by Maggie Ford
He gave a deep, dramatic sigh before turning to regard her. ‘But you have still to reach your peak, and this is why your single piece of work is here. It takes up room, but I pride myself on being far-sighted and have faith in it. And that is why I have bought your second painting.’
Ellie found herself being conducted back to where her picture was hanging. Someone was now gazing up at it, briefly consulting a catalogue he held, then looking back at the picture in deep study. Ellie dared hope that he would suddenly say to Hunnard that he wanted to buy it, but the man moved on and Ellie felt her heart sink a little.
‘You see,’ Hunnard began, ‘I am interested in the subject.’
‘You mean my mother?’ Ellie queried. ‘She was—’
‘No, child, the subject matter, the technique – symbolic of your world as you see it, the way you approach your subject. It is filled with pain,’ he added as she began to look confused. ‘I cannot put it in any simpler terms.’
‘No, of course not,’ she had said stupidly, trying to look learned.
She had still been unsure of what he’d been talking about as she finally came away, left to find her own way back to where she had left her other pictures. Even so she had felt good about herself and, with money in her pocket, she actually took a cab, if only one of the cheaper ones, known as growlers because the driver was seldom polite, as if he begrudged his job, and might become quite surly if pressed to do anything out of the ordinary such as carry someone’s parcels.
With her head full of all the nonsense Hunnard seemed to talk, Ellie had approached a grinning Felix. ‘Well?’ he’d asked.
‘Well,’ she had shrugged. ‘He did talk a load of rubbish, but at least I gathered he thinks my paintings have promise.’ She hadn’t told him of their deal. It might not come off and she might find herself landed with unsold pictures and nothing to show for it. But the man wasn’t going to get his twenty quid back and that was certain.
After a moment’s thought about the letter she was writing this evening, Ellie added a bit about this afternoon’s event, unable to keep it to herself any longer. And it would look good to Dora, perhaps make her feel even more discontented with her lot and want to come and live with her instead. What fun they’d have if she did: no restrictions, doing what they liked without having to ask anyone, going out together when they felt like it. It would be just lovely. And she did miss Dora so.
Twenty-Five
‘You’ve been among us for almost two months,’ Felix was saying as he lifted her exhibits along with his own onto the old perambulator he used to get his work home after a day of trying to sell them. ‘But you don’t mix.’
That was true. Other than at the New Year party, he was the only one she really knew. Perhaps she could have pushed herself forward more, but she felt she was still an outsider.
She thought he might have given his support, introduced her to a few of his friends, at least the man he was living with, but he hadn’t. Perhaps to him she did appear to prefer her own company, but it was only because she didn’t quite know how she, a stranger, could break through what she saw as a barrier. By nature she was lively, but on strange ground, and she didn’t want to show herself up in a community whose only conversation seemed to revolve forever around its work, the outside world being another sphere.
‘Not much I can do about it,’ she said huffily.
‘Don’t you want to?’ he queried.
Yes, more than anything she wanted to. ‘Well, I don’t know anyone. And no one seems to want to know me, apart from you.’
‘Well, with Robert C. Hunnard buying your paintings, they’ll soon want to know you. We’re all struggling. One or two make it, but not many.’
‘I haven’t made it,’ she retorted. ‘All I’ve done is sell a couple of paintings to him.’
‘Which now hang in the Hunnard Gallery. He doesn’t buy paintings that he doesn’t think will bring him a good profit. You don’t know, but he could make your name for you. Lucky girl!’
‘Or perhaps he won’t!’ she snapped.
Felix gave a little chuckle. ‘There’s that to it, I suppose. Meantime you’re stuck in that one little room of yours like some anchorite, seeing no one except when you’re here hawking your work, and even then you don’t talk to anyone but me.’
‘I know you,’ she explained. ‘I don’t know anyone else.’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘Then do you want to meet some of us?’
‘Of course I do, but I can’t just push my way into other people’s private conversation. Anyway, they’re men artists and I’d feel out of place.’
Felix became serious. ‘Is that what you’re worried about? Well, my love, there are quite a few lady painters. This evening I’m off to meet a few friends. Come along with me. I don’t guarantee another female painter will be there, but most of us do have female friends… They’re nice,’ he added hurriedly as Ellie grimaced. ‘One or two even have wives. Will you come?’ Ellie lifted her head and nodded. Some had lady friends. Some were married. It made her feel better.
As Felix walked her home, she wondered about the person he shared his room with. Surely it was really a woman and not a he? Was she more to him than just a room mate? He hardly ever spoke of her. But Ellie knew these people by now – sleeping together didn’t seem to worry them overmuch and it could be that Felix and this woman shared the same bed as well as the same room. Still, it could be only a casual relationship, a natural consequence of living there together, say until the woman moved on, found someone else. If it was only that, then perhaps she had a chance with him. He was likeable, considerate, not rough or brusque. Yes, she could be happy with someone like Felix.
