Amy finally accepted Judy’s commission on the basis that it was impossible to refuse her without taking the risk of being nagged day and night for a month, and because she knew that nothing would make her as happy as putting up her easel on the green beside the village church and spending a few days painting. The experience was rendered more pleasurable because the vicar, Jean, kept bringing Amy out cups of tea and pieces of cake. It was also as well that she had something to keep her happy because she saw something a couple of days after her lunch with Judy which destroyed any myth that suggested that Hunter wasn’t the father of Loretta’s child. Casually flicking though a newspaper whilst waiting to see the dentist, Amy’s heart gave a little lurch when she saw a picture of Hunter and Loretta on the gossip pages. Loretta was looking tanned and gorgeous in a revealing cropped lycra top and jeans. The caption beneath it stated that: “Art aficionado and multi-millionaire Hunter Lewis is set to marry long-term girlfriend Loretta Swale. The couple are expecting their first child in the autumn”. So that settled that, thought Amy.
But if she thought that she could then firmly push Hunter Lewis from her mind, Amy was mistaken. The very next morning brought an unexpected reminder. She answered a knock at her door only to find Judy on the doorstep holding a letter.
“I was just about to call when I bumped into the postman; you have a letter from America – look at the stamp.” Amy snatched the letter from Judy almost crossly and ushered her friend into the cramped but cosy room. She immediately recognised the handwriting as belonging to Hunter Lewis. For some reason she had not got round to removing the note he had sent with that bunch of roses from her dressing table and had grown familiar with his style. “Is it from our Mr Lewis?” asked Judy.
“I think so. What can he want? If it is to ask me to be godmother to his child, the answer is no!” Amy tore the envelope open with slightly shaking hands.
“Well?” prompted Judy after Amy had read through the letter several times.
“What? – Oh, he is asking me to come out to America to paint a portrait of his grandmother. She’s called Marilyn Lewis. All expenses paid etcetera...”
“Will you go?” asked Judy excitedly.
Amy paused for just a heartbeat. “No,” she said. “It could be that he just loves my painting – but, honestly, it’s not as if he couldn’t commission any of a number of famous portrait artists who would love to paint Marilyn Lewis. And if there is any other reason, it is because I was the one that got away, despite his looks and his money and his charm. And if he’s engaged to be married that is inexcusable. Is he going to try and seduce me behind his fiancée’s back? It has to be no, I’m afraid.”
“Well said,” Judy observed, taking the letter from Amy’s hand and scanning through it herself. “I read about their engagement – although I stand by the fact that he was in love with you. I don’t know what his game is, but I agree that you can’t go. A pity, because it would have been a good career opportunity on the face of it. Anyway, I came bearing another commission for you – but I have to admit it seems a bit of an anti-climax after that.”
“What is it?” asked Amy with a weak smile.
“Paula Locke wants a portrait of her cat, Fudge.” The two women looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.
“I will be delighted to paint Fudge,” said Amy wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I would happily turn down the famous mother of a famous man for Mrs Locke’s cat. And in any case, beggars can’t be choosers, and I don’t seem to be getting any interest in my cottage.”
“You will,” said Judy, “but I will be sorry to see you go. Oh well, I’ve got a professional visit to make, but Paula and Fudge await your call.”
In the second week of June the weather turned fine. The portrait of Fudge was met with delight by Mrs Locke and was followed up by a request from one of her neighbours to have her cat painted too. These small commissions occupied Amy’s time and helped to fill the coffers, but she still felt restless and unsure about her future. Then, the following week, three things happened almost together. The first was that the estate agent called her to say that there was a buyer for her house who wanted to proceed as quickly as possible. The second was that she was contacted by someone she had known in London. His name was James and he was a few years older than Amy, but she remembered him from their artistic social group as someone who liked a laugh and a joke with his mates but was serious about his work. He had a live-in studio in a Victorian warehouse but was struggling to make the monthly payments on his own, so he had been doing the rounds of other artists he knew to see if anyone was interested in sharing the studio. Hearing about this just after finding a buyer for her house made it seem like it was fate to Amy. She quickly got in touch with James and they made a provisional agreement by which Amy could share the use of the artist’s studio for a contribution towards the costs. James pointed out that it wasn’t really ideal for two people to live there, but she was welcome to stay until she could find a flat of her own. Amy did a quick sum in her head and reckoned she would be able to pay her way In London with the money she had left and could stay with James until her cottage was sold. All this was subject to her taking a trip up to check the place over, which she was ready to do that coming weekend.
