Life Class (37 page)

Only minutes had passed since his abrupt exit, but she opened the door in rubber gloves.

‘I was rude and boorish,’ he said. ‘Please forgive me.’

‘And I was inept and tactless. I felt nervous. I couldn’t prevent myself from sounding like I was delivering a lecture. And when I said you needed to be commercial, I didn’t mean …’

He saw a slick of damp gleaming on her flushed face. She lifted an enormous, yellow, rubber hand, swiping the back across her forehead. A clump of bubbles was deposited on her hairline.

‘That I should give the public what it wants? I know. Though that wouldn’t be a bad starting point.’

‘But not by going for the lowest common denominator!’

From nowhere, he began to laugh. ‘I’m sorry. Your hands aren’t really that big, are they?’

Dory looked down with a grimace. ‘I spend too much time in tight latex gloves. I prefer a bit of room in the domestic variety!’ Now smiling at one another, his amusement faded.

‘It was unforgivable to walk out like that, without even offering to help with the dishes. I really am sorry. I’ve lived on my own for too long. My social graces are nil. I’m too stupidly pig-headed.’

‘It was probably my fault,’ she interjected. ‘You must have thought me presumptuous. Maybe I
am
too much like my sister, but …’

‘No, it was me. I’ve this bug lodged in my brain about proving my father wrong and succeeding on my own, without help.’

‘It’s not as if there’s any help I
could
give you to create art. I’m only pointing out marketing opportunities.’

‘I realised that before I’d gone too far.’ He shook his head at his own crass stupidity. ‘And I couldn’t leave it like that, you thinking the worst of me, without explaining. So? No hard feelings?’

‘No hard feelings.’

‘I am really grateful that you went to so much trouble. In the future, if you ever feel like going through any of those ideas with me again …?’

Dory stepped back. ‘It’s not late. I’ve some other suggestions if you’re interested? And there’s some chocolate cake I was going to offer earlier.’

‘Advertising,’ she said later, as they settled back in the living room with a new bottle of wine open on the coffee table and a slab of cake each. ‘Glossy mags. The living-in-posh-homes-with-big-gardens variety.’ She pulled one out from a folder and flicked to the back where there was page after page of small ads. ‘Of course, the bigger the advert, the more it costs, but …’ Re-opening the magazine at a flagged page she showed him a full-page advertisement for garden ornaments, urns, and statuary. ‘You have to speculate to accumulate. Then again, there are people who manage to promote themselves without.’ She picked up the County magazine and opened it at another flagged page; a full-page photo of a local entrepreneur. As well as pictures of ‘his lovely house and garden’, there were several pages of text about his life and business.

‘That’s free advertising, and it didn’t happen by accident,’ she said. ‘Month after month, these magazines have to fill their pages. Local magazines in particular need stories about local people. And, I’m sorry to say, because it isn’t fair, good-looking people are far more likely to be featured. They’re more promotable.’

‘That rules me out, then,’ he said, with a half laugh, licking chocolate off his lips.

‘You are joking?’ Dory stared at him, then looked away abruptly.

He was confused. The implication was unmistakeable ‘Um, well, I suppose, it’s not for me to say. It’s not something I think about.’

Dory cleared her throat and shuffled the magazines together on her lap. ‘If you sent a professionally produced press release to papers and magazines, obviously with photographs of your sculptures, but including your house and yourself, I’d be surprised if you didn’t get some interest.’

‘But the house …’

‘Is fabulous. Maybe it needs to be professionally cleaned and a lick of paint wouldn’t go amiss. Move the furniture round a bit. Make a feature of those antique cupboards and chests, which have the added benefit of making something of your Czech roots. And remember, magazines have stylists who’d do the finishing touches. Then of course, there’s the garden. We could even take some of your sculptures outside. You saw how dramatic and interesting they can look in a natural setting. It would be brilliant!’

Baffled by her enthusiasm, he said, ‘It all seems … too much.’

‘There are many different avenues you could try, even local TV and radio. But the crux of what I’m talking about is bigging yourself up, turning yourself into a local personality. So when people in the area think sculpture, they’ll think Stefan Novak.’

