by Anne Douglas
‘If you read the advert, you’ll see it’s from an artist wanting help looking after his flat. Something a bit different, then.’
‘An artist wanting help looking after his flat?’ Daniel stared, then gave a short laugh. ‘Since when have you ever heard of an artist caring about how his flat looks? All he’ll want to do is paint.’
‘Maybe he’s different. Or maybe the flat isn’t his and he has to please the landlord.’
‘After all I’ve said about not wanting you to go out to work, you’re still set on it?’ Daniel asked, not listening to her. ‘Don’t you care what I want any more, Rosa?’
‘I do, I do, but I am interested in this job and I think you shouldn’t mind if I apply. There’ll be others in for it anyway. I probably won’t get it, but I’d like to try and see what happens.’
‘Listen, you don’t know the first thing about this artist – he could be some crazy old man not knowing what he’s doing. It’s not for you, Rosa.’
‘Don’t worry. If I get as far as an interview, I’ll know whether I want to work for him or not.’
‘You know I’d rather you didn’t get involved at all, Rosa. After all we’ve said, you shouldn’t be thinking of it.’
‘Look, I won’t make you unhappy, I promise, but I would like to apply for this job and see what happens. Say you don’t mind me at least doing that?’
‘And if I say I do mind?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, if you do, of course I’ll let it go. But I can’t think why you would. I mean, you want me to be happy, don’t you, Daniel?’
‘I want us both to be happy, Rosa.’
‘Oh, well then …’ She took his hands. ‘Look, I’ve lost the chance of children. Won’t you let me try to put something else in my life? Just as you have work you love, I’d like to have another interest too. I’m not saying this artist’s job would be it, but at least let me try for it, won’t you?’
For some time he gazed into her large, pleading dark eyes, then shrugged and sighed. ‘All right, you do what you want,’ he said, finally turning away. ‘But tell me exactly what happens all the way. Keep me informed.’
‘Of course I will, Daniel!’
They separated; Daniel to take a chair and pick up the evening paper, Rosa to wash the dishes she’d already stacked, her heart beating fast after what had seemed not a battle, more a little skirmish. One it appeared she had won – only, though, if Daniel was happy about it.
Thirty-One
It occurred to Rosa that before she sent in her application to work for the artist, it might be useful to know more about him, or at least what his work was like. In fact, if he was to know she took an interest, it might count towards his taking her on. Where to start in seeing his work? She didn’t think he would be important enough to be in the big galleries, but there were large numbers of smaller places in the centre of the city that she might try. When she did, she was in luck with the very first one.
‘We’ve just the one Jack Durno,’ a friendly young woman assistant informed her in a quiet little gallery in Dundas Street. ‘He’s a bit too new for us yet, but we’ll probably be taking more – his abstracts are becoming more popular, as you probably know.’
‘His abstracts?’ Rosa repeated.
‘Yes, not just his portraits, which are of course conventional, but I’ve none of those to show you at present. If you’ll just come this way, the painting’s on the back wall.’ The assistant gave a little laugh. ‘You can’t miss it!’
She was right about that, thought Rosa, having been brought face-to-face with a large framed picture which was nothing like she’d ever seen before. Where was there something to recognize? Where was a face, or an object, that was in the least familiar? Where was there a face or an object at all?
All Rosa could see were blocks – blocks of heavily painted strokes of colour, which must mean something but nothing that she could recognize, and as the assistant sensed her bewilderment, she smiled again.
‘Has quite an impact, hasn’t it? But maybe you’re not familiar with Jack Durno’s style here? Maybe you know his portraits better? They’re his bread and butter, of course. Pictures like this one are not at present to everyone’s taste, and they’re quite expensive.’
‘Does it have a price?’ Rosa asked nervously.
‘Summer Circles? That’s the picture’s title. Jack’s joke, of course, as there are no circles in it. But yes, it has a price – two hundred pounds.’
Rosa stared, her dark eyes so wide, the assistant had to give another smile.
