Beautiful Little Fools, page 35
‘I am sorry if that disappoints you, but too much has happened for me to give up now. In fact, I don’t suppose I will ever marry,’ I say firmly, my heart pining desperately for Alexander.
‘What will you do for money?’ my mother asks, then turns to my aunt. ‘Surely, you’re not going to keep paying for her? We simply won’t allow it.’
‘No one will be paying for me,’ I interject before Aunt Clarice can reply. I am sure she would offer to pay my way in a heartbeat, but it feels important to me that I do this on my own. ‘I have won a scholarship from the Royal Academy. I can’t give up on my dream now that it is just beginning.’
‘Well, what wonderful news.’ Aunt Clarice beams while my parents look crestfallen. ‘Now, you can’t spend all night talking to us, dear. Look – some more people are just arriving.’ She points to the door and chivvies me away as a gaggle of young men swagger into the gallery.
They ooze the kind of self-esteem one can only gain from years of private education, and in amongst them, I spot a familiar flash of golden blond hair and the glint of eyes as blue as summer skies.
‘Henry!’ I cry and, as I rush across the gallery to hug him, my heart fills with joy at the sight of him after so many weeks. ‘You came,’ I breathe into his chest.
‘Of course I came!’ he chuckles, then whispers into my ear, ‘And, as requested, I brought a whole bunch of rich Oxford undergrads with me who have pockets full of money to burn.’
‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,’ I say, refusing to let go.
‘And I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you happy. You’re positively glowing.’ He smiles. ‘I want to introduce you to someone,’ he adds, gesturing a young man over. He is tall, dark haired and lean, with a light sun-kissed glow, and I recognise him instantly but Henry proceeds with the formalities anyway. ‘Birdie, this is my dear friend Lawrence. Lawrence, this is that wondrous little fireball I keep telling you about.’
Lawrence takes my hand and bends to kiss it, his brown eyes meeting mine as he lifts his head. ‘Birdie, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance … properly,’ he adds with a shy smile.
‘And the same to you,’ I say, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Birdie, I was wondering if I could have a quick word?’ Henry asks, looking at me seriously all of a sudden.
‘Of course,’ I answer and pull him over to a quiet corner to talk more freely. ‘He’s lovely. I am so glad you brought him.’ I beam as we sit ourselves down.
‘Lawrence? He’s all right, isn’t he?’ he jokes, barely containing his grin. ‘Of course, we can be no more than close friends in a scenario like this, but it still gives me such a rush to be out with him. We’ve decided that when I’m done at Oxford, we’re going to escape to Venice together for a while and just be our true selves. I can’t wait.’
‘That sounds marvellous!’ I beam beatifically. ‘And how are things at Oxford? Is the play going well? I would love to come and see it.’
‘Oxford is fine,’ he says with a bored expression, then his face brightens. ‘The play is going splendidly, thanks to you. It would mean so much to me if you could make one of the performances. That is not what I wanted to talk to you about though,’ he says pointedly. ‘I’ve been going back and forth in my mind about whether or not I should tell you this, but I think you should know … Alexander came to visit me in Oxford a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Oh,’ I reply a little sullenly. ‘That’s nice.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says gently. ‘I don’t mean to cause you pain by bringing him up, least of all this evening. I suppose you saw the news about the sale of Abbotswood?’
‘Yes, I hope he and his new fiancée will be very happy with all their money,’ I reply stiffly.
‘Have you not heard?’ he asks, peering at me from his bright blue eyes.
‘Heard what?’ I frown.
‘Just … don’t write him off quite yet, Birdie. Can you promise me that?’ he asks cryptically. ‘If the opportunity ever arises, I think it would be good for the two of you to bury the hatchet. You are bound to run into each other again at some point.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I murmur, my heart thrumming like the wings of the hummingbirds that adorn my gown.
‘I knew you would be accommodating,’ he says, placing his hand on top of mine. ‘Right, I suppose I had better rally my friends into bidding on some of these paintings …’
‘Thank you, Henry,’ I reply softly. ‘Oh, and one more thing – I would steer clear of my parents if I were you. I have told them that our engagement has ended.’
