Diary of a Painted Lady (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Gina should be relieved that Blair had rejected her. But her heart ached and she felt dreadfully lonely. She’d come at a desperately low point in her life, abandoning her principles for him. If he’d taken her as his mistress, she would have been forever changed, and she doubted she’d be happy with that. She had to make a decision. It wasn’t right to stay here with him gone. The maid and butler danced attendance on her, but she knew they considered her to be on a lower rung of the social ladder. They probably sniggered behind her back. And the staff were so efficient, there was nothing left for her to do. She’d never lived the life of a lady, she liked to be busy and when Mary asked her for the umpteenth time if there was anything she required, Gina wanted to scream. She bit her tongue, and made up her mind. She had no intention of becoming a burden for Blair to have to deal with on his return.

The next morning, she rose early and dressed in her old apple-green gown, placing a tam-o-shanter over her hair. She swathed a plain brown shawl around her shoulders. The poorer and more insignificant she looked, the better.

Gina slipped out of the apartment. She was more conspicuous walking alone in this wealthy part of town than the crowded streets of Shoreditch. As she crossed the square, grey morning light filtered down through the tall buildings, leaching the street of color. The bare trees looked skeletal, and a chill wind rustled the dead leaves along the path. She shivered and pulled the shawl tighter, regretting her decision not to wear the blue-velvet coat with the Russian sable collar. Somehow it hadn’t seemed right to wear those clothes.

The noise deafening, the roads a tedious crawl of carriages, cabs and omnibuses. Gentlemen on business ogled and winked as she passed. Ladies dressed in their finery walked in pairs accompanied by their maids, hawkers yelled and merchants pushed their wheel-barrows piled with fruit and vegetables.

Keeping an eye out for Ogilvie’s cruel face in the crowd, Gina walked along Oxford Street to Great Russell Street, and entered the gallery displaying two of Milo’s paintings.

The man with the handlebar moustache greeted her more warmly this time. “I’ve had great success with your father’s work,” he said, offering her a chair. “They have both been sold for a very decent amount.”

Gina sank into the chair as the lassitude of exhaustion swept over her. She realized how worried she’d been. “How much?”

“One hundred pounds.”

She frowned. “For each?”

The man gave his mustache a twist. “For both. I was surprised to find buyers, but Mr. Russo’s work has a certain charm. Regrettably, they have already become old-fashioned. Art is making great strides toward the new Century.”

“Bah!” Gina scowled at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Milo was a genius!” Gina was more incensed that he was denigrating Milo’s work than cheating her. “His work will still be great at the end of the next Century.”

The man laughed hollowly. “You are his daughter, of course you would think that.”

“It is the opinion of men far more expert than you!”

He opened a drawer and withdrew some banknotes. “If you wish me to sell any more of Russo’s paintings,” he said, avoiding her glare as he handed her the money, “I might do you a favor and consider them.”

Gina carefully counted the notes. “A painting of Milo’s brought four hundred pounds at auction. As you well know.”

The man shrugged. “That’s as may be. Markets fluctuate. And as I said before, your father’s paintings are less popular now that he’s dead.”

She tucked the money into her purse. “It will be a pleasure to know you have missed out when the rest of Milo’s paintings fetch high prices.”

She stood in the street, unsure what to do next. Three of Milo’s paintings were stored with his friend, Arthur Cowper in Holland Park. She would have to go there. Arthur would advise her. She clutched her purse. At least she now had money and, although far less than she’d expected, it bought her more time.

Gina entered the gate of Arthur Cowper’s newly built home, where a gardener planted shrubs.

“Gina!” It’s good to see you! Come inside and meet my wife, Lilly.”

Lilly was a pale young woman with curly brown hair. Swags of crimson velvet at the windows and lace antimacassars decorated the parlor. Amateurish tapestries hung on the walls and china figurines marched along the mantle. Lilly accepted Gina’s praise for her new home with a dreamy smile, then turned her attention to baby Arthur sleeping at her breast.

The proud father led Gina through to his studio. The smell of oil paint greeted her at the door, thrusting painful, nostalgic memories back into her consciousness. As Arthur pulled out Milo’s paintings, she searched in her purse for her hanky.

“That blighter cheated you,” Arthur said bitterly. “He knows full well that the work of an artist of Milo’s caliber becomes more valuable after his death.” He brought out a painting of Milo’s and placed it on the easel. A girl sat at a loom, her image reflected in a mirror. Behind her was a glimpse of a river through a window. “Tennyson’s poem,
Lady of Shalott
. One of his best, I think.”

