Lizzie’s Daughters

by Rosie Clarke

  When she’d finished her tea, Gran took her up to her room. It too was large but the ceilings were arched and beamed, because there were no attics above this particular room. A fire was burning in the fireplace and very welcoming. The bed looked inviting with its thick patchwork covers, and Betty guessed that the fire was in honour of her as a guest; these hardy people wouldn’t light fires up here unless it was bitterly cold.

  ‘Frank will bring the trunk down from the loft,’ Gran said. ‘Some of the stuff belonged to his mother – but some of it was mine as a girl. Take your pick of it – but there’s a cardigan on the bed. It’s a new one my son gave me for my birthday. I’ve had no occasion to use it but it will keep you from shivering to death…’

  Betty thanked her and went to warm her hands by the fire.

  ‘The toilet is at the end of the hall,’ Gran said. ‘We’ve had a bath put in recently, but the men use it at night and the water won’t heat up in time if you use it – so wait for the morning, lass.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Betty said, even though she was dying for a wash.

  ‘I’ll get one of the lads to bring up a can of hot water,’ Gran said. ‘Frank has the room across the hall. I’m next to you – and his uncle at the other end. There’s a brush and comb on the dressing table, but nothing to put on your face. I’ve never used anything but a drop of Pond’s face cream…’

  ‘It’s all right, Frank bought a couple of bits for me on the way here,’ Betty said. ‘I’d like to use the bathroom just to tidy up – and then I’ll come down again. I can bring some hot water up myself later…’

  ‘The lads will do it,’ Gran said, making Betty smile at the thought of Tom still being called a lad by his mother. ‘Take a few moments to refresh yourself, lass. There’s no call to hurry…’

  Betty visited the bathroom and used the toilet, washing her hands but refrained from using hot water. Used to the excellent heating at home, she found the old-fashioned limitations of the farmhouse a little strange but accepted them. It was a different way of life – a throwback to the 1930s or even before, when bathrooms and indoor toilets were just coming in, though this was white and quite modern. Clearly Tom had made changes when he took over from his father, but the method of heating didn’t run to endless baths…

  Returning to her bedroom, she discovered that a can of hot water awaited her and she took off her dress, using the soap thoughtfully provided on the washstand. It felt so much better and Betty wished she had clean undies to put on as she redressed in her used ones, but they hadn’t passed anywhere that sold women’s clothing.

  Frank had been in a hurry to reach the farm and Betty knew he was anxious in case those men had managed to follow them, but Betty didn’t think they would bother. Pierre had been in charge and with him dead, they would most likely just make themselves scarce in case they were blamed for his death.

  A shiver went down her spine as she brushed her hair and used a little of the lipstick Frank had bought for her on the way down. He’d taken such risks for her – killed a man! Betty found that shocking and awesome both at the same time. Frank must care for her very much to have done that for her sake. Tears stung her eyes, because as grateful as she was for his care of her, Betty knew that she wasn’t in love with him…

  Chapter 26

  Francie handed in her coursework for the end of term exams and then crossed her fingers behind her back. She’d seen some of the work her friends had done, and Jilly’s was outstanding. Her modern art looked original and yet in the style of Picasso. Yet Francie seemed to have done more than anyone else, and that surprised her.

  ‘How did you manage those large portraits?’ Jilly asked in awe. ‘It took me ages to do the course stuff. I only managed one view for my free period…’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I just sloshed some paint on and scrubbed at it for the modern stuff,’ Francie said and pulled a face. ‘As for the portraits, they just came. I worked hours without stopping… but I know they won’t count and I’ll probably fail my exams…’

  ‘They are fantastic… especially the one of the girl,’ Averil said. ‘I wish I could paint like that, Francie, but I never shall. I’m going into commercial art, which is what I’m good at – but that was real art…’

  ‘Even so it probably won’t impress the examiners,’ Francie said. ‘Well, what have you two been up to while I was away?’

  ‘Missing you,’ Jilly said and squeezed her waist. ‘What are you planning to do now?’

  ‘Well, there’s Christmas coming up soon and I shall enjoy shopping with Mum – and Betty, I hope. I haven’t seen her for ages…’ Francie bit her lip, because she couldn’t tell her friends about the things that had been happening to her sister. ‘And I’ve got a photo shoot planned ’ Francie said cautiously.

  ‘You’re not going on with the modelling?’

  ‘Styled gave me this contract, but Vogue has offered me some work in the future, though I told them I was committed for the moment,’ Francie told them. ‘I can’t believe it but they’re paying me so much money… just for posing in beautiful clothes…’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Jilly said. ‘I wish I was coming with you. I’ll probably get dragged to London shopping with my mother – and shopping with Mum isn’t fun, even if it is Christmas, though I like buying my presents… I’ll probably go and stay with Gran as soon as I can escape.’

  ‘I’ll come and visit when I’m not working,’ Francie said. ‘What are you going to do, Averil?’

  ‘I’m going to work here for a while before I go home. I’ve got a commission for an engineering firm to design a new logo – and if it is accepted, I’ll have a job lined up for when I leave next spring…’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ her friends exclaimed, and immediately demanded to know what she’d been asked to do.

