by Liz Fenwick
‘Can you help me out to the studio?’
Fin looked up from his book. ‘Of course.’ With care he marked the page and came towards her. She was unsteady on her feet now and with the path being wet he might have to carry her, but she couldn’t talk to him with Gabriella so close. He took her arm and they made it to the door.
‘I had better let Gabe know where we are so she doesn’t worry.’ He smiled then dashed off to Gabriella’s room.
‘True.’ Jaunty held on to the dining table. He was a good soul. She was right to trust him. He would do as she asked and there was information that she wanted now. He would help her find it.
A man walked up to the door carrying a toolbox. ‘Morning. Is this Bosworgy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. I’m here to connect the Internet.’
Jaunty’s eyes widened. The Internet? She opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriella came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Wonderful. Come in out of the rain.’
Jaunty took a few steps backwards. She knew what the Internet was but she didn’t know why they needed it. The phone was intrusion enough. Fin took her arm and with his other held an umbrella above her head. It kept the rain off her, but he was drenched by the time they reached the studio. Each step was an effort for Jaunty. She sucked breath in great gulps but it didn’t seem to fill her lungs any more. Time was racing away like the tide at the moment. From here she could see the mudflats and across the river the beach at Calamansac looked large. The landscape became alien during these extreme tides and this evening the water would cover the quay, erasing it from the terrain.
After they entered the studio, Fin swiftly tidied the bed and took a towel off the back of the door to dry his hair and shoulders. Jaunty hobbled to the armchair. This was not going to be comfortable, but she must be brave. She could still remember how.
Fin filled the kettle and turned it on. He would make this easy for her. She just needed to begin. It didn’t require a preamble but she might. How to start?
‘Is camomile tea OK?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ He moved confidently about her things. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. When he handed her the mug she gave it to him.
‘What’s this for?’
‘I need your help.’ Jaunty tried to breathe. Her chest tightened, but not like the other day. ‘I have a secret and you have guessed that already.’
He nodded.
‘Well, I know the truth needs to be told but—’ Jaunty stopped and closed her eyes as she brought her hands together. ‘I have realised that it needs to be told not just to Gabriella as I had thought, but to the world.’
‘Yes.’ Fin sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Promise me you will do as I ask?’
‘How can I promise when I don’t know if I can comply?’
Jaunty laughed. ‘True.’ She looked at the camomile tea in her mug, then back at Fin. ‘All I’m asking you to do is to not reveal the truth until I am dead and that you do it as soon as I die.’
Fin frowned.
‘It sounds mysterious but I must do this my way. In the past I thought no one needed to know and the secret could go to the grave with me, but in recent years I have come to understand that Gabriella needs to know, that it might help her in some way. And now, as the end approaches, I realise the world has a right to know the truth.’ She took a sip of tea then began. ‘Behind the head of the bed is a concealed door to a false wall. That key opens it . . .’
The engineer departed and Gabe smiled. She wouldn’t have to go out to send her work off now and life would become easier.
Fin and Jaunty were still out in the studio. Jaunty was becoming very close to Fin, and Gabe didn’t want to resent it, but she did a little. For years she had been the only other person to feature in her grandmother’s life, but now there was someone else. She walked into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for sandwiches. When had she become possessive? She hadn’t been as a child. Was it all connected to one event? She ripped bits of lettuce off the head and laid it on the bread, then remembered that she hadn’t buttered it. Why, after all this time, did it still shape her life? Wasn’t that letting him win?
She knew that answer and didn’t like it. Opening a tin of tuna, she pushed him to the back of her mind and began humming the tune from Max’s score. It was stunning; somehow the music had captured the Cornish landscape with its quiet moments followed by bleak passages that portrayed the moors with such heart-breaking beauty. The lush refrain brought the wooded river valleys to her mind. Even without the words this piece of music evoked Cornwall. As the heartbroken man travelled the length of the county looking for work, the music conjured the varied landscape and in her head she heard the swift notes and saw the light dancing off the turquoise water before it fell to the drumbeat of the waves hitting Lizard Point. Desolation.
The sandwiches in front of her were far from a work of art. She must do better if she was going to entice Jaunty into eating more than a mouthful. Gabe glanced out the back door. The rain had softened but she would still get soaked on the way to the studio if she tried to carry a tray. Maybe she should just go and get them? But what if Jaunty was actually working? Not likely, but if she was happy in the studio then she should stay.
Gabe could wrap up the sandwiches and take them out – it would disguise their dull appearance for one thing. She laughed. She was deluding herself and she had become very good at doing that.
‘Hi.’ Fin dashed through the door shaking the rain off like a dog. ‘You read my mind.’
Gabe smiled. ‘How’s Jaunty?’
‘Good. She’s nodded off in the chair so I thought I’d make some lunch and take it to her, but you beat me to it.’ He grinned and looked all boyish.
‘Great minds or something like that.’ She cast him a sideways glance, loving his grin.
‘Are we connected to the world now?’ He looked through to the sitting room.