‘Seems a lot, I know, but it’s quite unique, you see. And in the future it will definitely fetch its price. I’m sure Jack’s work of this type will soon catch up with his portraits. Is there anything more you’d like to see now?’
‘Oh, no, thank you very much for all your help,’ Rosa answered quickly. ‘It’s all been very … interesting.’
‘Not too much of a shock, I hope?’
‘No, no.’
Astonishing, really, the money involved as well as the actual work, Rosa thought, hurrying home. To think of anyone paying so much for a picture of blocks was incredible, and if there was not a great market for that type of artwork as yet, it could only be understandable. One thing was for sure, though. To work for a man who could produce such art would not – could not – be dull and as, later, she set to work on her application, Rosa found herself keener than ever for it to be successful. Thank goodness she could truthfully say she had found Mr Durno’s work ‘interesting’ – in fact, she had never been so fascinated by any artwork before.
As for Daniel, the only thing that amazed him was, as Rosa had guessed, the amount of money this artist fellow could command. Well, not command, exactly – more like ask. If his pictures were as crazy as the one Rosa had seen, would anyone cough up good money for them?
‘When I think of all the work I have to put into my cabinet-making, it makes me think there’s something not right with the world,’ Daniel remarked, fixing Rosa with his direct blue gaze, but she smiled and pressed his hand.
‘I wouldn’t swap your work for anything of Mr Durno’s,’ she told him. ‘There’s no comparison.’
‘You’re still determined to apply for his job, though?’
‘Just to just see what happens, Daniel.’
‘And you’ve sent off your application?’
‘This afternoon. But I don’t suppose I’ll hear anything.’
‘Couldn’t suit me better if that turns out to be true,’ said Daniel, to which Rosa made no reply.
Thirty-Two
Every morning, Rosa looked for a reply to her application and every morning had to shake her head in response to Daniel’s questioning look. No, the post had brought nothing for her.
‘Looks like your artist is not interested,’ Daniel commented.
‘Looks like it,’ Rosa agreed.
‘Well, there’s plenty of interest in the paper anyway, with the king being so ill.’ Daniel frowned. ‘Wonder if he’ll pull through.’
‘He’s been ill with bronchitis before, I believe,’ Rosa murmured, but her thoughts, she was a little ashamed to admit, were more on her own future than the king’s health.
A week later, however, a badly typed letter arrived for Mrs Rosa MacNeil, requesting her to call at eight, Kirby Gardens at three o’clock the following Tuesday. The signature was illegible but probably read J. Durno, as Daniel agreed, having studied the letter passed to him by Rosa.
‘Hope this fellow doesn’t expect you to do his typing as well as everything else,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But at least you’ve got what you wanted, Rosa.’
‘It’s just an interview, Daniel, not an offer of a job.’
‘Anybody’d think he was appointing the prime minister or some such, not just a cleaning lady.’
‘Folk have to be careful what sort of people they let into their homes.’
‘And the folk who work for them have to be careful what sort of people employ them,’ Daniel re
torted, as he put on his coat and cap and gave Rosa a farewell kiss. As soon as he’d gone, she went at once to study their street map of Edinburgh to find Kirby Gardens.
It was quite central, though in an unfashionable terrace of stone houses now all converted into flats. Probably quite an expensive place to live, though, which meant that Jack Durno must be selling a lot of his portraits and even the mysterious abstracts, whatever they were, Rosa thought, now longing for Wednesday to come so that she could get her interview over.
It came, of course, at last, and Rosa, wearing her best coat and skirt of brown tweed with matching brown hat, set off, glad that Daniel’s goodbye kiss had been just as warm as usual.
‘You don’t mind too much about me going for this?’ she had asked him, and he had reluctantly shaken his head.
‘I do mind, Rosa, but I’ve thought about it and I want you to be happy. If you want to tidy up for this artist, so be it. I won’t stand in your way.’
‘Oh, Daniel … You don’t know what it means to me that you should say that! Will you wish me good luck?’
