People We Love

by Jenny Harper

  ‘I know who you mean.’

  ‘Pavel was a real sweetie. He was so encouraging. He was even converting a room at the back of his shop for me to show my paintings in. Then he died.’

  ‘I see.’

  Lexie stopped and picked up a leaf.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful? Look at that red.’

  She spread it out gently so that she could admire all the shades of russet and ruby, and the gold in its points and spines. She straightened and turned to Cora.

  ‘I was wondering if you might think about showing my work at The Maker’s Mark? I know you’re really a craft gallery, but I’d say this is a bit of a hybrid. I mean, there’ll be shoes and boots and all sorts there, as well as the paintings. And—’ she rushed on eagerly, seeing that Cora was about to speak, ‘—there’ll be a lot of interest locally, I’m sure of it. I think you’d do very well. Make a lot of sales, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t really—’

  ‘Don’t say no. Not yet anyway. Please? Think about it. Let me come in and see you and tell you more about what I’m doing – or you could come and see me? I’m working in a cottage in the grounds of Fleming House.’

  ‘I’m not sure—’ Cora was always on the lookout for genuine new talent and there was a lot about this girl that intrigued her, but why hadn’t Patrick ever talked about her? And why wouldn’t she talk to Patrick?

  ‘Listen,’ she said hastily, seeing that Lexie was about to plead again, ‘I will think about it, I promise. I don’t know when we’d have a gap in our schedules, and I’d have to see your work and discuss it much more fully, you understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes, but thank you!’

  ‘I haven’t promised anything,’ Cora warned, alarmed at Lexie’s effusiveness.

  ‘I know. I do know, honestly, but I think you’ll like it. I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Come in and see me then.’

  ‘When? Tomorrow?’

  Cora smiled. ‘Tomorrow. Why not?’

  Cora changed out of her work clothes and slipped into a pair of soft black trousers and a fine merino sweater, then headed across the garden to the main house.

  ‘How was Aidan?’

  ‘Very poorly. Will you go and see him?’

  ‘Niamh has already persuaded me. I’m going in a couple of days. I’m glad you saw him, Patrick. Was it very difficult?’

  ‘Not as bad as I’d expected. It’s hard to wish someone dead when they’re already dying. Drink?’

  ‘Please.’

  He poured two glasses of wine and offered her one.

  ‘It’s time for me to go home, Patrick.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘Greece. Where I live.’

  ‘Aren’t you happy here?’

  ‘Actually, yes, I am happy. But I need to get home. Now that I’ve managed to save a little, I’ll manage through the winter at least. It’s too cold for me here.’

  ‘Isn’t the annexe warm enough? I could get you some extra heaters.’

  ‘It’s very comfortable. But you can’t step outside without being blown over, and soon it’ll get worse. You know I hate it. I’ve done what you asked me to, haven’t I?’

  He flashed her a wry grin.

  ‘Better than I expected, if you must know. You’ve done a great job.’

  ‘Talking of the gallery, I met a woman in the park. She wants me to host an exhibition for her.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her name’s Alexa Gordon. She said she was going to show at your gallery a year ago, but it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Did she say why?’

  ‘She told me her brother died and she had to withdraw. I inferred that you’d had a disagreement over it, so that she felt she couldn’t go back. She asked if I would host an exhibition for her at The Maker’s Mark. Obviously she doesn’t know you own The Mark too.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said she should come in and see me in the morning. But I don’t think it’ll be right for us.’

  Patrick refilled his glass and offered Cora a top-up.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said.

  Lexie gathered together her sketch books, Charlotte’s original bootees and her notes for the exhibition. She wrapped her ‘Charlotte’ painting in swathes of bubble wrap. It was the first painting, and the one she was most pleased with. She’d take everything with her tomorrow.

  She tried to sleep, but instead spent ages considering the problem of Jonas’s bombshell. She needed to know more about what had happened and as she saw it, there were three options.

  One, she could talk to Cameron.

  Two, she could discuss the matter with Jonas.

  Or three, she could confront Carlotta.

