Love's Portrait

by Anna Larner

  Oh God. “Me? No. I mean not really. Very little.” Quick, move on. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. I love talking about art.”

  “Then you are in the right job.”

  Molly winced at Lydia’s words. She loved her job, for it was more than work—it was her vocation and her life. And soon it would be gone, wouldn’t it, and there was nothing Molly could do about it.

  Fran arrived at Molly’s side.

  Molly quickly said, “May I introduce you to my colleague, Fran Godfrey. Fran is the museum’s social historian.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lydia held out her hand and smiled warmly. “We have met before, haven’t we? You were school friends with George.”

  “Indeed,” Fran said, shaking Lydia’s hand in turn. “We’ve met once or twice at the persuader evenings.”

  “Oh, such wonderful nights,” Lydia said wistfully. “You would have loved them, Molly.”

  “Yes, Fran has told me about them. They sound just amazing and very glamorous.”

  Lydia gave a slow nod. “They were.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to borrow Molly.” Fran gestured into the foyer.

  “Oh, of course. Good evening to you both.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Wright,” Molly said.

  Lydia raised her finger. “It is Lydia, please. And let me know if you make it back to Paris.”

  “I will, thank you,” Molly said. Despite such conflicting feelings, she really thought she might.

  Molly followed Fran out of the annex, aware that Lydia was watching them leave. She stared ahead, not wanting to see if Evelyn had also noticed their departure. In the safety of the foyer, everything seemed to crash in on Molly as tears forced themselves through the barriers of her bravery.

  “I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I’ll be okay in a minute.”

  “Go home.” Fran looked towards the exit. “I’ll cover for you. You went back in there. You’ve done as Evelyn asked.”

  “I don’t know what to think or do—about work, about Georgina. How could she say those things about me? How could she even think that of me? How has everything gone so wrong? What on earth do I do?”

  “I wish I had the answers for you.” Fran wrapped her arms around her. “I really wish I did.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Molly had worried the weekend away. By the time Monday morning arrived, she’d bitten her nails to the quick and not slept a wink.

  Added to the horror of everything, she kept seeing Georgina’s face ripped with distress and her eyes clouded in a storm of anger and hurt. And she kept hearing Georgina’s voice over and over, recalling her words coiled tight like a cobra about to strike. She’d remained gripped all weekend, barely able to breathe in the shock and agony of the venom of Georgina’s accusations.

  How could Georgina think so little of her? Yes, she had tried to win her over and to impress her in the hope that she would feel able to have faith in the museum, but she had not set out to manipulate her or to deceive her. And she had certainly not set out to fall for her. She had not set out to imagine that Georgina could be the one.

  She’d followed no plan, not even Evelyn’s. What would Evelyn say? What could Molly say in defence of her actions? She had crossed professional boundaries with Georgina with seemingly little regard for how important Georgina was to the museum. No words of argument could change the fact she had disregarded Evelyn’s direct instructions, not once, but twice. She’d carried on researching Josephine’s portrait, and then she had raised the matter with Georgina of displaying the portrait in the Wright room. And Fran had warned Molly to take care, for she had seen the standoff coming. And now it had arrived, stark and with nowhere to hide.

  Evelyn’s door swung open, and Evelyn emerged looking tired and fuzzy at the edges. Her weekend had also obviously offered little rest.

  “Molly.” Evelyn’s voice was weary and her eyes fell heavily upon Molly’s face.

  Molly quickly stood. “Good morning. I’m so sorry about Friday night, really I am. I—”

  Evelyn raised her hand. Molly shut up. “Come in.” Evelyn led the way back into her office. “Take a seat.”

  Molly sat with her knees pressed together and her hands clasped in her lap.

  Evelyn sat forward in her chair with her elbows resting on her desk. She placed her glasses on the table and rubbed at her eyes before taking a slow sip of water. She then began, “Can I ask what you spoke about with Lydia Wright?”

  Lydia? “Yes, certainly. Well, we talked about the Rodin. She asked me if I liked Rodin and I said I did and that we felt excited and proud to have such a prestigious work on display at our museum. She said I was to let her know if ever I returned to Paris to visit the Musée Rodin.”

  Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “I see, and was that it?”

  “Pretty much. We talked just for a few more moments about the family portraits. She said she remembered them.” This was surely not the time to mention that Lydia had asked after Edith’s painting.

  “Thank you for that clarification. Now to the matter of Georgina Wright. What did Georgina mean during her tirade? What did you let Georgina Wright think, Molly?”

  Molly pressed her hands further into her lap at the sensation of her stomach dropping. “I’m sorry,” Molly said. “I don’t quite know what you mean.”

  “Well it’s clear that Georgina had been expecting something from you, and that you had let her down in some way. She had trusted you. Those were her words were they not? What had she trusted you with? Molly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  Molly shook her head. What answer could Molly give? Could she really say her heart?

  Evelyn sat back in her chair and released a heavy sigh. “I’m sure you appreciate that I cannot ignore the fact that there has been a breach of trust. Not only from the perspective of Georgina Wright but also from my perspective. I trusted you to work with Georgina as a professional member of my team, and I trusted you to follow my instructions. You have shown a wanton lack of care on both accounts.”

