Unfinished Portrait (11 page)

‘It was a bit dicey at first, but I suppose it's only natural for them to be curious.'

‘Well, the house will be totally different by the time they've finished,' he said with satisfaction. ‘Nothing remaining to remind us of anything.'

‘Amen to that,' she said.

The Rubicon had been crossed, Avril thought sleepily, and in the most easy, natural way imaginable.

Guy had called for her as arranged, and during the drive to Stokely she'd still felt apprehensive about what might lie ahead. However, his relaxed manner soon put her at ease, and by the time they reached his home, she was looking forward to the visit.

The house they drew up outside was not unlike her own, built between the wars of solid red brick with painted gables. But this was a busier road than Maple Drive, and almost directly opposite was a bus stop and a parade of six or seven shops.

Noting her glance at them, Guy said with a smile, ‘Handy if I run out of bread! What's more, there's a fish and chip shop, for when I'm feeling lazy.'

‘You do your own cooking?' she asked, surprised the thought hadn't occurred to her.

‘Needs must, since Sarah left. Don't be apprehensive, though; I long since graduated from the tin-opener!'

He took her case out of the boot and accompanied her up the drive, put his key in the lock, and as the door swung open on to a palely panelled hall, any resemblance to her own home vanished. The outlay of the rooms, the position of the staircase, the décor and furnishings, were all totally different, which, oddly, Avril found a relief.

‘I'll show you your room,' Guy said, leading the way upstairs, ‘and while you settle in, I'll check on the meal. It's been slow-cooking all day, so should be just about ready.'

‘It certainly smells good.'

Her
room. Avril surprised in herself a feeling of disappointment, and the wish that he wasn't quite so much of a gentleman. The door he opened revealed a fairly small room with a double bed covered in old-fashioned white candlewick, and she was touched to see he'd placed a vase of late roses on the dressing table.

‘I thought, since you live in a quiet road, the traffic might disturb you,' he said. ‘Being at the back, you won't hear it in here.'

‘Thank you.'

He nodded. ‘Come down when you're ready.'

Avril went to the window, which overlooked the small back garden. Though too dark to see much, light from a window below revealed a modest terrace and flowerbeds. For the rest, it seemed mostly laid to lawn, though at the far end she could just make out the shape of an arched trellis with a wooden bench beneath it and, to one side, the dark ripple of a pond. This, she thought, was where Sarah had grown up, a motherless girl in the care firstly of nannies, then housekeepers. How had that shaped the prickly, independent young woman she had become?

Guy had a drink waiting for her when she went down, and gave her a quick tour of the downstairs. ‘We're eating in the dining room in your honour,' he said. ‘I usually sit at the kitchen table, watching TV.'

The meal was coq au vin, followed by apple pie. Avril was impressed, and said so.

‘Packet pastry, I'm afraid,' Guy admitted. ‘I enjoy cooking, though I confess I don't eat like this every day!'

She helped him load the dishwasher, and dried the glasses he washed by hand. Then he made coffee, which they took through to the sitting room. Avril studied the wedding photograph on a side table, of a much younger Guy with considerably more hair, and a laughing girl who bore a distinct resemblance to Sarah.

‘Sarah's like your wife, isn't she?' she said softly.

He came to stand beside her. ‘Yes, and I admit I found that difficult to cope with, especially as she grew older. But Sarah's very much her own person – far more forthright than Sally ever was, and now the resemblance is more of a comfort than a pain.'

‘You must still miss her. Your wife.'

‘And you your husband.'

Neither statement was either confirmed or denied, and they moved tacitly away from both the photograph and the topic, sitting by the fire he'd lit and listening to a CD. And eventually the time came, as Avril had known it must, to go upstairs.

They went up together, and on the landing Guy took her gently in his arms and kissed her. Instinctively, she pulled him closer, wondering if he could hear the clattering of her heart.

His lips moved to her throat, and after a minute he said softly, ‘Avril, I want very much to make love to you. But I don't want you to think that was why I invited you here, because it wasn't, and if you're not ready, or would rather not, I'll quite understand.'

