Act of Will (42 page)

In the past when she had come back from Yorkshire after the holidays, Christina had been disappointed if Jane was not already ensconced in Walton Street and waiting for her. But as she let herself in tonight she was pleased that her friend was not returning from Hadley Court until Sunday evening.

Christina needed to be alone, to wrestle with her problems,
to find a solution to each one of them. Before she settled down to do this, she rang her father in Leeds to tell him she had arrived safely. ‘Don’t disturb Mummy,’ she said, after a brief chat with him. ‘Just give her a big hug and a kiss from me.’ After hanging up the phone, she unpacked her suitcase, then ran a bath.

She soaked for a good fifteen minutes, emptying her head of everything, trying to relax, and as soon as she felt a little of the tension easing out of her aching muscles, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself hard.

Later, wrapped in a towelling robe, she sat curled up on her bed, drinking a cup of Nescafé with cream and sugar. Slowly her eyes began to roam around her room… there was one of her paintings on each wall, and her gaze finally settled on her latest which she had called
Lily at Hadley
. It was an oil of the lily pond at Hadley Court, and it abounded with many different shades of green… the murky green-blue of the pond water, the lighter, softer green of the spongy moss trailing over the edge of the pond, the polished, glossy green of the floating lily pads. The only other colours were the sharp, pure white of the single lily, its petals beautifully defined and glistening with drops of crystal dew, and the colour of the light, a narrow corridor of radiance that filtered through the jungle-like foliage in the background of the painting. This light held a hint of yellow, appeared to shimmer with sunlight as it touched the water, then spread out in a spray-like effect, became diffused over the lily itself.

Christina put down the cup of coffee on the bedside table and turned on her side, pressed her face into the pillow. She found it unbearable to look upon that painting, or on any of her paintings for that matter. All of her joy in her art had been suddenly snuffed out, extinguished by her immense pain.

Too high a price had been paid for it
.

Audra’s years of punishing, brutal toil… her health… all the little luxuries and comforts she might have bought for herself… a holiday occasionally… a new outfit.

A lump formed in Christina’s throat. How long had she seen her mother wearing the same navy blue reefer coat? Winter after winter, for years and years. The tears came then, pouring out of her eyes, and she wept for her mother and for all of those lost years in Audra’s life when she had been slaving away in order to give
her
a future. And she cried until there seemed to be no tears left inside her, and finally she dozed.

Christina felt as if she was falling… falling through dark space, and she snapped her eyes open, half sat up with a start, coming awake. She wondered where she was for a moment, feeling disoriented, and then she realized she was lying on her bed in the Walton Street flat. She glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost one in the morning. She had slept for hours, an exhausted sleep.

She turned out the light, fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Her mind turned on her dilemma yet again. It struck her that getting a job to support herself whilst she painted would be easy enough, but that was not relevant, not the real issue.
What was crucial was the debt she owed her mother
.

This sudden revelation was so enlightening it brought her upright in bed again. And as she stared out into the darkness of the room she understood then what had been troubling her for hours.
The debt she owed her mother
. That was it. She must repay it.

If I do not it will weigh heavy on my conscience all the days of my life, she thought. And that I could not bear.

‘Listen, Crowther, I know something’s been troubling you for weeks, and tonight we’re going to talk,’ Jane announced aggressively, pouncing on Christina the moment she walked into the flat.

Christina stared at her, closed the door, then allowed Jane to take her arm, to propel her into their living room.

After gently pushing her dearest friend down onto the sofa, Jane took the chair opposite. ‘I am right, aren’t I, Christie?’ Jane pressed, a blonde brow lifting questioningly. ‘Something
is
terribly wrong, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Christina admitted. ‘I
have
been wrestling with a problem, a number of problems really, and I’ve wanted to talk to you, to unburden myself, but…’ Christina paused, shook her head slowly, looked out of the window, a faraway expression touching her lovely eyes.

