by A. O'Connor
Clara ran to the mirror over the fireplace and had just enough time to fix her hair and check her appearance before Johnny walked in.
“Hello there!” he said, smiling broadly.
“Mr Seymour,” she nodded and stretched out her hand for him to shake.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” said Johnny. “Unexpected money coming my way is always a pleasant surprise, so I was delighted to get the commission from your grandmother. I spoke to her on the phone – most charming woman.”
Clara wondered how much he was getting paid.
“I hear you’re very good,” she smiled.
“At many things! Pierce is at the front, I heard?”
“Yes, it’s just me and my sister-in-law here, and the servants of course – those who haven’t enlisted.”
“Of course!” There was a note of sarcasm in his voice. He went over and studied some portraits on the wall. “And it is here you are to hang, metaphorically speaking of course.” He went from portrait to portrait.
“Yes,” she smiled at him.
Prudence came into the drawing room.
“Afternoon, Johnny.” She looked him up and down. “Johnny, how old are you?”
“Old enough to know better, and young enough not to care.”
“But you’re a young man.”
Johnny made a sweeping bow. “So good of you to say.”
“But why aren’t you at the front?”
“The front of what?”
“The war front!”
“Oh, that front! Because I don’t want to be there, Prudence.”
“It’s Lady Prudence.”
“If you say so, then who am I to contradict?”
“Have you been to the front?”
“No.”
“And you have no intention of going to the front?”
Johnny looked at Clara. “She learns quickly, doesn’t she? I have no intention of being at the front, back or side of any war, dear lady.”
“Well, I think it’s scandalous, I really do. A man in his prime –”
“You’re too kind.”
“Ignoring his patriotic duty to – to paint pictures!”
“Guilty as charged, Patience.”
“It’s Prudence!”
“I’m so glad you insist on ridding me of the formalities of calling you ‘Lady’.”
Prudence gave them both a withering look and marched out.
Clara was trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t have provoked her. She’ll make your life difficult.”
“Oh, what could she ever do to me?” he said, smirking at her.
Clara showed Johnny around the house to see what room he wanted to use to paint her in. He walked around the giant ballroom with the row of French windows that looked out on the gardens to the side of the house.
“This room is never really used any more. I believe there used to be great parties here. I had hoped when I married Pierce we could hold parties here again. But finances dictate otherwise, and of course the war came.” She looked sad.
“Well, I think this room would suit us just fine,” he declared.
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful room, excellent light from the windows, and if it’s not used then we won’t be disturbed.”
He went to the side of the room where there were gilded chairs lined up, and selecting one he brought it over to the centre of the room.
“Come here, sit down,” he ordered.
Clara came over and did as he asked.
He stood back and looked at her and then, approaching her, he took her chin in his hand and started tilting her head atdifferent angles.
“You’ve never sat for a portrait before?” he asked.
“No.”
He studied her posture. “It shows.”
His words made her self-conscious.
He studied her face before letting it go and walking around the room.
“I’ll be coming and going somewhat. I’m trying to organise an art exhibition of up-and-coming artists in Dublin so I’ll be returning to Dublin on business a bit.”
“I understand,” said Clara, thinking how exciting the exhibition would be and how she would love to hear all about it.
He stood and looked at her. “We’ll start work tomorrow. So, come on. Let’s get into that car of yours and go for a ride.”
“I’m afraid I can’t! I have to –” She stopped as she realised she couldn’t think of one thing she had to do.
Clara sped through the country roads around the lake.
“You drive nearly as badly as me!” he shouted.
“Do I? The chauffeur is fighting at the front unfortunately.”
“Unfortunate for him anyway.” Johnny lit up a cigarette and sat back. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? The scenery looks amazing. I can see why JackButler Yeats insists on painting it all the time.”
Clara glanced at him. “Have you met him?”
“Of course. His brother William as well.”
“I love both their work. They both grew up near here, I understand?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you know them all, in Dublin. The literati?”
He draggedon his cigarette and smiled at her. “Those worth knowing I do. . . I fancy a drink. Cassidy’s?”
“I shouldn’t!” She shook her head.
Clara parked the car in Castlewestand the two of them walked into Cassidy’s bar.
“Good evening, Lady Armstrong, and Mr Johnny,” welcomed the publican warmly.
“Hello, Mr Cassidy.” Clara walked through the pub to the large open fire and sat at a table beside it.
“The usual?” asked Cassidy.
“Times two!” she replied.
Johnny was bemused as he sat down opposite her.
“I take it you’re a regular here?” he asked.
“I often sneak in for a quick one,” she said, looking naughty.
“Whatever would Prudence say?”
“Oh, I think she knows and I don’t think she’s too impressed.” Clara paused as Cassidy placed two glasses of Guinness in front of them, then continued, “I get on with all the townspeople. They are very warm. I chat away to them all the time.”
“Another thing that doesn’t impress Prudence, I imagine?”
“No, she likes to set herself apart.”