‘All this …?’ His head buzzed. ‘It’s what I was trying to say earlier. I can’t even begin to do any of it. I haven’t the time or the expertise. Or, at the moment, the space in my brain to even think about it. It’s so very kind of you, but …’

‘I’ll do it,’ Dory interrupted.

They stood outside her front door on the small external landing. The scented night air was still warm.

‘I don’t know what to say. You’ve worked so hard on this. Thank you doesn’t seem adequate. I’m …’ He looked up at the violet, star-pricked sky for inspiration. ‘Overwhelmed.’

‘Don’t thank me. It’s easy for me. People have different skills.’

‘But please, please don’t do anything just yet, not until …’

‘I know. Dom. He’s my first priority. I admit I don’t quite know how I’m going to convince him. I don’t know him well, and all that heavy-metal garb seems designed to keep people at arm’s length.’

‘Perhaps that’s its purpose,’ Stefan said. ‘I can see the appeal of the imagery to an adolescent boy. But I can take or leave the music. With the death metal stuff it’s always leave. But power metal can be surprisingly operatic.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Dory laughed. ‘My ignorance is total so I’ve always steered clear of his musical tastes. Too easy to fall into the trap of seeming patronising or embarrassing.’

‘Very wise.’

‘I’ve only chatted to Dom about art. He was a bit wary at first, but once he realised I wasn’t coming on to him, he relaxed.’ Dory pushed her fingers back through her hair. Stefan smiled. ‘Um … I’ll give you a call to let you know when I’m going to raise the subject with him. I’ve had an idea, but there’s something I need to sort out before I speak to him.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked at her, not sure now what to do. ‘I’ve really appreciated this evening, especially your understanding.’

‘I want to help.’

‘I’m very grateful. Thank you again for everything. And for feeding me. It was a treat, especially the cake.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s an age since I made one. I thought you might be a chocolate cake sort of guy.’

‘It’s been … it is … a lovely night.’ He leant forward to kiss her cheek, but almost immediately pulled back. He barely felt the warm downiness of her skin. Silently calling himself every name under the sun for his cowardice, his lack of social grace, his ineptitude, he ran down the steps and, turning once with a half wave, set off for the towpath.

Chapter Thirty-nine - Fran

Living with people who seemed to hate you was an uncomfortable experience. Thank goodness it was a large house and she could always escape to another room. Finding a room that didn’t look like a junkyard hit by a hurricane was less easy. She picked up the phone and keyed in her sister’s number.

‘I’m sorry, Fran. I’m busy.’

‘Oh, Dory, you’re always busy these days. Feels like I’ve been sent to Coventry by
everyone.
Did I tell you what Peter did to the PC?’

Dory listened in silence. ‘But … she eventually blurted. For a moment, Fran wondered where that ‘But’ might lead. ‘Seems a bit wasteful,’ Dory added.

‘The bottom line is that he doesn’t trust me. Nor does Mel. She looks so wounded whenever I catch her eye. They’re punishing me, Dory! ‘

‘Are they wrong to blame you?’

This wasn’t what she wanted from her sister.

‘You’re just going to have to grit your teeth and put up with it for a while,’ Dory continued. ‘It won’t last forever. They’ll come around, I can’t imagine Peter bearing a grudge for too long. And in one way, this whole debacle may be a necessary wake-up call for Melanie. She’s at an age where she must realise she’s got to start taking responsibility for her own actions. She can’t expect Mum and Dad to appear over the hill like the cavalry riding to her rescue every time she gets herself into trouble.’

‘I just wish it hadn’t happened. I must have been mad.’

‘I think you were, just a little. But it’s the kind of temporary delusion that could probably afflict anyone. Peter will realise that.’

‘I’d really love to see you. Do you fancy going to Bath tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow’s Friday. Life class.’

‘You could miss it.’

‘So you’re planning to skip another class? How many is that now?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve not been keeping count.’

‘It’s already the middle of June. You don’t want to miss the last few lessons of the year, do you? Surely you’re not still embarrassed? Everyone’s forgotten about the Dermot thing.’

There was no answer that didn’t sound idiotic and wimpy. Instead, Fran asked, ‘Well, how about next week? How about Monday?’

‘What about Monday?’

‘It’s your day off. We could do something together? Go to lunch?’

‘Sorry. I’m probably going up to London.’

