Brilliance

by Rosalind Laker

  Daniel came home before her visit ended and they soon approved of each other, he liking her frankness and lively sense of humour, she admiring his good looks and able to see that he was obviously very much in love with Lisette. As it was his first evening home after an absence she tactfully retired early to her room. She went on the pretext of being tired and wanting to finish a book, giving them the chance to talk on their own after his being away.

  While they sat together by the fire Lisette brought him up to date with all that had happened at the studio. Then she discussed her depleted inheritance with him.

  ‘My father made a new will after marrying Isabelle, which was the right thing to do, but it was the only time he did not use the lawyers that had served him all his life. I suppose, being so much in love with her, he failed to see how the will was too much in her favour.’

  ‘She must have had a clever lawyer working on her behalf.’

  ‘I don’t care about the money for myself,’ she burst out, ‘but I wanted so much to help you financially when eventually you build a new studio. You must let me draw on my grandmother’s bequest for it when the time comes!’

  He answered her firmly. ‘I told you some while ago that your inheritance was your own and that I would make sure of being fully prepared financially when a move is made.’ Then he grinned widely. ‘Let Isabelle enjoy her ill-gotten gains. You’ll always be able to afford some jam on your bread and butter or –’ he added with a laugh ‘– in your case a croissant!’

  He had coaxed her back into a smile.

  ‘I’ve shown Maisie how to make them,’ she said light-heartedly, ‘and she’s become such an expert that every time her croissants could have come straight from Paris.’ She gave an amused little laugh. ‘That in itself makes me glad that we shocked Mrs Pierce away.’

  The gentle joke she had made remained in Daniel’s thoughts as they went to bed that night, but soon their mutual passion eclipsed all else. Yet in the morning he remembered once more what had been said and kept it at the back of his mind.

  Seventeen

  On New Year’s Eve Daniel and Lisette welcomed in 1897 with a party, combining it with a celebration of her twenty-first birthday. Joanna came specially for the occasion and had been invited to bring her current beau, a pleasant young man named George Scott Moncrief, who was tall and lithe with an open-air look about him and a lively sense of humour. He had recently inherited a great estate somewhere in Bedfordshire, which Joanna had already visited several times.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll end up as the lady of the manor,’ she whispered jokingly to Lisette, who wondered if her flippant attitude concealed deeper feelings.

  He had brought Lisette a large bouquet of hothouse flowers, but Joanna’s gift was a small painting of a girl with flowing hair, who stood looking out to sea. It was by a Nordic artist named Edvard Munch, purchased when she had had a few days in Paris to view two new art exhibitions.

  ‘I bought it privately from the artist himself,’ she said. ‘It saved him losing a percentage to the gallery, because although he is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen he is as poor as the proverbial church mouse. His studio was even more chaotic than mine with paintings stacked everywhere. I adore his work, but although he’s a brilliant artist he hadn’t sold anything at the exhibition. He looked quite ill and tired. I told him to go home to Norway and breathe in some clear mountain air.’

  ‘You always were good at giving advice,’ Lisette replied in amusement.

  ‘But you didn’t heed it when I tried to tell you that Philippe was not the one for you.’

  ‘Did you ever suspect what was going on between Isabelle and Philippe?’

  ‘No, but I always thought his eyes were too close together for him to be straightforward.’

  Lisette burst out laughing. ‘That’s not true! He had wonderful bedroom eyes, although I just thought them handsome at the time.’

  Then Maisie came into the room, bearing a cake with lighted candles, which brought a burst of enthusiastic applause from everyone. Daniel made a short speech in praise of Lisette, which everybody clapped and cheered. Then she cut the cake.

  Both she and Daniel liked the Munch painting immensely, for it had dramatic and mysterious depths, commanding notice from where it was hung on the sitting room wall the morning after the party. Something of Joanna’s exuberance seemed to linger about the painting after she had gone, adding to its drama.

  Spring brought a renewal of work at the Shaw Studio. Lisette, knowing how much Daniel was yearning now towards stronger productions, continued to encourage him by finding good scripts and stories that eventually he could bring to the screen. He took a big step in producing a one-reel murder mystery after a pair of rival movie makers in the north captured on film, entirely by lucky chance, the actual arrest of a murderer, a scoop that had put them on the map. Daniel’s murder mystery had women screaming in the audience, although no violence was shown beyond the shadow of an attacker on a wall. Yet the resulting publicity was good and agents began ordering it for various circuits.

  Then soon it was June and as the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee drew near, red, white and blue decorations began to burst forth everywhere with bunting and flags strung across all the streets. Every shop window had a patriotic display, usually with a large photograph of the Queen as a centrepiece and often of her family too. On the eve of the celebration Daniel, Lisette and Jim with his assistant, Sam, set off for London, which they found ablaze with flags and even more patriotic displays. Crowds thronged the streets to see the decorations, hundreds wandering up and down the Mall, which was lined on both sides with tall flagpoles displaying the Union Jack.

  Daniel had shown foresight in booking hotel rooms so far ahead, for now it would have been impossible to find accommodation anywhere. Many people were camping along the processional route, some having been there for several days to ensure that they would have a good view when the Queen passed by.

