Apartment 3B

by Patricia Scanlan

  Eve had a face like a thundercloud and was muttering about getting her hands on that bloody woman. Liz caught her eye and started to laugh. ‘Wait until Incarna sees this. I wouldn’t be in Polly O’Rourke’s shoes for anything! Eve, imagine going in to confession and saying, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned. I bought a dress in Roche’s, father”.’

  Eve laughed. ‘Pretentious snob! I’d be ashamed to earn money like that.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Eve. Stop getting upset. That article will be wrapping somebody’s chips tomorrow.’

  ‘I’d like to wrap it around her neck,’ her sister-in-law expostulated, not to be placated. The phone rang. It was Christine.

  ‘Did you see that article? Liz, I won’t be able to hold my head up at work tomorrow. You’re a major embarrassment to the family!’

  Liz could picture her sister grinning at the other end of the phone.

  ‘I warned you about that Filofax,’ she teased.

  ‘Well, if Poison Pen had been on time I wouldn’t have been reduced to doodling in it. Don’t worry, I’ll take the next flight out of the country,’ Liz said cheerfully, rather amused at this stage.

  An hour later the phone rang again. Both Eve and she were snoring peacefully, the papers in glorious disarray around them. Don had gone over to visit his parents – he was great like that for doing a bit for them or dropping in to see if they were all right – and the girls had settled down with the rest of the papers and fallen asleep. ‘I’ll get it,’ Eve murmured, giving such a yawn she nearly dislocated her jaw.

  Liz struggled into a sitting position. ‘It’s all right. It’s probably someone else to commiserate. Stay where you are.’ Ooh, she had enjoyed that little siesta. There was something so luxuriously decadent about reading the papers and going for a snooze after lunch on Sunday.

  It was Incarna on the phone. ‘Liz, I have just read that . . . that tripe! My dear, take no notice. I know that one of old. You are young and slim and very pretty and very very talented. And she is just a jealous old hackette of no talent who is reduced to writing smart-assed cheap jibes. So ignore it, I beg you!’

  Liz laughed at Incarna’s fury and assured her Spanish friend that she wasn’t in the slightest bit upset. ‘I’m not that sensitive, honestly. I’ll get over it,’ she assured her outraged friend.

  ‘Well I’m ringing the editor to complain. He ees a friend of mine,’ Incarna grumbled.

  ‘Now, Incarna, stop taking this so seriously. The woman is perfectly entitled to her opinions and I have been really treated well by the media here so let’s forget all about it. Right?’ Liz said firmly. Knowing Incarna she’d probably order the editor to sack Polly or something.

  ‘Ha!’ said Incarna. ‘This I will not forget. An enemy of my friend ees my enemy also. My forbears had great ways of dealing with the likes of her.’

  It was fortunate for Polly O’Rourke that the Spanish Inquisition no longer existed.

  ‘Liz, let me treat you to lunch some day next week to get over this shock. Let’s say Tuesday. Would that suit?’

  ‘Lovely,’ agreed Liz. Anything to pacify Incarna.

  ‘Would the Burlington do? I’ll be in that area on business. Oh, and I’ve an interesting commission for you. You should enjoy it. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.’

  ‘Fine,’ Liz agreed.

  ‘One-thirty then on Tuesday. I look forward very much to it, my dear.’

  ‘Me too. ’Bye, Incarna,’ Liz said, smiling.

  That night as she lay in bed she wondered what the new commission was. Well whatever it was, she was first going to Majorca with the girls for a fortnight’s holiday in Incarna’s villa. Don and Liam were coming out for the first week, the second week they would have on their own. She really needed a holiday; she had done Trojan work. Her mother was always at her to slow down. But when the work was there it was a shame to turn it down and, besides, it kept her occupied. She wondered if Polly’s article would affect her career. The term chocolate-box art was so condescending and insulting that it might put people off.

  Oh to hell with her, she thought, snuggling down and wishing Matt had his arms around her.

  ‘What’s the new commission?’ she asked Incarna, tucking into chicken Kiev the following Tuesday.

  Incarna smiled triumphantly. ‘How are you at portraiture?’

  Liz’s eyes widened. ‘Well I’m no Edward Maguire, but I’d be willing to have a go.’