And then something else happened to throw her into disarray again. She was out on a morning walk on the hill above Montford, going through her plans in her head, when she caught a glimpse of the sun winking off a car that was just pulling up the drive of Wolfston Hall. Unfortunately it was at such an angle to the house that she couldn’t see who – or how many – got out of the car. Well, if it was Hunter and Loretta back she could deal with it – she would be moving off into her exciting new life soon enough. Nevertheless, when there was a knock at the door of her cottage the following morning she found herself opening it with nervous anticipation. But the figure on the doorstep was not the broad shouldered, long-limbed figure of Hunter Lewis, but a very smartly dressed, upright woman of about seventy with alert grey eyes, a pleasant smile and an air of great self-confidence.
“Are you by any chance Amy Montford?” asked the lady in a voice with a gentle and rather pleasant hint of an American accent.
“Yes,” said Amy warily.
“Good. I would like to meet you in your village pub at...” she looked at her watch, “shall we say one o’clock? I have a business proposition for you.”
“Yes, I could be there,” replied Amy slightly nonplussed and trying to place the person. For a moment she thought that this might be the person who was going to purchase her house, but then another idea dawned on her. “Could I have your name, please?” she asked.
“Of course,” said the old lady in a brisk tone. “I am Marilyn Lewis. I look forward to our lunch.” And then she turned on her heels and was gone, leaving Amy feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
***
Chapter Five
Amy had a couple of hours before her appointment with Marilyn Lewis to wonder what on earth the business proposition could be. Was she going to offer Amy money to stay away from her grandson or something awful like that? Amy wished to goodness that she’d had the presence of mind to refuse the meeting, but she was too instinctively polite. And she was also very curious. As it was she dressed carefully but casually in a light summer dress, swept her thick dark hair back into a ponytail and made the short walk to the pub. She found Marilyn Lewis already seated at a table with two glasses and a bottle of white wine. “I have ordered us both the fish and chips,” she said to Amy by way of greeting. “I hope they are good here.”
“They are, as a matter of fact,” said Amy.
“And they said on the menu that they came with mushy peas – I’ve never tried mushy peas.” Suddenly, for all her smart clothes and decisive manner, Amy saw that there was also sweetness to the old lady’s personality too. She smiled more warmly and sat down opposite her. Marilyn poured Amy a glass of wine. “Of course you know why I’m here?” she said.
/> “Not really,” said Amy with complete honesty.
“Because you refused to paint my portrait of course! I’ve rarely seen Hunter as excited about an artist as he is about you. And I pride myself that his artistic sensibilities are inherited from me. If you are that good, I want to see what your work is like, so I’ve come to persuade you.”
“It’s a very long way to come just to have your portrait painted,” remarked Amy. “And a long way to come if I don’t accept the commission.”
“Not if it’s really good – and judging by your paintings I’ve seen since I’ve arrived, it should be,” said Marilyn. “And I hope that the effort I have gone to will help persuade you to agree.”
“I’d certainly feel pretty mean to say no when you have come all this way, but I would also hate you to be disappointed. I’m not really a portrait painter. I prefer landscapes. The two Hunter has are both of Wolfston Hall, which is a favourite subject for mine. Mind you, my last two commissions were portraits – but they were of cats!”
“The perfect preparation for tackling my portrait,” said Marilyn wryly. “Anyway, I have heard it said that catching the likeness of a pet for a besotted owner is easily as difficult as capturing the personality of a human sitter.”
“There’s some truth in that,” admitted Amy. And then a thought struck her. “Did Hunter tell you to come?”
“Goodness, no! I don’t let my grandsons tell me what to do; not even Hunter. No, this trip was my own idea, although Hunter knows that I am here because I am staying in his house. I hoped you would come there for the sittings.”