‘I suppose I must.’
Then had come a more than usually passionate farewell kiss, one that Rosa was still remembering when she reached Kirby Gardens, where she found number eight and rang the top bell for ‘Durno’.
Here goes, then, she thought. Let’s see what sort of person I’ve been applying to. For everything depended on what this Mr Jack Durno was like.
Well, he seemed nice. That was her first impression when he answered the doorbell – that this big fellow, tall and broad shouldered with copper-brown hair and narrow brown eyes, was nice. Certainly, he was smiling and had a friendly manner as he spoke to her in an accent that Rosa had learned to recognize as ‘well-to-do Edinburgh’. ‘I’m Jack Durno. Please, come in.’
When she had stepped into a narrow vestibule, he asked her to follow him up two flights of stairs, explaining that he had the two top floors of the building.
‘My studios are right at the top; the kitchen and my bedroom are on the floor below, as well as the sitting room, where we’ll talk, Mrs MacNeil. Like to follow me and take a seat?’
Feeling a little dazed, Rosa followed him into a spacious, well-furnished room that could have been elegant had it not been littered with canvases, picture frames and books, all covered, like the furniture, with a thick film of dust, for which Mr Durno hastily apologized.
‘You’ll understand, Mrs MacNeil, that I haven’t had the time to tidy all this up and since my treasure – Mrs Craddock – had to give up work because of rheumatism, well, I’ve had to let things go a bit. There is a Mrs Goudy who comes in every morning, but only for an hour to do the fires, which is why I need someone to help out very soon, or my mother will come over from Musselburgh and throw fifteen fits.’
‘Your mother?’ Rosa repeated, trying to keep track of all Mr Durno’s talk, and he nodded and laughed a little.
‘This used to be her flat, you see. In fact, it’s where I was brought up – I slept in what is now one of my studios. But my mother made the place over to me after my father died as she wanted something smaller to share with my Aunt Vera. I needn’t worry really that she’ll be coming over. She said she wouldn’t until I’d got someone in to help and the place had been put to rights.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you think you could be that person, Mrs MacNeil?’
‘Yes,’ she told him promptly. ‘I like to set things to rights and then keep them that way. It comes from my training.’
Mr Durno was silent, studying her for some moments, then he pulled a paper towards him on a table at his elbow and read it through. It looked to Rosa to be her application and did nothing to soothe her nerves, though she could just imagine what Daniel would have said: All this fuss for a cleaning job? What’s so special?
Maybe she was being a little silly and had just got carried away because Mr Durno was an artist and therefore different from most employers? Maybe. But she knew that she had already decided that she wanted this job, and the next moment was catching her breath, for Mr Durno, looking straight at her, said, ‘Mrs MacNeil, I think I can tell you, you’re the best. I saw three other ladies earlier today and I’m afraid they found the idea of getting my place straight just too daunting. Whereas it doesn’t worry you, does it?’
‘Oh, no!’ she cried warmly. ‘Not at all.’
‘If I offer you this job, then, would you be free to take it, and soon? You say your husband is a cabinet-maker, which means he’s an artist himself. Would he be happy for you to be working for another artist?’
For a long moment, the room seemed to rock. Then settled, as Rosa decided to do what she could to salvage the situation.
‘I’ll be honest, Mr Durno, my husband would rather I didn’t work, but he knows I need to do something. I’ve no children and can’t have any. Work is very important to me. That’s all I can say.’
There was a silence, broken at last by the artist. ‘That’s very understandable, Mrs MacNeil – I’m sorry to hear of your problems. But you say work is very important to you. Would you like to work here, then?’
‘I would, Mr Durno,’ Rosa said earnestly. ‘I’d be very happy to work here.’
‘Shall we say weekday mornings, nine to one? For two shillings per hour? Would that be satisfactory?’
‘Quite satisfactory.’
‘Well, then, I don’t think we need to be formal about this. I’ll write to you, offering the job, but for now we can just shake hands, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, still not believing what had happened, not yet beginning to worry about what Daniel would say as she and her new employer finally shook hands and made their way back to the front door.