  She rejected the possibility of talking to Cameron and shied away from seeing Jonas, so it had to be Carlotta. This decided, she fell asleep.

  The meeting at The Maker’s Mark went well – better, in fact, than she’d expected. Cora Spyridis liked her ideas.

  ‘I can’t give you a response now,’ she said as Lexie was leaving, her portfolio under her arm, ‘I’ll need to talk to the owner. Besides, our schedule is already made up for the next few months.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Lexie tried not to make her expression too earnest, ‘but you do like the concept? The shoes? And my work?’

  ‘Yes. I do. That story about the bride with one leg is so inspiring and the bamboo sandals from the Japanese prisoner of war camp are amazing. It’s different and it’s stimulating – and your paintings are exceptional. I’d buy “Charlotte” myself if I could afford it.’

  ‘Great! You’ll let me know?’

  ‘As soon as I can,’ Cora promised.

  Lexie walked back to Fernhill to have a coffee with her mother. She passed The Gables on the way and had to make an effort not to turn her head to see whether Patrick was there. He wouldn’t be; he’d be at work. She bit her lip in a moment of secret triumph. Wait till he heard she’d managed to get her exhibition staged at another gallery! Assuming Cora Spyridis said yes, of course.

  She opened the door at Fernhill and called hello. There was a smell of cooking. Surely Carlotta hadn’t been round with one of her little offerings – but she wouldn’t have the gall, would she?

  ‘Just making a shepherd’s pie,’ Martha called back, ‘Are you staying for lunch?’

  Lexie placed her painting carefully in the hall and stacked the portfolio up against it. She swung her heavy bag off her shoulder and dropped it gently to the carpet.

  ‘Hi Mum. Smells fantastic. I could be tempted, but there’s something I have to do. I’ll need to make a phone call. Give me a minute?’

  ‘Of course. By the way, there’s three more boxes up in Jamie’s old room. I haven’t had time to open them. Why don’t you go and have a look?’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  It felt strange being back here. It had been Jamie’s room once, but it didn’t really feel like that any more. There was nothing of his left in here now, not even the faint aroma of the aftershave that she used to fancy hung in the air. She opened the boxes, which contained two pairs of wedding shoes and some kiddies’ first trainers. The usual. Martha could catalogue them and she’d put together a quick book as soon as she could – but if the exhibition went ahead, that would have to take precedence.

  She sat on the bed. Time to call Carlotta. She dialled and waited. For a minute she thought Carlotta wouldn’t pick up, and she was just about to put the phone down when she heard her voice.

  ‘Lexie?’

  Taken by surprise, she was struck dumb.

  ‘Yes, hello, Lexie? Wrong number perhaps?’

  ‘No, don’t go. Listen, Carlotta, I’d like to meet. Okay?’

  ‘If you want to beat me up, then no.’

  ‘I’m not going to beat you up, I just want to talk. Where can we meet? It won’t take long, honestly.’

  ‘Jonas is ... well, he is out. Can you come round here in an hour? I have to get
to the restaurant after that.’

  ‘Fine. Thanks. See you then.’

  She returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Just coffee, Mum, thanks, though it smells delicious. The shoes are nothing special, could you do the usual, please? Catalogue and photograph? Would you mind?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘How’s Dad?’

  ‘I wish he’d stop worrying.’

  ‘He needs to hand everything over. Neil should be running that place. He could take you away for a holiday.’

  Martha sighed.

  ‘That would be so nice. Venice appeals. Or somewhere even warmer. South Africa, maybe.’

  ‘A safari?’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go on a safari,’ Martha said, her voice regretful.

  ‘It’s not too late. Talk to him.’

  ‘Oh darling, it’s no use talking to your father. He’s so determined to be strong for us, and to carry on the business even if there’s no Jamie left to inherit it now.’

  ‘I wish he could let go. Of everything. His grief, the business. This house, even.’

  ‘Fernhill? You want us to sell Fernhill? I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time.