  ‘Ah yes, Edward Maguire. A genius! I love his portrait of Seamus Heaney,’ Incarna enthused. ‘Well, I was speaking to Arthur Wallace the other day and your name came up in the conversation and he was wondering how would you feel about doing a family portrait?’

  ‘Arthur Wallace! He owns the Wallace chain of furniture shops, doesn’t he?’ Liz reflected.

  Incarna nodded. ‘Among other things. It is a very good opportunity. He has many many contacts here and abroad and many will see the portrait.’

  ‘Well certainly, I’ll speak to him about it.’

  ‘Henry Kohler charges from £30,000 upwards. Bear that in mind when the price is being discussed,’ advised her mentor.

  ‘Of course I will,’ Liz said fondly, having no intention of charging anything like the amount. Although it was true, she mused, wealthy people expected the price to be high and were prepared to pay. Well, she was no rip-off artist and she’d charge what she thought was fair.

  Incarna and she were enjoying coffee and petits fours when a man approached their table and smiled at Liz.

  ‘Excuse me for interrupting your lunch, but aren’t you Liz Lacey?’

  Liz nodded. She was beginning to get used to being recognized in public.

  He held out his hand. ‘I’m Bryan Ross. I own the Ross Gallery on Baggot Street and I’ve been thinking about you. I admire your work very much and was wondering if you had ever exhibited anywhere?’

  Liz laughed. ‘Except at the end-of-year exhibition at college and the people’s art exhibition in the Green I’m afraid I’ve never had the opportunity.’

  Bryan Ross smiled. He was a middle-aged cuddly sort of man and instinctively she liked him. She knew of the Ross Gallery. It was very prestigious indeed and many renowned artists held exhibitions there. She also knew that Ross had a reputation for helping young artists. Liz felt a frisson of excitement. Maybe he was going to ask her to exhibit one or two paintings.

  Ross turned to Incarna and said courteously, ‘Again I apologize for intruding but I have been anxious to get in touch with this young lady and when I saw her I decided to strike while the iron is hot.’

  ‘Exactly what I would do,’ approved Incarna as Liz made the introductions.

  ‘I was wondering, Mrs Lacey,’ he continued, ‘if you would like to consider holding an exhibition of your work in the gallery at some future date?’

  Liz swallowed, unable to believe her ears. Not one or two paintings but an exhibition! What an opportunity. She began to have a palpitation with excitement. Ross smiled at the expression on her face.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, Mrs Lacey. With your talent I’m surprised you haven’t been approached already.’

  ‘Thanks very much, Mr Ross,’ she murmured, wondering if he could hear the thunderous beating of her heart.

  ‘Look I’ll tell you what; here’s my card. Ring me and we’ll make an appointment and discuss it at length. How does that sound?’

  ‘That sounds pretty good to me,’ she beamed.

  ‘Excellent. I’ll look forward to it. Once again excuse me for interrupting your lunch.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Liz murmured starry-eyed. Her own exhibition! Oh happy day!

  Incarna was chuffed. ‘That man was delightful. And such nice manners. I always say no matter who or what you are, if you have not got manners you have got nothing. The breeding shows with the manners! Oh Liz this ees wonderful.’ Her black eyes flashed. ‘And so much for chocolate-box art! Ha ha! Eat your words, Ms Polly O’Rourke.’

  ‘I wonder if he
saw that,’ Liz mused, coming down from cloud nine.

  ‘You can bet he did!’ Incarna said firmly, ‘and it means nothing. You heard what the man said – you are extremely talented. Do you think for one minute that you would be invited to exhibit in such an influential and well-regarded gallery if he thought otherwise?’

  ‘You’re right, absolutely right! I am talented and now I have a chance to prove it. Oh Incarna, isn’t this exciting?’

  ‘Darling, it ees no more than you deserve,’ the Spanish woman said warmly, leaning across the table and planting a red-lipsticked kiss on Liz’s cheek.

  The meeting with Bryan Ross was one of the turning-points in Liz’s life. She rang and arranged to meet him in his gallery, expecting the meeting to last for an hour or so. It lasted for five. She spent a full afternoon with him and found him to be one of the nicest people she had ever encountered. His enthusiasm for art matched her own and after five minutes in his company she felt as though she had known him all her life. She found herself telling him about Matt and how she was just beginning to get her life together and all about her blossoming career.