His broad shoulders were soaked and his shirt clung to him. She took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you get any work done?’ He picked up a baby plum tomato and ate it.
‘No, not while he was here.’ Gabe sighed.
‘Much to do?’
‘Unfortunately yes.’
‘Well, don’t worry about Jaunty. I’ll keep an eye on her.’
Gabe flinched slightly at the thought, but knew she was being ridiculous. It was good to have someone around to share her worries with. She should count Fin’s help as a blessing not a curse. ‘Thanks.’
He packaged up the sandwiches and put hers on a plate, then went and grabbed his book, which he tucked under his arm.
‘Get the work done and then we can take Jaunty out if the rain stops.’ He looked heavenward. Sunlight showed through the clouds and a rainbow crossed the river. Its end appeared to be in a yellow field surrounded green ones.
‘OK, but I’m not sure where we could take her.’
‘She wants to go on the river, so I thought we could row her down the creek this evening if the weather improves.’
‘Oh, OK.’
He dashed out the door and Gabe stood still, realising she was relying on him. But she mustn’t. Who knew how long he would be here or even who he was.
Jaunty took a pencil off the table and a piece of paper. Each moment must be used.
I made my way to Truro where I stayed in a rooming house until Philip was born. When he was a year old, I went to Helford, where I had known such happiness, however briefly, and discovered the little cabin was for sale. The owner had died in the war. I bought it immediately despite it being too remote and totally impractical for raising a small child. There was no electricity, no running water and no near neighbours.
The local population knew me only as a slightly mad war widow. That was how I came to live a remo
te life and began painting again. During Philip’s naps I painted, and all I could see in my head and around me was water. At night I dreamt of the sea and that was what came out on to the canvas.
The rain had stopped and the clouds had parted to reveal patches of, what Jaunty knew, was ultra marine with a touch of cyan. The tide had turned and the herons made the most of the riverbank while they could access it.
I made a papoose, American Indian style, and would walk along the creek with Philip close to my heart. I loved him without reservation, although even after his birth I was no closer to knowing who was his father because he was the image of me. I prayed he was Alex’s and that I had at least a part of him with me, and the rhythm of our days was long walks and me painting when he slept.
Oh, Gabriella, I was weary. It shames me now to think about it. I know I wasn’t as loving as I should have been but at times there was nothing left in me. I had to survive, which meant that there was no time for self-pity or even to make friends. But I owed it to Jean to survive. She had lost her life because of me and I had stolen her identity. I had to make something of it, something she’d be proud of. Her voice was forever in my head, telling me to add that touch of cobalt, to lighten the brush stroke or to step back from my work and actually see.
When the colour left me months ago, Jean left me. I see that now. And I am hollow.
Jaunty looked at the river. It was her conscience. It was her love. It kept her focused. She owed it to Jean. To Alex.
These early canvases I sent to Paul, fully expecting that there would be no market for them. But I was wrong. The demand for Jean’s work had grown. Apparently he had told collectors that I’d been so scarred by the war and what I’d seen that I could only paint the sea. Paul was always an excellent salesman.
So my paintings sold, and sold well.
A helicopter from RNAS Culdrose flew overhead and Jaunty stood to watch it. Soon it disappeared and a motorboat towing a yacht made its way towards Gweek, the sunlight catching the bright paintwork on the hull. Jaunty sighed and began again.
And so the lie grew and I accepted that I was Jean Blythe – or, rather, I was Jaunty. In Paris another English student had nicknamed her Jaunty because of her happy attitude. She had loved the idea of being a mystery so she called herself Jaunty, and when she was in a rush, the Jaunty became simply a J. So when I began painting again I signed my paintings with a J, mimicking her bold strokes.
Oh those carefree days in Paris!
It would have been impossible to imagine back then that I had to become the happy person that she had been. I had been very happy once but I had never had her exuberance, and now, with an empty future ahead of me, it was harder to hold on to what little I could conjure. Each day I woke and I thought of Alex and what I had lost and it was only Philip that kept me going. He was a joy and a trial and there was no one I could to turn to. I couldn’t let anyone close.
Jaunty stopped. No one but her knew of the lie. Fin had guessed but he only knew that she hadn’t painted those Parisian works.
It was, and is, just me who carries the truth and the lie. As each breath seems harder to take, the lie becomes heavier.
She stopped and stood. Her fingers ached. Canvases lay stacked in this, the perfect studio. When she had chosen the spot she knew the northern light would be superb, for she had lived in the cabin for two years by then. And of course, this spot held her memories of Alex.
Jaunty shifted through the paintings and sketches. There was so much. She looked up when Fin came back in.
‘How is she?’ She straightened.
‘I’ve told her to finish her work so that we can take you down the creek when the weather clears and you’ve woken from your nap.’
Jaunty chuckled. ‘You’re wicked.’
‘Possibly.’ He handed her a sandwich. ‘Now, the price for my complicity is that you eat the whole sandwich and not just two bites, because I see how your lack of appetite worries her.’
