by Anne Douglas
‘I don’t know. She just came into my mind. But you must still think of her, Daniel, don’t you? Though you never talk about her.’
‘There’s no need to talk about her.’
‘I was thinking, maybe we should. When you asked me to marry you, you said I would help you to forget her, but I don’t know if that’s turned out to be true.’ Rosa put her hand on Daniel’s arm. ‘Tell me if you do – if you still think of her.’
‘Not so much now,’ he answered with something of an effort.
Not so much … It wasn’t quite the answer she’d hoped for and, as though he sensed that, Daniel again took Rosa into his arms.
‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘let’s get you out of that nightgown. I know the best way to stop thinking of Lorne, and so do you. And the best way to stop thinking about your new job as well. Don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose I do.’ Though as she slipped out of her nightgown, Rosa was wishing Daniel hadn’t mentioned her job. That was the way to make her think of it, and she really didn’t want thoughts of Jack Durno at such a time.
But she needn’t have worried that his image would intrude on their joy, for of course it didn’t. As ever, nothing spoiled their moment, and by the time they were lying back, spent with wonderful effort, sleep itself claimed them both and they knew nothing until morning.
‘Happy?’ Daniel asked, playing with her long plait of hair as the new day broke for them, and Rosa, smiling dreamily, said she was.
‘No more thinking of you know who?’
Did he mean her new boss or her sister? Either way, she’d put them both, at least temporarily, out of her mind and shook her head.
‘No more thinking,’ she agreed, and together they rose to wash and dress and begin another day.
Thirty-Four
Mrs Craddock, Rosa’s predecessor, was a strongly built woman in her late forties with a sallow complexion and tightly pinned-up light brown hair. When they were introduced to each other by Jack Durno on Rosa’s first morning in May, she was wearing, like most people, a black armband for the death of King Edward that had happened only a few days before, and was keen to bewail his passing, for who knew what this new king, George the Fifth, would be like?
‘Aye, they can say what they like about King Edward,’ Mrs Craddock sighed, ‘but he was a jolly sort of man, eh? Just the one to cheer you up if you were down, I should think, and this new man, this George, he looks a bit more serious?’
‘Maybe, but that’s no bad thing in a monarch,’ Mr Durno declared. ‘There are some who’d say King Edward was at one time not serious enough. But I must get on. Mrs MacNeil, welcome to number eight. I hope you’ll be happy here, but for now I’ll leave you in the excellent care of Mrs Craddock.’
Rosa, as he left them, sure that Mrs Craddock’s care would be excellent, smiled at her predecessor who, it seemed to her, looked as though she could have cleaned the whole place without getting out of breath. In fact, though, as Mrs Craddock explained, she’d had the bad luck to develop arthritis.
‘Aye, is it no’ terrible, then, for me to be struck down at ma time with such a thing? I should ha’ been good for years yet, but just look at ma hands, then! Fingers all turned in, you ken. And ma knees! Och, I canna tell you—’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rosa said earnestly, ‘but it’s very good of you to come in to show me round. I do appreciate it.’
‘Nae bother,’ Mrs Craddock declared, pointing to a chair at the long table in the kitchen where they were both standing. ‘Now you sit down, lassie, while I make a cup o’ tea for us. That’s how I aye began ma day, you ken, and a very good idea it was.’
‘Oh, then let me put the kettle on!’ Rosa cried, but Mrs Craddock shook her head.
‘No, no, I can still fill a kettle, eh? I make a good cup o’ tea, though I say it maself, and in that tin on the table there’s some shortbread pieces. Won’t take but a minute to make the tea.’
When they were settled at the table with their tea and shortbread, Mrs Craddock admitted that she’d been surprised when she met Rosa.
‘You’re that young, you see, dear. I thought Mr Durno would’ve picked someone like me – same age, I mean – to follow me in the job.’
‘I don’t think I’m too young,’ Rosa said at once. ‘Mr Durno can’t have thought I was.’
‘Aye, I daresay, but it can be a bit lonely, you ken, working on your own. There is Mrs Goudy, the charlady, but she only stays an hour to do the fires. She’s already gone today. You’ll no’ have to mind no’ having anybody to talk to.’
