The Portrait of Molly Dean

by Katherine Kovacic

  ‘Coming.’ She tucked her notes into an envelope she’d taken from Colin’s desk and placed it into the front of her notebook. From Colin’s rarely used study, she hurried through the house to the studio where he was waiting, too excited to sit. The paper wrapping was a crumpled ball on the floor and Colin had placed her portrait on his easel before draping it in a red throw rug taken from the chaise.

  ‘Sit down, sit down.’ He danced around her like one of the boys from her class at the Queensberry Street School. His excitement was infectious and she bounced as she sat in the same chair she’d occupied for her portrait sittings.

  ‘Should I be taking notes? Renowned artist Colin Colahan unveils his latest masterpiece?’ She mimed opening an invisible notepad and poised a non-existent pencil.

  ‘You mock.’ Colin placed a melodramatic hand on his heart. ‘But this really is a masterpiece. And besides, this painting does not need to be reviewed, because it’s not for public sale. I’m far too fond of it for that.’

  Molly smiled at his flirtatious behaviour. ‘Go on then. Show me.’

  With a flourish, Colin flipped the blanket back and away, letting it fall to the floor behind the easel. They both gazed at the painting.

  The frame he had chosen was simple and elegant. Dark burnished gold, straight sides and little rounded flourishes at each corner, almost like elephant’s ears. It was a lovely frame, but its beauty was in the way it enhanced Molly’s portrait, made it seem as though it was the centre of the room, as though all eyes should be on Molly Dean.

  ‘It was amazing before, but now, seeing it finished and framed … How did you do that? Make me look so, so …’ Molly circled her hand in front of her, unable to conjure up the words.

  ‘I didn’t make you look anything. I just painted what I saw.’

  ‘But what you did with the light. I can see how it has direction, how it falls, but at the same time it’s as though the whole picture is sort of lit from inside.’

  Colin smiled. ‘You like it then?’

  ‘Like it? I adore it. You’re incredible.’ Molly jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around Colin. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you for being such a wonderful model.’ Colin glanced over her shoulder at the mantel clock. ‘Good grief! We really must hurry and make ourselves presentable before the others arrive for dinner. Oh, and the Skippers have said they’re happy to drive us into town.’

  Molly stepped back, still holding on to Colin’s arms. ‘I did want to talk to you, but I suppose we can do that tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Oh, Molly …’ Colin ran a hand through his hair. ‘The thing is, I have a lot to do to finish these paintings for the joint exhibition. I was planning on working all night after the theatre. It’ll be no fun for you being here. Perhaps you ought to stay at Elwood tonight.’

  Molly flushed. She knew he was telling the truth about the show, but it hurt to be sent packing. ‘I shan’t get in your way,’ she said softly.

  ‘You know it’s not that. I love having you here, but you need to make at least a token appearance for your mother’s sake. Just for the time being, until things are more settled. And besides, you know how antisocial I become when I start burning the candle at both ends.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ It wasn’t. ‘Anyway, I must change. I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.’

  ‘Sometimes I simply need to organise my thoughts and attack the work, no interruptions.’

  Molly turned abruptly and left the room. As the clock struck the half hour, Colin hurried in her wake. They had only twenty minutes to dress for dinner.

  Molly changed quickly into her green crêpe-de-Chine with the satin-trimmed insets, then made a check of the bedroom. There was no need to pack anything. She was in the habit of leaving half her things at Colin’s anyway. But she did need to do something about her notes. It would not do to have anyone find those, and pawing among Molly’s possessions in her absence was just the sort of thing Sue or Betty would love.

  Leaving Colin to fiddle with his collar and studs, Molly went to the study to retrieve her possessions. She added her notebook and a few loose pages to her already crowded bag, but the envelope and its contents were another matter. Having her mother find it was an infinitely worse prospect than anything that could happen in the Colahan household. Clutching it in one hand, she looked around. Tucking it into a book was no good. All Colin’s friends dipped in and out of his library. No other place in the study presented itself as a likely prospect, so Molly moved quietly out of the room and toward the studio. She could still hear Colin in the bedroom, and she held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear her, or be ready too soon.