‘I know. She has always been a worrier but it has become worse.’
‘Well, it’s hard.’
Jaunty looked at him closely. ‘Why did your wife leave you?’
‘Just because you are sharing your secrets doesn’t mean I have to reveal mine.’
‘True.’ She took a bite of her sandwich and waited.
‘Patricia left me because she was in love with someone else and had been for a long time.’ He walked to the window. ‘I should have seen it. I should have seen it before we were married but we were business partners and lovers and it all seemed to work.’ He laughed, but with no pleasure. A self-deprecating smile remained on his lips. ‘It’s funny how we see only what we want to.’
‘How long were you married?’
‘Ten years.’ He turned around. ‘I should have noticed something was wrong.’ He stopped.
‘You don’t need to say more. I can fill in the blanks.’
His full mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Yes, the less said the better. Now, what do you want me to do about all these paintings?’
Jaunty watched his glance rest on the second-to-last portrait she had painted of Gabriella. Although she could no longer see the colour, in her mind she knew that the glory of Gabriella’s hair was displayed against the backdrop of the dense woodland on the opposite side of the creek. The myriad of greens balanced the burnished glory of that hair but the light in her granddaughter’s eyes had vanished now. No longer did hope visit them. They were now focused but not happy.
‘She’s beautiful.’ He picked up the canvas and put it on the easel.
‘Yes, she is such a mix of the past, but the most startling feature is her eyes. They are special.’
‘Incredibly. I’ve never seen any eyes like them and with her hair it is such a striking mix.’
Jaunty sighed. Dietrich had been blond and Gabe’s eyes were almost identical to his, but the addition of her red hair brought out the depth of their colour.
Fin finished his sandwich and washed his hands in the sink. ‘I think I had better put these paintings away if you really don’t want her to see them now.’
Jaunty nodded. There was so much there. She had forgotten how much she had painted. ‘Will these have any value when the truth is out?’
Fin carefully picked up some watercolours. ‘Yes, I think quite a bit, but it’s hard to say.’ He looked at her. ‘You have only told me part of the story and the rest of it might be the part that impacts the value of your work, as you know.’
Jaunty nodded, and knew she was right to trust him.
Thirteen
With the composition safely on its way, Gabe took out Max’s opera. He expected some sort of response from her and she had dreamt of the lovers and their plight last night. The imagery was so clear in her mind. The tale was perfect for an opera, love thwarted, an old crone, magic and myth entwined. Max had enlarged the story with the baritone, the parentally approved suitor, trying his utmost to woo the maiden with comic results.
The call of an egret broke into her thoughts. That was what was missing from the score! He’d captured so much of Cornwall in the music, but he had neglected the birdsong that was the soundtrack of everyday life. Now a stonechat was singing.
Her fingers ran over the keyboard before she began picking out notes that mimicked the birds. Then she introduced them to the beach scenes where the maiden looks out to sea, longing for her lover. Yes, it definitely added a layer of resonance to the music. She played it again and recorded it, and then, standing up, she sang the new arrangement. It was better, but she longed for feedback from the great soprano, Georgina Piper, whom she had last worked with. Gabe knew that she wasn’t using her voice fully, that it lacked depth. She paced the room. The only way to improve was to train and to perform so she should expect nothing else. She couldn’t do it alone and she wouldn’t perform because if she moved into that world again he would be ther
e.
Why was she worried about her singing anyway? What did it matter if she reached her potential or not? There was no point in striving to be the best if you had an audience of one. She put the score and her notes away.
‘Hello.’ There was a tap at the studio door before it opened and Max stepped inside, talking. ‘Fin, I wanted to let you know I figured out where I’d seen Gabriella before. It was at the World Opera competition. She sang “Vissi d’arte” in the final and she was spellbinding. She won. But I did a little digging and it appears she hasn’t sung since.’ He stopped chatting when he didn’t see Fin.
‘Did your digging say why?’ Jaunty noted the surprise on his face.
‘I’m so sorry. I thought Fin was here.’
‘I am.’ Fin rose from his knees.
‘Oh.’ Max looked between them. ‘I’m sorry about investigating your granddaughter’s career.’
‘No need to apologise; I’d like to know what you’ve found out.’ Now Jaunty remembered. There had been an excellent write-up in the Telegraph regarding the win.
Fin pointed to the kettle. Max nodded and perched opposite Jaunty on the stool. ‘Unfortunately I found nothing else. The competition should have been the start to her career, but . . .’ He shrugged.
‘So there was nothing you found out?’ Jaunty studied Max. He was what she would call a snazzy dresser with his brocade waistcoats and polished brogues.
Max looked at Fin and Fin nodded. ‘There were rumours about something happening after the performance.’
‘What?’
‘Well, one of the judges was known to prey on women.’
‘And?’ Jaunty could see he knew more than he was saying.
Max looked to Fin again.
‘What happened?’ Jaunty clenched the arms of the chair.
‘I don’t know.’
Jaunty sat forward. ‘Was she attacked?’
Max shrugged again.
