Love's Portrait

by Anna Larner

  “Yes.”

  Anger, hot and insistent, flared up in Georgina’s blood at the injustice she imagined Edith had suffered. She reread the marriage record. “It doesn’t say who was present at the ceremony. Do you think Edith attended?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Sorry, of course you wouldn’t know. What a stupid question to have asked you.” Georgina closed her eyes. Tiredness pressed at her lids. “It’s just…how could she do it?” Georgina opened her eyes and looked at Molly.

  Tentatively Molly said, “It’s likely she would have felt she had no choice, and…we can’t dismiss the possibility that she did love him.”

  “And not Edith?” Georgina hadn’t meant to raise her voice. A man gave a deliberate irritated cough, and another woman, whose glares Georgina had been ignoring, put down a pen. She whispered, “Sorry. Again. I’m tired and I tend to get a bit…well, let’s just say being tired is not a mood improver for me.”

  Molly said, her voice equally hushed, “No worries, being tired makes me grumpy too. Not of course that I think you’re grumpy, really I don’t. Anyway. Why don’t we wrap things up here?”

  “Is that what you want? Of course it’s what you want. You have to go home.”

  Molly shook her head. “It’s not so much what I want. It’s more if we don’t leave soon, then I reckon the woman behind us—don’t look!—will either throw something at us or complain. I think we’ve been a bit too noisy.”

  Georgina laughed. “I see. Quick exit it is then.”

  They made their way out on the street and into the bluster of the present-day.

  “It’s good to be outside again.” Molly squinted, looking up to the silvery clouds blowing across the late September sky.

  People pushed past them, and the traffic rumbled by in metallic glints. Georgina’s gaze followed the shrug of Molly’s shoulders as she slipped on her jacket. Her nose scrunched slightly as she wrapped her scarf around her neck, the material brushing up against her skin.

  “Yes, it is. I like your scarf, by the way.” The compliment was out before Georgina had the chance to decide whether it was too personal. Molly blushed. It obviously was too personal.

  “Thank you.” Molly rearranged her scarf. “I found it in a local charity shop. I did wonder whether it was a little too pink, but then I thought, Molly Goode, just carry it off.” Molly shrugged. “Colour makes me happy.”

  And you make me happy. Georgina’s heart stopped. Had she said that out loud?

  Glancing in the direction of the taxi rank, Molly asked, “I’m guessing you came by taxi?”

  “You guess correctly. I’m sorry again for keeping you waiting. It was work.” Georgina sighed. “It’s always work.”

  “That’s okay.” Molly’s sad tone suggested it was anything but okay.

  Georgina hadn’t meant to turn the conversation back to work and to remind them that all they were was colleagues. But she obviously had when Molly straightened herself as if she was calling her professional self to attention.

  “I’ll write up my notes from the records office visits and do a sweep-up report for you.” Molly cleared her throat. “The conservator has finished his work on Josephine’s painting. So I think that’s this particular project complete.” Molly looked down and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve enjoyed working with you. Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “No, thank you, for everything. And I really hope it’s not the last time we work together.” For Georgina nothing felt complete. She should arrange to collect the painting, shouldn’t she? But she just couldn’t bring herself to. The painting was her precious link to Molly and she couldn’t bear to break it. Unless…“Perhaps our paths will cross in the preparations for the Wright room?” Stop putting pressure on her. Georgina could only imagine how desperate and pathetic she sounded.

  Molly looked up and said, “Yes, definitely. In fact the room’s—” Molly paused midsentence. “When you feel ready to talk more about the room and perhaps about the next steps for the bequeathed works in your father’s house, just let me know.”

  What had Molly stopped herself from saying?

  “Thanks. I will. I’m snowed under at work for the next couple of weeks, but as soon as I resurface, I’ll get in touch. I promise.” Georgina held Molly’s gaze.

  “That would be fab,” Molly said softly. “Thank you.”

  “So did you approve of the name change for the room?”