  The studio, once she was standing in it, seemed equally bereft of hiding places. A vase was just as likely to be used as an ashtray or be pressed into service for a still life, a sofa cushion would reveal its secret with a telltale crinkle if sat upon. Everything else, well who could know which box of paints Colin would use, or which cupboard he would rummage through as he prepared for the upcoming show? Then her eyes fell on the newly unveiled portrait. Colin wasn’t going to sell it, not yet anyway: her notes would be safe for a while. She hurried over to the easel and turned the painting so its back was on show.

  ‘Bother.’ Molly frowned. She had thought to tuck the envelope in the back of the stretcher, but the framer had papered over the exposed canvas. Yet as Molly reached to turn the painting over again, her hand brushed a corner of the paper. She peered more closely at it. One edge had not properly adhered to the wood of the stretcher. It was not much, but it might just be enough for her to slide the envelope in.

  Working carefully and as quickly as she could, Molly teased at the loose edge with a fingernail, slowly widening the gap until it was big enough for her purpose. She slid the envelope through and was even able to give it a bit of a downward push before she felt it stop. Molly picked up the canvas and tilted it side to side in an experimental fashion. The envelope did not shift and she sighed with relief.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  Molly almost dropped the painting. How long had Colin been standing there?

  ‘I wanted to see who the framer was,’ she said, not meeting his eye. ‘But then I noticed the paper was loose.’

  Colin came up beside her and looked where she was pointing. ‘Must have been hurrying to get the job done. I can fix it in a jiff and then we’ll organise some drinks.’

  Colin stepped across to his work table and reached for a small pot at the back. ‘Bit of rabbit-skin glue will do the trick.’ Picking up a brush, he returned to the easel and took only a moment to dab some glue on the stretcher and press the paper back into position. Dropping the glue pot on the table, he used a rag to give his hands a quick wipe.

  ‘Now come on, Molly darling, the others will be here any minute.’ He crossed to her and placed his palm gently against her face. ‘Don’t be angry, please. You know how important you are to me.’

  Molly placed her own hand over his. ‘It’s okay. Well, it’s not, but I understand. Probably more than anyone I understand what it is to need the space to work without having to worry about others. Just promise me we can talk properly soon?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ***

  Dinner was a brief but lively affair, dominated by talk of the night ahead. Molly got on well with Lena Skipper and Belle Leason, and she soon found her anxiety fading into the background as they chattered about plays and playwrights and the state of arts in Australia. Shortly after seven they set off for the city, driving in convoy up Victoria Street and trundling through the evening crowds before parking in Exhibition Street. The group gathered on the footpath, and after agreeing to meet under the clocks at the end of the evening, reformed into three parties. Molly, Colin and the Leasons set off for the Bijou in Bourke Street, eager to see the Gregan McMahon Players’ production of Pygmalion. Mer
vyn Skipper turned for Collins Place and Kelvin Hall, where he was to attend The Seekers, a comedy written by the young Aubrey Danvers-Walker. As this was a charity event, supporting the Alfred and St Vincent’s hospitals, he’d felt obliged to attend, but Lena was keen to see Arms and the Man, so she and Norman Lewis accompanied Molly’s group down to Swanston Street where they could catch a tram to the Playhouse. Bets were made – about the quality of the various productions and whether the actress playing Eliza Doolittle would really swear on stage – until the tram finally arrived and Norman’s repartee was lost in the cacophony of a Melbourne night.

  It was close to eleven o’clock by the time the cast of Pygmalion took their final curtain to thunderous applause. Molly had laughed along with the rest of the audience and delighted at Bernard Shaw’s witty dialogue, resolving to get a copy of the play as soon as she could to properly study the parry and thrust of each scene.