“And what of Lord Armstrong? Does he disapprove of his wife mixing with the locals.”
Clara looked into the rich creamy top on top of the glass of stout. “He hasn’t saidif it bothers him, so I guess it doesn’t.”
He observed her looking lost for a few seconds and then suddenly she was smiling at him.
“Please tell me all about your world in Dublin. I want to hear all about the writers, the poets, the artists. Everything!”
Three hours later Johnny was standing by the fire in the bar with all the customers gathered around him as he finished a song.
‘You’re pretty and charming and that’s all I know . . .
I’ve a wife and six children back in old Ballyroe!”
The customers erupted in laughter and clapping as Johnny winked at Clara.
Chapter sixty-three
“Good morning, Pittance!” said Johnny cheerily, as he passed Prudence in the hall the next morning.
“Prudence!” she snapped back.
“Yes, very wise to be so in war time,” said Johnny with a smirk.
In irritation Prudence stormed off.
Johnny started laughing.
“You shouldn’t tease her,” admonished Clara, coming down the stairs to greet him.
“Why? She needs teasing. I’d say she’s got away with everything all her life.”
“You’re being unfair. Prudence and my husband have known a lot of hardship in their lives, as children. If they are both the way they are, there are reasonsfor it.”
“Both?” asked Johnny curiously.
Clara looked away, realising she had said too much and revealed
something about Pierce she wished she hadn’t.
“Is that the attire you have chosen for the portrait?” Johnny asked, looking her up, and down, clearly unimpressed by her plain dark-grey skirt and white blouse.
“Oh, no, no – I’ll go up and change now – I was waiting for you to arrive first.”
Johnny proceeded to the ballroom while Clara returned to her room to dress for the portrait.
She had spent much time deliberating what to wear and she had finally decided on a glamorous bejewelled gown with a train. Her predecessors in their portraits were dressed luxuriantly and she wanted to fit into the same mould. She put on the dress and was relieved to find it fit – her new diet was certainly having its effect. She walked down the stairs and into the ballroom where she found Johnny setting up a giant easel. He took one look at her and his mouth dropped open.
“Is this all right?” she asked, knowing she looked wonderful.
“No! You look terrible!”
“What?” she said disbelievingly as she looked down at her gown.
“Too much, Clara, it’s just too much!”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He marched towards her, grabbed her hand and led her quickly out into the hall and up the stairs.
At the top of the landing he said, “Which room is yours?”
“The one at the end.” She nodded down a corridor and he marched her down towards it and swung open the door and led her into her bedroom.
“Maybe I should call a maid,” suggested Clara quickly, uncomfortable about being alone in the bedroom with him.
“No need. I can dress you myself.” He stopped and smirked at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t ravish you. Where are your dresses kept?” He opened a door and seeing it was the bathroom closed it again. Opening another door he saw it was a dressing room and marched in and started riffling through her dresses.
“What are you doing?” snapped Clara as she walked into the room.
“Looking for something that makes you look human, less like a mannequin.”
He started taking the dresses and flinging them to the floor as he dismissed them.
“No – no – no – awful!” he declared as he threw dress after dress to the floor.
She watched him, getting agitated.
“You’re creating a lot of work for my maid to hang up all the dresses after you,” she said loudly.
“Here’s a thought, why don’t you hang them up. It will give you something to do!”
She continued to watch him and then her temper snapped and she marched up to him and shouted, “Will you stop, please! They might be just props for a portrait to you, but they are my clothes, expensive clothes –”
“Goes without saying!”
“And you’re mishandling them.”
He suddenly stared at her and shouted, “Yes! There! That’s the look I want! The defiance in your eyes. The face flushed with life. I don’t want you sitting there like a porcelain doll in a perfect dress. I want you sitting there alive!”
She was breathing heavily as she stared at him.
He picked out a simple silver-grey silk dress and handed it to her. “Here, this will do. Put it on and come back down and we can start work. And don’t be long primping and preening! Five minutes!” He leaned forward and whispered, “And don’t lose that look on your face.”
He walked out, leaving her clutching the dress.
Johnny was painting Clara in the ballroomwhen the door opened and Prudence walked in. She marched across the floorboards and stood right in front of Johnny.
“May I help you?” he asked, shaking his head in confusion.
Her hand came from behind her back and she held a white feather out to him.
“For me?” he asked, his eyebrows arched.
“Yes.”
Johnny reached forward and took the white feather. “You’re too kind. I will put it in my feather pillow along with the rest of them.”
She marched to the door and turned to look at the two of them. “Children play while men die.”
Johnny nodded at her. “Very profound. May I say something profound in retaliation?”
“By all means.”
“Shut up!”
Prudence slammed the door after her.
“I imagine the Germans would be far more terrified of her at the front than they ever would be of me. Perhaps she should go in my stead? Is she always so aggressive?”
“Yes.”
“How do you stand living with her all the time?”
“I manage.”
Johnny threw the feather away and continued to paint.
