‘I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?’ He eased himself down beside her, stretched out his long legs, opened a large book and began to make pencil marks on the paper.
She watched in fascination as a picture began to take shape, not daring to speak because he seemed lost in what he was doing. He was a young man, about twenty she guessed. He had brown hair and light brown eyes. Studying him carefully she noted the highly polished shoes, good clothes, and hands that looked as if they hadn’t done a day’s work in their life. He spoke real proper, too.
Finished with her detailed inspection of him, she turned her attention back to the drawing, gasping in delight. ‘That’s here! That’s the swan over there. It looks just like it.’ She swivelled round until she was kneeling; she’d never seen anyone do that before.
He turned his head and smiled at her. ‘I hope it does.’ Tearing the page out he proffered it. ‘Would you like it?’
Her fingers itched to take it, but hesitated. ‘I couldn’t. It’s yours.’
‘I can do more. Tell you what, I’ll sign it and when I’m famous you can sell it for a lot of money.’
His eyes were full of mischief, making her laugh. ‘You sure you’re gonna be famous?’
‘Of course. You’ve got to have belief in yourself or you’ll never succeed in life.’ He signed the drawing at the bottom and held it out for her. ‘There you are, that’s my name.’
She peered at it. ‘What’s it say?’
‘I didn’t think my signature was that bad!’ He laughed. ‘My name’s Benjamin Scott. What’s yours?’
She sat back again, rather bashful, but not before she had taken the precious drawing and placed it carefully beside her on the grass. ‘Amy Carter.’
‘Nice to meet you, Amy Carter, and where do you live?’
‘Near the docks, Farthing Street. My dad’s in the merchant navy. He’s gone to Australia.’
‘Ah, an adventurous life, eh?’
She nodded, and hugged her knees again.
‘Do you mind if I draw you?’
‘What you want to do that for?’ She couldn’t help giggling at the idea.
‘Because you look pretty sitting like this beside the river.’
‘Go on – don’t be daft. I’m not pretty.’
‘I mean it, Amy.’ His pencil began to move over the page. ‘Sit still and look across the river.’
There was silence for a while as he sketched away, then he said, ‘Turn and face me now, Amy.’
What a laugh, she thought, having someone draw her picture. Bet those children who taunted her had never had their face in a picture. The customary hurt flooded back as she remembered all the nasty things they said to her, but then she banished it. She refused to think about them. This was fun.
It seemed no time at all before he was standing up.
‘Thank you, that was perfect.’
She scrambled to her feet. ‘Can I see it?’
Tucking the pad under his arm he smiled down at her. ‘I’ll let you see it one day.’
Amy watched him stride away, disappointed. He’d had kind eyes, and she didn’t think she had ever seen anyone as tall as that. Still, she had one of his pictures. She picked it up, careful not to crease it, then started back for home.
Mum was just getting the tea ready when Amy arrived, and while she buttered a slice of bread, Amy told Dolly all about the nice man who had drawn her picture.
‘He wouldn’t let me see it,’ Amy explained, ‘but he gave me this.’ She spread the picture out for her mother to see.
‘That’s really good.’ Her mother looked concerned. ‘But you shouldn’t talk to strange men when you’re out on your own.’
‘He was all right, Mum. A proper gent.’ Amy went into her bedroom and put the lovely picture in her drawer where it would be safe, and then went back to the scullery. Once they’d had their tea her mother would read to her.
This was one of the best days she’d ever had!
3
Benjamin couldn’t get home quickly enough, breaking into a trot to reach his car parked further along the river. He had come to Wapping looking for something different to sketch, and he had certainly found it!
Excitement raced through him as he swung the starting handle on his Austin, a present from his father after he had left university. When the engine burst into life, he jumped in and headed for Chelsea. His parents had been disappointed when he had left Oxford, but once they had realized that he really wasn’t the academic type and the only thing he wanted to do was paint, they had accepted his decision.
