by June Tate
‘It’s fine,’ she assured him. ‘This is quite natural in childbirth.’
‘Oh dear, Margaret,’ he said as he wiped his wife’s brow with a damp cloth. ‘So much pain doesn’t seem natural to me!’
Several hours later, Gracie gave birth to an eight-pound boy. As the doctor wrapped the baby in a towel and put the child on her chest, Margaret let out a sigh of relief. Rick had tears streaming down his face as he gazed at his son.
‘He’s so beautiful Gracie, thank you so much.’
‘Well I didn’t manage this on my own you know. You did have a part in it!’
‘But I didn’t have the pain,’ he said and leant over the bed and kissed her.
Margaret went and sat down on a chair away from the bed to allow the new parents to enjoy their moment. She was so happy to have been there and silently thanked God for giving her such a thoughtful son-in-law. What a fine family they looked, she thought. She’d be able to go home knowing that Gracie had made a good marriage and, once she was back in Southampton, she and her husband would now have no worries that she was so far away.
Three weeks later, Margaret said goodbye as she prepared to leave, she kissed her grandson and hugged her daughter.
‘It was lovely to be with you, Gracie and I’ve really enjoyed my stay, now I can go home knowing all is well. Rick’s a good man, you look after him.’
Both of them were fighting tears as they walked to the door. Then with one final hug, Margaret left and climbed into Rick’s car to be driven to Denver.
‘Thanks for coming ma-in-law,’ he said smiling at her. ‘It helped Gracie so much having you there.’
‘I’m so lucky to have had the chance and I’ve you to thank for that.’
‘In a couple of years, we’ll come over to England and see you and your old man. I’m sure he’ll want to meet his grandson. Meantime, I’ll take lots of pictures and send them to you.’
They drove on in companionable silence. A bond had been born between them during her stay and a shared affection so when Rick took Margaret to the train and settled her in her seat, he hugged her. ‘Thanks for everything.’
She, too choked for words, just hugged him back and kissed his cheek.
Robert Kenneth Benjamin Rider thrived and true to his word, proud father Rick took many photos of his son and sent them to his in-laws, making sure they shared in the baby’s growth. Rick was a hands-on father, changing diapers and feeding Robbie, as they called him. Much to Gus’s amusement. As he said to Gracie one day, ‘Who’d have thought it? Rick Rider, wild boy, feeding his baby!’
Intrigued, Gracie asked, ‘What do you mean by wild boy?’
‘Well, Gracie, once upon a time, he was the worry of his parents’ life. Off on his motorbike for weeks on end. He liked dancing, was quite a hit with the girls, although he never stayed with one for long. I have to tell you he broke a few hearts around Barton. Look at him now!’
‘Ah well, it took an English girl to make him settle!’ she laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was now April and in New York, Valerie was out with her paints and easel in her beloved Greenwich Village. She had decided to do a series of canvases of the Village. One of a quiet residential tree-lined area with its rows of houses in bright red brick, stairs up to the front door, with its matching wrought-iron railings. Overhead the fire escape ladders, the balconies outside the windows, where the residents would sit on warm evenings, window boxes brightening the place. Others of the different busy thoroughfares with their stores, water hydrants, delivery vans and yellow cabs driving through, which made the pictures throb with activity. Washington Square with its impressive arch and park, the folk sitting on the grass enjoying themselves.
She needed a goal to work towards to fill her time to stop her longing for a child. Every time she looked in a pram and saw a baby she felt the loss of hers so much more. Max, who was well aware of the ache within her, tried his best to comfort her.
‘If it’s meant to be, then we will have a child. If not, then we have each other and our work which, is so much more than some people have.’
She knew he was right, but the longing stayed with her.
To help her think of other things, Max had arranged for them to sail to England in September where they were to hold an exhibition in London. Carl Blackmore, the art critic had suggested it.
‘I want the two of you to be known internationally!’ he exclaimed, ‘and I can help you to achieve this.’
Valerie had written to Gracie and Rick telling them of their intended visit and what a thrill it would be to be going home for a whole month. She and Max would be able to stay with family and, of course, her parents would be able to go to London to see the results of her work and appreciate her new career, apart from meeting their new son-in-law. It was his first visit too, so there was much to plan.
Gracie knew her friend wouldn’t feel the need to return permanently as she was so settled in New York with Max. Although she was deliriously happy with Rick and baby Robbie, Gracie still felt the pull of home and wondered if this homesickness would ever leave her. However, Rick had promised that they would all go back to England the following year, which gave her so much to look forward to.
The months seemed to fly by and before Valerie and Max knew it, September had arrived and the trip to London was only days away. They were booked on the liner, United States. Their canvases carefully packed and crated ready to be delivered to the docks and put in the hold of the ship.
It was a large exhibition. As Carl had said, ‘Put in everything! This is your one chance to make an impression. Don’t waste it.’
It had been hard work for the past months and when the two of them walked up the gangway and found their cabins, they were weary. Max lay on the bed and sighed.
‘Thank God we’ve got five days to rest. I am so tired. Please don’t ask me to go dancing tonight.’