  Molly swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry for any distress and embarrassment I have caused you and the museum,” Molly said. “And…and for my lack of judgement.” Molly had trusted Georgina as much as Georgina had trusted her. Georgina was not the only one left hurt and confused.

  “Apology noted.” Evelyn sat forward again and opened her notepad. She began to make notes. Without looking up she said, “You may as well know that I haven’t spoken to the chairman yet. I want to see if we can salvage things, and by we I mean me. I want to give Georgina time to calm down. And then I will speak to her.”

  Molly nodded, “Anything I can do—”

  Evelyn raised her hand. “You will have nothing more to do with Georgina Wright. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Molly said quietly.

  “And you will take annual leave with immediate effect. I don’t wish to see you in this museum until after the Christmas period.”

  Molly’s heart surged in panic. With barely enough breath to speak she gasped, “You’re suspending me?”

  “You have given me no choice.”

  “But—” Molly wanted to say But you invited Lydia Wright, you put the museum at risk, you encouraged me to get close to Georgina. It was all you.

  Evelyn looked up. “You can go now.”

  Molly stood and turned away only to stop. She looked back at Evelyn and took a deep breath. “Have you used me?” Molly said, finding bravery from who knew where. It was what Georgina had accused Evelyn of and what Molly could not help but think.

  Evelyn’s neck prickled pink, and this time the rash of colour spread right across her face. “My role is to utilize my staff to the maximum of their potential. Nothing I asked of you was beyond your job description. This meeting is over.” Evelyn returned to making her notes. “It is in your best interest for this conversation to end.”

  Molly knew what Evelyn was getting at. She quickly left Evelyn’
s office, rushed down the stairs and out into the foyer, and thankfully left the museum before any other staff had arrived. She walked across the square, praying she could make it to Daisy May before breaking down.

  Movement outside George Wright’s house caught her eye and caused her to momentarily slow her pace. George’s furniture was being loaded into a van. Molly watched as the sofa was guided precariously down the steps. And then a man dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back carried out a for-sale board. He looked across at her. Molly looked away and headed for Daisy May.

  Safe inside, through half-steamed windows, she stared at the man hammering the board into the ground. It felt like with each blow he was striking at her heart, nailing home the brutal point that all was lost.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  So this was it then? The day that had been arriving since her father told her he was dying. The day she would return for the last time to find the house empty and bereft of everything.

  For this was no longer her father’s home. It was just a grand beautiful old building waiting to be loved again. A home was made by the people in it and by the objects they cherished. Now it was like an empty shell with its memories tipped up and emptied out like sand.

  But then there was the wine cellar where the very last dregs of her father’s life were hidden, musty in the dust and darkness. Having a cellar full of wine would be most people’s idea of heaven, but for Georgina it was simply the last of many tasks in the emptying of her father’s house.

  She leaned against the wine rack in the cold cellar, stifling a shiver and a yawn. She was bone-tired. Her train had been delayed and her phone had not stopped ringing with work calls. She’d crammed the next twenty-four hours with meetings and tasks. She would meet with her father’s solicitors and the estate agents, and in one hour a wine merchant would come and inspect her father’s wine and quote for its purchase.

  The removal men had followed Georgina’s instructions to leave the bed in her childhood bedroom in place for the last night that she would be here, because on balance a local hotel had managed to seem a lonelier option.

  Apart from her bed, all the furniture had been removed, and all that remained was a Mr. Men beanbag that her father had sentimentally kept in his office. Georgina had once asked her father about it and he had said that he liked to have it there, and that it reminded him of her when as a child she would drag the beanbag into his office to read her books, to be with him as he worked late.

  She’d now placed the beanbag in the sitting room as something vaguely comfortable for her to sit on in between meetings and tasks.

  She gave a heavy sigh at the thought of the work ahead. At least she still had the coffee machine onto which she had placed a label Do Not Move. Apart from the bare pieces of crockery that she would need, the rest of the kitchen and bathroom needed to be emptied and the blinds and curtains throughout the house needed to be taken down. The housekeeper had offered to take any items suitable for charity to the local hospice. She’d offered to do these last tasks as well, but the only way Georgina could get through the next twenty-four hours was to keep busy. The last thing she wanted was time to dwell on all that she had lost, and it wasn’t just thoughts of her father that simply broke her heart.

  For not an hour had passed in the last two weeks without the thought of Molly. Breaks in concentration always led to her, and then it would take all of Georgina’s might to stop thinking about her. And when she was tired, Molly filled the spaces where useful thoughts should be. For what was the point of thinking about her? Why couldn’t her head and her heart just let Molly go? Why wasn’t there a merchant who could come and take broken-hearted thoughts away in a van to be sold on to someone else, someone who knew how to mend them when Georgina herself had no idea.

  And what was worse, at some point today Edith’s painting would be returned to her as she had requested, marking the end of everything.

  She turned and glanced up the cellar steps at the sound of sharp drumming at the front door. It was just after three o’clock. Was the wine merchant early?