  ‘Have you done much painting, as in canvas, lately?’ he queried.

  Liz shook her head ruefully. ‘I just don’t have the time. But I’ll make time now. That’s for sure.’

  Bryan shook his head. ‘No, Liz. I don’t want you to feel under pressure. I want fifty paintings from you.’

  ‘Fifty!’ she almost shrieked.

  Bryan smiled. ‘I want a good representation of your work. Fifty is a decent number to give the punters a choice.’

  She smiled back, delighted.

  ‘Liz, what do you say if we plan this exhibition for two years’ time? That will give you a chance to work on your paintings. You know how important a first exhibition is. We want to make sure everything is just right.’ He winked. ‘With art critics like Polly O’Rourke around, everything has to be perfect.’

  Liz laughed. She liked Bryan more and more. He had a sense of humour rather like Matt’s.

  ‘Have you travelled much?’ he asked, as his secretary brought in yet more tea and cakes.

  ‘Not really.’ She told him of her globe-trottings and he smiled.

  ‘If you could afford it, a period of travelling might do you all the good in the world. Fifty empty canvases might be a bit daunting and I think you should get away from here for a time while you are working. Travelling is a great way to invigorate the muse. That’s just a thought, of course. Don’t think I’m telling you what to do,’ he finished hastily.

  ‘Actually, I think it’s a brilliant idea. I’ve been toying with it for a little while. I just didn’t have the nerve to make the break. I’ve been clinging very much to my roots,’ she confessed.

  ‘Well that’s very understandable. Do whatever is comfortable for you and whatever helps you to paint,’ Bryan advised her kindly. ‘Why don’t you have the holiday you were planning and think about all of this.’

  This was precisely what Liz did. She had a beautiful relaxing two weeks in Incarna’s villa and made up her mind not to take on any more work apart from the Wallace family portrait. When she finished her work in hand, she decided, she was going to take a year off to travel and work for her exhibition. She’d show Polly O’Rourke that she was a force to be reckoned with, chocolate-box art or no! Liz had made a substantial amount of money from her commissions and then the money from Matt’s insurance policies and from the accident insurance had given her financial security. Financial reasons wouldn’t stop her going travelling and painting for a year. Would she be able to stand on her own two feet without the back-up of her family and Incarna? She’d never done anything like this before and it was a bit nerve-wracking, she decided, when her holiday visa for the States arrived. But when she started looking up addresses, she discovered that she had as many friends living all over the USA as she had in Dublin. In the end she stayed away a year-and-a-half and ended up with enough material for a dozen exhibitions.

  Sitting in the twilight as dusk deepened to inky blackness and the twinkling lights of La Jolla shimmered in the sea’s reflection, Liz acknowledged that she was a far more confident person than she had been eighteen months ago. She had really done it; she had stood on her own two feet and made her way around the States, ending up by renting this little dote of a beach house and living in it alone for six months while she painted as she had never painted before. She had enjoyed herself though at times the loneliness had been hard to bear. When it got really bad she made herself go out and socialize. Now she was looking forward to seeing her family again. She had spoken to them all on the phone last night and they were in a tizzy of excitement at the thought of her homecoming. The intrepid Incarna had come to visit her a few months back and they had had a ball. They wrote regularly to each other and Liz could tell that her friend had sorely missed her company.

  ‘Hey Liz, are you coming over for supper?’ Brett Ryder, her neighbour, was calling from next door.

  ‘Sure thing!’ Liz yelled back. She was really speaking the lingo. Wait until Christine heard her! She’d tease her unmercifully. She slipped her feet into flipflops, went inside, washed her face, brushed her hair and changed into a fresh pair of shorts and tee-shirt. Everything was so delightfully casual and laid-back on the West coast. She’d made some nice friends, especially here along the beach. Brett and his wife Rachel had introduced themselves soon after she arrived and had taken her under their wing and gradually she had got to know the rest of her neighbours. She often had supper with them and the kids, sitting out on the veranda shooting the breeze, as they were fond of saying here. She caught sight of herself in the mirror grinning away. She could imagine Christine’s reaction if she asked her to come over to shoot the breeze.