“Tennyson’s best?” Gina dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. The painted red apple on the table tugged at her heart. How excited she and Milo had been about the future when she sat for that painting.

“Milo’s best, of course.” Arthur looked concerned as she blew her nose. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Yes, for a few days.”

He stroked his orange beard. “You can stay here. You’re more than welcome to the attic room.”

She smiled. “You are kind, but I couldn’t impose.”

“Nonsense. Milo would want me to help you.” His gaze returned to the paintings again. “I’ll send these to my patron–see what he thinks, if you wish.”

“I’d be very grateful, Arthur. I must find work. Perhaps you need a model?”

Arthur grimaced. “Lilly’s a bit difficult about that right now. Since Arthur was born. She used to model for me, see.”

“You’re a good friend, thank you for offering to help,” Gina said, glad that she didn’t accept his offer of the attic. “I’ll come back for the paintings when I’m settled.”

Arthur walked with her to the door. “Can you return in a week? I hope to have good news by then.”

As Gina walked down the path, Arthur called after her. “You might ask Lord Leighton over at Leighton House about work. He’s at number twelve Holland Park Road. He might be looking for a model. He’s just lost his favorite. And he’s the kind of chap that will help if he can.”

“Thank you and God bless you, Arthur.” Gina blew him a kiss.

She needed somewhere to live. She would not stay more than a day or two at the apartment.

Crossing Hanover Square, she was tempted to enter St Georges Church to pray, but she walked passed, sure that her recent behavior had removed her from God’s favor.

Mary hurried over to her when Gina entered the apartment. She sniffed and looked down her nose at Gina’s gown. “You might have asked me to help you dress this morning, Madam.”

“It’s safer to negotiate the London streets dressed like this,” Gina said, suddenly feeling very tired.

“You could have taken a carriage, Madam. Mr. Dunleavy left word for a hansom to be at your disposal,” Mary said as she followed Gina up the stairs.

Gina entered her bedroom. She might make use of the carriage when she left. But after that she refused to be beholden to Blair Dunleavy.

“Would you like me to take down your hair and brush it, Madam?”

“No thank you. I’d like to be alone, Mary.”

“As you wish, Madam.”

With a frustrated rustle of starched petticoats, Mary returned below stairs. Gina pulled off her boots. She rubbed her feet, sore from walking miles as tears escaped to run down her cheeks. She scolded herself for giving in to self-pity. But it didn’t help. Lying down, she buried her head in the pillow. She wept bitterly for Milo and the sad state she found herself in. She whispered Blair’s name. She would be gone before he returned.

***

Gina reached Leighton House by mid-morning the next day. She paused in front of the elegant, red-brick establishment, straightening her hat before knocking. A maid in a black dress, frilly white apron and cap, opened the door. She shook her head. “The master don’t like to be disturbed when he’s working.”

“I only need a minute of his time.”

“I have my orders.” The maid began to shut the door.

“It’s important to him. It’s concerning his art.” Gina held her purse against a small stain on her skirt, aware her appearance didn’t encourage confidence. She refused to wear the clothes that Blair had bought her.

As the maid hesitated, a man’s voice came from within. “Who is it, Alice?”

“There’s a young lady here to see you, Lord Leighton.”

“Oh? Show her up to my studio.”

Gina stepped onto the glazed tiles in the hall. It was like entering another world. She took in the sunken fountain and raised her eyes to view the silvery cupola overhead. Paintings covered the walls and oriental screens and classical sculptures decorated every corner.

The maid led Gina upstairs past treasures from every part of the globe.

Gina caught her breath. The studio was an enormous light-filled space crammed with more art treasures. Tables were covered with drawings and sketches. A tall, rather handsome man with a full, graying beard stood at an easel. He turned to wipe his hands on a cloth and frowned. A nervous tic formed in his cheek.

“How do you like my Arab hall?”

“It’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything to equal it.”

“Nor likely to, I shouldn’t imagine.” He twirled the paint brush in his long fingers. “Alice is quite correct, young lady. I do not like to be interrupted in my work.”

“Milo didn’t either,” Gina said.

He raised grey shaggy eyebrows. “Who?”

“My step-father, Milo Russo.”

“Russo. Yes. I heard about his death. I’m very sorry for you, lass. He had a distinctive style. The art world will miss him.”

“Milo’s friend, Arthur Cowper told me that you were in need of a model.”

“I am as it happens. My model just got married.” His alert, brown eyes studied her.

She saw no sign of admiration or lasciviousness in his measured gaze. “You’re not English.”

Gina met his gaze unflinchingly. “I was born in Tuscany.”

