Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
It had been a supreme effort on all of their parts, and a monumental achievement to have the clothes ready by
the date Miranda Fowler had specified. In point of fact, Christina was a little ahead of time, and early one warm evening towards the end of May, she took Jane upstairs to see the rack of clothes in the studio.
Flipping the switch, flooding the studio with light, she pulled the sheet off the rack and cried, ‘The unveiling… ta-da ta-da! And before I show you each elegant and exquisite creation, let me just say this… once Miranda Fowler has paid me I’ll be able to finally repay you your five thousand pounds. Isn’t that wonderful news, Janey?’
‘Yes, it is, but there’s no real hurry,’ Jane said, and then she went into raptures over the stunningly beautiful outfits.
When the two girls had returned to the office, Christina said, ‘Look, I’m taking my three lovely women to dinner tonight, a special treat for them, for all the hard work they’ve put in. Why don’t you come with us, Janey? After all, you’re part of the family.’
‘Oh that’s lovely of you, but I really am whacked,’ Jane said. ‘I’ve been pushing myself hard on those costumes for the play, and I’ve got to solve the problem with those blasted ruffs tonight. They won’t stay stiff and starch is so scratchy against the actors’ necks. Oh God, why does my mother have the urge to play Elizabeth Tudor?’
Christina laughed at the look on her face, and pointed out, ‘It might do you good to come with us… it would take your mind off those ruffs.’
Jane shook her head. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I shall do some work, make a fried egg sandwich and go to bed early.’ She eyed Christina dourly and her pretty young mouth twisted in a grimace. ‘Romantic life we both lead these days, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll make up for it when we’re both rich and famous.’
‘You bet we will,’ Jane said, with a leer. ‘And listen,
Crowther, don’t come banging and clattering into the flat tonight, I really meant it when I said I intend to go to bed early.’
‘You can sleep late tomorrow—it’s Saturday.’
‘Fat chance of that.’ Jane picked up her briefcase. ‘Have a lovely meal, darling… oh, and where are you going?’
‘I’m not sure, Janey, maybe to that seafood bistro—in Elizabeth Street. You know, Le Matelot.’
‘Well, have fun.’
***
It was a few minutes after eleven when Christina walked down Walton Street later that night, after taking her three employees to dinner.
She was suddenly feeling weary.
It had been a hard few months and for the first time in ages she had relaxed during the evening, had finally let go; the rich meal at the Ox on the Roof restaurant and the red wine had also had an enervating effect on her. She could not wait to get undressed and climb into bed.
Remembering that Jane had said she was going to sleep early, Christina could not help wondering why all of their living room lights were blazing. As she drew to a stop in front of the house where they lived on the top floor, she looked up at the windows, frowning to herself.
I expect she’s forgotten to turn them off, she muttered, unlocking the street door, climbing the steep flight of stairs to their landing.
Christina was fumbling with her key chain, standing outside the door of the flat when it suddenly flew open.
Surprised, she jumped and glared at Jane. ‘Honestly, you scared me—’ she began and stopped when Jane grabbed her arm.
Jane hissed, ‘Your parents are here. And your mother
is absolutely
furious
… she can’t take her eyes off your paintings hanging on our walls.’
‘Oh my God,’ Christina whispered back, blanching. ‘How stupid I am.’
The coldness in her mother’s startling blue eyes blinded her.
She hesitated in the doorway. All of her strength ebbed out of her and she was gripped by a terrible internal shaking.
Her parents sat together on the sofa. They both looked as if they had turned to granite.
No one spoke.
Somewhere behind her in the hall, Jane hovered nervously.
She could move neither forward nor backward. She had turned to stone like her parents.
At last she found her voice. ‘Hello, Mummy, Daddy… this is a surprise.’
‘Apparently so,’ Audra responded in an icy tone that matched her eyes.
Christina swallowed.
Vincent glared.
The silence became protracted, overwhelmed her.
Audra suddenly sprang up, startling them.
She began to move around the room rapidly, pausing briefly at each one of Christina’s paintings, saying their names in a clipped, cold voice, ‘
Elms in Winter… Sky at Gunnerside… Houghley Beck… Edith’s Delphiniums
, and through the open door of your bedroom—’ She
snapped off the end of her sentence, pivoted to face Christina, and glaring at her, she finished, ‘I can see
Lily at Hadley
. You told me you had
sold
all of these paintings. You lied to me, Christina.