His eyes widen in surprise and he lifts his eyebrows. ‘Gosh, that didn’t take long. Were you tired of me already?’
‘Never!’ I insist. ‘I just didn’t feel right, living a lie, I told them the truth and I feel a lot lighter for it.’
‘Well, how could I possibly take exception to that?’ He smiles and stands up, disappearing back into the crowds, and I’m watching him slip into the Oxford version of himself when Mr. Janssen finds me.
‘Is everything going as you hoped it would?’ he asks kindly, and for the briefest moment I think he is talking about my discussion with Henry.
‘Yes, it’s wonderful,’ I say, putting on a brave face. ‘Sam has done the most amazing job and, of course, none of this would have been possible without you. My life changed for the better the day I walked into your shop.’
‘I am so glad you feel that way. I must say I feel the same. It has been a long time since I’ve been involved in anything like this, and it is so refreshing to be surrounded by fresh, young artists again. You’re all so full of life and torment. I miss that!’ He closes his eyes and smiles to himself for a moment. ‘I’m disappointed not to see that lovely young gentleman with you though, the one who was with you in my shop. He bought you that fine leather sketchbook. I remember him rushing back into the shop and insisting you had it for your return home,’ he says fondly, his eyes searching the gallery as if to make sure that Alexander isn’t hiding somewhere. ‘Will he be coming later?’
‘No, he won’t be coming,’ I say resolutely.
Sensing that he has perhaps broached an awkward topic, Mr. Janssen changes tack. ‘I think they want you to do your speech soon.’
This doesn’t make me feel better at all. I haven’t had a chance to prepare anything yet, and I am about to excuse myself so I can scrawl something down when Mr. Bligh comes marching over. ‘Come on, Miss Graham. I think it’s time for that speech.’
I try to beg for a little more time, but he chivvies me along to the back of the gallery and taps his glass, causing everyone to turn around in unison and stare at me. For one terrifying moment, my mind is completely blank and I fear that nothing is going to come out. Then I decide to speak from the heart and hope for the best.
‘Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. As you know, we are here to raise funds for the St. Agnes School of Art. All the paintings you have been admiring tonight have been created by my fellow students and will be up for auction later this evening.’
I stop for a moment and take a deep breath, staring out at the sea of faces, my legs shaking horrendously. ‘But that’s not all we are asking of you tonight,’ I continue. ‘We are looking for patrons to support our school in the coming years, to preserve this treasure for future generations. You might be asking yourselves, “Why should I part with my hard-earned money for these artists?” Well, I’m hoping I can convince you. I had had very little life experience when I enrolled in the St. Agnes School of Art, I just knew I wanted to paint. And I did paint. A lot. I also had the honour of meeting the most incredible and inspiring artists who are with us tonight.
‘I have learned a lot during my short time at St. Ag’s. I have learned that we create art in the same way that we live. Sometimes we create intuitively, with no knowing what we are going to end up with. We create with purpose and bravely bare our souls, refusing to be afraid of how people may react. Other times, we create to find a way through the darkness and to find ourselves. But one thing we always do is create so that we can share the world as we see it, to take you by the hand, like a child would do, and say, “Come and see what I have found.”
‘For many of us, the St. Agnes School of Art is a place of solace. It is somewhere that we have found we all belong, no matter our backgrounds or our upbringing. It is a place where, no matter how different you are, you will always find someone you can connect with because we are all driven by that incessant need to make art.
‘We must keep this long-standing community going, not just for the people in this room tonight, but for all those people who haven’t found it yet. For the people who don’t know what they want to do with their lives, or who have been too frightened to realise their dreams, or just need a place to run to … We’ll be waiting to welcome them when they are ready.’
I pause for a moment, my chest heaving up and down as I stare out at the sea of nondescript faces. ‘Anyway, I think that’s more than enough from me, but let me just remind you that each of you, in your cheque book, holds the power to change someone’s life forever.’