“As a matter of fact I am moving very soon,” said Amy, taking a sip of the chilled wine. “I thought it was time for me to try and establish a career in London. I came back here because my father was ill, but he is dead now. As a matter of fact I’ve sold my house and have arranged to share a studio with a friend.”
“Good for you,” said Marilyn approvingly. “A girl needs to pursue her dreams, and I wish you every success. But I hope you have time for my portrait before you leave.” She moved the bottle of wine and her handbag to make way for the food which had arrived.
“Yes, I do just about have time,” conceded Amy. “James is going to show me round the studio at the weekend, and as long as I’m happy with everything I can move up there in a couple of weeks' time.”
“Enough time to work on the painting then,” said Marilyn sampling the mushy peas with care. “They really are mushed-up aren’t they? I fancy that I would put a little mint in there, but on the whole I like them. I like the way you present food over here. On my last visit I stayed in a rather quaint guest house in Devon. I ordered two boiled eggs for my breakfast. When they turned up, they had little hats on – not the waitresses, the eggs! I asked why they were wearing hats and the girl gave me a funny look and said they were egg cosies, to keep the eggs warm. I’ve got a little set myself now; very sensible. So this James – a friend is he?” she continued disingenuously.
“More of an acquaintance, really. Just someone I knew when I was a student. I guess I am taking a bit of a chance sharing a studio with him, but the opportunity turned up at the crucial moment so I thought I’d give it a go.” Amy wondered why Marilyn was effectively asking her if she was in a relationship. After all, Hunter was about to be married, so her status could be of no possible relevance. She thought she would just hint at this fact. “How long are you staying in England? I know you have a family wedding coming up.”
“So I do,” replied Marilyn with a broad smile, “and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I doubt it will happen now until the fall.” She poured some more wine into both glasses and then said carefully, “I don’t want to go into my family’s personal affairs too much, but I may as well clear one thing up for the sake of accuracy: it is Cole who is getting married, not Hunter.”
“But I read in the papers...” began Amy.
“You can’t believe everything you read in the papers,” said Marilyn tersely. “Let’s be clear – I love all my grandsons, although each of them has their faults. Cole’s fault is that he can’t be what he would like to be as he doesn’t have the ability. Hunter’s fault is that he won’t let himself be what he really wants to be because he’s inclined to set store by what other people think. Then there’s Ryan and George – but that’s another story. Anyway, Loretta was one of Hunter’s girlfriends but I think she really belongs with Cole. Let’s say that they are soul mates. It will be a volatile marriage, no doubt, but I’m ready to welcome a new member of the family. The baby, by the way, is Cole’s. I gather that things may have been presented differently, but those are the facts.”
Amy sat back to digest these revelations. She could tell that there was a whole lot more story behind what Marilyn was divulging but that Marilyn didn’t want to say anything that might reflect badly on her family. She was giving Amy the facts and letting her fill in the blanks for herself. But why was she telling Amy? Was she hinting that Hunter was still available? Even if he wasn’t engaged to be married, the two of them had never really got as far as starting up a proper relationship. As it was, Marilyn swiftly changed tack.
“Now, when I’ve made up my mind whether to order the apple pie or the treacle tart we can discuss what exactly it is I want you to portray in the painting of me,” said the old lady. “I don’t want it warts and all like that Oliver Cromwell of yours, I want to look my best. And something a bit regal in style, if you please. I want my portrait go in the gallery at Wolfston Hall and outshine all of them!”
It was arranged for Amy to go to Wolfston Hall the next day to set up the background for the portrait. It was agreed that there should be a chair in front of the open French windows which allowed for the movement of light on the curtains as well as a background of the gardens. Marilyn wore a black velvet dress with pearls, and did indeed look rather regal. On that first day Amy took a couple of photographs and made several sketches. She remembered that Marilyn had hinted that she would rather be flattered than painted with photo-realism, so she aimed to soften the age lines of the face whilst retaining the character. Looking at Marilyn Lewis in the sunlight that flooded in, it dawned on Amy that she was probably closer to eighty than seventy, but she was still a remarkably fine looking woman. She returned the following day to set up her easel and the canvas and to begin painting in earnest. Whilst she was working Marilyn entertained her with tales of Cole and Hunter as young boys. Cole sounded mischievous but likeable with his more serious younger brother always trying to get him out of scrapes and always taking a share of the blame when Cole made trouble.