  Francie joined in the teasing and laughter, but she was busy working out a schedule in her mind. She could take her sketching things with her on the shoot and make some quick drawings while she was waiting for the various changes. There were always long discussions about lighting and locations, and it could be boring just standing around, but she’d used her time successfully before and that was how she’d managed to come up with some of the line drawings she’d put in as part of her coursework.

  She’d been given tickets for a chartered flight from Marshall’s Airport and the freelance photographer, Michael, she’d met in London on that shoot for Styled was flying down with her. His family home was in Cambridge, though his studio was in London. He’d agreed to meet Francie at her college and drive her to the airport on the outskirts of Cambridge so that they could join some of the other crew to fly down to Cornwall. Some of the clothes they were going to model were winter coats and warm boots, but some were for spring and were going to be photographed against a background of cliffs and water settings, which would be chilly but was one of the things models got used to. The scenery would be ideal to sketch roughly and paint later when she had time, because she could take lots of her own photos. If everything worked out well, no one would ever need to know that she was living two lives and deceiving her parents…

  *

  ‘Well, that’s a wrap I’d say,’ Michael came over to where Francie had been sitting working on a sketch for the past ten minutes while he worked with the other models on the shoot. ‘We’ve got all we need for the day, Francie. You can get back to the hotel and warm yourself up now. It’s pretty cold out here…’

  ‘Is it? I hadn’t noticed…’ Francie put her pencils away and was closing her pad when he reached out to try to tweak it from her hands. ‘No, please, don’t – they aren’t ready for anyone to see…’

  ‘You’re an artist…’ Michael had been taking some pictures of her as she worked, clicking away. Then he grabbed her sketchbook, ignoring her pleas to give it back. ‘And a damned good one. What are you wasting your time doing this job for?’

  Francie blinked away her tears.. She snatched the pad back from him, hurt that he’d asked
such a question. ‘I was offered the contract. Why shouldn’t I take it?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way, Francie,’ Michael said, sensing now that he’d upset her. ‘Look, you’re lovely and the camera adores you – but there are hundreds of girls as beautiful and we get loads of them who only manage to make it for a year or so and then get left behind. Your art is a wonderful gift and it will be yours for a lifetime. I just think it’s a waste to neglect it for this… hanging about in all weathers just for a few fashion pictures.’

  ‘You do it!’ she flashed at him angrily, shrugging away his help as she gathered her things. ‘Why is that fine for you but wrong for me – and how do you know that I shan’t become famous and go on for years?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you will – but I do know how many fail. Sometimes you’re promised a cover shot for a magazine and then they just shove you in at the back somewhere and next time they drop you altogether in favour of the latest sensation…’

  ‘I think I hate you,’ Francie said crossly as she followed him to the car where her chaperone was waiting patiently to drive her back to the hotel.’

  ‘That’s a pity because I’ve got a few pictures I think some other magazines might like – we might even get you on the front cover of Vogue. They asked me to send them something different – and I was thinking of sending some of you sketching…’

  ‘On the cover of Vogue?’ Francie gasped, because that would make her famous overnight. ‘You don’t mean it?’

  ‘I think you’re mad wanting to be a model when you can draw like that,’ Michael said with a grin. ‘But why not give the girl what she wants…’

  Francie stared at him. Michael was a mystery, because she knew he had a reputation for flirting, but when he smiled at her…well, she couldn’t help her heart fluttering a bit, even though she knew she was far too young to think about a man like that…

  *

  Francie closed her eyes on the train back from London. This time they’d flown back to Heathrow and she’d had to make her own way across town and get back to college under her own steam, because all the others had wanted to be in town.

  ‘You do realise you’ll need to be based in London if you’re going to take up modelling as a living,’ Michael told her on the flight back. ‘I agreed that we’d go from Cambridge as I was staying with my parents this week – but I’m mostly based in London and they won’t hire a plane just for one unknown model…’

  ‘Why are you trying to put me off being a model?’ Francie asked, feeling hurt that he would speak to her so harshly.

  ‘Because I don’t want to see you get hurt,’ he said and his smile took the sting from his words. ‘You’re pretty, Francie, but you need more than that to make it in this game – you need to be ruthless and I don’t think that’s in your nature.’

  Francie had buried herself in her work, refusing to speak to him again until they parted at the busy airport. He’d stayed with her until she joined the queue for taxis and then given her a brief peck on the cheek.

  ‘Think about what I’ve said, Francie – either be here in London so you’re available for every job that comes up or do what you do best…’

  She’d stared after him as he ran to a private car that had just drawn up and climbed in, kissing the cheek of a beautiful woman who was driving. Francie sighed and smiled ruefully. Of course she was far too young to interest a man like that – but it didn’t matter, she had a lot of growing up to do before she was ready to fall in love.