  “Yes, very much. I meant to say how much I liked it,” Molly said, with a beaming smile. “Inspired, I thought.”

  “Well, what can I say, I felt very inspired when I came up with it. And was Evelyn as pleased as I thought she’d be?” Georgina said without an iota of guilt.

  “I’m not sure pleased is quite the right word.”

  They laughed and the seriousness of all things work drifted away with their laughter.

  Molly took a deep unsteady breath. “Shall we make our way? I’m parked pretty much next to the taxi rank.” Georgina walked at Molly’s side as they sauntered towards Daisy May and the waiting taxis. “Well, this is us.” Molly nodded at her bright yellow companion.

  Georgina couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Daisy May. She was so much Molly. “Hi again, Daisy May. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Molly patted Daisy May’s bonnet. “She is indeed in fine fettle.”

  Georgina couldn’t bring herself to leave. They could have lunch. Couldn’t they? What was she thinking? Why on earth would Molly want to have lunch with her? She’d taken enough of her time already, and she would only feel obliged to say yes, wouldn’t she? Leave the poor woman alone. She shook her head.

  “Were you going to say something?”

  “Just thank you again for today, Molly, and safe journey home. Goodbye for now.”

  If Georgina was not mistaken or reading too much into everything, she could have sworn Molly’s face had dropped with what could be disappointment as she said, “Goodbye then.”

  Georgina turned and walked towards the taxi rank. Every step away from Molly seemed a step away from everything that felt right.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “If you don’t stop humming, I will be obliged to beat you to death with the commemorative bust of Richard III.” Fran nodded to the replica bust perched on a potter’s stool tucked up in a far corner of their office. She scraped her chair in closer to her desk.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just I woke up happy. But I also feel foolish to be happy.” Molly shrugged.

  “Don’t worry—happiness doesn’t last.”

  “Oh, that’s…good to know.” Molly perched on the edge of Fran’s desk and began playing with her stapler.

  Fran grabbed it from her. “Spit it out. Whatever you’re fidgeting to say. Or none of us will get any work done.”

  “It’s sort of personal.”

  “You’ve fallen for Georgina Wright and you don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Oh my God. Is it that obvious?”

  “Let’s put it this way—I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with you in the last month where you haven’t mentioned her. And choosing to ignore my advice, you have persisted in going behind Evelyn’s back to help Georgina with the portrait. So despite your denials, you haven’t exactly been exuding disinterest.”

  “You think I’m a fool.”

  “Well, you know I worry for your heart. But you’re not a fool. Georgina Wright’s smart, wealthy, influential, and striking to look at. Quite frankly if you hadn’t fallen for her, then I think you should have questioned your lesbian credentials.”

  “She was so lovely on Saturday. Do you remember, she asked to see the sketches for the portrait?” Fran gave a reluctant nod. “It was so amazing to see how enthralled she was. It felt a real privilege to be there. There was even a moment when we parted where I thought she might have suggested lunch or something. But she didn’t, because of course she wouldn’t, would she. It was just foolish wishful thinking on my pa
rt.”

  “Mixing business with pleasure is notoriously complicated, and there’s a reason it’s not recommended.”

  “It tends not to end well?”

  “I’m afraid so. And as I’ve said before, you’ll tie yourself in knots trying to second-guess Georgina.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So moving on, is that it, then, for your research on the painting?”

  “I guess so. I’d hoped to learn more about Edith. I even thought I might somehow come across her in the parish registers. Once again, wishful thinking. I did confirm to Georgina that the conservation work on the portrait had been completed and that was probably it for the research. She didn’t mention picking the portrait up. She did, however, mention hoping to work with me on the Wright room. But then that’s work, isn’t it? So as you can see, I’ve no reason to be happy.”

