As the sharp spring days lengthened into the softer ones of early summer, tranquillity pervaded Jane and her final restlessness died, leaving behind it not the apathy she had expected but an inexplicable contentment.
Was it due to John's continuing companionship, to his understanding and compassion? Or was it her own acceptance of the inevitable, the final coming to terms with herself? It was an answer she did riot know and with a philosophy born of painful months of illness, she knew better than to search for it.
It was the middle of May before the portrait was completed. John had refused to let her look at it, but one morning she arrived at the cottage to find him at his desk, his old clothes changed for a grey suit. Immediately she knew that this happy idyll had come to an end and, like a child with its toy being taken away, she felt thwarted and cross.
"No more painting today, John?"
"It's finished."
"It looks as if you're finished here too." She regarded his suit. "Going back to London?"
He nodded. "I want to make sure my pictures are hung properly. The show begins in a fortnight."
"You might have told me before."
Although obviously surprised at her irritability, he did not answer, but instead caught her hand and pulled her up the stairs. "Come and look at the picture and tell me what you think of it."
It was only as she looked at the portrait of herself that her mood changed. How could she be cross with a man who knew her so deeply and who showed it so lovingly?
Expecting either a lush Annigoni or a stark Sutherland, she had to admit that John's interpretation of her could have been done by no one other than himself, for the delicacy of the brushwork in no way belied the forcefulness of the interpretation, while the strong yet simple colours were an exact reflection of her mood, even the lighter tones having a golden underlay of depth.
Although he had concentrated on her face during each painting session, the final picture showed her full length, standing on the edge of a cliff, a symbolic touch which she ruefully appreciated. Behind her figure was a deep blue sky marked by clouds which indicated the warm wind that seemed to move across the canvas, blowing back the dark hair in tendrils from the calm, gentle face. Her body was covered in grey material with no particular style, just folds of grey which revealed every line of the perfectly moulded body beneath. Her hands were clasped in front of her in a gesture not so much of patience as of waiting, and it was this same waiting look that was apparent on the face. "Do you like it ? " he asked casually. She looked at him. "If Freud could have painted I guess that's how he would have seen me." "You're not angry?"
"Because you've stripped away the veneer? How could I be?" Her voice broke slightly. "It's a beautiful portrait John. It's one of the best things you've ever done. I just wish you'd chosen another model."
"Do you think that's what I needed?" he said, his casualness gone. "Just a model to pose for me? It's you in that picture, you just said so, you as you are - as you feel and mink."
Seeing her expression, his own became perturbed. "I won't show it if you don't want me to."
"Of course you must show it," she said slowly. "It's the best thing you've done."
"When a man paints a woman he loves, he's half-way home already."
"I wish you weren't so faithful," she said unhappily.
"I thought that's what you wanted in a man."
Though the words were not meant as a jibe they served as one, and she winced even as she acknowledged their truth. Avoiding an answer, she looked at the portrait again, moved once more by the extraordinary understanding it showed. As always when she saw John's work she felt small beneath the size of his genius, but now the smallness seemed highlighted, showing her to be narrow and withdrawn, able to accept but not to give. The face looking back at her from the canvas was the face of a girl waiting, a girl still ripe and warm; and so it would remain like this on the canvas, but how would it remain in her own life? Would the waiting cause the warmth to grow cold, the flower to shrivel before it fully bloomed? Depression weighed upon her like an actual force and with a little cry she turned into John's arms. She did not want to live a waiting life for ever, she did not want to fade and die and leave no memory behind.
"John," she said, her face muffled against his coat, "if you want me - if you think there's any chance for us——-"
She was unable to go on, but words were unnecessary, for he held her away from him and stared into her face, his own transfigured by joy. "If I want you… Don't you know you're all I've ever wanted? I love you, Jane, and I'll take you on any terms."
He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her, holding her so tightly that she could not move. It had been a long time since she had been held in a man's arms, but though she clung to him and tried to return his kisses she could not lose herself in his passion, and now, when she wanted it the least, memory of Nicholas returned stronger than ever.
She gave a little moan and, misunderstanding it, John lifted his head and stroked her long black hair.
"I love you so much. We'll get married as soon as you're free." His eyes looked deeply into hers. "What's happening with your divorce ? "
The word divorce - so ugly and final - pierced her like a knife, but she was able to answer without giving away her feelings. "I saw Mr. Trupp before I went on the cruise. He said if I didn't go back to Nicholas - if I refused to live with him - he would be able to sue me for desertion."
"We could make it adultery!"
"I couldn't!" The words burst from her and she stopped, seeing from his face how much her sharp reaction had hurt him. "I'm sorry," she said swiftly. "I didn't mean that."
"Of course you meant it." His voice was bleak. "But it's got nothing to do with morality, has it?" She did not answer and he went on: "If you loved me you wouldn't need a document to legalize what you felt for me. You're not a child, Jane - you're a woman. You've been loved and you've lost a baby. Doesn't that make any difference to your attitude?"
The words were too true to be denied and, filled with terrible compunction, she knew she could not lie to him. "You're right. I should never have said I'd many you; I don't love you enough."
