by Jenny Harper
‘I know that. I used to mend them for him.’
‘Really?’
Hanke turned to her.
‘I don’t know what he told you,’ she said, ‘but we weren’t always at loggerheads. ‘How much is it?’ She leaned towards the label. ‘How much? Good heavens, I can’t possibly afford that.’
‘I’ll do you a pastel for free,’ Lexie offered at once, ‘like these –’
She drew Hanke away to look at the other exhibits.
As Hanke was about to leave she told Lexie, ‘I’ve got something for you. Where’s my bag?’
She rooted around in the back and brought out a large plastic box. Lexie glimpsed rolls of newspaper inside.
‘For me?’
‘Pavel wanted you to have them.’
Lexie opened the lid and unwrapped one of the bundles.
‘The sherry glasses,’ she laughed. ‘He actually did leave them to me.’
‘I wish we hadn’t fallen out,’ Hanke said a little wistfully. ‘He was a good brother once.’
Jonas arrived, with Carlotta, who came over to her at once.
‘He is back.’
She smiled across the gallery at her husband, who was examining a pair of sandals that had once been worn by an inmate in a Japanese prisoner of war camp.
‘We have talked about everything. We are friends again.’
‘I’m delighted.’
It was true – she didn’t like to think of Jonas’s trusting love being so horribly trampled on.
‘Jonas has always wanted children and I have been so selfish. I wanted to make the restaurant successful.’
Carlotta flashed a smile that was both repentant and triumphant, or at least, that was how Lexie read it.
‘I tell him, mi cielo, this is your time now. Besalú can look after itself.’
‘So you’re going to have a baby?’
‘Yes, of course, a baby. A whole family of babies.’
Lexie wondered for a horrible moment if Carlotta was already pregnant. Her baby could be Cameron’s! Carlotta saw her face and at once guessed her thoughts.
‘You need not worry, Lexie, I am not yet pregnant.’
She gave Jonas a little wave.
‘But it’s wonderful fun making a baby, si?’
Molly was coming in as Jonas and Carlotta left. Lexie witnessed Molly’s awkwardness and loved her for her loyalty.
‘Christ,’ Molly said in a stage whisper that bounced off the walls and returned magnified so that everyone heard, ‘I didn’t think she’d have the gall to come. You haven’t asked Cameron, have you? Because I don’t think I could be civil to him.’
‘No, I haven’t. And I think even Cameron will have the grace not to come, at least not while I’m here.’
Molly snorted. She looked around. She had seen some of the work at the cottage, but never all the drawings and paintings. She let out a low whistle.
‘Wow, Lex, is that “Charlotte”?’
‘Yes. And Edith’s still here, let me find her.’
Molly hadn’t seen “Jamie”. Protective and apprehensive, Lexie hovered by her side as she made her way round the exhibition.
There was a touch on her elbow and her mother said, ‘Alexa, Edith is leaving.’
Lexie, her head spinning, had to detach herself from Molly to watch as the carer helped Edith into the car. So many emotions, so much stress and excitement. As Edith waved a cheerful goodbye out of the car window, her heart lurched.
The bootees!
‘Worried about something?’ Martha asked her.
‘Edith’s just left and –’
‘– gave me these before she went.’ Martha held up the pink bootees.
‘Mum! How did you –? You’re a miracle worker.’
‘You just need a little tact,’ Martha said, replacing the bootees on their special plinth. ‘Here, you can do this better than I can.’
‘I’ll get one of the girls to secure them properly so that no-one else can snatch them.’
In the small room, Molly was standing in front of ‘Jamie’. Her face was ashen as she scanned every detail of the painting – the mud on the laces, Jamie’s laughing face, the pretty pattern of her own favourite dress.
Tom was standing next to her. She turned to him and said something in a low voice. Tom put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
Martha took Lexie’s hand.
‘You see,’ she said softly, ‘how your work has the power to heal?’
In the evening, there was barely room to move. Lexie met and greeted and talked to so many people that her jaw ached and her cheeks were sore from smiling. Everyone was full of praise and all the oil paintings were sold before the private view was over.