The feeling of guilt rose, as it always did when he thought of the sacrifices they had made to give him a good education. They were by no means poor, but helping a son through university had been a financial drain on the three draper’s shops they owned. They were getting back on their feet again now he insisted on paying his own way.
One day he would make it up to them, to thank them for their faith in him. His painting was improving all the time and he was even beginning to sell a few canvases. All he needed was something exceptional to catch the critics’ and gallery owners’ eyes. And today he was sure he had found it. What a face that young girl had, and her eyes were like nothing he had ever seen. He would have to get them right, for they said so much about her.
Pulling up outside the house where he was renting the top floor, he leapt out of the car and loped up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Once in the attic studio he shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over a chair in the corner of the room. Without bothering to change into the old clothes he used for painting, he put a new canvas on the easel, opened his sketchbook and set to work.
Time no longer existed for Benjamin. The picture of Amy sitting by the river was roughed out, and that canvas replaced with another. This was for the full-face picture of her, and the one he was the most excited about. He had to get it down while he could still see her clearly in his mind’s eye. God, he wished he had her here!
‘Ben!’
His only comment was a muttered curse as he heard his friend running up the stairs.
‘What the devil are you doing? We’re supposed to be going to Sheila Watkins’ birthday party and you’re covered in paint, as usual.’
‘Go away, Howard!’
There was silence as his friend studied the two pictures, perching on the edge of a tall stool to watch the portrait take shape. He spoke softly, never taking his eyes off the canvas. ‘I hate to disturb you, Ben, but we did promise to go tonight.’
‘Damn!’ Ben tossed down his brush, his concentration gone. Wiping his hands, he said, ‘I’ll have to leave it until tomorrow now.’
His friend’s smile was wry and full of sympathy. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘Sitting by the river.’ Ben stepped back to study his work. He had always considered himself a landscape painter, but not any more.
‘Phew, Ben, I knew you were good, but…’ Howard waved his hand at both paintings. ‘… these are fabulous.’
‘They will be when they’re finished.’ Ben gazed at the portrait critically, pleased with his friend’s reaction. He trusted Howard, who had a marvellous eye for what was right. ‘I haven’t captured the eyes yet. There was so much in them. Youth, innocence and a deep, deep hurt that went to her very soul. Even when she smiled it was still there.’
Howard shot his friend a speculative look. ‘You’re getting poetic. Did you ask the girl about her life?’
‘No, if I’d tried that she would have run away, and I didn’t want to lose her until I’d finished the sketches. I knew that sitting beside me was something special. Someone special.’
Continuing to study the paintings, Howard pursed his lips in concentration. ‘Got a bit of a gypsy look about her, but she isn’t conventionally beautiful.’
‘I agree.’ Ben didn’t look up from cleaning his hands with white spirit. ‘But what a fascinating face.’
‘I know this is only the first laying down of paint, but are the eyes re
ally that colour?’
Ben squinted, visualizing the young girl when she had looked at him. ‘Slightly darker, but I haven’t finished yet.’
Excitement lighting his face, Howard shoved his hands in his pockets and began pacing. ‘I think you’ve really got something here. I’ll ask Thomas from the Summerfield Gallery to come and have a look.’
‘No.’ Ben spoke sharply, making Howard frown. ‘That’s kind of you, but I don’t want anyone to see these until they’re finished.’
‘All right, if that’s how you feel.’
‘I do.’ Ben smiled. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m happy with them. Now I suppose I’d better get ready for this damned party. How the hell did we get invited, anyway?’
‘They know our respective parents.’ Howard’s face broke into a grin. ‘You’re an unsociable devil when your mind’s on painting, which is nearly all the time. I hope you’ve remembered to get a present for Sheila?’
‘I did this for her.’ Ben picked up a small painting of a single yellow rose, holding it out for Howard to see.
‘Oh, very pretty.’ His friend’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Not your best work.’