  “Well I was going to give you this. But as there’s nothing specifically on Edith it’s probably not going to offer much cheer, and as you’ve moved on, it may be a bit late in any case.” Fran lifted a slim wallet of papers from underneath a stack under her desk. “I was in the process of digging out some examples of the temporary exhibitions we’ve displayed over the years to encourage Evelyn to see women’s history month as an opportunity to highlight local women, and I came across these. They’re my notes and research from that Radicals exhibition I told you about. As I said before, there’s not much. I’ve selected out the items related to Josephine Wright.”

  “That’s awesome—thanks so much, Fran.”

  Fran handed the wallet to Molly, briefly holding it with her. “This is just FYI, because of course your insubordination—sorry, work on the portrait—is concluded.”

  Molly dropped her eyes from Fran’s to the floor and crossed her fingers behind her back. “Absolutely.”

  Fran let go of the wallet. “Good.”

  Molly rested it on her desk and began to leaf through its contents. On the top there was a typed bibliography of Josephine’s collected works. “Wow, this list is really detailed and gives a fab overview of Josephine’s work.”

  “It was drawn up some years ago now by the volunteer who helped me.” Fran frowned at the pages laid out in front of Molly. “But I can’t imagine there have been additions to her archive.”

  “It’s totally amazing, isn’t it, to see how tirelessly Josephine wrote in support of those causes close to her heart.” Molly looked across at Fran who gave a slow nod.

  “Yes,” Fran said wistfully. “She was quite a woman.”

  Despite how enthralling it was to glimpse into Josephine’s world through her writings, Molly couldn’t suppress the sensation of disappointment at the absence of anything related to Edith. If Josephine and Edith had corresponded, the letters were not listed.

  Molly gave a heavy sigh. What was she expecting to find, anyway? A picture of Edith and Josephine arm in arm? A love note?

  She slowly gathered the pages together and rested the bibliography back on top. Hold on. She ran her fingers down the list. “There’s a gap of about two years where Josephine writes nothing. No letters, no treatises. Not even correspondence with the various societies she supported. Here, can you see?” Molly held up the list. “Is that what this question mark by the side was for?”

  Fran leaned forward and squinted. “Possibly.”

  She looked at Fran. “Why?”

  Fran shrugged. “Concentrating on her new responsibilities as a wife and mother perhaps? It seems most likely. In fact that’s probably why I didn’t question it further. Often the most obvious answer is the answer.”

  “It doesn’t seem in keeping though with her nature, to just give up on what she cared about. Does it?”

  “I’m sorry, if I could give you the answers, I would.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” Molly stared at the papers in front of her. So what happened in August 1834, Josephine, that made you stop writing? Was it marrying and becoming a mum? Was that it? Or had all those years campaigning exhausted you? A soft knocking at their door drew Molly’s attention from the unknown to the certainty of a visitor.

  Marianne stood in the doorway smiling. “Hi, both. Molly, if you have a moment, Evelyn and the chairman would like a word.”

  “They would?”

  “Yes. Now if possible.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Molly grabbed her notebook and pen and rushed, half tripping over the doorstop’s manhood, as she hurried in the direction of Evelyn’s office.

  Evelyn’s door was ajar. She could hear voices. Molly tentatively knocked.

  “Come in,” Evelyn said without pausing her conversation with the chairman. “I couldn’t agree more, invitations must go out as soon as possible. Molly, please take a seat. Mark and I are just discussing progress with the Wright room.”

  “Yes, of course, the space is looking wonderful,” Molly said breathlessly, slipping off her glasses which had misted from her run down the corridor.

  “Yes, it’s a credit to you, Evelyn.” The chairman’s neck and cheeks glowed red, Molly supposed with the sting of his excessive aftershave.

  “Molly, Evelyn and I are concerned to understand Georgina’s expectations for the space.” As he spoke, the chairman was looking down at his half-empty cup of coffee. “I’m not sure the trustees had in mind a community dimension as such. It came as an unexpected…reframing of the room’s purpose. I understand from Evelyn that you have now spent some time in Georgina Wright’s company. We need to know—did she give you any sense of her plans going forward in respect to her relationship with the museum?”