Patrick approached her half way through the evening and she realised that he was attractive in a way that Cameron never had been. Memories from their past flooded in – Patrick waking her before dawn to tell her they were off to London for an auction; Patrick laughing as she tried to feed him the last prawn in the tandoori; Patrick’s eyes burning with desire as he bent his head to kiss her for the very first time.
I don’t make a habit of screwing my new protégées, but you, Alexa Gordon, are ravishing.
‘Hello, Lexie.’
‘Hi.’
He wouldn’t like it. Most likely he’d laugh at it. Patrick liked sophistication. Sophistication sold. I do not care what he thinks.
‘What do you think?’
‘This is the most honest thing you’ve done, Lexie. Its honesty connects with people’s hearts.’
Was he being patronising or did he really mean it? In the hours after the opening, she returned to his words time and again. Its honesty connects with people’s hearts. Was he being honest? She’d love to think so.
Well, whatever. At least she’d done it. She’d put on a show – a very successful show – without the assistance of the grand Patrick Mulgrew.
Chapter Thirty-three
Catalogue number 31: Ladies’ two-tone golf shoes c 1936, brown leather with cream uppers and ‘kiltie’ flap. Donor: Marion Brown, Perth. ‘My mother was at school with the famous Scottish golfer Jessie Valentine (then Jessie Anderson) and played golf with her a few times when we were young. Jessie went on to be three times British Ladies Amateur Champion, six times Scottish Ladies Amateur Champion and was selected seven times for the British Curtis Cup team. Mum went on to be a housewife! Jessie once lent Mum her old shoes because she had forgotten hers – and she “forgot” to give them back.’
Exhaustion set in, the kind of deep tiredness that dragged everything down. Lexie moved like an automaton. She had to force herself to get out of bed the next morning, but a bath revived her. In the garden room, she looked at her easel and wondered how she’d ever had the energy to finish the exhibition.
Molly bounced over from her apartment.
‘Must fly, Lexie, sorry! Did you see all the comments in the book?’
Lexie shook her head. She hadn’t dared look at the Comments book.
‘All heaping praise on your little crimson head. Are you okay? You’re a funny colour.’
‘Just shattered.’
‘It’s no wonder. Yesterday must be a blur. You were there all day, doing the last bits of the set up, taking your folks round, Edith, Hanke whatshername, me— What do you think about Jonas and Carlotta, by the way?’
‘Great,’ Lexie said without enthusiasm.
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Are you?’
‘Hm. I think it’s great Jonas is prepared to forgive her. I guess Carlotta’s realised what side her bread’s buttered on. I think she got a bit of a shock when Jonas left.’
‘So she blooming well should. Poor man. I can’t bear to think of what she’s done to him. He worshipped that woman.’
‘Perhaps that kind of love isn’t really healthy. Maybe they’ll start again in a more balanced way. It must be hard to be worshipped like that, a bit oppressive.’
Le
xie started to stand.
‘I’ll put on coffee.’
‘No, you sit there, you look bushed. I’ll do it.’
As Molly filled the kettle, Lexie remembered all the boquerones and empanadillas, all the tortillas and puntillitas that Carlotta had cooked and carried all the way to Fernhill. She’d made the effort to go and talk to Martha many times over the past year, where others – closer friends – had not known how to deal with Jamie’s death.
‘I guess she’s not all bad,’ she said as Molly poured coffee.
‘Aren’t you having any?’
She had only laid out one mug.
‘Got to go, sorry.’
‘Oh.’
Lexie’s face must have shown her disappointment because Molly came round the table to hug her.
‘You’re terrific, Lex. You just need to take it easy for a few days. Listen, I’ll come back at lunch time if I can, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Now that the purpose that had driven her for months had been fulfilled, Lexie felt directionless, and it was this as much as anything, she supposed, that had drained her energy.
Outside, a car stopped and a door slammed. Two doors. The thought of visitors made her realise how depleted she felt. She had no stamina for another conversation.