‘Oh, Dory, can I come with you? I’d love to do some shopping!’

‘I’m not going shopping.’

‘What are you doing, then?’ Fran heard her sister sigh.

‘If you must know, I’m hoping to stop over at Malcolm’s.’

‘You’re planning to stay the night with the tosser?’

‘I’m not sharing his bed!’

‘Not so long ago you said you never wanted to lay eyes on the man again!’

‘Look, it’s complicated. I’ve business to do in London. If they’re willing to have me. I’m not about to cut off my nose to spite my face. I tried to arrange it for this week, but it wasn’t convenient for Gabriella. So I’m hoping to schedule for next Monday. It’s still not certain, but if … it may take twenty-four hours.’

‘This is all infuriatingly mysterious, Dory. You have business in London? It may take twenty-four hours? It’s so important you’re willing to let bygones be bygones?’

‘It’s none of your …’ Another sigh. ‘Look, if you’re so keen to see me there’s an easy answer. Come to life class. Otherwise we’ll get together soon. Promise.’

The call was cut off, the dialling tone interrupted by Fran’s name being shouted from upstairs. She replaced the phone in its cradle and walked to the bottom of the staircase. ‘What do you want?’ she called to her husband.

‘Come up here,’ he shouted. No
please
or
would you mind, darling
, she reflected as she ran up the stairs to find him. He was in the spare bedroom and had pulled everything out from under the bed. It was years of her life drawings – piles and piles of them – all over the floor.

‘What do you want done with these?’ he asked brusquely. ‘It’s getting ridiculous, we can’t hang on to everything. Can you go through them?’

‘And then what?’

‘Decide what you really want to keep and what can be thrown out.’

What I
really want to keep?
Fran looked at the piles of paper. He’d said it as if wanting to hang on to any of it would be unreasonable. But this was her life, this was all she’d done with her life, all she had to show for it. The clear implication was that he would be happy throwing the lot out was the ultimate rejection. How on earth could she make a choice about throwing bits of her life away? Tightening bands clamped around her chest. Her throat thickened, her eyes pricked.

Chapter Forty - Dominic

They’d not had this model before. She was gross. There was nothing about her that Dom could appreciate. There were rolls of fat on her fat, and dangly breasts that reached to the place her waist would have been if she’d had one. Impossible to imagine there was a skeleton or muscles in there. She might just as well have been wearing a huge, pink, droopy, tracksuit, or something. You couldn’t even see her bush – that’s if you’d wanted to. He couldn’t imagine anyone would. It was hidden by a pelmet of flesh.

The barn had the biggest area of open floor at the house, and the evening before the class, he and Stefan had laid an old bed sheet flat out on the floor. Then they’d crawled over it with rulers and black felt pens, marking out a grid as best they could on the yellowed cotton. They’d brought it with them this morning, and before the lesson started, he’d helped Stefan fix it to the classroom wall. Until the coffee break, the model, whose name was Fay, had been posing against this grid-patterned sheet. It was there to provide reference points, Stefan explained to the class, to help them measure out the figure. He’d also pulled up some bits of furniture, donkeys, tables, and chairs, in a random arrangement around the model.

‘
Everything
here is to provide context for the model. I don’t want to see the figure floating in a void. Think Giacometti …’ He grabbed one of the art books from the side and held it open towards the class. ‘As you can see here, the model is only a part of the whole. He is set within the space. I want to see that space. Nothing in life exists without context.’

In the second session of the morning, Stefan had asked Fay to lie on her side on the mattress, which he’d raised on a kind of platform of wooden blocks. She was still positioned with her back to the grid. The flesh, which hung in a curtain over the tops of her thighs when she was standing, was now slurped to one side. Dom saw, with disgust, that previously hidden part of her. Bush was the wrong word. She was virtually bald in that area, with just a few pubes straggled across it. Dom felt faintly sick.

Today, a stranger sat at the back of the classroom. He was a little bloke in an old man’s jacket, wearing heavy-rimmed glasses that were too big and made him look like a weird insect. This was the assessor, who’d come in to evaluate Stefan’s teaching. Every now and then he made notes on the clipboard on his lap. Dominic felt affronted on Stefan’s behalf that he should have to put up with being judged by this weasely little man. But Stefan seemed cool about it.