‘I'm ready,' she said.

SIX

T
hough Rona was anxious to start work on the papers she'd brought back, she had to curb her impatience. It was the weekend, and furthermore Lindsey would be moving in that evening.

‘Our last meal à deux,' Max commented over lunch.

‘Only for a couple of weeks,' Rona reminded him. ‘You're not going to be difficult, are you?'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Moi?'

‘Anyway, Linz said she'd cook the meal tonight, remember, so relax and enjoy it. I hope she'll be all right in the studio,' she added worriedly. ‘It
is
a bit barn-like.'

‘Just as well, since she'll bring everything but the kitchen sink.'

‘I thought we might invite Dominic over while she's here.'

‘You don't want me to ask his intentions, do you?'

Rona ignored that. ‘I think you'd like him.'

‘As you know, I don't usually admire your sister's taste in men.'

Or anything else about her, Rona thought sadly. The veiled animosity between her husband and her twin was an ongoing regret.

Lindsey seemed unusually downcast when she arrived that afternoon, barely speaking as the three of them unloaded her car – parked in the nearest space, some way down the road – and transported boxes and cases up two flights of stairs to the studio. And when Rona came up with the last box, she surprised her sister with tears in her eyes.

‘Linz!' she exclaimed. ‘Whatever is it?'

Lindsey dabbed angrily at her eyes. ‘I'm being stupid,' she said savagely. ‘Stupid and sentimental. But seeing what amounts to the last eight years of my life being carted away and the flat completely stripped, as though I'd died or something . . .' Her voice caught. ‘I just wanted to snatch everything back, say I'd changed my mind.'

Rona put an arm round her. ‘Think how lovely it will be, when you're back there with everything new.'

Lindsey sniffed inelegantly. ‘I know. The computer images are stunning.'

‘There you are, then. And in the meantime, it'll be great having you to chat to, especially on the evenings Max is teaching.'

Lindsey gave her a squeeze. ‘Thanks, sis.'

‘Advance warning, though: I have two dates next week, Magda's fashion show on Thursday – though I'm sure you'd be welcome if you'd like to come – and it's Max's birthday on Friday, so I'm taking him to
An Inspector Calls
at the Darcy Hall.'

‘I hadn't forgotten! And actually, that fits in perfectly. Dominic's whisking me off somewhere unspecified for the weekend, and, much as I'd enjoy the fashion show, Thursday is book group.'

‘First I've heard of any book group!'

Lindsey smiled. ‘I've only just joined, but they're an interesting crowd, and it gets me reading books I mightn't otherwise come across.'

‘Fair enough, then, but I have to tell you you'll miss seeing the delectable Crispin.'

‘How so?'

‘He's bringing a crowd to the Clarendon. Magda would give her right arm to get that set on her database.'

‘Good luck to her. And I'll be interested in your opinion of Mr Ryder.'

To Rona's relief, that first evening passed off well. True to her promise, Lindsey cooked a delicious meal, which they ate by candlelight overlooking the shadowed patio.

‘I could get used to this!' Max commented. ‘An excellent meal, Lindsey. Thank you.'

‘High praise indeed, from the master chef!'

Rona began to clear the table. ‘I meant to ask you, Linz, is Mum away? I've been trying to get hold of her, to invite her to lunch tomorrow.'

Lindsey shook her head. ‘Not that I know of, but I've not spoken to her this week. When did you ring?'

‘Last night, and several times today, but it's always the answer phone. I hope she's OK.'

‘You'd have heard if she wasn't,' Max said.

‘Try again now,' Lindsey suggested.

Rona did so, but, as before, only the recorded voice replied. ‘Perhaps she's at a bridge tournament, or something.'

‘She should be back by now.'

‘A bridge weekend, then. She's been on them before.'

‘No point in worrying,' Max said firmly. ‘Avril's well able to take care of herself. Now, would anyone like a brandy with their coffee?'