  Well she certainly looked a hell of a lot better than the thin pale-faced girl who had arrived in America. The big dark circles under her eyes had vanished and she sported a healthy tan. She had also put on a stone in weight, which really suited her. Her curves were back. When Matt died she had gone down to skin and bone. It was strange, but her time with Matt was becoming a little unreal to her, almost like some beautiful dream she had once had. Time was a healer. She could think of him now and smile a little instead of weeping. She had even dated men here in America. Well, not dated exactly. She had gone to dinner a few times and gone to see some exhibitions in Washington. She hadn’t had a relationship as such. But they had been pleasant occasions and slowly she was easing herself back into a social life.

  Brett’s brother Dean was a very nice bloke and they had started going around together. A recently-divorced man, he was still getting over the trauma of the separation and he quite understood Liz’s reluctance to get into a close relationship. But they became good friends and he took her around a lot. She enjoyed his companionship very much. Liz had always liked men and enjoyed their company and Dean’s undemanding friendship was just what she needed at that point in her life. The last six months in particular had been very good for her. She liked La Jolla, pronounced La Hoy-a, perched on its promontory which thrust into the pounding Pacific. Seven miles of rocky shore and cliffs interspersed by golden sandy beaches. Waterskiers, hang-gliders, snorkelers abounded and there was always something happening on the beach. Liz thoroughly enjoyed the life of a beach-bum. And there were enough art galleries, shops and restaurants in the town to keep her occupied when she felt like a change.

  She enjoyed the six months she had spent in La Jolla much more than the six months spent further up the coast in Los Angeles. Despite its laid-back image there was an undercurrent of violence about the smoggy sprawling metropolis that one could never quite ignore. And the traffic jams! And those nightmare freeways that encircled the city. If you missed your exit, as she had done several times, boy were you in trouble. Still that, too, had been an experience.

  She had stayed with an old college friend and her husband. He was an architect, she a freelance photographer and both of them doing extremely well in their chosen car
eers. That was the great thing about California – opportunities abounded if you were prepared to take them. The hacienda-type bungalow that they lived in was the last word in luxury and Liz knew she’d never forget luxuriating under a starry Californian sky in a jacuzzi on the open-air deck that surrounded the house, watching the twinkling lights of Beverly Hills below her. Liz had her own small self-contained guest apartment which they told her to stay in as long as she wanted. Trish, her friend, had taken her shopping on the famous Rodeo Drive one day. It was really something.

  They had browsed enthusiastically in beautifully laid out boutiques with everything a customer could desire, the crème de la crème being 273 North Rodeo Drive, home of Giorgio, the landmark store that was the basis of the Judith Krantz novel Scruples. Liz had seen the TV series. In real life the 9,000 square feet of pure luxury was even more impressive and Liz gawped like a tourist when she saw Zsa Zsa Gabor sweep in with her chauffeur. ‘I saw Liz Taylor here once. She’s gorgeous! Those eyes!’ Trish murmured, as they sat down at the beautifully-polished cappuccino bar and had a cocktail.

  ‘I could get used to this,’ Liz confided, sipping the delicious concoction.

  ‘No problem if you’re earning a couple of million green ones a year,’ grinned Trish. ‘Wait until you see the clothes.’

  Liz didn’t buy a dress, not even a tee-shirt, but she left clutching the unmistakable yellow-and-white striped bag containing several bottles of Giorgio perfume to take home as presents.

  The affluence of California had to be seen to be believed – magnificent houses with perfect lawns and huge swimming pools. Limousines were ten a penny and nobody walked. Liz rented a car for the duration of her stay. Her friends took her to the theatre, opera, museums and art galleries and they ate out most nights. It was so cheap and the range of food so varied.

  It was Trish who told her about a friend who was subletting the beach house further down the coast in La Jolla for six months. Liz had been half-thinking of going home. She already had a lot of material and she had seen and done so much. But the idea of six months living on the beach appealed to her and the rent was quite cheap as the man who was subletting wanted a recommended tenant. Liz sounded perfect to him and after a lunch meeting he quoted her a very reasonable figure so she decided to stay. Liz really loved the sun and the fact that it would have still been winter at home was a major factor in her decision.