  Things aren’t what’s important in life, Mum. If I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Catalogue number 5: Ballet shoes, pale pink silk. Used in the December performance of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker in New York, in 1960. Donor: Jessica Kowalski, New York. Jessica, a ballerina with the New York Ballet, heard of this project through a relative in Hailesbank and kindly sent these shoes. ‘Ballet shoes, almost more than any other shoes, tell of great beauty and great suffering,’ she writes.

  Carlotta lived in one of the newish houses on an estate to the south of Hailesbank. It was modest and a little boxy, with a neat square of grass in the front and a slightly bigger patch at the back, surrounded by flowerbeds. She had furnished the place in her own style – Lexie imagined Jonas willingly ceding to her taste. The floors throughout living room, kitchen, hall and cloakroom were tiled and adorned with Spanish rugs. The walls were painted in warm terracotta, muted kingfisher and cream, and elaborate ceramic tiles and photographs framed in dark oak decorated the walls.

  Carlotta opened the door. ‘Hello. Come in.’

  She stood back to let Lexie enter and the two women eyed each other warily.

  ‘No boquerones this week, then?’ Lexie said.

  Carlotta flushed. ‘I have been busy. It is a rather strange week.’

  ‘No kidding.’

  ‘Listen, Lexie, I don’t know what you think I can—’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m not going to kill you. I’d just like a few answers.’

  They went into the sitting room.

  ‘Would you care to tell me what happened?’

  Carlotta winced. She sank onto a sofa. Her thick hair looked unbrushed and she was wearing leggings and a tee shirt instead of her usual glamorous clothing. She looked so tired that Lexie almost felt sorry for her.

  ‘The shoes aren’t important. Jonas, he just grabbed them, he tells me, because he knew you were going to be at the party and he wanted to “tell a story”, as he puts it. I did have an affair with Cameron, Lexie, it’s true. I’m sorry. I did try to warn you, remember? He is very sexy, that man, but not good as a partner.’

  ‘Six years ago – I can understand. We were an item, but not committed to each other. But now? For heaven’s sake, Carlotta, why? Why do that to Jonas? Why do it to me, come to that?’

  ‘It was for “one last time”, Lexie, I swear. He was going to ask you to marry him.’

  ‘But only after shagging you.’

  ‘I tried to say no, honestly, but—’

  ‘Don’t tell me he raped you.’

  ‘No. No, not that. I just – you know how he is. I did try to warn you.’

  She shrugged and spread her hands wide.

  ‘Anyway, he managed to leave his wallet here. I think it fell out of his pocket, you know, onto the floor. Jonas found it and, well, he put the two and the two together and made a big story.’

  ‘Has Jonas left you?’

  Carlotta was startled. Her face crumpled.

  ‘He needs some time apart, he says. Oh Lexie, Lexie, I have made such a big, big mistake.’

  Lexie frowned. She had remembered something.

  ‘Just a minute. He said, “Carlotta slept with half the town.” Those were his words, weren’t they? Did you? Did you Carlotta?’

  She remembered the Valentine’s card she’d found on the bookshelf in Jamie’s room, with its cryptic upside-down squiggle and suddenly remembered that it was how the Spanish wrote their question marks.

  ‘You slept with Jamie too, didn’t you? You had an affair with my brother! My God!’ she clapped her hands to her mouth at a sudden realisation, ‘that’s why you’ve been bringing all those little dishes of food to Mum and Dad all year! It’s blood money, isn’t it? You feel guilty!’

  ‘No, Lexie, stop, I—’

  ‘It was you he was going to see that night, wasn’t it? He’d drunk too much and you phoned him, maybe you found a convenient little slot when Jonas was away somewhere, and you phoned him. Didn’t you?’

  She was almost shouting now, her promise to be calm forgotten.

  ‘It was you!’

  Carlotta leapt to her feet and backed away. ‘No! No, Lexie, you are wrong. It’s not true what Jonas said. I did not sleep with half the town, only with Cameron.’

  Lexie was breathing hard. She only half heard Carlotta’s words because the hammering inside her head was scrambling all sense and logic.

  Carlotta said it again. ‘I – did – not – have – an – affair – with – Jamie.’

