“It’s been extremely hard to discover anything about this painting,” Jeremy Mustoe says, looking up at last. “There are so few contemporary records or photographs, and by the time researchers returned to the village, it was generations later and no one could remember anything. And, of course, it had been assumed that the sitter was indeed named Mabel.” He wrinkles his brow. “I think one thesis was published in the early 1990s suggesting that a servant of the Nettleton house was Malory’s sitter, and that his parents disapproved of their liaison for class reasons, which led to him being sent to France…”
I want to laugh. Someone basically made up a completely wrong story and called it “research”?
“There was a Mabel,” I explain patiently. “But she wasn’t the sitter. Stephen called Sadie ‘Mabel’ to wind her up. They were lovers,” I add. “That’s why he was sent to France.”
“Indeed.” Jeremy Mustoe looks up and focuses on me with renewed interest. “So… would your great-aunt also be the ‘Mabel’ in the letters?”
“The letters!” exclaims Malcolm Gledhill. “Of course! I’d forgotten about those. It’s such a long time since I’ve looked at them-”
“Letters?” I look from face to face. “What letters?”
“We have in our archive a bundle of old letters written by Malory,” explains Jeremy Mustoe. “One of the very few sets of documents salvaged after his death. It’s not clear if all of them were sent, but one has clearly been posted and returned. Unfortunately the address was scribbled out in blue-black ink, and despite the very best modern technology, we’ve been unable to-”
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” I cut him off, trying to hide my agitation. “But… could I see them?”
An hour later I walk out of the gallery, my mind whirling. When I close my eyes all I can see is that faded, loopy script on tiny sheets of writing paper.
I didn’t read all his letters. They felt too private, and I only had a few minutes to look at them, anyway. But I read enough to know. He loved her. Even after he’d gone to France. Even after he heard that she’d got married to someone else.
Sadie spent all her life waiting for the answer to a question. And now I know he did too. And even though the affair happened more than eighty years ago, even though Stephen is dead and Sadie is dead and there’s nothing anyone can do about it, I’m still seething with misery as I stride along the pavement. It was all so unfair. It was all so wrong. They should have been together. Someone obviously intercepted his letters before they got to Sadie. Probably those evil Victorian parents of hers.
So she sat there with no idea of the truth. Thinking she’d been used. Too proud to go after him and find out for herself. She accepted the proposal of Waistcoat Guy as some stupid gesture of revenge. Maybe she was hoping Stephen would appear at the church. Even as she was getting ready for the wedding, she must have hoped, surely. And he let her down.
I can’t bear it. I want to go back in time and put it all right. If only Sadie hadn’t married Waistcoat Guy. If only Stephen hadn’t gone to France. If only her parents had never caught them. If only-
No. Stop with the if-onlys. There’s no point. He’s long dead. She’s dead. The story’s over.
There’s a stream of people walking past me on their way to Waterloo station, but I don’t feel ready to go back to my little flat yet. I need some fresh air. I need a bit of perspective. I push my way past a group of tourists and head up to Waterloo Bridge. The last time I was here, the clouds were low and gray. Sadie was standing on the barricade. I was yelling desperately into the wind.
But this evening is warm and balmy. The Thames is blue, with only the tiniest white ruffles. A pleasure boat is cruising slowly along, and a couple of people are waving up at the London Eye.
I stop at the same place as before and gaze out toward Big Ben. But I’m not seeing anything properly. My mind feels lodged in the past. I keep seeing Stephen’s dated, scratchy writing. I keep hearing his old-fashioned phrases. I keep picturing him, sit ting on a clifftop in France, writing to Sadie. I even keep hearing snatches of Charleston music, as though a twenties band is playing
Hang on a minute.
A twenties band is playing.
I suddenly focus on the scene below me. A few hundred meters away in Jubilee Gardens, people are gathered on the big square of grass. A bandstand has been put up. A band is playing a jazzy dance number. People are dancing. Of course. It’s the jazz festival. The one they were leafleting about when I came here with Ed. The one I still have a ticket for, folded up in my purse.