  The day itself dawned gloriously bright, warm and sunny. Special stands had been erected for the press and for those taking animated pictures. Jim set up his camera with Sam on a stand in the Mall while Daniel chose to be by the steps of St Paul’s Cathedral where the service of thanksgiving would take place, Lisette with him. Her task, as with Sam’s, was to hand Daniel fresh reels as he needed them and put those used into cans.

  At St Paul’s the enormous waves of cheering that greeted the procession were heard long before it came into view. Then to the stirring music of naval and military bands came the dazzling sight of many splendid uniforms with shining breastplates, plumed helmets, tall bearskin caps, and colourful turbans, while glittering harnesses jingled as row upon row of magnificent horses went by. Regiments were represented from home ground to every corner of the great British Empire, which covered a quarter of the globe. Daniel, steadily turning the handle of his camera, wished he could be capturing everything in colour instead of in black and white.

  Then the cheering reached new crescendos as in the midst of all the splendour there came an open carriage bearing the little old lady. She was holding a black and white striped parasol to shade her face. It was Queen Victoria herself.

  ‘How tiny and round she is!’ Lisette exclaimed.

  The Queen’s health did not permit her to mount the many steps up to the cathedral, filled now with the choir in their white cassocks, and the thanksgiving service was conducted on the stairs while she remained in her carriage. When the service was at an end she rode on again, waving her little white-gloved hand to the roaring crowd.

  Daniel was well pleased with all he had taken of the great occasion. ‘That was history!’ he declared triumphantly. ‘Captured for ever!’

  He left on his own to meet Jim and Sam for the homeward journey as Lisette had previously arranged to stay a few days in London with Joanna.

  She had had her trunk conveyed from the hotel to Joanna’s address and had only her purse to carry. She managed to get on a horse-bus to take her most of the way, but the thro
nging crowds caused so many hold ups that eventually she alighted to walk the remaining distance. Hansom cabs were in such demand that there was no chance to hail one anywhere until she was almost at her destination and then it was too late. Joanna’s address was a tall house at the end of a Georgian terrace. Before Lisette had a chance to ring the bell the door was flung open by Joanna with an exclamation of joy.

  ‘I’ve been watching for you, Lisette! Come in!’

  They embraced each other affectionately, both talking at the same the time while Joanna took Lisette’s coat from her and then dumped it with her hat on a chair.

  ‘Did Daniel get some good motion pictures of the Queen?’ she wanted to know. ‘I watched the procession from a friend’s balcony along the route. I doubt if London has ever seen anything more spectacular.’

  She swept Lisette into a large drawing room. It was unlike any other that Lisette had ever seen. Sofas and chairs were swathed in silks and brocades of rich scarlet, purple and wine reds, woven with gold and silver thread. Enormous soft velvet cushions with gilt tassels tumbled everywhere and Persian rugs covered the floor. Silken drapes of violet and burgundy hues were looped at the windows and on the olive-green walls were half a dozen large paintings. The great marble fireplace had two bare-breasted caryatids on each side supporting a wide mantel and a vast gilt framed mirror.

  ‘What a gloriously exotic room!’ Lisette exclaimed, twirling to take in all the details of this gigantic cave of colour. ‘I love it! Is the rest of the house like this?’

  ‘No. This was specially done for me. My mother nearly fainted when she saw it!’

  ‘Well, it is very different from anything I know she would have chosen. Are the paintings here yours?’ Lisette’s gaze had been drawn to them and she would have gone across to look more closely if Joanna had not caught her arm.

  ‘You can look at them later and everything else I have in my studio upstairs. Now we’re going to have some champagne to toast the Queen. As I believe I told you, I have two servants and a cook, but I gave them the time off to see the procession and join in the festivities that will be going on everywhere tonight.’ She went to a side table where a bottle of champagne was waiting in an ice bucket with two glasses and she opened it expertly.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t be living in a garret,’ Lisette remarked as she sat down, ‘but this house and three on the staff suggest to me that you’ve been modest in your letters about your success.’

  Joanna shook her head, pouring the champagne. ‘I’d like to say that my work is in demand as soon as the paint dries on the canvas, but that’s not the case.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you would have guessed that my father is the one who pays the rent on this place as well as the servants’ wages and other incidentals.’ Then she giggled. ‘He thinks Bloomsbury is a den of sin, and although – as he says – I mix with weird arty people of whom neither he nor my mother approve, at least I could have a decent house!’ She handed Lisette a glass and sat down opposite her. ‘It’s really so that their friends will not guess at my Bohemian way of life.’

  ‘Nevertheless your parents were always generous to you. Did they ever refuse you anything?’

  Joanna made a pantomime gesture of sticking her finger in her cheek and tilting her head as if pondering. ‘I don’t believe they ever did!’ she admitted on a laugh. ‘Although I did have a struggle to get their permission to study with that artist in Paris for a year.’ She laughed mischievously. ‘Their misgivings were well-founded, although thankfully they never knew it. That artist taught me a good deal more than how to paint!’ Her eyes twinkled merrily and she raised her glass. ‘Here’s to us! And may the Queen keep Eddie, the Prince of Wales, off the throne for a long time yet!’