‘You’re not the only one that’s tired Max Brennen! After dinner and a walk round the deck, bed is on my agenda. I don’t know about you.’
‘Sounds wonderful.’ He got up. ‘Come on, let’s find a bar and have a drink, I think we’ve earned it.’
Five days later, rested and ready to go, Max and Valerie arrived in Southampton. They were met by James Grant, an agent Carl had recommended, who was overseeing the exhibition. He assured them that he would see to the safe delivery of all their canvases and then saw them onto the train with details of their hotel, the address of the gallery in Knightsbridge and his telephone number.
‘I’ll see you there the day after tomorrow in the morning about ten o’clock,’ he told them. ‘By then everything should be unpacked and ready, then we can decide where to hang the paintings.’
They settled in a first-class carriage for their journey to the city.
Max was intrigued by the passing countryside, the verdant greenery, slowly turning to autumn shades, the fields full of animals. The sheep, the cows and horses grazing.
‘How very peaceful it all seems,’ he said to Valerie. ‘The pace is so much slower here. I’m really going to enjoy my visit.’
When they had settled in their hotel room, Valerie rang her parents to tell them they’d arrived. She sat in an armchair listening to the familiar voices of the people she loved and could hardly wait to see them. They of course, were coming to the opening night of the exhibition and had booked into a hotel for three days.
‘I can’t wait to see you,’ said Eve, her mother, ‘your father is delighted that you and Max are here. Are you happy darling?’
‘More than I ever thought possible,’ Valerie said, ‘and when you meet Max, you’ll understand why.’
Two days later, Valerie and Max took a taxi to the gallery to oversee the hanging of their paintings. It was a long and arduous task, setting out the canvases of various sizes, but after a break for lunch and with the help of many hands, by early evening, it was done. They stood back and surveyed the walls. The gallery was big and on one side, Max
had his paintings, on the other were those by Valerie. With the lights above each picture, the interior became one of colour, with landscapes, portraits, Valerie’s series of Greenwich Village, a section of vibrant scenes of Jamaica from their holiday there, watercolours and oils. It was like a gigantic feast and they were delighted with the result.
Carl, using his connections, saw that the publicity for the event was vast. There were enormous posters, announcements in various newspapers and ticket sales were good for all seven days of the exhibition. The outlay financially was considerable, so they both prayed that it would be a success. The next day the exhibition would open to the press and invited guests, critics of the art world, then the grand opening was to be the following evening, after which it would be open from ten o’clock in the morning, with tickets on the door for those who hadn’t bought them already.
Valerie and Max retired to the hotel and ordered food to be sent up to their room, as they were too weary to seek food elsewhere. As they sat at the table, which had been set up by the window, they discussed the day’s work.
‘Well darling,’ Max said, ‘This is going to be really important for us and I feel good about it, don’t you?’
She was more reticent. ‘You know me, Max, I’m always surprised by our success, but we have to try and if it goes well, we can come back and do it again in a couple of years. Anyway it’ll be an experience.’
He smiled fondly at her. ‘You never cease to amaze me that you still don’t realise how good an artist you are!’
‘Well, we’ll find that out by the end of the exhibition, won’t we?’
They were surprised and delighted that so many members of the press attended and several art critics, along with several members of the London A-list, who appeared at all such openings, with their pictures appearing later in Tatler, who were represented by their reporter and cameraman. James their agent was most efficient, making sure that Max and Valerie spoke to the most influential people there and more importantly, didn’t miss talking to every member of the press.
Champagne and canapés were handed around at regular intervals, which helped the ambience of room. To their surprise, some of their paintings sold that evening, which was a bonus and at closing time, James assured them it had been a great success.
‘There’ll be a review in several papers tomorrow morning,’ he told them. ‘I’ll get copies and bring them to your hotel at breakfast time, if you like?’
They agreed, as they were more than anxious to see if their journey was worthwhile.
‘Join us for breakfast, James. We’ll be in the dining room just before nine o’clock.’
James duly arrived the next morning, carrying a selection of newspapers, all turned to the relevant pages. He was thrilled with the results.
‘You two have caused quite a storm in the art world,’ he told them. ‘Here, read the reviews.’
And indeed they were more than complimentary, urging the public not to miss the exhibition of the two artists. Making a point that Valerie had been a GI bride. They were delighted.
‘There! Didn’t I tell you?’ Max exclaimed. ‘Now perhaps you’ll believe me.’
Valerie was still reading one paper, thrilled with the review. ‘Yes, I know,’ she retorted, ‘but you never can tell. What works in the States doesn’t always work here. But this time, thank the lord, it seems to have done so.’
‘I’m really looking forward to this evening,’ said James. ‘After this publicity, it should be very well attended.’
Which indeed it was. But the two people that Valerie wanted to see more than most, were her parents, who arrived just after the exhibition opened. There were hugs all round and Max was introduced to his in-laws, Eve and Giles Brampton.
After a few words, he said, ‘Come and see your daughter’s work, she’s so talented and I’m so proud of her.’