  Georgina wearily climbed the steps and went to the door, bracing herself for negotiations over the clarity of clarets. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Fran?” Georgina’s heart caught at the sight of Edith’s painting in Fran’s arms.

  “Good afternoon. I have your painting,” Fran said.

  “Of course.” Georgina gestured for Fran to step inside. “Thank you for bringing it over. Ordinarily I’d invite you into the sitting room, but the only room with a proper seat I’m afraid is the kitchen.”

  Fran glanced into the sitting room. “Kitchen it is then.”

  “Great. Please, after you.”

  Georgina followed Fran into the kitchen. She could do this. Take the painting and say thank you. It would be over in less than a minute. She wouldn’t even have to think about Molly. It would be fine.

  Fran carefully rested the wrapped painting on the kitchen worktop. She shooed Georgina away when she attempted to offer a hand as Fran struggled onto the stool.

  “I always find kitchen stools,” Fran said, “require the core strength of an athlete and the balance of a monkey. I am neither. So I shall make this quick. I apologize for any offence I may or may not cause by what I am about to say. I hope you will understand that it comes from a place of concern for both yourself and Molly.”

  Georgina’s chest tightened. “Right. I’m very sorry about what has happened—”

  “The poor girl has done nothing wrong whatsoever. If you’d given her half a chance to explain, she would have told you how worried she was about the invitation to your mother. She honestly did not know what to do.”

  “She should have warned me.”

  “And see you hurt yet again with mention of your mother? I told Molly the last thing your mother would do was come to the opening of the Wright room. I discouraged her from telling you. I am certain that if I had told Molly that your mother would likely come, she would have warned you. She would have risked her job for you, and I know that, because she’s been doing it ever since she’s met you.”

  Georgina swallowed down the terrible ache in her chest at the continued mention of Molly.

  “It was unforgivable of Evelyn to invite your mother, and you were entirely justified in being cross with her. But only with her. Molly has never used you. And she did not betray your trust, Georgina—she was simply caught in the most awful position.”

  Was Fran right? “Well I appreciate your candour, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a lot to do.”

  “And there’s one last thing you should know—”

  “Really, I do have to get on.”

  “Evelyn’s suspended Molly.”

  What? No. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  “I’ll talk to Evelyn.”

  “Good, I’m relieved to hear that. Now help me down from this godawful stool.” They made their way in silence to the front door. As Georgina reached for the door knob, Fran placed her hand momentarily over hers. “Don’t think that I don’t know how much you miss your father, Georgina. I also understand that grief is playing its part here. But I can’t imagine he would want you to be alone. So now that you know the truth, talk to Molly. Apologize.”

  “Goodbye, Fran.” Georgina held the door open.

  “Goodbye then.”

  Just as Georgina went to close the door Fran shouted over her shoulder, “And look after that painting.”

  August 1834

  Chambers of Brancaster and Lane Solicitors

  “What will you do with her things?” Charles Brancaster stared at Edith’s scrapbook and notes.

  “I have not thought. It has been two weeks now, and still she will not look upon them.” William lifted up Edith’s painting of Josephine and studied it carefully. “She looks so beautiful in this. Edith has entirely captured the essence of Jo. She has somehow seen her as I see her. Did you know she had painted her?”
r />   Charles stared at his daughter, captured in washes of colour and light. He silently shook his head.

  “There is an inscription—can you see, just here by the stretcher.” William lifted the back of the canvas towards Charles. “It says All my love always, Edith.”

  Charles looked into the office where Josephine sat silently staring into the distance with her face paler than the sheets of paper crumpled on her desk discarded.

  “It is no wonder that she cannot write a word. They were great friends, William, ever since they were children. No, they were like sisters, in fact. And Edith…” Charles’s voice broke. “I hoped she looked upon me as a father figure.”

  “Edith was in your charge?”

  “No. I was Edith’s father’s solicitor and his closest friend. He died suddenly, and poor Edith and her mother were saddled with terrible debt. They were once a wealthy family.”

  “Goodness.”

  “Indeed. They ended up living in lodgings not far from here. Jo begged me to pay for Edith to stay on at school. Edith was such a passionate, clever girl and not to finish her education would have been a crime. What a waste of talent and life.” Charles’s voice caught again, and he cleared his throat. “But I promise, Jo is a fighter, and she will recover from this and return to you, William. It is just the shock of it.” Charles placed his hand on William’s shoulder. “It may take time. But we have time. And we will wait.”

  William nodded and said with renewed purpose, “Let’s keep these safe. The letter was addressed to Jo, so these are hers. My sense is she would not forgive me if I did not keep them from harm. And I will not let her down. And I would certainly not wish to find myself having to seek her forgiveness on this or any other matter. For I fear that it is easier to forgive a stranger than a love.”

  I need a drink. Georgina returned to the cellar, pulling out a red wine. In that moment she could not face seeing another human being. She found the merchant’s number among the long list of calls and texts she had received in the last twenty-four hours. Five minutes later she had rescheduled their meeting to the next day and was retrieving a wine glass from a half-packed box in the kitchen. But she needed one final thing. Where had she seen it last?