‘There’s so much to do, I shan’t even notice it,’ Rosa said honestly, at which Mrs Craddock nodded.
‘Aye, you’re probably right. Mr Durno’s a lovely man – him and his ma gave me a bit o’ money when I left, so kind, you ken – but he’s no company, being up the stair, and trying to keep track of all his mess is just impossible. Never worry about sorting out his studios, is my advice – well, he’d never let you anyway! But now, let us get on.’
Thirty-Five
A useful morning followed for Rosa, with Mrs Craddock showing her where everything was kept, which keys fitted which locks, and telling her not to lose heart at the confusion she found. That had only happened downstairs after Mrs Craddock had left and Mr Durno had been on his own for a time, because to leave Mr Durno on his own – well, it was just asking for trouble!
‘You’ll soon learn how to deal with everything, though,’ Mrs Craddock told Rosa at the end of the morning while putting on her coat and large felt hat before leaving. ‘Any problems, drop me a note, eh? Mr Durno’s got the address.’
‘I must thank you again for all your help, Mrs Craddock,’ Rosa told her earnestly. ‘You’ve been very kind. And I do hope that your arthritis improves.’
‘Aye, well, I’ll have to hope, too, but now I’ll away – might see you again sometime. But here comes Mr Durno; he’ll be wanting to show you the studios.’
‘Just off, Mrs Craddock?’ Jack Durno called, clattering down the stairs. ‘Keep in touch, eh? My mother will be wanting to know how you are.’
And as the front door closed on Mrs Craddock, Jack turned to Rosa. ‘Up the stair now, Mrs MacNeil. I want to show you where I work and what needs doing up there.’ He laughed a little. ‘Not that there’s much you can do, as you’ll see.’
The two large studios at the top of the house had been converted from the old attics, one being where, as Mr Durno explained, he worked on his own artwork, the other kept for his portrait painting.
‘I’ll show you that one first, Mrs MacNeil – it’s where the sitters come, so it’s the tidy one.’
The tidy one? Looking in at it from the doorway, Rosa supposed it could be described that way, mainly because there was so little in it. An easel, a sitter’s chair, a mirror where looks could be checked, a wardrobe for outdoor clothes. But everywhere there was the film of dust she’d first met at Mr Durno’s house, which only that morning had required tackling downstairs by Rosa and Mrs Craddock, and must surely be dealt with before any sitters came to have their portraits painted.
On the whole, though, it wasn’t too bad, Rosa decided, feeling relieved, until she noticed that Mr Durno’s look was apologetic.
‘Now for my place,’ he told her, opening the next door, ‘which is not quite as tidy as the portrait studio. Not that you need to worry, Mrs MacNeil. All you need do is sweep the floor now and again. Here we are then!’
As they moved into the large room filled with light where Mr Durno had slept as a boy and was now his working studio, it didn’t seem too untidy to Rosa, who had been expecting something worse. Of course, it was stuffed with canvases, some displayed on two easels, some propped up around the walls, none showing anything that could be recognized, but there were also bookcases half-covered with protective drapery, sloping piles of magazines and a table with a gas ring, kettle and cups. In the corner of the room was a vast sink where brushes were stacked in jars, and a pair of paint-stained towels and
an overall hung on nearby hooks.
As Rosa’s dark eyes moved slowly round the room, taking everything in, they came to rest first on one of the easels with its canvas, and then the other, finally returning to Mr Durno, whose eyes had been following hers.
‘Is it all how you thought?’ he asked easily. ‘My studio?’
‘I suppose so, but I haven’t much idea of what an artist’s studio should look like.’
‘How about the paintings on the easels? You did say in your application that you’d found my work “interesting”. Are they interesting?’
Oh, my, thought Rosa, he’s going to catch me out, find out how little I know. I should never have got involved, but I just wanted the job …
‘They are,’ she said at last, looking away from the easels with their pictures she couldn’t understand. ‘But I don’t really know enough to say much more.’