For a moment I just stand there on the bridge, watching the scene. The band is playing the Charleston. Girls in twenties costumes are dancing on the stage, fringes and beads flashing back and forth. I can see bright eyes and twinkling feet and bobbing feathers. And suddenly, among the crowd, I see… I think I glimpse…
No.
For a moment I’m transfixed. Then, without allowing my brain to think what it’s trying to think, without letting a single hope flicker to life, I turn and start walking calmly along the bridge, down the steps. Somehow I force myself not to rush or run. I just move steadily toward the sound of the music, breathing hard, my hands clenched tight.
There’s a banner strung over the bandstand, silver balloons are gathered in bunches, and a trumpeter in a shiny waistcoat is on his feet, playing a tricky solo. All around, people are gathered, watching the Charleston dancers onstage, and on a wooden dance-floor laid on the grass, people are dancing themselves-some in jeans and some in so-called 1920s costumes. Everyone’s smiling admiringly and pointing at the costumes, but to me, they look rubbish. Even the flapper girls onstage. They’re just imitations, with fake feathers and plastic pearls and modern shoes and twenty-first-century makeup. They look nothing like the real thing. Nothing like a proper twenties girl. Nothing like-
And I stop dead, my heart in my throat. I was right.
She’s up by the bandstand, dancing her heart out. She’s in a pale yellow dress, with a matching band around her dark hair. She looks more wraithlike than ever. Her head is thrown back and her eyes are closed in concentration, and she looks as though she’s shutting out the world. People are dancing through her, trampling on her feet and elbowing her, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.
God knows what she’s been doing, these last few days.
As I watch, she disappears behind two laughing girls in denim jackets, and I feel a dart of panic. I can’t lose her again. Not after all this.
“Sadie!” I start pushing my way through the crowd. “Sa-die! It’s me, Lara!”
I catch a glimpse of her again, her eyes opened wide. She’s looking all around. She heard me.
“Sadie! Over here!” I’m waving frantically, and a few people turn to see who I’m yelling at.
Suddenly she sees me, and her whole body goes motionless. Her expression is unfathomable and, as I near her, I feel a sudden apprehension. Somehow my perspective on Sadie has changed over the past few days. She’s not just a girl. She’s not even just my guardian angel, if she ever was that. She’s a part of art history. She’s famous. And she doesn’t even know it.
“Sadie-” I break off helplessly. I don’t know where to start. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been looking everywhere for you-”
“Well, you can’t have looked very hard!” She’s busy scanning the band and appears totally unmoved by my appearance. In spite of myself, I feel a familiar indignation rising.
“I did! I’ve spent days searching, if you want to know! Calling, shouting, looking-you have no idea what I went through!”
“Actually, I do. I saw you being thrown out of that cinema.” She smirks. “It was very funny.”
“You were there?” I stare at her. “So how come you didn’t answer?”
“I was still upset.” Her chin tightens proudly. “I didn’t see why I should.”
Typical. I should have realized she would have borne a grudge against me for days.
“Well, I went all over the
place. And I had quite a voyage of discovery. I need to tell you about it.” I’m trying to find a way of edging tactfully into the subject of Archbury and Stephen and the painting, but all of a sudden Sadie lifts her head and says, with a tiny grudging shrug:
“I missed you.”
I’m so taken aback I’m thrown off my stride. I feel a sudden prickle in my nose and rub it awkwardly.
“Well… me too. I missed you too.” Instinctively, I put my arms out to give her a hug-then realize how pointless that is and drop my hands down again. “Sadie, listen. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“And there’s something I’ve got to tell you!” she cuts in with satisfaction. “I knew you’d come tonight. I was waiting for you.”
Honestly. She really does think she’s an all-powerful deity.