  Lexie searched Carlotta’s face for signs of falsehood, but she saw none. Yet Jamie had been happier in the months before his death than she’d ever seen him, no longer randomly flirtatious, no longer appearing with a string of adoring blondes. He’d been having an affair – something he could not admit to in public. He must have been.

  ‘But someone did,’ she said. ‘That’s what happened. I’m sure of it. Someone was having an affair with my brother.’

  The visit to Edith Lawrence was long overdue and it provided Lexie with a welcome distraction.

  ‘Hello dear,’ Edith said with a broad smile. No-one had helped her with her teeth this morning, so her smile was all gums.

  ‘Hello Edith.’ Lexie sat on a sofa beside the old woman and took her hand. ‘Remember me?’

  ‘How are the children?’

  ‘The children?’

  ‘Would you like some tea? Hello dear—’ she caught at the skirt of a passing carer, ‘—we’d like tea, please, in china cups.’

  Ingrained etiquette served as a cover for blankness and Lexie registered Edith’s confusion with disappointment. She was eager to tell Edith about her work on Charlotte’s bootees.

  ‘How are you, Edith? Are you well? Did you have a nice lunch?’

  ‘Lunch?’

  The hour just gone could not be retrieved. Lexie decided to venture further into the past.

  ‘Tell me about the conservatory at Fernhill.’

  Edith’s face lit up.

  ‘It was very grand. It had a high, high ceiling held up by wrought iron girders and there was a vine growing up one side. It curled all the way to the roof and half over the top.’

  Her frail hands rippled upwards and outwards.

  ‘A vine? Did you make wine?’

  ‘Oh no.’ Edith pursed her mouth in a prim gesture. ‘Father would never have allowed that.’

  They talked of Fernhill some more, and of Edith’s large family. What had happened to her brothers and sisters? Lexie assumed they have all died or were in care. Edith, true to form, didn’t seem upset by this – she lived either in the present or the distant past, and both were happy places.

  She risked mentioning Charlotte.
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  ‘Remember coming to Fernhill, Edith? Remember what we found?’

  Edith looked baffled. Lexie opened her bag and pulled out the stiff envelope into which she had placed a photograph of her painting, ‘Charlotte’.

  ‘Here. Look at this. It’s the painting I did. Remember you said it would be all right?’

  Edith squinted at the photograph, gave a polite smile, muttered, ‘Very nice,’ and handed it back.

  Lexie tried again.

  ‘Remember how you walked to Fernhill and climbed through the window? Then you came back and we found the box with Charlotte’s bootees up the chimney?’

  At once Edith’s face lit up and she beamed.

  ‘There was that lovely boy there, wasn’t there? So handsome, dear. He reminded me of my Albert.’

  Lexie tried to hide the hurt. Edith had remembered Cameron, but forgotten her.

  Bloody, bloody Cameron Forrester.

  Lexie parked Tom’s car at Fernhill and picked up her bike. It was a cold day, but crisp and clear, and in the few miles between Hailesbank and Fleming House she recovered her equilibrium. Cameron had left twenty-three messages on her mobile and she hadn’t listened to any of them. She couldn’t even be bothered to check how many texts there were, she just deleted them unread. She didn’t know how she’d react if Cameron appeared on her doorstep, but she was cross because he hadn’t.

  At the back of Fleming House, the door to Molly’s apartment was ajar. Lexie propped the bike up against the wall and unwound her bag from her shoulders.

  ‘Hi!’ she called, as she started to run up the spiral stairs. ‘It’s me!’

  Molly opened the door. ‘Hi.’

  Lexie was puzzled by the lack of welcome. ‘Are you going to let me in then?’

  ‘If you want to chew over the bloody red stilettos again, I’m not sure I have the energy.’

  ‘I’ve been to see Carlotta.’

  ‘Oh. Oh God, I suppose you’d better come in.’

  ‘What the hell’s eating you these days?’

  ‘Just bushed. I seem to work all the hours. I need to get an assistant, but Her Ladyship’s cracking down on costs.’

  ‘She’s going to regret it if you fall to bits. What will she do if you go off sick? There was a girl at the art college who went on to do graphic design for a big agency. She got so stressed that she came down with shingles and was off sick for a month.’