He dropped the brush and came to place a finger beneath her chin. “I like that angle. Those almond-shaped eyes of yours are most unusual. I lived in Florence for a time.
Hai parenti in Italia
?”

Gina shook her head. “
nessuno
.”

An orphan, now eh? Then I’m doubly sorry for your loss.” He continued to study her. “You have the right appearance for my work.”

He returned to his painting. Beside him, a table held brushes and paints, canvasses, an unfinished sculpture and a multitude of books. The floor to ceiling windows opened onto perfectly manicured gardens. In a corner, a small black and white terrier lay in his basket. His tail thumped.

“Meet my lazy friend, Raphael.”

Gina bent to pat the dog and he licked her hand. She rose and went to examine the painting on the easel, studying the composition with an expert eye developed over years of living with a painter.

“Persephone returning from the underworld,” Gina said softly, caught by the pearly, golden light. It was a powerful work. “Milo would say the brushwork is
eccezionale
!”

Looking pleased, the tic on his cheek disappeared. “When can you start?”

Grateful, Gina smiled. “I must find a place to live first.”

“That’s right.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You are now homeless. Come and live here.”

“Oh. I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. See how comfortable it is.”

“You are very kind.” It seemed a peaceful home, and she’d be safe here while she decided what next to do. The house was like a painting itself, from the marble gazebo and cast-iron furniture in the garden, to the statues and potted orchids in bronze urns around the marble-tiled floor. Through the window, the sky looked bluer than she remembered. It seemed like a different sky to the one that hovered over Shoreditch.

“No trouble at all. Although I might be tempted to have you sit far too long.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Tomorrow?”

Gina smiled back and shook his big hand. “Tomorrow then.”

The next day, Gina gave Mary the sea-green gown that Blair had bought her. She left the rest where they hung in their splendor in the armoire, and took only what she’d brought with her. She couldn’t resist the lavender parasol trimmed with point-lace, however.

She availed herself of the hansom, traveling to Leighton House in style. It was just payment for the damage Blair had done to her heart.

Chapter Seventeen

Ireland

Blair entered the cocktail party with Maeve on his arm. Jubilant to have him home, she vivaciously drew him with her as they greeted friends. She guided him to a young woman sitting with another lady.

“Blair, this is Lady Isabel, and her niece, Miss Davinna McGuiness. I’d like to introduce my son, Blair Dunleavy.”

Davinna smiled up at him, dimples peeping from porcelain cheeks. White-blonde ringlets framed her face, her wide blue eyes shyly smiling.

“Shall we leave you two young people together?” Maeve asked. She took the aunt’s arm. “Isabel and I have much to catch up on.”

Aware that he’d been manipulated, Blair smiled and sat down. Davinna listened intently him, laughed at his playfulness and called him droll. But when he came away, he realized he hadn’t learned anything about her. She was like a mirror reflecting him back on himself. She’d been brought up to please a man, as many of her class were. He found he didn’t want to be pleased, he wanted to be challenged. And above all, he wanted unfeigned honesty.

He took his leave of her, and restlessly prowled the room, hoping his mother would soon want to leave. He was anxious to be gone from here and from Ireland.

The night had turned cold as they entered the carriage. Driving home, heavy rain on the roof almost drowned out their words.

“Damned infernal climate,” Blair muttered, although he usually liked Irish weather.

“Did you enjoy the evening, Blair?” Maeve asked.

“A little dull I thought.”

“But Miss McGuiness is very charming, is she not?”

“Very. Mother, I’m returning to London.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

She pulled at her gloves, obviously annoyed with him. “You’ve been here little more than a week. And like a bear with a sore head the entire time.”

“I’ve been bad company. I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you next time.”

“Well I suppose you’ll tell me what this is all about in your own good time,” Maeve said. She shivered and pulled the collar of her velvet evening cloak up around her neck.

“You’ve been doing too much, Mother. You shouldn’t even be out in weather like this.”

The next morning, Blair sent a note to his staff at Dunleavy House, before departing for London. He wanted the house to look especially fine on his return. He instructed the maids to fill the rooms with yellow roses. As he made his way to his mother’s bedroom to say his farewells, Maeve’s maid intercepted him. “Your mother has been taken ill again, Mr. Dunleavy. The doctor’s been called.”

* * *

For three weeks Maeve hovered on the brink of death. Her fighting spirit won through again, and when the doctor told Blair the danger had passed, he installed her in the country house before departing for London, assured by her doctor that it was safe to leave her.