“You can’t have known,” I say patiently. “Even I didn’t know I was going to come. I just happened to be in the area, I heard the music, I wandered over-”
“I did know,” she insists. “And if you didn’t appear, I was going to find you and make you come. And do you know the reason?” Her eyes have started to glitter, and she’s peering this way and that through the crowd.
“Sadie.” I try to fix her eyes. “Please. Listen to me. I’ve got something really, really important to tell you. We need to go somewhere quiet, you need to listen, it’ll be a shock-”
“Well, I’ve got something really important to show you!” She’s not even listening to me properly. “There!” She suddenly points in triumph. “Over there! Look!”
I follow her gaze, squinting as I try to make out what she’s talking about… and my heart drops in dismay.
Ed.
He’s standing at the side of the dance floor. He’s holding a plastic glass of something, watching the band, and occasionally stumping from side to side to the music as though out of a sense of duty. He looks so unenthusiastic, I would almost want to laugh, if I didn’t also want to shrivel up and hide in a little box somewhere.
“Sadie…” I clutch my head. “What have you done?”
“Go and talk to him!” She motions me briskly.
“No,” I say in horror. “Don’t be stupid!”
“Go on!”
“I can’t talk to him. He hates me.” I quickly swivel away and hide behind a group of dancers before Ed can catch sight of me. Just seeing him is bringing back all kinds of memories I would rather forget. “Why did you make him come here, anyway?” I mutter at Sadie. “What exactly are you trying to achieve?”
“I felt guilty.” She gives me an accusing gaze, as though this is all my fault. “I don’t like feeling guilty. So I decided to do something about it.”
“You went and yelled at him.” I shake my head in disbelief.
This is all I need. She obviously frog-marched him here under total duress. He was probably planning a nice quiet evening in and now he finds himself standing at some stupid jazz festival, amid a load of dancing couples, all on his own. He’s probably having the worst evening of his life. And now she expects me to talk to him.
“I thought he was yours, anyway. I thought I ruined everything. What happened to all that?”
Sadie flinches slightly but holds her head high. I can see her looking at Ed through the crowd. There’s a brief, soft longing in her eyes, then she turns away.
“Not my type after all,” she says crisply. “He’s far too… alive. And so are you. So you’re well matched. Off you go! Ask him to dance.” She tries to push me toward Ed again.
“Sadie.” I shake my head. “I really appreciate you making the effort. But I can’t just make things up with him out of the blue. It’s not the right place, it’s not the right time. Now, can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Of course it’s the right time and place!” retorts Sadie, affronted. “That’s why he’s here! That’s why you’re here!”
“It’s not why I’m here!” I’m starting to lose it. I wish I could take her by the shoulders and shake her. “Sadie, don’t you understand? I need to talk to you! There are things I need to tell you! And you have to focus. You have to listen. Forget about Ed and me. This is about you! And Stephen! And your past! I’ve found out what happened! I’ve found the painting!”
Too late, I realize that the jazz band has come to a halt. Everyone’s stopped dancing and a guy up onstage is making a speech. At least, he’s trying to make a speech, but the entire crowd has turned to look at me, yelling like a lunatic into empty space.
“Sorry.” I swallow. “I… didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, carry on.” Hardly daring to, I swivel my gaze to where Ed is standing, hoping desperately that he’s already got bored and gone home. But no such luck. He’s standing there staring at me, along with everyone else.
I want to shrivel up even more. My skin starts to prickle with mortification as he makes his way across the dance floor toward me. He isn’t smiling. Did he hear me mentioning his name?
“You found the painting?” Sadie’s voice is only a whisper and her eyes seem suddenly hollow as she stares at me. “You found Stephen’s painting?”
“Yes,” I mutter, a hand in front of my mouth. “You have to see it, it’s amazing-”
“Lara.” Ed has reached me. At the sight of him I have a flashback to the London Eye, and all sorts of crawling feelings come over me again.
“Oh. Um, hi,” I manage, my chest tight.
“Where is it?” Sadie tries to tug at my arm. “Where is it?”
