sister like this, not to mention spending such
vast
amounts on her, so I just hope…’

‘Oh, I
see
…’ I emitted a burst of relieved laughter. ‘You think I’m
envious
of Chloë – because she’s getting married.’

‘Well… I didn’t really think that, but I want you to know that we’ll push the boat out
just
as far for you. I’ve been saving for both you girls for years now.’

I smiled. ‘
Thank you
, Roy.’ He really was the nicest man. I laid my hand on his arm. ‘But as I doubt it’ll ever be needed for me, I hope you’ll spend it on you and Mum.’

He sipped his champagne. ‘You don’t know what the future holds, Ella. Anyway, it’s good to know that you’re happy for your sister.’

‘Of course I am.’ I just wished that she were marrying anyone but Nate.

Now everyone was moving towards the wide wooden staircase that curved down to the basement.

‘I think dinner is served,’ said Roy. ‘Very nice of Nate to do this.’

‘It is. But I’d like to wash my hands first – I’ll see you down there.’