CHAPTER 5
Father wasn’t painting. I couldn’t remember a time of more than three minutes together where he had been both awake and not had a pencil or brush in his hand. This was the time history was made however, as while he had two brushes behind his ear and a third tucked into the waistband of his trousers, he was not at his easel.
‘Oh, darling, thank heavens you’re here. Evelyn will know, won’t you, darling? Where did your father leave his sketchbook?’
Mother reclined on the chase longue, sipping something alcoholic from her coupe glass.
‘Do we ever wash that?’ I leaned over and gave her a kiss on her lightly powdered cheek. ‘Or do you just refill it?’
‘Andrew does it while I sleep, darling.’ She turned her cheek to accept my embrace and gave me a gentle pat on the arm. ‘But there’s no need, alcohol kills germs. That’s medical fact. I shan’t stop him, though.’
‘Have you seen it?’ Father interrupted. ‘It’s got all my roughs for this damned Augustine thing in.’
‘You chose a subject, then?’
‘A far sight quicker than you, I may say.’ Mother sniffed loudly. ‘Who am I to be playing?’
‘Belinda,’ I said, not a little smugly. ‘The Rape of the Lock.’
‘A comedy!’ Mother clapped her hands together and slopped a little of her alcohol onto the chaise longue. ‘Just the thing. An epic satire, no less.’
‘I’m glad you’re pleased. I’m just worried it’s too much of a satire of our society and the Duke will hate it. It is what he’s fought all those wars to protect and encourage, after all.’
‘You’re over-thinking it.’ Father’s head popped up from behind his chair, where he was rooting through piles of papers and old sketchbooks. ‘A bit of farce is probably just the ticket. And your mother’s wonderful in that sort of thing.’
‘We all are.’ I went over and knelt on the chair, peering over the back to help him look without actually helping in any way. ‘Even if he hates it, everyone loves a farce.’ I turned on my knee and slumped down in the chair. ‘Or do they? This’ll be a high society crowd. The Lock would probably play a lot better to our usual audiences. The ton might think we’re mocking them. Oh god, this is all a terrible mistake.’
‘It will play very well to our usual audiences, when the play runs after the Duke’s long gone,’ Father muttered. ‘This isn’t the be all and end all, darling. And besides, who won’t want the players who performed for Wellington? I’m sure the cits will want us – and that’s where the future lies, you mark my words.’
Mother snorted.
‘A fortune teller, my husband. But he’s probably right. He is terribly wise, aren’t you dear?’
‘Hmm? Oh, it’s no use. I’ll look again in the morning when the sun’s in the window. I can’t see a thing in all this shadow. Can’t we ask Parker for more candles now we’re playing for the rich and titled?’
‘Not to mention how successful you suddenly are,’ Mother said. ‘Did he tell you, Evey? About Julia Fitzroy?’
‘He did,’ I nodded. ‘But even if Parker gives you a thousand candles, it’ll still be dark under furniture.’
Father crawled from behind the chair and lay in a dejected heap on the floor.
‘I’d gamble Augustine doesn’t have to put up with this. He’s probably got a beautifully categorised library of sketchbooks, or a man who follows him around with one.’
‘And bends over to give him something to rest on,’ Mother added with a cackle. ‘It’ll turn up, darling. And besides, you said you were going to paint me. Well I’m here, aren’t I? Paint me.’
Father brightened.
‘You’re right. It’s a few days since I worked on your picture – not since that Bailey fellow was here.’
‘What are you painting with Mother?’
‘He won’t even tell me,’ Mother cut in before Father could even draw breath. ‘It’s a great secret. I think it’s a present for me.’
‘It’ll have to be now,’ I said with a smile. ‘And for the exhibition?’
‘Oh, Narcissus.’ Father pulled one of the brushes from behind his ear and began to ply the bristles between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Jackson’s going to be my model.’
I couldn’t hold back a crack of laughter.
‘Perfect casting. But where is he? Do you know, I haven’t seen him for days? Not since he went out with those two blondes after Hamlet closed.’
‘I think he came in this morning. Or it could have been last night. I can’t remember. But either way, I sent him off to bed. I said he’d need to be looking a bit less haggard if anyone was going to buy him as being in love with himself.’
‘And yet, he will have been.’