"But you like me?"
"More than anyone else in -" She stopped, puzzled by his expression. "What are you trying to do?"
"Make you realise I'm not a fool." Once more he was the whimsical man she'd always known. "I don't kid myself about your feelings for me, Jane, and I wanted to make you see it would be better for both of us if you didn't fool yourself."
Scarlet-faced, she turned to the window. "I really have made a mess of things, haven't I ?"
"On the contrary. I still want to marry you - even though you don't love me yet." He came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I think you will love me, Jane: given time and six months as my wife we'll have a marriage based on something far stronger than just passion."
"Would you be happy without passion?" she asked stonily.
"That will come in time, and I'm prepared to wait."
With a cry she turned into his arms again. "I don't deserve you."
"Maybe not," he replied humorously, "but you're going to get me!"
Of her own volition she drew his head down and placed her mouth on his, kissing him with a warmth of love that gave him hope for their future.
CHAPTER XII
It was the end of May before Jane returned to London, though John had gone several weeks earlier. However it was not until the day of her departure that she told Aunt Agatha of her promise to marry him.
"But officially 'we're just good friends’ until I'm free," she concluded.
"So you've decided to settle for second best," Aunt Agatha said drily.
"I know what I'm doing."
"I don't agree. You're still in love with my nephew, but you're paranoically afraid he'll let you down again."
"Can you blame me?" The words burst from Jane and she regretted them immediately, for the last thing in the world she wanted was
a futile argument.
"I do blame you," the old lady said. "It's wrong to be so unforgiving. Most people fall in love more than once in their life, and it was luck Nicholas fell for Carole after he'd already met you. But at least he hadn't said he loved you then. He saw you as a combination nurse and sister. You said so yourself. But once he started living with you and seeing you as a woman, his attitude changed, he fell in love with you and he said so. Everything that happened afterwards was just bad luck."
"But it happened," Jane said stubbornly, "and I don't want to talk about it any more. I've made up my mind to marry John." She knelt beside Aunt Agatha's chair. "Won't you wish me luck ? "
"Of course I will, my child. Of course I will."
The day before John's exhibition Jane arrived back in London to the small furnished flat off Grosvenor Square that he had rented for her.
"Near enough for me to walk round and see you," he had said, "but far enough away to suit convention!"
They spent the first evening of her return dining leisurely at a small French restaurant before going back to her flat.
"Next time I'll cook dinner for you here," she promised, unlocking the door. "I'm not a bad cook."
"I'm not in love with a cook," he said, and gathered her into his arms. "Get a good night's sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow's an important day for us."
"For you." she laughed. "If's your show."
"But your portrait will be the talking point."
"I hope I won't let you down."
"You could never do that," he said vehemently, and kissed her with a passion he had not shown since the day she had promised to marry him. She tried to respond, and as always it was an effort that failed.
"Please, John," she gasped. "I've had a long journey and I'm tired."
"Of me?"
"No!" She almost shouted the word. "Don't keep reading hidden meanings into everything I say. You'll make our lives a misery if you do."
"I'm sorry," he said unsteadily. "I suppose I'm not as controlled as I thought I was. But I love you so much that -"
"That you don't trust me," she finished, and knew with certainty that this spectre must be finally laid. "Don't be jealous of Nicholas. When I said I'd marry you I closed the door on the past, and I promise you it will never be opened again. Loving Nicholas was something I couldn't help, but living with him again - sharing my life with him - is over. You're my future now."
Contented as she had never seen him before, John left the flat, but even as his steps receded the emptiness was filled with the echo of all she had just said. Lies, she adday she died and no other man could ever take his place, mitted to herself, all lies. She would love Nicholas till the
In the morning her depression dimmed before the bright sunshine and by the time she was dressed to go to the gallery she felt more lighthearted than for a long time.
Realising the importance of the occasion to John, she took great pains with her appearance, taking off one dress after another before finally settling on a ruby wool suit that deepened the blue-black of her hair and gave greater warmth to her lightly tanned skin.
The gallery was already full of people when she arrived and John, in the centre of a group, beckoned her to join him. But with an imperceptible shake of her head she made her way through the crowd, anxious to get a glimpse of her portrait first.
"Jane? It is Jane Hamilton, isn't it?"
Jane turned to see a girl of her own age smiling at her. "Anne Goulding, isn't it ? " Jane said.
"Yes. I've just been looking at your portrait. It's the best thing John Masters has done."
"I haven't seen it yet - at least not hung."
"I doubt if you'll see it for the moment. There are masses of people around it." Anne Goulding drew a deep breath. "It's like an oven in here. I feel quite f aint."
Assuming the statement to be upper-class hyperbole, Jane was taken aback when she saw the girl's colour paling visibly. "Here, let me find you a chair," she said, and glancing quickly round the room, spied two chairs in an alcove almost hidden by a large rubber plant. She guided Anne Goulding over to them and sat down beside her.
For a few moments they were silent, watching the moving crowd, then the girl gave a deep sigh. "I feel much better now, thanks. I think I'll go home."