As they walked over to the other side of the hall, Eve whispered to her daughter, ‘I like Max, he seems a lovely man.’
As they stood before the paintings and walked slowly round them, both were amazed at what Valerie had produced.
‘I remember your sketches,’ said Giles, ‘but these paintings are really terrific. I had no idea you could paint.’
‘Max is a good teacher,’ she said.
‘But the talent was already there,’ Max interrupted.
At that moment, James called them away to talk to some reporters who had come along after reading the reviews and wanted to meet the artists, leaving Valerie’s parents to themselves.
When at last the exhibition closed, the four of them went to a nearby restaurant for a meal and to catch up with each other’s news. It was a time for reminiscing, of laughter and discussions about the future. It was here that Valerie told Eve and Giles that she was happy living in New York and that she wouldn’t be coming back to England to live permanently.
‘Why would you?’ her father said. ‘Obviously you and Max like living there, it’s where your work is known, it would be foolish to be anywhere else!’ he looked at Max. ‘We as a family are like nomads really, as I’ve had to travel the globe in my job, so we understand better than most.’
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to come and visit sometime?’ Max suggested.
‘I’m going to take early retirement in a few years, so we will, if not before.’
After the meal, they went their separate ways until the morning, as James said they were not needed at the gallery and to take a break.
As they lay in each other’s arms in bed, Valerie nestled into her husband. ‘My mother thinks you’re nice,’ she said.
‘Ah, your mother is a woman of taste … like her daughter who realised I was a good catch!’
‘Well, you’re not bad, I’ll grant you that.’
‘So tomorrow you can show me around London as a reward, now let’s get some rest because it’s going to be a long day and I’m beat.’
For the following three days, the four of them toured the sights for Max’s benefit. They took him to the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace and for a boat trip along the Thames to Windsor where they walked around the castle. Max was intrigued with the history of the country, the portraits by famous painters adorning the walls. The splendour of the rooms.
As he said, ‘I can imagine kings and queens wandering around here. It’s incredible!’
When their time was up, the Bramptons returned to their home, knowing that Valerie and Max would be visiting them for a few days before they returned to New York.
Left to their own devices they went to the V&A Museum, the Tate Gallery and the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square. Here they spent a few hours studying the Old Masters, discussing their use of colour and techniques. For Valerie it was like getting another lesson in her art as Max discussed various details of the pictures and the use of oils in their various ways.
They spent other days around the city with sketchbooks and paints, collecting scenes of history and historic buildings. As Max said, ‘We Yanks are fascinated by the “Old Country” and these pictures will market well.’
When they left London to stay with Valerie’s parents in Lymington, they again used their time to draw, this time the quiet countryside with the New Forest ponies, the marina with its many yachts around Lymington itself and, for good measure, thatched-roofed cottages.
Max was introduced to friends and other family members during his stay and with his usual charm, endeared himself to them all … and then it was time to leave.
As they were being driven to Southampton to join their ship, Max opened a letter from James Grant, which had been sent to them in Lymington, with the final figures from their exhibition. He was delighted with the result.
Waving the letter he turned to Valerie. ‘Well darling, it was certainly worth the visit!’ He showed her the figure at the bottom detailing the takings. ‘We can come back in a couple of years, that’s for certain.’
She was more than surprised that they had sold so many paintings. V
alerie wasn’t really interested in the money side of her career, for her it was all about putting brush to canvas and now she wanted to get home and start on the scenes of her homeland. She realised of course, to continue to live comfortably as well, that success was important and she was delighted for her husband.
‘I’m so pleased it went well, Max and that I was able to show you my country, but now I can’t wait to go home.’
He leant forward and kissed her. ‘To hear you call New York home, is music to my ears,’ he said. ‘I did wonder how you’d feel after returning to the States after being in England with your family.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t be silly, you are my family now, where else would I want to be?’
Chapter Thirty
It was now October and in Barton, winter was approaching. Now that young Robbie was five months old, Gracie placed him in day care four days a week to allow her to return to work at Milly’s shop. The two women had become firm friends and for Gracie it was a joy to spend time with her, both at work and socially.
Rick had moved into bigger premises and taken on a third mechanic to help with the ever-increasing business. He had bought a three-bedroomed house with a garden and Gracie had spent time furnishing it and making it habitable, but this time, Rick had paid a man to decorate the interior before they moved in.
‘You have enough to do, looking after the baby,’ he’d said. But he had left her to choose the colours. When it was all finished, she was delighted with the result, but wished that her parents could come and stay to see for themselves how well her husband was doing and, of course, their grandchild.
She had made new friends with some of the mothers she’d met and sometimes invited them over for morning coffee where she served homemade scones and fruit cake for her friends. They now made the ‘English scones’ as they called them, from her recipe, so she felt she was helping with international relations. Sometimes she held tea parties with cucumber sandwiches and sponge cake, too. The American women thought the idea of tea in the afternoon was ‘real cute’, as they put it. But as she did this, she knew that deep down she was still feeling somewhat homesick and this went some way to alleviate the longing. But when she received a letter from her mother to say her father wasn’t well, she was beside herself with worry.