As he helped her home with her paintings Ellie made up her mind to have him herself, and luckily, not having met his partner, she’d feel no guilt. It did occur to her that going with Felix could spoil her plans for tracing her father, but she couldn’t go on turning down love and making her own life a misery. It would only be adding to the damage he’d already done to her and she didn’t see why she couldn’t enjoy life yet still keep to her plan. Only lack of money, not lack of someone to love, was stopping her. Why couldn’t she have both?
As she and Felix reached her destination, she took her paintings from him, and looked up into his face. ‘You really are kind to me,’ she whispered, moving close to him. She saw him shrug.
‘How else would one be to a friend?’
‘Not more than just a friend?’ she prompted coquettishly. She saw him smile, a sort of secretive smile she couldn’t interpret.
‘A good friend then, a very good friend,’ he conceded; but as she lifted her face up to his, her lips ready to meet his, already guessing how soft and gentle they would be, he surprised her by moving back a little.
Ellie tried not to let her gaze harden as she too moved back from him. She’d made a mistake. He was being loyal to this partner of his. Moments later, determination to get him away from the girl took hold of Ellie even more. But she could bide her time. ‘About you taking me to meet some other people this evening,’ she reminded, ‘is it still all right?’
‘Of course.’ He seemed a little embarrassed by the incident of a few moments ago. ‘I’d be thrilled to have you come along. Shall I collect you around eight, if that’s all right? Come just as you are. We’re quite informal.’
‘Will you be bringing your other friend?’ Ellie couldn’t resist asking.
‘I expect so. See you later then.’
Ellie tried not to frown. His friend!
She had already promised herself that the girl wouldn’t be his friend much longer, but what if she turned out to be sweet and unassuming? – could she still try stealing her man from her?
She almost wanted to call after Felix that she had changed her mind, didn’t want to go, but he had already turned the corner out of sight.
* * *
To Ellie’s relief, Felix was alone when he arrived. Ellie wondered as she looked beyond him if they
might have had a row. Maybe he’d told his girl about her and she’d become jealous.
Yet he didn’t seem disturbed when she enquired, ‘Your friend not with you?’ as they moved off together.
‘No,’ he said lightly. ‘Other things to do, I’m afraid. He’s in the middle of completing a piece of sculpture and has got very wrapped up in it. He’s awfully good.’
He, Ellie almost echoed, but bit her tongue in time. Her heart soared suddenly as light as a feather. She had no reason to feel guilty at all. Why had she assumed his room mate to be a woman? She couldn’t remember now what had happened to make her think that. She felt so happy that she linked her arm through his, and didn’t notice the instant tension in the muscle.
It was a wonderful evening: a noisy little café, almost everyone having something to do with art of one sort or another, all talking shop, as it were.
Felix introduced her to his own circle of companions; and there were women there, mostly clad in colourful, flowing garments. Where conventional fashion was for the nipped-in waist, the puff-pigeon bosom and formal neckline, these gowns were loose, as tea gowns might be, but brilliant in colour, many with really low necklines and wide sleeves; and instead of wearing stiff hats, they were bareheaded or wore brightly patterned bandanas that bound the hair and forehead, some with a dyed feather or a cheap and gaudy brooch, while coloured beads festooned the neck, and earrings clanked. But they were all happy, noisy, talking non-stop. Ellie felt she’d never enjoyed an evening so much.
At first she was hesitant, but was so quickly welcomed that she soon relaxed – especially after Felix had brought her a small, milky-coloured drink he said was absinthe.
‘It can be a little strong if you’re not used to it,’ he said as she took it from him. ‘So I had some water added. Hope you like it.’
Water or no water, the first sip tasted so strongly of aniseed that it took her breath away, but by the time she’d sipped it for half the evening, she had unwound enough to join in with all the conversation, giggling at silly jokes, trying in fact to focus on the faces before her.
‘So you’ve caught Robert Hunnard’s evil eye, have you?’ someone said to her, at which she proceeded to tell those around her about her experience; and, to her delight, everyone listened avidly, pitching in from time to time with enthusiasm and snippets of encouragement, genuinely delighted for her.
‘You’re made,’ she was being told. ‘God, I wish I had your blasted luck! You won’t forget us when you’re rich and famous, will you? – us poor, bloody, struggling, Godforsaken daubers!’
She promised them that she’d never forget any of them but protested her ‘luck’ might be just a flash in the pan and she’d never be rich. But she preened herself about the fact that it might happen. She told them all that, but for them, she wouldn’t have been there today, thanking them profusely for all they’d done for her. Before she knew it, Felix was helping her to her feet, laughing.
On the way home in the small hours, he let her lean against him for support as the world moved around her in a giddy spin. He had his arm about her waist, and when she came to a sudden standstill, not quite sure which foot to put in front of the other, he held her close.
All she could think about was that the person who shared his room wasn’t a woman. It was wonderful. She lifted her face to his, her arms about his neck as their lips met in a lingering kiss, so it seemed to her befuddled mind, until suddenly he pulled his face away from her.
‘Don’t, love!’
She felt suddenly angry. ‘Don’t? After that sort of kiss, what d’you mean – don’t?’
‘I mean don’t, Ellie. What else can I say?’