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Colin gathered her close, looping his arm through hers as they moved slowly through the departing crowd and stepped into Bourke Street, the Leasons a few paces behind.

  ‘It was a delight.’ Molly bumped her shoulder gently against him. ‘Shaw is an absolute genius to have interpreted Ovid in such a way.’

  ‘And the sanguinary adjective, as the press have called it?’

  ‘Well you won the bet! But truly, I’d hardly have noticed it at all if those wowsers in the audience hadn’t gasped and tutted. Of course that’s what they came for, so I suppose they have to feign moral outrage.’

  ‘You’re right. They’ve paid money specifically so they can be scandalised, and tell all their friends just how shocked they were.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the Leasons, following not far behind. ‘You’re a bit like her, you know.’

  ‘Who, Eliza? Should I be insulted?’

  ‘No, I just mean you’re a woman who’s going places. Who’s prepared to work hard to achieve her dreams. It’s an admirable thing, Molly. One of the things I love about you.’

  ‘I hope you don’t see yourself as Professor Higgins!’

  Colin laughed. ‘Hardly! You don’t need anyone to tell you what to do, Molly. And I hardly think I’m a good example.’

  Molly was silent as they crossed Flinders Lane and walked past St Paul’s. ‘Colin, I –’

  ‘There’s Mervyn under the clocks. Wonder if he’s been waiting long?’ Colin increased his pace, pulling Molly across Flinders Street.

  The Leasons caught up at the steps of the station, and it was only a few minutes before Lena and Norman came into view, battling upstream against the tide of pedestrians leaving the city. It was 11.30, and although the dance halls and clubs still pulsed with life, no one was keen to extend the evening. It was still a long drive to Eaglemont for the Skippers, while the Leasons had even further to travel to their home in Eltham. So after quick assessments of their respective theatre experiences and promises to get together for a proper dinner next week, the group disbanded and Molly, Colin and Norman found themselves alone in the anonymous crowd.

  Faced with the prospect of returning home, Molly felt her resentment begin to resurface. She didn’t really expect to move in with Colin, but neither did she expect to get her marching orders. ‘I wish to God I didn’t have to go home tonight. I need to talk to you, Colin. I want to discuss my plans with you.’

  ‘I know, Molly. And we will, but let’s wait until the weekend, shall we? When we’re both fresh and there’s plenty of time?’

  Molly crossed her arms and sighed. It was not what she wanted to hear. She needed to talk now. But before she could formulate a reply, Norman, who had been standing a few discreet steps away, called out, ‘Colin, our tram’s coming!’

  ‘Go and catch your tram then.’ Molly tried but failed to suppress a small pout.

  ‘Oh no, I’ll see you on your way first, Molly. I certainly don’t want to just dash off and abandon you in the city.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be perfectly fine. And that’s the last tram of the night. You don’t want to miss it.’

  Colin hesitated.

  ‘Go on, I’ll get the train to St Kilda. I’ve just got time to make the platform.’ She stretched up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, followed by a gentle shove.

  Colin smiled, then bounded down the steps, just managing to swing up into the tram on Norman’s heels. Molly watched as he found a place to stand, then turned to look out at her as the tram clattered down Flinders Street toward East Melbourne. She raised her hand in a small wave.

  ***

  Molly’s train was half full as it left Flinders Street Station, but she easily found a seat. She adjusted her red beret so it tilted low over one side of her forehead, blocking out the carriage and her fellow passengers. They rattled slowly across the Sandridge Bridge before branching off from the Port Melbourne line and picking up speed. Gradually, as the train passed through South Melbourne, Albert Park and Middle Park stations, the carriage emptied and Molly was alone with her thoughts. She was determined to present an article to the Table Talk editor: the piece she had in mind would be perfectly suited to the magazine. It was not what Molly had planned, but this article was just the first step. It would be impossible to simply turn her back on her teaching without some means of support while she worked on her novel, and journalism was an attractive proposition.