Sunday was the usual lazy day. After a late breakfast, Rona spent some time in the paved garden, removing dying plants from the containers and generally tidying up, and in the afternoon all three of them took Gus for a prolonged walk in the park.

‘It makes me realize how little exercise I take,' Lindsey commented, brushing her hair back as the wind played havoc with it.

‘You should get a dog,' Rona advised.

‘I couldn't leave it in the flat all day – it wouldn't be fair.'

‘Then join a gym!'

‘I'm far too lazy, as you well know.'

‘OK, another idea: instead of a leisurely lunch, come over sometimes and take Gus for a walk. We'll lend him to you!'

‘I just might, at that! I'd forgotten how great it is up here.'

That evening, as they relaxed over the Sunday papers, Lindsey said suddenly, ‘I' m going to try Mum again.' She reached for her mobile, and Rona, watching as she tapped in Avril's number, relaxed when her twin's face brightened.

‘Mum! It's me. How are things? . . . Great. I'm phoning to let you know I'm at Rona and Max's . . . Yes, everything was cleared out yesterday, so I'm a displaced person! . . . I'm not sure exactly; about two weeks, depending on the arrival dates for the furniture . . . Of course, you'll be one of the first to see it! Actually – ' she glanced at Rona – ‘Ro tried to phone, to invite you to join us for lunch. Have you been away?'

Lindsey's eyes grew round as she listened to her mother's reply, and she gave Rona a totally inexplicable thumbs-up.

‘And everything . . . went well? . . . Well, that's great, Mum! Good for you! . . . Oh – yes, of course . . . We'll speak later in the week, then. Yes, I will. Bye, Mum.'

Lindsey rang off.

‘That was an abrupt ending,' Rona remarked. ‘And why the thumbs-up?'

‘She said there was someone at the door, though I suspect it was just an excuse. She sends her love, by the way, and says she'll phone you during the week.'

‘And?' Rona demanded impatiently.

‘AND – she
was
away for the weekend – with Guy Lacey! How about that?'

‘Away where?'

‘At his house in Stokely.'

‘Well, well, well,' Rona said slowly. ‘That's certainly a step forward.'

‘And why not?' Lindsey flashed. ‘She's a free agent, isn't she, and Pops has Catherine.'

‘Linz, I'm not criticizing, just saying it's a step forward. I think it's great she's found someone, and he seemed very nice when we saw him.'

Lindsey subsided. ‘Sorry,' she mumbled. ‘I didn't mean to bite your head off.'

‘Wasn't he supposed to be telling Sarah the position, the weekend Mum came for lunch? I wonder how that went.'

‘Perhaps we'll learn more next time we speak to her,' Lindsey said hopefully.

By eight thirty the next morning, Max had left for the studio and Lindsey for the office. Rona cleared away the breakfast dishes with mounting anticipation. Now at last she was free to retreat to her study and examine her treasure trove.

The cardboard box was on the study floor, where Max had dumped it on their return from Buckford, and she lifted it carefully on to the table by the window and began to remove its contents.

The cuttings book looked of particular interest; it had been compiled – by Gwen, Rona guessed – as a scrapbook, and hotel bills and airline tickets were interspersed with notices announcing exhibitions in cities as diverse as New York, Madrid and Tokyo, as well as the prestigious British Painters of the Nineties held in London in '95. Then followed appraisals of those exhibitions by a variety of art critics from around the world. It would all have to be gone through carefully, but what she was after at the moment was an overall view – and, if possible, something that would bring the elusive subject of the biography to life.

Admittedly, there were a few manuscript notes in, presumably, Elspeth's handwriting, but nothing that gave any insight to her character, and Rona was forced to acknowledge the likelihood that anything personal would be confined to her diaries and letters, which must remain out of reach.

By the end of the morning, she was disappointed and more than a little dispirited. Though she'd a wealth of information on the mechanics of Elspeth's career, the artist herself had refused to come alive for her, remaining locked in the confines of her paintings. What she needed were personal recollections to put flesh on the bones.