CHAPTER 3
Excitement ripples through the world of art this week, with the announcement that Augustine will be unveiling his latest work at a spectacular gala in Leeds at the end of June. The Duke of Wellington, a self-professed supporter of Augustine’s work, will be guest of honour at the event, which will include a supporting exhibition by other greats in the world of neoclassical painting, and a performance by The Liberty Troupe. In the run up to the unveiling of what is sure to be a masterpiece, this reporter is fortunate to be spending time with both the players and the celebrated local artist, Julius Thompson.
‘He seems a nice boy,’ Mother tossed The Advocate down on the table and picked up the monogrammed hand mirror a besotted Prince Regent had given her, back in the days when he wasn’t quite so fat but she was just as vain.
‘Hmm?’
She didn’t need much encouragement to elaborate.
‘That reporter. Handsome boy, too. You didn’t waste much time, I might add. Not that I blame you. I considered doing it myself – for the good of the company, you know. But nonetheless, I couldn’t go through with it. Not since – well. The less said about that the better. And I do so love your father. But I’m probably not this boy’s type. Too painted, too… experienced. You, on the other hand, might be just the thing.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, Evey darling. I know you’ve set your cap at him. Is that phrase still appropriate if you don’t intend to marry him? But I digress.’
I lowered my book – Pope, if you were wondering – and rolled my eyes at her.
‘Most mothers don’t encourage their daughters to seduce strange men,’ I said. ‘I understand it’s generally frowned upon.’
‘I try to avoid frowning – the lines, dearest. You ought to do so as well. I’m happy to be mistaken for your sister, but you really oughtn’t be mistaken for mine.’
‘Hmm.’
‘And how can I be cross with you when your seduction is clearly working? I draw the line on asking where in the process you are, but really, Michael’s been splendidly lovely about us. He was even nice about Hamlet, and I really wasn’t convinced he would be. And your father – the way he paints him! He raves about him as though he’s almost better than Augustine.’
‘Father did draw a very good picture of him. Perhaps that swayed him.’
Mother arched a brow at me over her hand mirror.
‘Not as much as you swayed in those shoes you borrowed. I thought you might be aiming to swoon into his arms. They looked strong – I’m sure he’d catch you nicely if you did it next time.’
‘I’d really prefer it if you frowned on me. Figuratively,’ I hastened to add. ‘Or at the very least pretended you didn’t know what was going on. Not that I am confirming or denying that anything is going on. Or that to have something go on would be my intention in any way.’
Mother rolled her eyes at me that time, and it looked even more exaggerated as she was stretching out the faint crow’s feet at the corners.
‘You may be my daughter, and I adore you, but you are no actress.’
‘I didn’t think you were old enough to have a daughter.’
The door swung open and bounced off the wall, shaking a little more dust out of the deep hole in the plaster, worn there by years of being knocked by the handle.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
Parker Davis, a ball of good humour, adoration and self-delusion, bounced into the room, ricocheting against a wall, two chairs and a side table as he did so.
‘You’ve read The Advocate, Parker?’ Mother purred, curling a stray strand of dark hair around her fingertips.
‘You divine creature, I knew you’d charm your way into his graces. Strange man to send to drum this up – no experience on reporting the arts at all. Was he a terrible bore?’
‘Evelyn has been looking after him,’ Mother said with a theatrical wink in my direction. ‘But I daresay he isn’t as uncultured as you feared.’
Parker dropped himself into the cerise loveseat and something within it rattled.
‘After the reviews came out for Hamlet, I did have my concerns. They don’t understand us, these newspaper men. They don’t see the point of it all, the true artistry. The vision involved in having a lady Hamlet.’
‘Fools, yes. Did you see The Mercury?’ Mother shook her head and came close to contorting her features into one of those dreaded frowns.
‘And The Intelligencer!’ Parker pulled a large silk handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted his face with it. ‘Cretins, all. But you needn’t worry about wasting your talent on such fools much longer. Not once the Duke’s seen your- er, seen you as – I say, what, er, what is it exactly we’re putting on for them? Midsummer? That’s always a good one.’
‘Andrew won’t allow it,’ I said with a sigh. ‘And besides, that’s been done to death. Any thoughts, Parker, or is this one in my hands?’
Parker furrowed his brow and sucked his bottom lip.