I stand awkwardly for a second that feels like eternity, desperate to crawl back into the crowd and out of the limelight. Then the applause starts. A small smattering at first, but it builds into a rolling wave of approval and I feel myself relax. Eddie sticks both his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly as the audience cheers. I let the praise wash over me in stunned silence for a moment, an uncontrollable grin spreading across my face, then excuse myself and disappear into the back room until the crowd disperses.
‘Where did that come from?’ Babs asks in disbelief as she, Nina and Eddie follow after me.
‘I don’t know!’ I cry. ‘I sort of panicked. I didn’t prepare anything so I thought I would just speak about us, about each of our experiences. Old Mr. Bligh is going to kill me!’
‘Not a chance!’ Eddie chuckles. ‘He’s surrounded by a horde of potential patrons all trying to throw their money at him.’
‘Really?’ I ask in surprise and peek my head out into the gallery. I lean back against the wall and take a deep breath, my heart hammering against my chest as the adrenaline begins to wear off. ‘I need a drink,’ I murmur and Nina procures a glass of wine as if from thin air.
‘Thought you would.’ She grins. ‘Come on, let’s get back out there and mingle. There’s a reporter and a photographer coming at some point. I need to keep an eye out for them.’
I head back into the gallery and stand in front of my own painting for a moment. I chose to create a sequence of continually drawn lines, overlapping one another to convey the natural drama of the ocean and the unpredictable rise and fall of the waves. Despite all the hard work that has gone into tonight, I can still scarcely believe that it is all happening, that people have come to admire our paintings, possibly even bid on them and save us from financial ruin. Looking at my painting again, I feel reluctant to let it go but I know that I must.
My mother comes to a standstill beside me and takes my hand as she looks up at the painting.
‘It really is quite remarkable, darling,’ she says gently, and when I look at her, I see her eyes are shining with tears. ‘All a mother ever wants is for her children to be happy,’ she says solemnly. ‘That is all I have ever wished for you. When I was your age, I wanted nothing more than to get married and have children of my own. Your grandmother was always so invested in my brothers, she didn’t care much about me. I wanted my girls to feel loved and to be happy, and I thought I could bring you that happiness in the same way that I found it – by marrying your father and becoming a mother. But I wasn’t listening to what you wanted … I can see that now. I can’t promise to always agree with your choices, but I understand that it is important that you make them. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness, and your father won’t either. I’ll speak to him. I’ll help him understand.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply quietly. She squeezes my hand, but I turn to face her and wrap her in a tight hug and she wraps her arms around me for a brief moment.
‘It really is quite a beautiful painting, Elizabeth,’ she says, then disappears into the crowd.
I gaze at it once more, trying to imagine what my mother might have seen in it. On the surface, it is a stirring depiction of the capricious nature of the north coast of Cornwall. Maybe she saw her own life reflected in the waves, but for me, it is my own lived experience of several tumultuous months of first love, heartbreak and how close I came to losing myself this summer. Looking at it now, I feel proud of how far I have come. I felt like I was tiptoeing on a knife edge for so long this summer, so close to throwing away all my dreams in pursuit of endless pleasure and careless affairs of the heart.
‘I’ve got to say, this Birdie Graham is a real talent,’ someone says behind me. ‘There is something quite suggestive about all those turbulent waves. Though if you ask me, they look rather like the sedimentary layers of a rock formation I once showed her.’
It feels as if all the world has slowed around us as I turn to find Alexander Tremayne standing behind me, mere feet away. I blink at him, not fully believing he is here, and he gazes down at me, an unruly lock of hair falling into his chestnut eyes.
‘Are you real?’ I ask quietly as the rest of the gallery loses focus. He is the only thing I can see as he takes a step closer to me.
‘Very much so, I’m afraid,’ he says tenderly, tucking his hands in his pockets. ‘Hello, Birdie.’
‘I had no idea you were in town,’ I muster at last, still reeling from the shock of seeing him after so long.