Jane sat watching her, waiting patiently now, understanding that Christina was finally going to confide in her. She was filled with relief. Her friend had not been at all like herself for the past two months, ever since she had returned from Yorkshire after the Easter holidays. She had been subdued, distracted, depressed, irritable and gloomy by turn, but every time Jane had approached her she had denied there was anything amiss.

Finally, Christina spoke. ‘First, I must apologize,
Jane,’ she said, giving her a loving look. ‘I know I haven’t been easy to live with, and that I’ve been very short and snappy at times. I’m sorry… forgive me?’

‘Don’t be so silly, there’s nothing to forgive. But if it makes you feel any better, yes, I do forgive you.’

A fleeting smile crossed Christina’s face. She went on, ‘I’ve been struggling to make some decisions and I didn’t want to talk to you until I had.’

Jane returned Christina’s long thoughtful look but made no comment, merely nodded her understanding.

‘I’ve decided to give up my painting,’ Christina said softly.

‘You can’t be serious!’ Jane shouted, sitting bolt upright.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I won’t let you!’ Jane bellowed.

Christina shook her head vehemently. ‘You can’t stop me. And anyway, listen who’s talking.
You
told me six months ago that
you
were going to give up
your
art to become a scenic designer. I distinctly remember you telling me that you had no intention of starving in a garret in the faint hope that somebody would buy one of your paintings one day. In fact, you went on to add that art lovers who had money to spend bought only big name artists, such as Renoir, Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Utrillo, Chagall, Picasso etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.’

‘But you’re better than I am!’

Christina ignored this remark. She said, ‘Rob Petrie, Jamie Angers, Danielle Forbes and Patricia Smith, to name only a few of our classmates, are all going into other areas of art—textile design, interior design, costume and scenic design, like you are.’

Jane repeated, ‘But
you
are better than
we
are.’ Her deep-violet eyes swept the room, and she waved her hand
at two of Christina’s paintings hanging on the walls. ‘Look! Just look! How can you give
that
up?’

‘Very easily,’ Christina said, her voice so low it was hardly audible. ‘Since it’s costing a woman’s life.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Jane cried in astonishment. ‘
Whose life
?’

‘
My mother’s.
’

Christina did not give Jane a chance to respond to this. She began to speak slowly and carefully; with great eloquence she explained everything to Jane, recounting the history of Audra’s background, the years of hard work, struggle and sacrifice on her behalf. And when Christina had finally finished Jane had tears in her eyes. She could only nod, so touched was she by the story.

Christina continued, ‘You see, Jane, I don’t believe I could convince her to stop working, even after I graduate later in the summer. She’ll insist on supporting me until my paintings start selling. She’s stubborn, implacable really. I could get a job, earn a living whilst I paint, and send the money she sends me back to her. And I suppose I could eventually convince her that I can stand on my own two feet, and so put an end to her toiling. But none of that is quite good enough for me, Janey.’

‘I don’t think I’m following you, Christie.’

‘It’s simply not enough for me to just say to her:
Thank you, I can look after myself now, Mother
.’ Christina shook her head. ‘No. I have a terrible need, a compelling need, to bring ease and comfort to her life. I want to give her the kind of luxuries she’s never known. And the kind of luxuries I’m thinking about cost money… oodles and oodles of money. As a struggling artist it would take me years and years to earn enough to give her those things. I don’t have time to wait. I want her to have them as
quickly as possible, whilst she’s still young enough to enjoy them.’

‘But how are you going to make your pots and pots of money?’ Jane asked, looking at her, baffled.

‘I’m going into business, that’s where the money is… and I mean
business
with a capital B. I’m going to become a fashion designer, but I aim to be a rich and famous fashion designer, and very, very quickly.’

‘But how are you going to get started?’

‘Actually, with your help.’

‘
My
help.’

‘Your mother’s really, if you’ll give me your permission to talk to her about this project.’

‘Of course you can talk to her. But how can Mummy help?’