‘Agreed, but it’s how I pay my rent. For some strange reason this kind of thing sells.’ Ben shoved the painting in a bag. ‘I look forward to the day when I can just paint what I like, but that isn’t possible when we’re short of money.’
Howard nodded, perched back on the stool again and stared at the portrait. ‘Does rather stifle the artistic talent, doesn’t it? I’m making awful things like jam pots and biscuit barrels. God, how I hate it, but we’ve got to eat – sometimes.’
‘Can’t argue with that.’ Ben knew what a tough time Howard was having. He rented the basement of this house and it was often a struggle to find enough money to pay his rent. Ben helped when he could, but it wasn’t easy. The two of them never turned down an invitation, in the hope of getting a free meal. That showed just how bad things were at times.
Like Ben, Howard Palmer came from a middle-class family, but because he had chosen to become a sculptor, they had refused to give him any financial help – until he had come to his senses, as they put it. Howard was a brilliant sculptor and had been a good friend of Ben since childhood. They had both dropped out of university at the same time to pursue their dream of having a gallery of their own one day.
Ben realized they had both fallen silent, lost in thought as they stared at the portrait, dreaming of a successful future. ‘And what are you giving Sheila?’
Howard started. When he looked up his eyes were unfocused for a moment, then they gleamed in amusement. ‘I’ve made her a vase.’
‘I’m sure it’s very pretty.’
They burst into hoots of laughter, their introspective mood disappearing.
Howard stood up and slapped Ben on the back. ‘She’s going to get two unusual and unique presents. Get cleaned up. Hope there’s plenty of food, because I haven’t had a decent meal all week.’
Sheila Winslow lived in a charming house in Richmond, right by the river. The place was already crowded when Ben and Howard arrived, and as it was a lovely evening the guests had spilt out into the garden. They had been at university with quite a few of them, so they said hello before going to find Sheila.
She saw them and came over, arms open wide, to kiss them on the cheek, gushing enough to make everyone turn and watch her. ‘Oh, good, you made it. I couldn’t have a party without my two favourite artists.’
Ben groaned deep in his throat. For some peculiar reason Sheila seemed to think it was clever to be friends with two struggling artists. Not that he had ever considered her a friend, more of an acquaintance really.
Howard had managed to keep his smile in place as they gave her their presents.
Ripping open the packages she held each one up for everyone to see. ‘How quaint. You are such clever boys,’ she simpered. ‘Do go and get yourselves a glass of champagne.’
Without a moment’s hesitation they headed for the dining room and the food.
‘I’d rather have a pint,’ Howard said, still grinning. ‘She’s gone overboard with her dress tonight.’
Ben eyed her critically as she laughed with a group of her friends. ‘Hmm.’
‘It’s the latest fashion. You don’t approve?’
‘A bit too glittery and revealing for my taste. I like a touch of mystery about a girl.’
‘Like the girl you met today?’
‘Yes.’ Ben gazed into space, remembering, and wishing he were back in his studio. Then his stomach growled and reminded him why they were here. ‘Let’s get at the food.’
The large dining-room table was loaded with all kinds of tempting things, so they grabbed plates and piled them high. For several minutes they just munched away, not speaking.
When Howard’s plate was nearly empty, he rolled his eyes in appreciation. ‘Mrs Winslow certainly knows how to cater for a party.’
‘Well, it is her daughter’s twenty-first.’ Ben eyed the table, trying to decide what to sample next.
‘Is it?’ Howard helped himself to another two slices of ham. ‘This is wonderful.’
They were about to fill their plates again when Mrs Winslow sailed up to them, a tight smile on her face.
‘You boys look as if you haven’t had a decent meal for a week.’
‘Longer than that, Mrs Winslow.’ Ben smiled with good humour as the woman made a disapproving sound. The way they lived was a fact of life to them, and as long as they could practise their art, then every sacrifice was worthwhile.