  Molly’s chest tightened. “Well, to be honest, she hasn’t explicitly suggested to me any particular expectation for the room or, indeed, plans for the future as such.” Molly risked a quick glance at Evelyn who seemed concentrated on note making. “But our recent project together—”

  “Yes”—the Chairman nodded—“the portrait of Josephine Brancaster. Evelyn has told me of Georgina’s particular interest in that regard.”

  “Yes,” Molly said, her voice lifting in harmony with the note of his interest. “It’s a fascinating history—”

  “Molly”—Evelyn lifted her hand—“we need to know if you have been able to progress matters with Georgina with regard to the handover of the outstanding items in George’s house. Time is ticking.”

  “Yes. Georgina has agreed to get to grips with the handover as soon as she can.”

  “As soon as she can?”

  “I understand that this next couple of weeks are difficult for her but after that—”

  Evelyn released an exasperated sigh. “You must hold her to that. It is already nearing the end of September. We’ve pencilled in Friday 8th December for the opening. Please check this date with Georgina. Invitations must go out at the beginning of next month. Are we agreed?”

  “Yes,” Molly said with the most affirmative tone she could muster.

  “And Molly.” The chairman set aside his cup and leaned in a little. “See if you can’t pin Georgina down on future matters.”

  “Yes, I’ll do my best but…” The chairman and Evelyn were both looking at her. And not in a good way. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Excellent.” Evelyn returned her attention to her notes. “Thank you, Molly. That’s all for now.”

  Molly walked slowly back to her office. Pin down Georgina on future matters? She could barely pin down her own heart from fluttering in her chest at the merest mention of Georgina Wright’s name.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One of the things Georgina dreaded most about her routine of returning to her father’s home on a Friday wasn’t the deafening emptiness that greeted her, echoing from ceiling to floor. No. It was the post that had defied the redirection request that spilled out across the entrance mat. For there seemed nothing crueller than the unexpected sight of letters addressed to Mr. George Wright. And then of course there were those letters addressed to her that demanded her attention and that reminded her of all that she was
trying to forget.

  Georgina dropped her weekend holdall onto the floor. Stifling the shiver that came every time she opened a letter relating to her father’s estate, she pulled open a brown envelope from the estate agent. The Finest of Country and Town had a plan—at least, that’s what their covering letter said. A vision befitting of a home of such stature, in such an envied position for business and pleasure. Georgina flicked through the glossy brochure they had attached. The text was complete but there were no pictures. Georgina had been clear on this. She wanted the house empty of her father’s belongings before marketing photos were taken.

  The thought that her father’s belongings would be used to market his home felt intrusive and disrespectful and akin to an act of betrayal. Georgina hadn’t cared whether the estate agent minded or not. Given the commission they would earn, she doubted they would mind at all.

  With a heavy heart she rested the brochure on her father’s chair. She could not avoid the inevitable. Very soon she would sell her father’s home and the memories formed within these walls would be dislocated and lost.

  But then there was the museum, wasn’t there? Was this what his bequest meant to him? Was it the difference between remembered and forgotten, dignity and disorder? Just the thought of her father’s bequest upset her. She couldn’t shake off the sense that the Wright room was in every way the physical manifestation of her loss. The vibrant warmth and energy of her father’s life distilled away to black ink marking the dates of his birth and death. The collection of objects he cherished would soon become the sum of the man, when the individual aspects of her father were so much more.

  A flash of yellow glinted from the square. Her heart caught at the sight of Molly bending in to Daisy May and placing belongings on to the back seat. Molly. A peculiar panic gripped Georgina. In that moment Molly seemed like the answer to everything, and she was no doubt leaving for home. She was leaving.

  Without another thought, Georgina hurriedly texted, Do you have time to come over? Sometime soon? Now even? She pressed send before she had a chance to rethink or regret. She stood motionless, staring out towards Molly. Had she received her email? Please let her have caught her in time.