‘Hello?’
With any other visitor she might have been able to pretend she wasn’t here, but Martha used her key to open the front door so there was no hiding.
‘Hi.’
‘These are for you.’
She could hardly see her mother behind a vast bouquet of flowers, a fantastic arrangement of winter blooms – huge green chrysanthemums, white tulips, hypericum berries and baby’s breath, tied with a green ribbon.
‘Wow.’
Reinvigorated by their loveliness, Lexie got up to find something to put the flowers in. She only had one little vase and it clearly wouldn’t do. She pulled aside the curtain that hung under the worktop and found an aluminium bucket.
‘I think they’ll have to go in here. Who are they from?’
‘The flowers are from us, darling,’ Martha said, finding scissors and starting to snip the stems. The scent from the lilies was heady. ‘I wanted to give them to you at the gallery yesterday, but I knew it’d all be a bit hectic. We thought we’d bring them over together.’
‘Together?’
Lexie glanced towards the door. Tom Gordon was standing there, smiling gently. His hair was ruffled and he was wearing terracotta corduroys and an alpaca sweater in rusts and greys instead of his usual business suit.
‘Dad! I didn’t see you there.’ Lexie looked at him with concern. ‘Is everything all right? Are you okay? Why aren’t you at work? I hope it’s not because of yesterday—’
‘Come here, Alexa.’
Tom pulled her to him and hugged her fiercely.
‘Everything’s fine, love. More than fine. Your mother and I have made a few decisions, that’s all. Sit down and we’ll tell you.’
‘My God, this sounds serious.’
‘All good, we think, and all down to you.’
Lexie found two more mugs and poured coffee.
‘I’m curious.’
Tom and Martha looked at each other. Lexie’s heart tugged as she caught that look, it was so full of tenderness. It seemed that her parents had recaptured a love that had been tested almost to destruction over the past eighteen months. Tom took Martha’s hand.
‘We sat up most of the night,’ he started. ‘Talking.’
‘Your painting set it all off.’ Tom let out his breath in a soft whistle. ‘It got me in the gut.’ He held up a warning hand as Lexie was about to interrupt. ‘No, it was exactly what I needed, love. Like your mother said, it set my grief free.’
Martha said, ‘He’d been trying to be very strong, but he did it at the expense of his health.’
‘So that was the first thing. We were able to talk about Jamie, together. We’d started a little bit – bringing Molly Keir round started us talking – but even so, it wasn’t until I saw the painting that the ropes tied round my chest seemed to burst open and I was able to breathe again.’
‘That’s exactly how I felt,’ Lexie cried, ‘after I found out about Jamie and Molly! I was so relieved to know the reason he’d died, and so pleased to discover he’d been in love with my best friend, it seemed to loosen everything.’
‘Exactly. Well…’
Again Tom and Martha looked at each other. Tom said, ‘There’ve been a few things you’ve been saying that perhaps we ignored. But now we’re going to follow your advice.’
‘My advice?’
‘On two things.’
‘Two things?’
‘Don’t look so alarmed. The first thing is, I’m going in to the store today to tell Neil I’m going to make him general manager. I’ll stay as non-executive chairman, but he’ll be completely in charge of operations.’
‘Wow, really? That’s fantastic news. You won’t regret it, Dad, I’m sure you won’t.’
‘I’m sure now, too. I’m too old a dog to learn new tricks, that’s the truth of it. I could see what you and Neil were getting at with all your ideas, I just couldn’t face the thought of the kind of changes that I’d need to make to put them in place. Now it’s Neil’s responsibility.’
‘And I’m sure he’ll do you proud,’ Martha said, her smile peeling back the years from her face.
Lexie said, ‘What’s the second thing? You’ll have loads more time, won’t you? Let me guess – you’re going on a cruise.’
‘A cruise? Cruises are for old folk. Not a cruise, no, but a big holiday.’
‘A safari to start with,’ Martha said, her excitement evident, ‘then who knows? India perhaps? We could be old hippies, recapture our lost youth.’