When Blair arrived at Hanover Square, he found the butler and the maids eating luncheon below stairs, along with the kitchen hand, while the cook carved a large joint of beef. After they’d been called into his study and closely questioned, he learned that Gina had left some time ago, a matter of which they’d failed to advise him.

Mary, Gina’s maid, appeared to be dressed in one of Gina’s new gowns. Blood pounded through his temples. “Downstairs, all of you!” He bellowed. They scurried back to the servant’s quarters.

Blair strode into the bedchamber and pulled open cupboard doors and drawers. Gina had taken none of pretty things he’d given her. The money he left for her expenses remained in the drawer. He strode around the room feeling as if the top of his head might blow off, then he spied a dainty, pink satin slipper and picked it up. He rubbed the soft feathers against his cheek. Anger drained away, leaving his restless heart pounding, as questions crowded his mind. She’d left only days after him. How had she managed without the money?

He knew she had very little. The thought that she was at the mercy of wicked old London made him gasp. Was she safe? He had to find her.

Angrier with himself than anyone else, he stormed downstairs to find the staff huddled, whispering in the kitchen. “You will find yourselves out in the street without a recommendation, if you don’t tell me where Miss Russo has gone.”

They all talked at once. Blair held his hand up. “One at a time please.”

“Madam didn’t say where she was going,” the maid said. “She took a hansom and hasn’t been back, sir.”

That might help him find her. “Why are you wearing her dress, Mary?”

Mary flushed. “Miss Russo gave it me, sir.” She turned to the others for moral support. “Didn’t she?”

“She did sir. I heard her,” one of the maids said.

Whether they lied or told the truth didn’t matter a damn. He just wanted to find Gina. “I want order restored to the apartment by the time I return. I shall dine here tonight. You can finish the cold beef, but if you indulge yourselves at my expense again you’ll be sorry.”

The chef stepped forward straightening his apron. “A turkey poult or green goose, sir? And perhaps a nice red mullet, with a Cardinal sauce?”

“Either will be fine. Mary, pack Miss Russo’s belongings please.”

Blair put on his hat and coat and left the building. Enquiring at the hansom cab company, he learned that the driver no longer worked there.

He returned to the apartment, feeling lower than he had in his life. The cook had outdone himself but Blair couldn’t do the meal justice. He should write references and let them all go, but in his heart he still hoped Gina might come back.

The next day he began to search the length and breadth of London for the driver.

A week later, he found the cabbie working for another company. He remembered Gina. “Not a lady you forget in a hurry, sir,” he’d said with a grin.

“Take me to Holland Park.”

Half an hour later, Blair knocked on Lord Leighton’s door.

“Miss Russo don’t live here now,” the maid told him. “But she poses for Lord Leighton, on Monday and Thursday afternoons.”

Blair’s hopes of finding Gina soared. “Do you know where she lives?”

“No sir.”

The artist appeared at the door. “You’d better come in, Mr. Dunleavy.”

Lord Leighton listened to Blair’s explanation for wanting to find Gina.

He raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Gina has come into some money,” he said, leaving Blair to wonder how. “She has new lodgings.” He glared at Blair. “And she may not want you to find her.”

Blair tightened his jaw in frustration. “Gina believes ill of me, but I want to make amends. My mother has been ill. It delayed my return to England.”

“I’m not Gina’s father, Mr. Dunleavy, but I’ve become very fond of her. I’ll inform her that you seek her. Does she know how to find you?”

Blair raked his fingers through his hair. “Unless I’m able to explain, I don’t think she’ll seek me out, milord.”

The artist scowled. “It appears you’ve been behaving like a rake, Mr. Dunleavy. I’m familiar with your sort.”

“Dammit, Lord Leighton. I want to marry her!” Blair shouted. There was nothing on this earth he wanted more. From the first moment he saw her. He’d been too slow to realize what she meant to him. Now, every day that passed without her was torture.

A smile hovered around Lord Leighton’s mouth. “So I see, Mr. Dunleavy. So I see. But Gina may not want to marry you. That I’ll leave to her. Alice will show you out.”

Blair found himself out on the street none the wiser. He gritted his teeth as he climbed into the carriage and sat with his head in his hands.

Where to guv? the jarvie asked.

“Hanover Square.” He could do nothing but close the apartment. There would be no need for it now. Contrary to what he’d threatened, he would ensure the staff found suitable employment. Tonight, he might join Horace at the theatre, meet a pretty woman and try to find some distraction. He shook his head, he no longer had a taste for it. There wasn’t a woman in London who could erase Gina from his mind and his heart.

It was Friday. He would be back in St. John’s Wood on Monday and would wait outside Lord Leighton’s house until Gina came.