  She joined the queue for tickets. She knew she had to get back to college and paint like fury if she wanted to get down all the pictures that filled her head. Cornwall, the cliffs, the changing colours of the sea and the birds swooping overhead were swirling in their somewhere. Art was ninety per cent intuition and ten per cent what the artist saw…

  Francie had been trying to paint a picture of her mother for ages, but she was such a complex subject, and she couldn’t make up her mind whether she wanted to paint the woman playing on the beach with Beth and all the kids or the serious and successful milliner… or was there someone else in there? Francie was still trying to get it clear in her mind. Perhaps it was because her mother was so special to her that she saw so many facets of her personality…

  *

  Francie had hardly unpacked her stuff when she got the message to report to Miss Honiton’s office. Her heart was beating rapidly as she responded, because the principal had warned her once and she didn’t want to be thrown out just yet. Next October she would be sixteen and then it wouldn’t matter so much – especially if her last shoot had gone as well as she hoped.

  ‘Well, Francie…’ she became aware that Miss Honiton was looking at her intently. ‘I had the opportunity to look through your coursework this weekend and I must say you produced more quality work than I’d imagined. Those portraits were good, but I am not certain they will gain marks, as I don’t recall seeing portraiture on the qualifying list – but the sketches were excellent and the modern art… well, I wasn’t sure about that personally, but one of the examiners thought it showed excellent freedom of expression. He said that you’d caught the mood of the Modernists in a way that many of the students missed. He thought some students had tried too hard to copy the work of the masters, and of course that isn’t what they require…’

  ‘It isn’t?’ Francie was bewildered. She’d done that work in a couple of hours, just literally throwing her loaded paintbrush at the canvas and letting it splodge in pleasing shapes until it formed a pattern. It had looked nothing like Picasso’s work or any other of the Modernist painters in her opinion, and was really just her revolt against being asked to do something that went against the grain with her.

  ‘Apparently not.’ Miss Honiton gave her a knowing look. ‘I know your work, Francie, and I know when you’ve given something your time and attention and when you haven’t – but my opinion doesn’t count for much. I give you marks for your work over the term and they are already in – it’s down to the examiners now… because this is an expensive course, Francie, and I’m not sure your father will wish to continue paying fees for another two terms for you to waste your time as well as mine and his money…’

  Francie swallowed hard. ‘I did try to do the coursework, Miss Honiton – but the portraits wouldn’t be denied. Perhaps I’ve done enough to scrape through…’

  ‘We must hope so,’ the principal said, giving her another of those odd looks. ‘I should be so disappointed if you were to fail because you had been distracted by other things… would you mind showing me what you’ve been doing this weekend?’

  Francie had come prepared with her sketchbook and she passed it across the desk. Miss Honiton took her time looking at the sketches, some finished, some only just attempted, some of Michael that she would rather she had not seen. She closed it and handed it back to Francie.

  ‘I see you were busy,’ she said. ‘Do you intend to develop this work?’

  ‘I took some photos and I shall use them to paint an oil landscape I think…’

  ‘You certainly chose some vibrant settings for your landscapes – one would almost think you had been to Cornwall quite recently…’

  Francie felt her cheeks warm and kept her gaze downcast until she was dismissed. As she returned to the dorm she shared with her friends, she felt very uncomfortable. Miss Honiton knew she that she must have been to Cornwall for her free weekend but since it wasn’t actually against the college rules, she’d chosen not to say anything. Francie was glad she’d worked for a while on the plane coming home. Because she was quick at sketching and did some of her best work that way, her principal could not know for certain that most of her time had been spent posing for fashion photographs. Francie could only hope that Miss Honiton would keep her suspicions to herself and not communicate them to her parents…

  Chapter 27

  ‘Thanks for meeting me,’ Frank said as Matt ordered a beer for them both. ‘Let’s go over by the window. I want t
o talk to you in private…’

  ‘Sounds serious,’ Matt said and sipped his beer. Sitting down, he glanced at headlines in a paper someone had left lying on the chair. ‘Terrific about Donald Campbell breaking that speed record isn’t it?’

  ‘What? Oh yes,’ Frank frowned. ‘Matt, for God’s sake, listen to me! I have to tell you. I’m going crazy…’

  ‘This is about Betty, isn’t it? Mum said Aunt Lizzie told her you’d spirited her off somewhere to keep her safe…’ Matt was all attention now, a nerve flicking in his cheek.

  ‘She’s at the farm…if anything happens to me…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Matt stared at him, because he sensed Frank was scared. ‘Just what happened to Betty this time – and what did you do? I’ve only heard Mum’s version…’

  ‘That bugger Saint-Jacquez snatched her and took her off in his car. I followed and waited and when I got the chance I got her back…’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Matt whistled and looked at him with respect, then, ‘You think Saint-Jacques is going to come after you next?’

  ‘I killed him…’

  ‘Killed…?’ Matt lowered his voice. ‘You’d better tell me everything.’

  ‘I had to do it or Betty would’ve been lost…’ Frank looked at him a little wildly. ‘There were others – if they or the police come after me I could be in a lot of trouble…’

  ‘Do the police know?’

  Frank shook his head. ‘I think it has been taken care of – but that still leaves Saint-Jacques’s co-conspirators…Anyway, it’s not me I’m worried about. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on. My firm want me to fly out to Amsterdam for a meeting – and I can’t get the idea that she might still be in danger out of my head. Can you go down, Matt? Just keep an eye on her…and look out for her if the worst happens…’