‘Would Monday the ninth be all right for you to start?’ he asked as he opened the door, nodding when Rosa said it would be quite all right for her.
‘I was thinking that I could get Mrs Craddock to look in, to show you the ropes? Would you like that, Mrs MacNeil?’
‘I think it would be very helpful.’
‘Good. That’s what I’ll do then.’ He gave a cheerful grin. ‘So, I’ll see you at nine o’clock on Monday?’
‘Nine o’clock on Monday,’ she repeated.
They shook hands again, then Jack Durno held the door for her and she left quickly, hearing, after a short pause, the door close behind her.
The walk home didn’t even register, for her thoughts were in such a whirl she scarcely noticed her surroundings, arriving at the door with a start of surprise that quickly turned into anxiety over what Daniel might say. Had she time to make a cup of tea before he came in? Yes, just, and while she drank it, she could be busy rehearsing what she would say when she saw him. If, that is, it didn’t all fly out of her head.
Thirty-Three
‘So you got the job,’ said Daniel, striding through the door to the living room on his return from work, his eyes fixed on Rosa, who had jumped up at his entrance.
‘How did you know?’ she cried.
He shrugged, taking off his jacket. ‘Because of the way you look – worried about what I’m going to say. If you hadn’t got the job, you’d be putting on a good face, smiling away, free as the breeze. But I told you, if you want to tidy up after this artist guy, so be it. And I take it that’s what you are going to do?’
‘The kettle’s boiling,’ Rosa said quickly. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’
‘Tell me about him first – this Edinburgh Rembrandt. How old is he, for a start?’
‘I don’t know exactly.’
‘Inexactly, then.’
‘In his late thirties, I’d say. But he’s nice, Daniel. He’s friendly, sort of cheerful, easy to get on with. Doesn’t look like an artist.’ Rosa laughed. ‘More like a rugby player. But he doesn’t do ordinary painting except for portraits; he does what they call abstracts.’ Rosa shook her head. ‘Don’t look like anything to me, but they’re the modern style. Thing is we needn’t worry what he does; I won’t be seeing much of him.
He spends all his time in his studios.’
For a few moments, Daniel, lighting a cigarette, sat down in his armchair and studied Rosa. ‘Any tea going?’
‘I’ll make it now.’ Rosa hurried to the stove. ‘By the way, when he heard you were a cabinet-maker, he said you were an artist too. That was nice, wasn’t it?’
Ignoring that, Daniel asked how much the artist would be paying. And when did Rosa start?
‘He’s paying two shillings an hour and I’ll only be working in the mornings. I said I’d start on Monday. The woman who worked for him before me is going to look in, show me around. Kind of her, isn’t it?’
‘Two bob an hour. You happy with that?’
‘Sounds right to me. Look, I’ll just make your tea, then get on with our meal. Remember, if I’m at home every afternoon, you’ll scarcely know I’m at work.’
‘I’ll know, all right,’ he said shortly.
No more was said about Rosa’s new job, and by the end of the day, when they were going to bed, she was surprised to find herself thinking not of Jack Durno but her sister, Lorne. What would she have thought of Rosa’s new job, looking after an artist’s flat for two shillings an hour? Rosa wondered. She guessed she would not have been impressed, though who knew what she would have thought. So little was known of what she was doing. Their father did hear from her, it seemed, but only at rare intervals, and it was some time since Rosa herself had received news. As far as she could tell, Lorne was still with Rory, but there had been no mention of marriage and Rosa was pretty certain now that there never would be, which meant that Lorne would probably never return to Scotland. Lying awake, staring into the darkness, Rosa was grieved by the thought and sighed so deeply that Daniel seemed to come awake and draw her into his arms.
‘Can’t sleep?’ he murmured. ‘Thinking about Rembrandt?’
‘No, my sister.’
Releasing her, Daniel drew back. ‘What’s brought that on?’ he asked after a pause.