Why
? And how are you managing to live? How are you paying your bills? Something is wrong, very, very wrong here. I demand to know what’s going on at once!
At once, do you hear me
!’
Christina moved forward, galvanized by her mother’s angry words, knowing she had to get this over with once and for all.
She drew to a stop next to Audra. She took a deep breath. ‘Mummy, I have something to tell you, something I’ve been wanting to tell you for ages…’ She looked down at her mother, so small, so fragile, and she was instantly intimidated by the sheer force of Audra’s personality, the indomitability reflected in her face. She could not go on. Her nerve failed her.
Audra’s bright blue eyes impaled hers. ‘I’m waiting, Christina.’
In a great rush of words, Christina blurted out, ‘I’ve given up my painting. I’ve become a fashion designer. I decided it wasn’t worth it, being a struggling artist. You see, I wanted to make money. My clothes are lovely, beautiful really, I know you’ll like them—’
‘You gave up your art to become a
dressmaker
!’ Audra gasped, stunned. She gaped at Christina. All of the colour drained out of her face and her eyes were stark with incredulity. ‘You gave up your art!’ she repeated. ‘You threw away your great gift for creating beauty for… a
commercial
venture. I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!’
Audra shook her head from side to side as if denying this awful knowledge.
She suddenly cried, ‘And after all I did to give you
your art! Oh my God, when I think of all my years of gruelling work and sacrifice and scrimping and scraping, and going without to give to you, and giving and giving of myself until I had nothing left to give, and always putting you first, always putting you before your father, neglecting him—’
Audra was unable to continue.
She turned to Vincent. A look of excruciating pain mingled with overwhelming sorrow settled on her face and her eyes, dark with hurt, filled with sudden tears. ‘Oh Vincent—’ She reached out for him blindly, the tears falling unchecked, blurring her vision.
He was by her side in a flash.
His arms went around her and he held her protectively against his body, one hand patting her shoulder, gentle, loving, comforting. He looked down at her and he sighed, ever so lightly, and then he lifted his head.
Vincent levelled his gaze at his daughter. He stared as if seeing her for the first time.
Christina flinched under his hard, cold scrutiny. Her mouth began to tremble.
Disdain flashed onto Vincent’s handsome face and his eyes were steely green, uncompromising. ‘You’ve just broken your mother’s heart,’ he said in a voice that shook.
Without another word he turned his back on Christina and led the weeping Audra from the room.
Christina stared after her parents speechlessly. And then she ran forward, caught up with them in the hall. ‘Daddy… wait,’ she cried, reaching out, grasping his sleeve.
He shook her hand off, a certain harshness in his movements, and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Don’t
you
Daddy me,’ he snapped, ‘I’ve had enough of
you
for one
night, Christina. I never thought I’d live to see this day, live to see you hurt your mother… so cruelly.’
Christina recoiled at his words, and she remained rooted in the doorway of the flat as her mother and father crossed the landing and went down the stairs together.
From behind her, Jane whispered, ‘Oh God, Christie, that was awful, simply ghastly. Are you all right?’
When Christina did not respond, Jane put her arm around her dearest friend and drew her inside. She pushed the front door closed with her other hand, walked Christina through the hall and into the living room, pressed her down onto the sofa.
Christina began to shake uncontrollably and she looked at Jane helplessly. ‘I must go after them,’ she began and immediately burst into tears as she attempted to rise.
‘Oh darling, don’t, don’t,’ Jane murmured, her voice consoling as she lowered herself onto the sofa and took Christina’s hand in hers. ‘You can’t go after them and it wouldn’t do any good, not tonight.’ Jane gave her a quick hug and rose, hurried out.
She returned a moment later with a large handkerchief. ‘Here wipe your eyes,’ she said, giving it to Christina, ‘and I’ll get us a drink, I think we could both use a brandy.’