‘I very nearly wasn’t, but I got called up on urgent business. Then Henry told me about your exhibition, and I couldn’t resist the chance to see it.’
‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again.’ I swallow, forcing down the lump that has formed in my throat.
‘I can’t tell you how good it feels to see your face,’ he says earnestly, but he doesn’t need to tell me because I feel the same way, like I have been flooded with sunshine. ‘Birdie, there’s so much I need to tell you, but I don’t want to steal any more of your night,’ he says urgently, his earlier attempts at light-heartedness now gone. ‘Would you agree to see me later?’
I recall Henry’s advice to bury the hatchet, and how awful I felt about how we ended things at the party. This could be my last chance to finally let him go.
‘I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel,’ I say quietly. ‘We’re staying at the Savoy.’
‘I’d like that.’ He smiles, and for a brief second, I think he’s going to reach out and touch me. My skin buzzes, eager for his touch, but then someone calls my name from across the gallery, and he drops his hand. I look round to see that the photographer from the paper has arrived and Nina is beckoning me over. I look between her and Alexander, torn as to what to do.
‘Go!’ he insists. ‘I’ll speak to you later. I’ll be at my aunt’s house.’
‘Was that who I think it was?’ Nina murmurs out the side of her mouth as we pose for photos against the gallery wall.
‘Uhuh,’ I murmur, smiling into the camera.
‘What did he want?’ she asks, turning to face me. ‘Sorry!’ she calls to the photographer as he protests and she slides back into position, but her eyes keep darting to mine.
‘I don’t know,’ I say through bared teeth, my cheeks now starting to quiver from the effort of smiling for so long. ‘He wants to see me tonight.’
‘And do you want to see him?’ she asks. I look up at her and she nods. ‘Of course you do.’
‘Ladies, please!’ the photographer exclaims, and we stop looking at each other again, returning our attention to the camera.
‘What does he want then?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know, but Henry was talking about him earlier and being very cryptic … I don’t have the full picture yet. I would just like to know.’ I shrug, but inside my stomach is flitting uncomfortably like a little injured fledgling, trying to flap its wings once more.
Chapter 39
The exhibition draws to an end once the free alcohol has dried up and the last hangers-on finally leave.
‘Bye! Thanks for coming!’ Eddie calls as he waves off the last few guests and shuts the door. ‘Miserable leeches,’ he mutters. ‘Is there anything people won’t do for a free glass of room-temperature wine?’
‘I can hardly judge them,’ Nina says, raising her eyebrows. ‘There isn’t much I haven’t done for a free drink.’
Eddie snorts and wraps an arm around her while I wander around the exhibition, looking at the paintings one last time.
‘It looks like we sold everything,’ I say to the others. I feel a sharp pang of loss as I look at the ‘sold’ sign affixed to my own painting, but it is a feeling I will need to get used to if this is what I want to do with my life.
‘So, St. Ag’s is safe,’ Babs sighs softly. ‘We all get to stay.’
‘Except you won’t be there,’ Nina points out, folding her arms. ‘Not if you’re taking this trip to Paris.’
‘I’ll only be gone for the summer!’ she insists. ‘I could never leave Cornwall for good, it’s my home. I’ll be back by September and we will all be reunited.’
Eddie’s eyes cast guiltily around the room. ‘About that …’ he starts, and withdraws the folded-up letter from his pocket and stares down at it.
‘What’s that?’ Nina asks inquisitively, taking the letter from his hands.
She reads it in silence, her face motionless as she rakes over the details until she finally finishes and her black eyes land on Eddie. He looks at her nervously, but her face cracks into a huge grin and she wraps her arms around him as I breathe a sigh of relief.
‘You sly fox! Why didn’t you say anything?’ she exclaims beatifically.
‘With everything that has happened, I didn’t want to leave you,’ he says earnestly, and she casts him a long look.
‘Eddie, I don’t ever want to be the thing that holds you back,’ she says intently. ‘After all you’ve done for me, it’s time you were a little more selfish.’