"Would you like me to see you to a taxi ?"
"Don't bother. I'm fine. It's just one of the miseries of being pregnant! I'll have to avoid crowds.”
With a wave, Anae Goulding disappeared, but Jane remained seated in the alcove, remembering the brief months of her own pregnancy and wondering whether she would ever forget it. Lost in memories that washed around her like salt water in a wound, she was made aware of the present by voices close by and, although hidden from sight, she saw the backs of three fashionably dressed women. But it .was not until a husky voice throbbed across the shriller tones of the other two that she realised one of them was Carole. Shaking, Jane drew further into the alcove, but through the foliage she glimpsed an arm and caught the blue and white flash of a diamond bracelet.
"My!" one of the voices exclaimed, "that certainly set somebody back a packet!"
"He can afford it," Carole replied. "Anyway, it's one of my wedding presents."
"You mean it's finally on?"
"Don't you think it should be after all this time?"
Still talking, the group moved away and the moment they had gone, Jane stood up, intent only on returning to the solitude of her flat. Blindly she rushed from the gallery and half walked, half ran, down Grosvenor Street. So much for Nicholas's protestation of undying love! It was a good thing she had not allowed her parents or Aunt Agatha to sway her judgement. What would they say now? she wondered triumphantly. How could they go on accusing her of being obstinate and unjust when everything she had said about Nicholas was vindicated? Yet her triumph was a bitter one, forcing her to accept in her innermost heart words which only obstinacy had made her utter.
Once in her flat she burst into angry tears, but they brought no relief and eventually, dry-eyed, she stood by the window and cooled her burning face against the glass. Would she never be able to forget Nicholas? Would he
always be there to disturb and mock at any peace she might find?
"John," she said his name soundlessly, wishing he were there, knowing that only with him could she possibly hope to find a semblance of peace.
As though her thoughts had conjured him up, she picked up the ringing telephone to hear his voice, anxious to know why she had left the gallery.
"It was the crowds," she lied. "I got a frightful headache."
"I'm glad you had the sense to leave."
"I'm coming back." Guilt prompted her reply. "I haven't seen my picture."
"It's silly to come back now, it's more crowded than before." He paused as though thinking and then said: "I've a better idea. I'll tell the commissionaire of the gallery to expect you after six o'clock - when the place is dosed. Then you can look around in comfort."
"What a lovely idea," she said thankfully. "But where will you be?"
There was another hesitation before he answered: "I've a meeting with my agent, but I'll be back at the gallery in time to pick you up for dinner."
"Perhaps I won't go today after all."
"No," he said quickly. "I want you to."
Dusk had already taken the bloom from the sky when Jane re-entered the gallery. The long room was dim and as she moved to the light switch she saw a man's shadow in the corner. With a gasp of fear, she stopped. "John - is that you?" There was no answer and she called again "Who is it?"
The shadow moved and Jane's fingers found the light and flooded the room. "Nicholas!" With a cry she fell back against the wall. "What are you doing here?"
"John gave me a key."
"John!"
"He said if I wanted to see you I'd find you here."
As he spoke Jane's eyes never left his face. It was nine months since she had seen him and she was shocked by the change in his appearance, unable
to credit that this tall, gaunt-looking man was the Nicholas she had known. Hair which she had always remembered as crisp and dark was now silver at the temples, while the mobile mouth was marked by heavy lines which were echoed around his eyes. Angry with herself for seeing these signs of suffering, she turned her head away, determined not to let pity sway her mood.
"Why did you want to see me?"
"Can't you guess?" His footsteps echoed as he came closer. "I love you, Jane, and I need you."
She did not answer and he spoke again, his voice low and jerky. "I never thought it would be like this… not seeing you, not hearing from you… it's been agony. And every time I've thought about the baby, I -" . "Stop it!" she cried. "I don't want to hear any more." She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his face. If only he had not mentioned the baby! Yet it was inevitable that he had done so, for his guilt over the child was prompting every word he was saying. Of course he wanted her back; of course he needed her; only her return to him could expiate his guilt!
Remembering the bracelet she had glimpsed on the slender arm that afternoon, she was filled with a fury that left her shaking, its bitterness directed entirely towards the man in front of her. How dare he ask her to go back to him when he was still seeing Carole?
"How long will you want me for?" she said bluntly.
"I -1 don't know what you mean."
"How long will I need to live with you in order for you to stop feeling guilty about me? That's the reason you want me back, isn't it? So that everyone can know you've done the right thing! But what will happen in six months' time when your guilt's evaporated? Or were you thinking of a ménage a trios’?"
Like the tide ebbing from the beach she saw the colour seep from his skin. "Do you think me capable of that?" he asked quietly.
"I think you're capable of anything!"
Without a word he turned and walked out of the room, but it was a long while before Jane summoned the strength to leave the support of the wall behind her and walk over to a chair.
It was here that John found her, eyes closed, head in her hands. "Jane," he said, and knelt by her side. "Jane, what is it?"
Roberta Leigh - In Name Only Page 16