Amy took a break from her painting to go and look over James’ studio and was genuinely impressed with the high roof and the strong light from original Victorian windows. The heaps of canvases and all the paraphernalia of the artist made the place seem very attractive and part of her could hardly wait to get started there. Another part was dreading leaving the village which had been her lifelong home. And something was to happen on the Monday which would make her feel even more conflicted about moving to London. Having stayed a night with her friend, Lucy, Amy had taken a train back to Montford on the Sunday. By the following morning she was looking forward to continuing work on the portrait and listening to more accounts of the escapades of Hunter and Cole. But when she knocked on one of the oak doors at the front of Wolfston Hall with a faint smile on her face, she was almost stunned to find it opened by a familiar male figure. Broad shouldered, lean, and perfectly groomed, Hunter Lewis looked perfectly relaxed, as man was entitled to in his own home.
“What are you doing here?” Amy exclaimed, too surprised to pick her words more carefully.
“Checking to see that my grandmother has everything she needs,” replied Hunter, ushering Amy in with a gesture. “Unfortunately I can’t stay for more than a couple of days – I’m still in the middle of sorting a few things out back state-side. But I’m hoping to be able to get back here by the end of the month. Hopefully I will be able to see your
finished portrait by then. I gather my grandmother managed to persuade you where I failed.” He had entered the room where his grandmother was waiting for Amy and went up and put an affectionate arm around her. Marilyn looked tiny and frail by her tall and handsome grandson, but she beamed up at him.
“Oh, I can still be very persuasive when I want to be,” Marilyn said to Hunter. “And I want my portrait in the gallery here. I haven’t looked at it whilst it is a work in progress, how is it coming on?”
“You look as beautiful as you usually do,” said Hunter, with a wink at Amy as he studied her unfinished work.
“Hmm – that could be taken more than one way,” said his grandmother. “Anyway, you can clear off. I don’t want you distracting my artist.”
Hunter gave a little bow of consent and then turned to Amy, “I hope you will join us for dinner tonight if you aren’t too tired after a day’s work? Perhaps you could be back here by seven o’clock?”
“Oh, um...yes, thank you,” stammered Amy who hadn’t quite readjusted to Hunter’s physical presence. He left the room with a last smile back at the two ladies and Amy spent a few moments putting paint onto her palette to try and calm herself before she could begin. It seemed to her that she had gone through many changes since she last saw Hunter, but it was only a matter of weeks since the ball. Once thing was for certain, she thought to herself as she mixed alizarin crimson with a little yellow ochre, she still found Hunter as attractive as ever.
Fortunately for Amy, once she started painting she forgot everything else, and it was only after she had returned home and showered and dressed for the evening that her apprehensions returned. She wasn’t sure on what basis she had been invited to dinner. Was it just as a courtesy because she was painting Hunter’s grandmother? And what would it be like in the company of both of them? She knew enough of Marilyn’s character by now to know that she couldn’t be trusted not to tease either Hunter or Amy.
There was always something slightly odd about going back to her old family home as a guest, but somehow Amy felt it more that evening, probably because with both Hunter and his grandmother in residence it felt as if it really did now belong to a new family. And perhaps also it was because they both seemed to be making an effort to ensure that she felt welcome and comfortable as a visitor. She was glad that they had chosen not to stage the meal in the Great Hall, but had instead opted for the less formal medieval old hall which served as the kitchen, but still boasted a long, scrubbed oak table. It felt very homely with food still cooking on the range and both Marilyn and Hunter collaborating in the creation of the meal. Someone had cut flowers from the garden and put them in a vase on the table. Amy recognised the vase from days of old, but there were also a few subtle changes about the place: some linen serviettes were new, as was the china which the meal was served on. Someone had put curtains up at the mullioned windows, which seemed a bit incongruous to her, but did make the place feel cosier.
A Connoisseur of Beauty Page 5