‘People often just say what they like, Mrs MacNeil, and don’t really need to know anything. I’m glad, though, that you still find my work interesting. It has a name which I think you’ll know, and that’s abstract. Belongs to a new movement where artists don’t paint what they see around them, only what they see in their heads.’
He suddenly smiled and began moving to the door, which he held open for Rosa. ‘But that’s enough lecturing – you must be wanting to get home. I’ll see you to the door when I’ve given my hands a scrub. Never does any good but I try to show willing if I’m going out to lunch.’
When he finally saw her down the stairs, he had put on a tweed jacket and shapeless trilby hat, and it was true – his paint-stained hands didn’t look much better. But as he said jauntily, there was no need to worry. They knew him at the pub where he was going, never minded how he was.
Outside the front door, which he locked, he said he hoped she’d enjoyed her first day and that he hadn’t put her off by talking too much – his particular fault, as it happened.
‘Oh, no, you’ve been very helpful, Mr Durno. I appreciate it.’
‘See you tomorrow, then.’ He tipped his hat as he turned right and she turned left. ‘And no talk then, I promise.’
Walking fast, he was soon on the main road, making for the Dean Bridge, while Rosa hurried home, her head not only in a whirl as it had been the other day, but aching so badly, all she could think of was making a cup of tea and lying down.
By the time Daniel came home, she felt much better, her headache gone, her only worry being that he’d be expecting her to talk about her first morning and she would rather not. Why, she wasn’t sure. There was nothing to hide – not really. She rather wished, though, that she hadn’t had any conversation with Mr Durno.
‘Well, how did it go, your first day?’ Daniel asked as soon as he came home. ‘Hope it was what you wanted.’
‘It was very pleasant. Mrs Craddock, the lady I replaced, was there to show me round and that was very helpful. Then I got on with my work.’ She smiled. ‘Nothing that would interest you.’
‘How about the boss?’ Daniel was taking off his jacket, his eyes never leaving Rosa. ‘He around?’
‘Oh, yes, he showed me his studios, just to let me see what I’d have to do.’
‘And what would you have to do?’
‘Well, just keep them dusted, tidy – that sort of thing.’
Daniel’s expression was sombre. ‘And that’s what you want to do, Rosa? Aren’t you worth something better than that? It gets me down, having to think of you acting as housemaid to the Durno fellow when you could be here, at home, doing just what you want to do.’
Rosa was silent for a moment, then she spooned tea into the pot and took it to the kettle singing on the range. ‘I’ll make your tea, Daniel, and then we can talk about something else.’
‘Fine by me. What’ll it be?’
But neither of them, it seemed, could think of anything to say, until Rosa had prepared their evening meal and then they were back in routine, able to talk of Daniel’s day and of how his work on a pair of chairs ordered by a customer was progressing, all mention of Rosa’s job at last being set aside.
Thirty-Six
In the days that followed, a routine for Rosa’s work at Mr Durno’s house was established and worked well, with no further talking to him, except for brief moments when he opened the door for her in the morning. That suited her, giving her nothing she need report to Daniel, who eventually seemed to accept her work and not to mind it, which to Rosa brought tremendous relief, leaving her free to get on with improving the state of the Durno house, something she found satisfying.
The other aspect of life at number eight she enjoyed was meeting those who came to sit for their portraits and needed to be escorted up to the studio, for these were in themselves interesting people, the sort who didn’t often come Rosa’s way. Meeting them and learning to make conversation as she escorted them upstairs gave Rosa the sort of pleasant feeling one gets from being right, for hadn’t she said when she first applied for a job with an artist that there would be more to it than usual? Not that she took the chance to let Daniel see that she’d been right, only relished the knowledge that she had been.
It was after she had been working for Mr Durno for a short while that she answered the doorbell one morning to an older lady – one she didn’t know, yet who seemed familiar.
She was perhaps in her late fifties, very elegantly dressed in a light fawn jacket and matching ankle-length skirt, her copper-brown hair seeming plentiful under her hat, her brown eyes so like her son’s she didn’t need to give her name as Mrs Durno.
‘I’m just over from Musselburgh for the day for a dental appointment,’ she explained as Rosa showed her into the sitting room. ‘My son’s going to give me lunch first. But tell me, my dear, are you working with Mrs Craddock’s replacement? Jack told me he’d appointed someone.’