She tried to turn from him in her anger and if he hadn’t held on to her she’d have fallen.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she blared at him, trying to pull away from his grasp. ‘Aren’t I your sort? Well, I’m sorry I don’t please you. I s’pose you prefer women what dress like them in the café, like that female you were slobbering over at that New Year party.’
‘Woman?’ he said stupidly. Of course he’d forgotten since then.
‘The one with the red, dyed hair, showing half her bosom and plenty of her leg. The one you kissed in front of everyone. Not that they cared. They were all drunk. If I hadn’t come up to you, you’d have been off with her to where all the other lovers were going for a good time.’
Felix was staring at her. ‘Ah, the New Year party.’
‘Yes, that. And I’m sorry I can’t match the likes of her sort, nor do I think I want to.’
He was silent for a moment, then said slowly, ‘Ellie, it wasn’t a her.’
Ellie tried to focus her eyes on him. He was still holding on to her to prevent her from toppling sideways. Surely she wasn’t so drunk that she had misheard him. She wanted to giggle at the ludicrous admission, yet her heart seemed to be falling down into her boots.
‘What – what d’you mean?’ she stammered.
‘That one you saw me kissing. It wasn’t a woman. I’m sorry, I thought you understood.’
He spoke so calmly, his voice so gentle, a naturally lovely, gentle person: now it all came together. She’d secretly fallen in love with him and now she must fall out of love. Her heart felt so heavy in a way that she’d never expected.
‘Oh,’ was all she could say.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I thought you knew.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Does it matter to you?’ What a stupid question to ask. Of course it mattered.
‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ she said automatically. The street had begun to slow its whirling. ‘It just took me by surprise, that’s all.’
‘We’re still friends?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She wanted to get away, put the door between them, go upstairs to her little attic room and throw herself on the bed to burst into tears. But she wouldn’t make it on her own. She had visions of losing her footing on the bare flight of stairs and rolling back down them. ‘I need help getting upstairs,’ she said weakly.
* * *
There was a need to sort her life out. It was like being forsaken, just as she’d felt when Michael Deel had let her down. Then she’d felt insulted, belittled, betrayed. This time it was no one’s fault, no one was to blame, it was out of everyone’s control – like a sort of an act of God that nothing could be done about.
After days of moping, when she couldn’t even find heart to take her pictures to sell, Ellie pulled her thoughts together. She wasn’t doing herself or anyone any good behaving like this. The worst thing was that she couldn’t even bring herself to pick up a brush, her mind being utterly blank.
With fitful February sunlight picking its way through the grubby windowpanes, she set up the old easel she’d bought second hand and propped the partly begun canvas on it. Once a little more paint was applied she might find the impetus to continue.
Standing back from it, Ellie contemplated what was already there. It was going to be a portrait of Felix. She had begun it only a week ago with love in her heart – a beautiful, gentle face, this time not sharp and thorny and stark, with no harsh angles but gentle curves, the eyes, offset as was her trait, to be full of appeal. And now in the dark background a face, shrouded in shadow, like a spectre, looking on – the face of his lover as she saw him.
After staring at it for a few minutes she began to squeeze precious colours from half-empty tubes that would soon need replacing; money must be found for these at the expense of other essentials. But, of course, she had much of Hunnard’s twenty guineas left.
The palette dotted with small circles of oil paint, Ellie began mixing a touch of white and blue together on her brush. Reaching out, she laid the contents thinly under what would be the shadow beneath the smooth chin. It went on far too thick.
Damning her folly, she angrily scraped off the offending effort. Forcing herself to calm, she slowly and painstakingly reapplied the paint.
It seemed to work this time, bu
t after a couple more efforts she put her brush and palette down. Something was missing inside her; there was no feel for what she was doing, just sadness – against the tricks that life can play on people, a man that a girl could love was someone beyond her reach. The one he cared for – not the one he’d casually embraced in a miasma of opium and alcohol at the New Year party, but a loving and steady partner – had all the affections she wished she had.
She somehow felt that this portrait of Felix would never be completed, but there were no other ideas in her head at all and there was no point in forcing herself.
Ellie turned away from the unfinished work and instead proceeded to brew a pot of tea. She’d not eaten, but didn’t feel hungry. Sipping the mug of tea, she went over to the picture that she now saw as that of her father, still with its face to the wall, and turned it round towards her.
The sight of it was as good a cure as anything for taking all else out of her mind. As she gazed at it there came the thought that she must go and see Dora. But first she would drop in to visit her old neighbours. They’d be surprised to see her. And she did need something solid to hang on to – real people with their minds on living as best they could. It was probably the tonic she needed to get her feet back on the ground.
* * *
That Sunday morning Mrs Sharp opened the door to her knock, her eyes opening wide with surprise and pleasure at seeing her standing there.
‘Gor bless me, it’s you, young Ellie! We ain’t seen you fer ages. ’Ow are yer? All right?’
‘I just thought I’d pop in to see how you all were,’ Ellie said, and seconds later was ushered into the back room, where the entire family was gathered, the remains of Sunday breakfast still littering the table with its tea- and food-stained cloth.