Ed looks as uncomfortable as I feel. His hands are jammed in his pockets, and his frown is back in place as deep as it ever was. “So you came.” He meets my eyes briefly, then looks away. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“Um… well…” I clear my throat. “I just thought… you know…”
I’m trying to be coherent, but it’s almost impossible with Sadie bobbing around to get my attention.
“What did you find out?” Now she’s right in front of me, her voice high-pitched and urgent. It’s as though she’s suddenly woken up and realized I might have something of genuine importance for her. “Tell me!”
“I will tell you. Just wait.” I’m trying to talk subtly, out of the side of my mouth, but Ed is too sharp. He picks up everything.
“Tell me what?” he says, his eyes scanning my face intently.
“Um…”
“Tell me!” demands Sadie.
OK. I cannot cope with this. Both Sadie and Ed are standing in front of me, with expectant faces. My eyes are darting madly from one to the other. Any minute Ed is going to decide I really am a lunatic, and go.
“Lara?” Ed takes a step toward me. “Are you OK?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…” I take a breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I left our date in such a rush. I’m sorry you thought I was setting you up for a job. But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. And I really hope you believe me-”
“Stop talking to him!” interrupts Sadie in a burst of fury, but I don’t move a muscle. Ed’s dark, serious gaze is on mine and I can’t tear my eyes away.
“I do believe you,” he says. “And I need to apologize too. I overreacted. I didn’t give you a chance. Afterward I regretted it. I realized I’d thrown away something… a friendship… that was…”
“What?” I manage.
“Good.” There’s a questioning look in his face. “I think we had something good. Didn’t we?”
This is the moment to nod and say yes. But I can’t leave it at that. I don’t want a good friendship. I want that feeling back, when he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. I want him. That’s the truth.
“You want me just to be your… friend?” I force myself to say the words, and instantly I can see something change in Ed’s face.
“Stop it! Talk to me!” Sadie whirls over to Ed and screeches in his ear. “Stop talking to Lara! Go away!” For a moment he gets that distant look in his eye, and I can tell he’s heard her. But he doesn’t move. His eyes just crinkle into a warm, tender
smile.
“You want the truth? I think you’re my guardian angel.”
“What?” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come out right.
“Do you know what it’s like to have someone crash into your life with no warning?” Ed shakes his head reminiscently. “When you landed in my office, I was, like, Who the fuck is this? But you shook me up. You brought me back to life at a time when I was in limbo. You were just what I needed.” He hesitates, then adds, “You’re just what I need.” His voice is lower and darker; there’s something in his look which is making me tingle all over.
“Well, I need you too.” My voice is constricted. “So we’re even.”
“No, you don’t need me.” He smiles ruefully. “You’re doing just fine.”
“OK.” I hesitate. “Maybe I don’t need you. But… I want you.”
For a moment neither of us speaks. His eyes are locked on mine. My heart is thumping so hard, I’m sure he can hear it.
“Go away, Ed!” Sadie suddenly screeches in Ed’s ear. “Do this later!”
I can see Ed flinch at the sound of her, and I feel a familiar foreboding. If Sadie messes this up for me, I will, I will…
“Leave!” Sadie is shrieking incessantly at him. “Tell her you’ll call later! Go away! Go home!”
I’m aching with anger at her. Stop! I want to yell. Leave him alone! But I’m powerless. I just have to watch the light come on in Ed’s eyes as he hears her and registers what she’s saying. It’s like Josh all over again. She’s ruined everything again.
“You know, sometimes you hear a voice in your head,” Ed says, as though the thought has just occurred to him. “Like… an instinct.”
“I know you do,” I say miserably. “You hear a voice and it has a message and it’s telling you to go away. I understand.”
“It’s telling me the opposite.” Ed moves forward and firmly takes hold of my shoulders. “It’s telling me not to let you go. It’s telling me you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and I better not fuck this one up.”
And before I can even take a breath, he leans down and kisses me. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure and resolute.
Twenties Girl Page 36