‘I am Mrs Craddock’s replacement,’ Rosa told her, noting the brown eyes looking round the room with interest. ‘My name’s Rosa MacNeil. Mrs MacNeil, that is.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes, I see.’ Now Mrs Durno’s eyes were on Rosa, seeming suddenly wary. ‘My son didn’t give me any details of Mrs Craddock’s replacement, only said she was a very good worker. And if the change in this room is your doing, my dear, he’s right there – you’ve absolutely transformed it. But – you’ll forgive me for mentioning it – you’re so young, you know. Are you the only other person working for my son here, then?’
‘Apart from Mrs Goudy, the charlady, but she only comes in for an hour first thing. We don’t really need anyone else.’
‘And you’re happy about that, Mrs MacNeil? Being alone here, apart from my son?’
‘Oh, yes, I just get on with things in my own way. I don’t see Mr Durno very often – he’s always painting.’
‘Nevertheless, I should have thought …’ Mrs Durno hesitated, then went on. ‘Please don’t mind if I ask, but is your husband happy about this arrangement? It is unusual and not one I knew about.’
Rosa’s colour was rising, a deep frown crossing her brow. ‘What’s so unusual?’ she asked. ‘My husband knows I’m just here to look after the house, which is what I do.’
‘Yes, of course, but you must see the situation from the point of view of others. My son, as you say, is only concerned with his painting. He won’t even think about your position – such a young person, working here with no other women. But you must think about the neighbours and what might be said. That’s why I asked you what your husband thought.’
‘Mrs Durno, my husband trusts me,’ Rosa answered stiffly. ‘I think that’s all I need to say. If you would like me to tell your son you’ve come, I’ll be happy to do that.’
‘Oh, please, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,’ Mrs Durno said quickly, her eyes holding Rosa’s stony dark gaze. ‘I certainly didn’t intend to. If you would tell my son I’m here, I’d be grateful.’ She tried to smile. ‘I really couldn’t face all those stairs!’
‘Surprise, surprise!’ cried Mr Durno when Rosa finally reached him.
‘See, I’m all ready in my respectable suit and collar and tie – and I suppose you’re here to tell me my mother’s arrived. Mustn’t keep her waiting, eh?’
‘Better not,’ said Rosa without joining him in his smiles and, at her tone, he gave her a long, studied look.
‘Has she said anything?’ he asked quietly. ‘You can tell me. She doesn’t mean to upset you, she just likes to speak her mind.’
‘No point talking about it. You’d better go down, Mr Durno.’
‘“Mr Durno”,’ he mimicked lightly. ‘Surely the time has come for you to call me Jack, Rosa?’
Her colour rising again, she shook her head. ‘I could never call you anything but Mr Durno,’ she told him. ‘It just wouldn’t do. I wish you’d go down – not keep your mother waiting.’
‘I’m on my way. Just tell me first: will it do, as you put it, for me to call you Rosa?’
‘I don’t mind, if that’s what you want; it’s what my last employer did. But do go down, Mr Durno!’
‘Follow me, then, and leave the house when we do, so that I can lock the door.’ He gave a quick smile. ‘And don’t worry about anything my mother has said to you. She will have meant it for the best.’
‘I’m not worrying,’ Rosa said quietly. ‘And if I’m to leave with you, I’d better get my jacket.’
In spite of what Jack Durno had said about his mother meaning well, her meeting with Rosa at the front door seemed awkward, for her gaze went immediately from Rosa to her son, as though she were seeking some sort of bridge between them. If so, thought Rosa, she wouldn’t find it, for there was nothing between Mr Durno and herself. ‘Strictly business’ was how their relationship might be described, and perhaps Mrs Durno recognized that and was relieved, for she seemed quite relaxed and friendly when she and Rosa said goodbye and Jack had locked the front door behind them.
‘So glad to have met you, Mrs MacNeil,’ Mrs Durno said firmly. ‘You’re doing a very good job – the house looks better than I’ve seen it in a long while. Now, if there’s anything you need for it, you must let me know—’