‘Well it is a very important opportunity. I would really rather have some input…’
‘As you wish it.’ I stood slowly and clasped my book to my chest. ‘Although I had thought you’d be busy with supervising all the improvements to the theatre – the re-plastering in the hall. The cleaning of the curtains, the lights…’
Parker sweated gently as he considered my words.
‘And as you say,’ I continued ‘It is a very important opportunity. After the financial black hole of Hamlet, we do need something good. And Hamlet was good, but I did say that while an important and avant garde piece of work, it may not prove popular to the masses, didn’t I?’
He gave a heavy sigh and blotted his face with his handkerchief again.
‘You may be right. Fine, it’s on your head now, Evelyn.’
‘Uneasy lies the crown,’ Mother trilled. ‘But you’ll make sure I have a good part, won’t you?’
I left them to their self-congratulation and made my way to my room. I really needed to get a handle on Pope. I still had no idea how to treat it, in spite of getting my own way with the direction. But that was for the best. I’d rather have full responsibility than have Parker sticking his chubby fingers in and messing up my direction.
As I climbed the stairs to go by Father’s studio, I heard voices. They were slightly raised, although they didn’t sound angry. It sounded like a youngish man was in there with him. Against all advice, I frowned. Surely Michael hadn’t returned for another interview already – and without me.
The door began to open and I ran up the stairs, ducking behind a bookshelf on the landing above the studio. It would be beyond embarrassing to be caught as though I was eavesdropping. And if it was Michael, I could always lean over the banister to talk to him. He’d probably enjoy that.
‘A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Thompson.’
Not Michael, but a slightly older man, with a deeper voice. I leaned round the edge of the bookcase and peeped at him. He faced into the room, towards Father, so I could only see his back, but he was tallish, with dark hair slicked back with what looked like Macassar oil. In a word, he was elegant, from the perfectly snug shoulders of his jacket, to the gleam on his hessians.
The man turned and Father followed him from the room, scratching his head and looking rather like he’d just woken up.
‘Someone will be in touch with you to arrange delivery,’ the man said. ‘And of course to finalise the payment. I’m sure you’ll agree the price named is more than fair.’
Father spluttered a little bit and nodded. His eyes seemed even smaller than usual, and for a man who always looked as though he was lost in a crowded room, he seemed positively abandoned.
The man bowed his head slightly and turned to make his way down the stairs. I caught sight of a moustache and one of those small pointed beards – like a cavalier or a Spaniard – before I ducked back out of sight behind the bookshelf.
Father stood in the doorway, motionless, watching the man descend the stairs. It wasn’t until we heard the front door close that he moved, sagging suddenly against the door frame. I leapt from my hiding place, and ran to support him, taking the stairs two at a time.
‘What is it, darling? Who was that?’
Father blinked very slowly and deliberately and licked his lips twice, frowning throughout.
‘I don’t quite… oh Evey, I wish you’d heard – I don’t quite – I should have called for you, but he was quite insistent.’
‘What is it?’ I held him firmly by the arm and led him back into the studio so he could sit down.
‘It’s Julia Fitzroy. She’s bought all my paintings.’
‘What?’ We both wobbled a little then, and sank down on to the chaise longue together. ‘All of them? Even the Croesus?’
Father nodded. ‘And that terrible nativity I did when I was just starting out.’
I grimaced.
‘Did she say why? Or did that man?’
Father shook his head.
‘I didn’t ask. I didn’t say a lot, Evey. I couldn’t. You know how I get when I’m surprised. I just couldn’t say anything. I didn’t have any words.’
I put my arm around him and pulled him closer.
‘She’s always liked what you do, she’s just not bought that much before. Perhaps she wasn’t as rich as we thought? Maybe she’s just come into an inheritance? Mind you, I don’t think any of them have died – we’d have seen it in the papers.’
Father shrugged. ‘I wish you’d been here. Or at least Parker.’
‘I don’t think Parker would have helped, darling.’ I kissed his brow. ‘But you did well. She bought all your paintings – not much could go wrong from that.’
‘I could perhaps have haggled on the price?’ Father shrugged. ‘Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Parker might be cross I didn’t get more. I probably could have – he was quite insistent that Mrs Fitzroy have them all.’
‘How much did they offer you?’ I frowned again, as Father was notorious for undervaluing his work, and he and Parker had exchanged cross words on more than one occasion.
He said it so quietly I had to ask him to repeat it.
I hugged him very tightly.
‘Don’t worry darling, Parker shan’t be cross.’
The pictures hadn’t even been worth half of what they had been sold for.