Clara looked at him curiously. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being handed a white feather? Told you’re a coward?”
“Not in the least. I don’t give a damn. That war is just a waste of time, and is utterly pointless. If others want to throw their lives away on a muddy foreign field, that’s their problem. But I’m not doing it.”
Clara felt herself getting angry. “You mustn’t call the war pointless, Johnny. My husband is fighting it. Many of my friends are fighting it.”
Johnny stopped painting and observed her. “That’s it! Hold that look on your face!”
His words made her more angry. “I wish you wouldn’t say things just to provoke me so you can get your damned painting correct!”
“Oh, it’s my damned painting now, is it?” he laughed. “I thought it was your damned painting. Anyway, I’m not saying it just to get a reaction from you. I really don’t believe in this war.”
“But why?”
“Because what’s it about?”
“Because the Germans invaded Belgium –”
“No, that’s a consequence of the war not the cause of it.” He adopted a bored voice. “It was all about a lot of chest-thumping in my opinion. And that was then and this is now. Nobody expected it to turn into this deadlock of slaughter, and I don’t think anybody really remembers what it was all about in the first place. So no, I don’t agree with it one little bit.” He continued painting.
“I think you’re being very disrespectful – under the roof of an officer in the army and talking like that.”
“I’ve never shown much respect for anything, so I don’t think I will now. Now keep quiet – I need to concentrate.”
Clara’s mouth dropped open and she was about to chastise him, when one look at the intensity of his face at work stopped her.
Chapter sixty-four
“What are you doing next Saturday night?” questioned Johnny.
“Well, I have no plans,” answered Clara.
“You do now. A gang of friends of mine are down from Dublin and we’re having a bit of a get-together in my house. Be there no later than ten.”
Clara sat across from Prudence on Thursday evening as dinner was being served.
“Chicken again!” Clara was exasperated. She had expressed her dislike of chicken continuously but it made no difference – it was still served regularly.
“There is a war going on, Clara. Let’s be grateful for what we have,” said Prudence as she happily tucked in.
Clara sighed but tackled the chicken, hoping to put Prudence in good form before she broke her news. Eventually she chose her moment.
“Oh, and I’m going to a get-together at Johnny Seymour’s on Saturday night.”
“Johnny Seymour’s!”
“Yes.”
“A get-together! A get-together of what?”
“I don’t know – a get-together of his artist friends and writers, I imagine.”
“A get-together of his well-heeled vagabond motley crew I imagine . . . There’s something smacking of very bad taste about attending a party when your husband is fighting a war. Indecent even.”
“You didn’t say that when you encouraged me to go to the Bramwells’ party that turned out to be a practical joke. You nearly pushed me out the door to it.”
“Yes – well, I thought you’d learn your lesson from that experience.”
“I ha
ve. I’ve learned to ring ahead to make sure I have the details correct. I have and they are.”
“I can’t imagine what Pierce would say.”
“Like anything I do, not much, I imagine. Why don’t you inform him and if he has any issue with it, he can write and tell me. That would be a novelty.”
“But – what will you wear?” asked Prudence. “You can’t fit into any of your frocks since you put on all that weight.”
“You’ll be glad to know my diet has worked, and I can now fit intothem all again,” assured Clara. “The continuous serving of chicken helped my diet a lot.”
As Prudence studied Clara she realised she had lost weight, and the weight loss suited her and made her more beautiful than ever.
“Perhaps you’ve gone too thin?” Prudence commented. “If there’s one thing Pierce hates, it’s a skinny woman.”
Prudence was with one of the stable boys, who had a bucket in his hand and a piece of hose stuck into the petrol tank of the car.
“Will I stop yet, Lady Prudence?”
“Yes, that should do it,” said Prudence, smiling.
Later, Clara came into the drawing room with her silk shawl over her glamorous dress. “I’m going now. I’ll see you later,” said Clara.
“Yes, enjoy!” Prudence hardly looked up from her reading.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come as well?”
“No, thank you. Not my cup of tea.”
“I won’t be late.”
Clara left, feeling it was lovely to get away from the house and Prudence for a night.
Chapter sixty-five
She drove the several miles to Johnny’s house and turned the corner into his gateway.Although smaller than Armstrong House, Seymour Hall was an impressive manor house perched on a hill looking out overthe lake. A number of cars were parked outside the front of the house and she felt nervous as she sat in the car waiting to go in.
What’s wrong with you? she scolded herself. You’re Clara Charter, doyenne of London society – you’re able for any social occasion.
But for her even to have to say that to herself made her realise how much she must have changed from before she married Pierce. She got out of the car. There was loud music blaring from the house and as she approached the front door she could see through the windows lots of elegantly dressed people inside dancing, laughing, having fun. She rang the doorbell but nobody came. She tried it again and still nobody came. Realising the bell couldn’t be heard over the din of the music, she pushed the door open and walkedintothe hallway. All the doors inside the house were open and people were drifting in and out.