  They drank the toast. Then she fetched the champagne bottle and topped up their glasses before setting it down on the floor beside her.

  Lisette sank back luxuriously against one of the cushions. ‘Although I haven’t seen you since you came to our New Year’s party it could have been yesterday that we last met and it has always been the same.’

  ‘You’re right. Friendship takes no heed of time or distance.’ She took a sip from her glass. ‘But I’ve never quite forgiven you for making me wait months and months before you finally wrote to tell me the reason why and how you escaped from your wedding that night.’

  ‘You know it was only because I didn’t want to involve you in my troubles.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Joanna paused deliberately, twirling her glass by the stem. ‘I came face to face with Philippe a few weeks ago.’

  ‘In London?’ Lisette asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, it was one of those crazy, unexpected meetings that come out of the blue. There was a special exhibition at the National Gallery and just by chance we both stopped to look at the same picture. I think it was sheer astonishment on his part and mine that made us converse, because later I wondered why I hadn’t cut him and gone by.’

  ‘He was never interested in art when you and I knew him, except to flatter me by praising those watercolours I used to do.’

  ‘Then his wife must be the art lover. He introduced her to me. Her name is Ellen and she’s an American from Boston. She was expensively and elegantly dressed. A pretty woman about his age, but with a firm mouth and chin that suggested to me she would not allow any waywardness from him.’

  ‘Do you think he’s met his match?’

  ‘Who can say? The meeting lasted only a matter of two or three minutes.’ Then her eyes danced. ‘But here’s the really interesting part. Behind his wife’s back he must have watched to see which way I went, because after about five minutes he was suddenly by my side again with no sign of her. That’s when he asked about you and wanted to know where you were.’

  Lisette blanched. ‘You didn’t tell him anything?’

  ‘No, of course not! I gave him the perfect answer. I told him he should ask your stepmother for information as he knew her so well! He went crimson with rage and stalked off!’

  Lisette flung back her head and laughed. ‘You could not have said anything that would have enraged him more.’

  ‘He deserved it! Would you like to hear some news about your stepmother too?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ Lisette replied dryly, ‘but I can see that you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘I met Lorraine from school when I was last in Paris and she told me. Isabelle has married again. An elderly and very wealthy Italian this time, who has homes in Tuscany, Switzerland and Nice, which should give her plenty of scope for amorous intrigues. The château has been closed up with a caretaker in charge.’

  ‘What of my little half-brother?’

  ‘All I heard from Lorraine was that she had seen him once with Isabelle and he is a healthy, fine-looking little boy.’

  ‘I’d like so much to see him again, even though in retrospect I have wondered if he was my father’s child.’ She let her shoulders rise and fall on a sigh. ‘But that hasn’t stopped me remembering how I loved him as a baby.’

  She wished she could have found the strength to tell Joanna of her own baby, but it was still too painful to share with anyone except Daniel and she believed it would always be the same.

  ‘How is George?’ she asked as Joanna refilled her glass.

  ‘Oh, that’s all over.’ Joanna flapped a hand in dismissal. ‘I was very fond of him, because he had a great sense of humour, but he was too much hunting, fishing and shooting for me. I embarrassed him and everybody when I cried during a shoot when they were bringing down all those lovely birds. Now I have someone else.’

  ‘So who is this new man?’

  ‘He’s Russian,’ Joanna answered enthusiastically, ‘and totally beautiful from head to toe. His name is Boris and his surname in unpronounceable.’

  ‘Why is he here in this country?’

  ‘He’s on some diplomatic business for the Tsar. It was he who called in one of his fellow countrymen, who is a designer for the stage, to do this room as a gift for
me.’

  ‘Shall I meet him?’

  ‘Yes, he’s taking us to a gala performance at Covent Garden Opera House this evening and afterwards we’ll be going on to a party. All my friends want to meet you.’

  ‘What a fun way to end this auspicious day!’

  Boris was exceptionally handsome, tall and broad-shouldered and extravagantly mannered. He bowed deeply when he kissed Lisette’s hand. ‘I am honoured, mademoiselle.’

  His English was poor, but he spoke French fluently and the three of them conversed in Lisette’s own language until they arrived at the party to which they had been invited. Then in between dancing and supper and dancing again he drank himself insensible, but was still beautiful even in his cups. He was left on his host’s sofa when Joanna and Lisette went home again.

  It was already dawn as the hansom cab carried them through the streets that were empty now except for a number of revellers here and there making their way homewards, still waving flags and wearing patriotic headgear. On the way the cab passed maidservants coming up steps from basement kitchens with jugs or lidded containers to meet the milkmen, who were on their rounds ladling out milk for the households.

  ‘It’s a pity Boris doesn’t stick to milk instead of alcohol,’ Joanna remarked on a sigh. ‘That lovely creature will kill himself with it before long, although he’ll be back in Russia by then.’

  ‘Shall you be very sad when he leaves England?’