  The possibilities ran through Molly’s head, the speeding train providing a soundscape of urgency that the rocking motion failed to dispel. As the end of the line approached and the train began to slow, Molly turned to stare out of the window, but all she could see was her own pale face reflected back against the darkness of the world.

  The lights of St Kilda Station suddenly replaced the blackness, and Molly’s image disappeared. At the same moment, she realised it was imperative she speak to Colin as soon as possible. Molly needed his advice, but more importantly, she needed his support. Stepping down onto the platform, Molly made straight for the public phone box outside the station, oblivious to other stragglers descending from their carriages or moving toward the street. Pulling the door closed behind her, she picked up the earpiece and leaned in.

  ‘Operator.’ A man’s voice.

  ‘Hawthorn 5176, please.’

  ‘One moment.’

  Molly rested her back against the glass and wood of the wall, rummaging in her bag for coins while she waited for the operator to connect her call.

  ‘Insert your coins, please.’

  She obeyed, listening to the ping echo down the line.

  ‘Go ahead, please.’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Colin?’

  ‘Molly? What’s happened? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, no. I don’t know. I needed to talk to you and we didn’t get a chance. When I got off the train I realised you’d be home by now so –’

  ‘Molly, it’s just gone midnight. I promised we’d talk and I meant it. What’s so important that it can’t wait?’

  ‘My life!’ Molly’s reply caught in her throat. ‘I have a chance with journalism, but it means giving up teaching and that seems like such a big step. But it may be my only chance, and I can’t keep going on like this with Mother in that house, and –’

  ‘Molly, Molly, hold on for a moment, stop!’ Colin raised his voice to cut across her. ‘I can hear how wound up you are. You’ll make yourself ill if you go on in this way. Please. We’re both tired, and this is a very big decision. Go home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

  ‘Colin –’

  ‘Tomorrow Molly. It’s only a few hours away.’ He softened his voice. ‘Goodnight now. It will be all right.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ Molly’s voice sounded peevish even to her own ears, but it was too late. Colin had broken the connection.

  Molly turned, pushed the door open, and stepped across to a bench where an older woma
n in a large hat was seated. She flopped herself down at the opposite end, suddenly exhausted. The woman glanced at her as she sat, then turned back to the street, discreet or disinterested, Molly didn’t notice.

  Molly sighed and rubbed her eyes. Colin clearly had no idea this decision would change her life. She looked around. There were still a few people out and about in addition to herself and her fellow bench-sitter. Most of them were on the move, none of them in a hurry. Over near the boot kiosk, a man in a suit stood immobile, facing Molly and the station as though waiting for someone to arrive. From where Molly sat, his face was lost in shadow with only the occasional glint from his eyes betraying the direction of his focus.

  Suddenly Molly sprang up and dove back into the phone box, coin already in her hand.

  ‘Operator.’

  ‘Hawthorn 5176 please.’

  ‘One moment. Insert your coins, please.’

  This time she spoke first. ‘Colin, I know it’s late. I wish I was there with you so we could talk about this properly, but I’m not. That was your decision.’

  ‘Molly, I explained why I needed a bit of time to myself.’

  ‘Well, you told me. I’m not sure that what you said explained anything, but it doesn’t matter right now. I don’t want to talk about that. You and I and whatever we are – that’s not why I’m calling.’

  Colin was silent for a moment and Molly hoped she had given him pause for thought. She was not one of those women who resorted to pleas, threats or tears.

  Then he let out a short laugh. ‘I can’t believe you’re calling me again after midnight, Molly. You are the most impetuous creature I know, and I absolutely adore that about you.’

  Molly felt herself smile and soften in response to his words, but then she straightened her back. ‘I’m calling to tell you I’ve decided. I wanted to discuss it with you, but … Anyway, I’m going to do it. The school year is almost done, so I’m going to hand in my notice, work out the year, and then devote myself 100 per cent to writing. The journalism job is there for the taking, and I know I can do it. I wanted you to be the first to know.’