‘I don’t know what your parents were doing, allowing you to throw away your education and become starving artists.’
‘They’ll be proud of us when we’re famous and making lots of money.’ Ben studied his empty plate and thought a large slice of strawberry cake would look good on there.
‘You are both living in a dream.’ She almost snorted, but she was far too well brought up to do any such thing. ‘It will never happen. Howard, you come from an affluent family and yet you have cast it all away. And what for? So you can make pots and statues.’
‘But they are very good pots and statues.’ Howard was not at all put out by the criticism; he’d heard it all before.
‘And you, Benjamin.’ Mrs Winslow turned on him now. ‘What is your poor father going to do? You should be training to take over the family business, not wasting your time painting pictures no one will ever want. You are the only child, so what will happen when your father can no longer work?’
‘He said he would sell the shops.’
She tossed her head in disgust. ‘Neither of you has any sense of responsibility. Well, do carry on eating. I’ll get Cook to make you up a parcel of food to take away with you.’
As soon as she walked away Howard made a dive for the food again. ‘That’s her act of charity for the day. Feeding two disobedient sons.’
A huge slice of strawberry cake slid on to Ben’s plate. ‘I’m not too proud to take it.’
‘Nor me.’
They grinned at each other, knowing full well that many people considered them mad. It didn’t bother them one tiny bit.
When they couldn’t eat another mouthful they went back to the party. Sheila made a great show of dancing with them, but she soon lost interest when she found they didn’t know all the latest dances.
As soon as it was polite to do so, they left, carrying a large parcel from the cook.
Ben didn’t give a damn what anyone thought or said about him. He was a good artist and one day his talent would be recognized. And one day, too, he and Howard would have their own gallery as a showcase for their work.
Curled up in the armchair like a contented kitten, Amy listened to her mother reading. Dolly often stumbled or hesitated over words, but Amy didn’t mind as she always lost herself in the story. One day she was going to be able to sit and read to herself. She was determined. Her mum was doing well this evening; she’d been reading for a long time.
&nb
sp; ‘That’s enough for tonight.’ Her mother closed the book. ‘I’m tired now and think I’ll go to bed.’
Amy stretched and stood up. It was only half past eight, but her mum was pale, her hands shaking slightly. ‘Thanks for reading to me, Mum. Would you like a cup of cocoa or something? I’ll bring it in to you if you like?’
‘That would be nice. I’ll have tea please, Amy.’ Dolly stood up and began to cough, holding on to the table for support.
Filling a glass with water, Amy gave it to her, watching her sip it until the coughing stopped.
‘Shall I help you to bed, Mum?’
‘I’m all right now.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘Read for too long, I expect.’
‘Oh, that was my fault. I’m sorry.’ Amy felt guilty about asking her mother to read so much.
‘No it isn’t.’ She straightened up and faced her daughter. ‘Nothing’s your fault, Amy. You’ve been dealt some rotten cards in life and you’re not to blame for that. You did well today finding work when there’s so much unemployment around.’
Amy watched her mother go to the bedroom and glowed with pride over the rare compliment. She was glad now that she wasn’t going back to school and having to face the other children’s cruelty. Where she was going no one knew she couldn’t read properly, and they never would. It was going to be her carefully guarded secret from now on.
She made her mother the tea, pouring one for herself before she went to bed. She mustn’t be late on her first day.
After taking the tea in to her mother, she went back to the scullery to drink her own, feeling happier than she had ever done. Her mum said she was going to look after herself now Amy wouldn’t be able to spend so much time at home. If she ate properly and rested when she was tired, she would soon get better. And when her dad came home her mum would be happy again.
4
It was twenty minutes past seven when Amy arrived at the factory for her first day, but there was already a crowd of women and girls waiting for the boss to come and open the doors. Amy was nervous about starting work and hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast. She had put extra in her lunch box though, knowing she would be starving by the time they had a break.
One Step at a Time Page 3