‘Christ,’ muttered Lexie, grinning.
‘But that’s not the second thing,’ Tom said.
‘It isn’t?’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s a side effect of the first.’
‘Right. I can see that.’
Martha said, ‘You suggested it, actually.’
‘What did I suggest?’
‘That we sell Fernhill.’
Lexie’s eyes opened wide.
‘Don’t look so startled, darling. It makes sense. What would the two of us do, rattling round in that huge barn of a place? We can buy somewhere much more suitable.’
‘Our rest-of-our-lives house. No stairs for when we get frail.’
‘Stop it,’ Lexie said, ‘That’s years away.’
‘Anyway,’ Tom said, ‘it’s my pension. There hasn’t been a huge amount squirrelled away in recent years. If I’m really going to stop working, Fernhill will provide the capital we need to enjoy life a bit before we’re past it.’
‘You’re not upset are you, darling?’ Martha asked, anxious. ‘It’s your childhood home and I know how much you love it.’
‘I’m most certainly not upset,’ Lexie said firmly, although a corner of her actually was. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea. Now, tell me more about your travel plans.’
Lexie heard another email pop into her inbox with a melodic ‘ping’. Emails had been pouring in all morning. Sooner or later she’d have to tackle them, but she couldn’t face it yet. It had just dawned on her that her life was about to change again. Her parents were selling Fernhill, her work for the exhibition was finished, and she wouldn’t be able to stay in this cottage for ever.
She wandered into the garden room. It was such a good space. She’d love to be able to stay here. Perhaps if she talked to Lady Fleming about paying some kind of proper rent? Now that she was going to make some money from the sale of the paintings, she’d be able to afford it.
But what was she going to do next? She couldn’t live on the proceeds of one exhibition for long and besides, she was buzzing with ideas. It would be fantastic to do a bigger version of this exhibition, and a full catalogue, she’d only used around twenty percent of the shoes that had been sent
to her. If she developed the project, she could apply for a grant.
She heard another email pop in. Stop procrastinating Lexie, she told herself, promotion is just a different kind of work and it has to be done.
She went into the small study and settled at the computer.
< Wonderful work, Lexie, well done! Myra >
< Amazing. I was moved to tears. Jenny x >
< When you’ve got a moment, pop by and we’ll do a mop-up. Cora >
< Best exhibition I’ve seen all year. Okay, so it’s only January ;-) Fred M. >
She counted ninety-four emails to be dealt with and started winging back responses. It was gratifying to see how many people had enjoyed the exhibition and taken the trouble to reply. Another email popped in from Cora, so she prioritised it.
< We can finalise the gallery accounts before I go away – that’s not for another two weeks. Didn’t last night go well? >
Surely this email wasn’t meant for her? She had nothing to do with the gallery accounts. Lexie read it over again, puzzled. Email was a chancy communication tool. She’d been in touch with Cora so much recently, she suspected she had just keyed in her name on autopilot and pressed ‘send’ without checking.
What should she do? Let Cora know she had misdirected it, or just delete it? At least, she thought, her lips curling with amusement, it wasn’t rude about her. She was on the point of deleting it when she spotted a postscript.
< Okay, okay, I admit it, Patrick – you were right to make me stay on to do this exhibition. The girl’s a star. >
Patrick had been manipulating her behind the scenes all the time.
She picked up her mobile and called Cora.
‘Hi, Lexie. Wasn’t last night wonderful? There’ve been so many messages of congratulations. We’ve sold all the oil paintings and I haven’t even had time to count the number of pastel drawings we’ve sold yet. There are orders for lots more as well. Lexie?’ Cora paused at last. ‘Are you there?’
Lexie drew a deep breath.
‘Thanks for telling me that you’ve been working with Patrick Mulgrew,’ she said, her voice tight.
‘Patrick? How did you? I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you… ’
‘Oh come on, Cora. I don’t know how it happened, but you sent me an email clearly intended for Patrick. I don’t know what hold he’s got over you, but I know he made you stay here and curate my exhibition.’