Christina leaned forward, sudden enthusiasm filling her eyes, extinguishing the worry of earlier. ‘She’s constantly after me to make her one of my hand-painted silk dresses, and she told me only a few weeks ago that she could sell them to her friends like hot cakes, if only I had a secret hoard of them tucked away somewhere. She was laughing when she said that, about her friends, I mean, but I bet some of them would be interested in buying from me. You know, at that party your mother gave for her American agent, both Polly Lamb and Lady Buckley were admiring my hand-painted silk jacket. They both wanted to know where I’d bought it. Don’t you see, Janey, my hand-painted evening clothes are very original, my
exclusive
design, and they
would
be a beginning. Later on, I could make my tailored suits… everyone so admires those.’

‘You’re right!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘You
must
talk to Mummy, get her measurements, and then design the dress for her. And I’m sure she won’t mind if you approach
her friends, especially those who were so interested at the cocktail party.’

‘Oh, I am glad you agree! However, there’s a slight problem.’ Christina threw Jane a worried glance, plunged in. ‘Do you think your mother would give me half the money in advance? You know, pay half the price of the dress before I deliver it? And get her friends who order dresses to do the same? If they did, it would help me immensely. I could use the money to buy the fabrics and the special paint I need.’

‘Of course Mummy will pay up front, and she’ll jolly well make sure her friends do too.’ Jane sat back, looking confident, then she frowned, screwed up her mouth in a thoughtful way. ‘But that’s not the real solution, Christie. If you’re going into the fashion business, and want it to become
big
business, then you must have working capital.’

Christina laughed hollowly. ‘Don’t I know it… however, I’m afraid I don’t have a bean to my name.’

‘Oh but I do!’ Jane announced gleefully. ‘I have the five thousand pounds that Granny Manville left me, and the money’s just sitting there in the bank earning a bit of interest that’s worth tiddly winks. I’m going to lend you my five thousand pounds!’

‘Jane, that’s truly a wonderful gesture, but I couldn’t possibly borrow money from you,’ Christina protested.

‘You’re going to take it… I shall
force
you to take it. If you have a bit of decent capital behind you, the business will grow much faster, and things will run better. You could take on a seamstress, maybe even two, and also find small premises.’

‘Yes, you’re right. As a matter of fact, I had made those sort of plans, thought everything through,’ Christina remarked, standing up, walking over to the fireplace. She
ran her hand over her mouth, pondering for a moment. ‘Of course, I hadn’t intended to branch out like that until next year, when I’d already made a little money.’ Christina directed her steady, smoky gaze at Jane. ‘If you lend me your five thousand pounds, I could do it sooner, that’s true. So—thank you, I accept your offer, and I’m very grateful, Janey darling.’ She went over to Jane’s chair, bent down and hugged her.

Jane immediately sprang to her feet, hugged Christina in return, her face wreathed in smiles. Then she thrust out her hand. ‘Shake, partner. I’ll draw the money out of my savings account tomorrow morning first thing, and
voilà
you’ll be in business!’

They stood in the centre of the floor, grinning broadly at each other.

Jane said, ‘And I’ll help you any other way I can, rustle up business, do whatever you want me to—’ Jane broke off and her face fell.

‘What’s the matter?’ Christina asked.

‘I just thought of something… how on earth will you break this news to your mother? She’ll be devastated when you tell her that you’re giving up painting. Oh my God, Christie, she’ll be dreadfully upset.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Christina agreed, sounding suddenly gloomy. ‘Don’t think I haven’t wrestled with that problem for weeks, because I have. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s better I don’t tell her anything at all now. Once I’ve graduated in August, I shall let her think that I’m painting away, and about four or five months after that, let’s say around Christmas, I’ll tell her I’ve sold some of my work and that I can start supporting myself.’

‘Do you think she’ll believe you?’ Jane asked.

‘I hope so, Janey, I sincerely hope so.’

Artistic talent was not the only thing that Christina had inherited from Audra.

She had her mother’s penchant for hard work, her physical stamina and energy, her stubbornness, and her determination to succeed at whatever she did.

And all of these characteristics came into play in the first six months she was in business; they were fundamental to her extraordinary success in this relatively short period of time.