After mopping her eyes and blowing her nose, Christina accepted the cognac from Jane, took a long swallow. She said, ‘Perhaps I’d better ring them in a little while. They must be staying in the studio flat at Theo’s—he so adores Mummy, and Dad is a great favourite of his… they have
carte blanche
to stay there any time they—’
‘Oh no, they’re at a hotel,’ Jane interjected, and grimaced. ‘Oh botheration, what an idiot
I
am! I should have asked your father which hotel, when he mentioned it.’
‘Oh Jane…’ She fell back against the sofa, her misery
growing more acute by the moment. ‘I simply assumed they were at the house in Chester Street, now I’ll
never
find them this weekend.’
‘Perhaps they’ll phone you tomorrow,’ Jane said, her face brightening at this thought. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure they will.’
‘I doubt it very much. Mummy is devastated and my father’s furious with me—on her behalf.’ Christina rubbed her hand over her weary eyes and asked in a low, gloomy voice, ‘Tell me what happened this evening, I mean, when did they arrive? What did they say?’
‘They arrived at about ten fifteen. I’d gone to bed earlier, but the phone kept ringing. The calls were stupid too… first Gregory Joynson called to complain that one of my costumes for Mummy clashed with a pillow on the stage—he’s such a nit. Then she rang up, worrying about those damned Elizabethan ruffs. I’d no sooner hung up on her, when Harry Manderville phoned to invite us to some stupid arts ball next month. In sheer desperation I finally took the phone off the hook. I promptly fell fast asleep. The next thing I knew, the intercom was buzzing for all it was worth. It was your father, telling me they were downstairs. Naturally, I asked them to come up, what else
could
I do? Besides, I was half asleep, and I didn’t even think of the paintings.’
‘Oh Jane, I don’t blame
you
for anything!’ Christina exclaimed. ‘Of course you had to ask them upstairs. But did they say why they were in London? They don’t usually take it into their heads to come up to town, not just like that.’
‘Your father apparently had the brilliant idea of bringing your mother to London to see you—as a special treat. They wanted to surprise you, that’s why they didn’t let you know they were coming.’
‘If only they had… we could have taken the paintings down, stored them at the factory, and they would never have been any the wiser.’
‘Only too true,’ Jane agreed and threw Christina an apologetic look. ‘I must admit, I do feel a bit responsible. If I hadn’t had the phone off the hook they would have got through to me… you see, they had been trying earlier. When it was constantly busy they went to have supper somewhere, tried to ring us again later. They were worried, and decided to come over when the operator told them the line was out of order. Oh hell, if only I’d spoken to them I could have reassured them that everything was all right, prevented them from coming here until tomorrow, and certainly I could have done the necessary with the paintings.’
‘Oh Jane, please don’t feel responsible.
Please
. If I hadn’t taken the women out to dinner I would have been here myself. Life is always full of
if onlys
and
buts
and
maybes
. You know that as well as I do.’
‘Incidentally, where
did
you have dinner? I tried Le Matelot, wanting to alert you about your parents, but the head waiter said you weren’t there.’
‘No, I couldn’t get a table for the time I needed it, so we went to the Ox on the Roof.’ Christina’s eyes roamed around the living room, and she remarked quietly, ‘I suppose my mother spotted the paintings right away.’
‘Do you have to ask! Of course she did, you know she doesn’t miss a trick and who
could
miss these? They’re larger than life. I realized immediately what a couple of fools we’d been, and I rushed to the kitchen, put the kettle on… I felt violently sick, and the only thing I could think of doing was making them a cup of tea. It was a jolly strained hour too, being here with them, waiting for you to return.’
‘Did she ask you a lot of questions—about what I was doing?’
‘Not one, and neither did your father.’
Christina looked at her watch. ‘I keep telling myself they’ll ring, but that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I know they won’t.’
‘They will tomorrow, you’ll see.’
Christina nodded, knowing Jane was only trying to make her feel better. She also knew her friend was wrong.
***
Christina could not sleep.
She did not even try. She lay in bed thinking about her mother and waited for the morning to come.
At seven o’clock she snapped on the bedside lamp, drew her telephone book towards her and found Mike Lesley’s number. During the dawn hours it had struck her that if anyone knew where her parents were staying it would be Uncle Mike. She dialled the Leeds number quickly, now that it was a reasonable hour to telephone him.