Picture Perfect (3 page)

‘
No, no,’ Mrs Black said. ‘You were dressed very simply, but you had obviously been well fed and cared for.’

So she’d been fat! Annabel was very glad Henry had not been included in this conversation and even more glad that she hadn’t mentioned the diamond pin.

‘
Your mother was visiting Coram’s Foundling Hospital,’ Colonel Black continued. ‘They take naval orphans and the fellow who’d found you washed up in the Thames had taken you there, but of course they couldn’t keep you.’

‘
So I said at once that I would take you,’ Mrs Black said, then she turned to her husband. ‘My dear, I never consulted you, I hope you are not vexed?’

Colonel Black seemed to have something in his eye. ‘Best decision you ever made,’ he said indistinctly, turning away to remove the offending mote.

‘
But how old am I really? And my birthday,’ Annabel was struck by a new thought. ‘How did you know when that was?’

‘
We didn’t,’ Mrs Black smiled softly. ‘But as you were about two and you were found on a Tuesday, I chose a date which had fallen on a Tuesday two years earlier.
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
, it is a beautiful day to be born on.’

Annabel stared at her mother. Mrs Black was never whimsical, but here she was, almost cooing over the infant Annabel had once been, like a dewy-eyed new mother. For a moment Annabel found herself wanting to laugh and then suddenly she was deeply touched.

‘
I’m so glad no one came forward from the newspaper,’ she said impulsively and leaned forward to hug and kiss both her parents.

‘
Do wear your blue gloves. They are much the warmest you have and if it is draughty in the Dulwich Picture Gallery keep them on. There is no sense in risking a chill at this time, and Thomas, do not keep her out too late. I do not want her tired out, remember the Lockton ball is the day after tomorrow. Now have a lovely evening.’

‘We will, mother,’ Annabel kissed her mother on the cheek, glad that her instructions, although very well intended, were now complete.

‘Sometimes I think it a blessing that your mother doesn’t care for art,’ her father said as he handed her into the carriage. He shut the door with a decisive click and they were off, Annabel peered out of the window at the passing buildings, the dark shadows which lay between the pools of lamplight and the stately trees which adorned the little squares. She loved London at night, with the chinks of light peeping between the curtains, the clop of hooves and the sound of turning wheels,

augmented by other carriages, ebbing and flowing as they passed each other, and the dancing lights in the distance, a telltale sign of other carriages in the night.

Then they crossed the new Waterloo Bridge, all lit up with the Thames below gleaming in the moonlight and some little while later the carriage drew up outside the Dulwich Picture Gallery. Colonel Black helped Annabel out of their carriage and escorted her to the lighted doorway where they were ushered in by a frock-coated footman and relieved of their evening coats. ‘Look,’ her father said enthusiastically, ‘my friend Drake is here with his wife, and they are chatting with Dermot Leahey. He’s the fellow whose paintings are featured tonight, come and be introduced.’ Although Mr Leahey was rather short and dumpy and did not look particularly exciting, Annabel was happy to make his acquaintance. Then as her father, who had obviously met Mr Leahey before, started quizzing him about his paintings, she let her attention wander. The guest list tonight was a small one but looking around with interest at the people, Annabel was pleased to see several not a great deal older than herself. She was particularly struck by one dark-haired man who was impeccably dressed in evening black. Something about his relaxed stance almost looked familiar and she was about to ask her father if they were acquainted when their host, Lord Seaforth, curator of the Dulwich Picture Gallery, called for their attention.

‘Welcome to the Gallery. I am delighted that you are able to be here this evening,’ Lord Seaforth boomed over the sound of the chatter. The dark-haired man turned towards him and Annabel was able to see his face clearly. He had pleasingly even features and a strong chin which she was glad to see was clean-shaven, but his eyes were what drew her most. They were dark, although she was too far away to see whether they were brown or blue, well-framed with lashes, and they curved up at the corners as if he were constantly on the brink of smiling as he listened attentively to their host. ‘We have some delightful new paintings by a talented young artist, whom I have the honour of introducing to you this evening, Mr Dermot Leahey.’

A moment after the assembled group had begun to clap for Mr Leahey, Annabel realised she had been staring and she raised her blue gloved hands and clapped mutely, but it was too late, the dark-haired man had noticed her looking at him and raised one eyebrow as if he knew her. Even as she turned sharply away, Annabel’s heart skipped a beat. She almost doubted his expression had been intended for her, but everyone else around her was paying attention to Lord Seaforth and his protégé and furthermore she was standing with a very sedate group consisting as it did of her father and the elderly Mr and Mrs Drake. ‘…and now, if you would like to follow me, we shall proceed to the first room to view Mr Leahey’s paintings.’

‘Come, my dear,’ Colonel Black took his daughter’s arm and Annabel found she was quite glad to be steered in the wake of the other guests - the gentleman’s glance had been rather disquietening. Then a thought struck her and she pushed forward a little to better see if the dark-haired gentleman was escorting anyone himself, but he appeared to be alone.

‘It is encouraging to see a young person so enthusiastic about art, Miss Black.’ Mrs Drake’s voice at her elbow made her jump.

‘Oh, yes, Mrs Drake, I love paintings, I suppose I get it from Father…’ Annabel suddenly found her babbling tailing off and she glanced quickly at Colonel Black, but he seemed to have noticed nothing untoward in what she had said.

‘It must be a great comfort to him, to have someone share his love of art since it sadly does not appeal to your mother,’ Mrs Drake continued.

‘Yes, yes,’ Colonel Black said absently, ‘ah, here we are.’

‘Mr Leahey’s first painting is entitled
Cornucopia
,’ Lord Seaforth announced, while Mr Leahey himself bobbed modestly beside it. The painting, to Annabel, seemed to be a rather untidy mix of buildings and trees and not quite to her taste, but she gazed at it politely and let go of her father’s arm as he got out his monocle and moved in for a closer look. She could tell, by the way he had fixed the monocle so firmly in his eye that he intended to spend some time with the first painting and so she left him behind and moved on with the Drakes when Lord Seaforth led the party to view Mr Leahey’s second effort.

Lord Seaforth introduced them to each painting in turn, extolling from time to time on the merits of the subject (‘one can see how the houses in the crescent in Bath simply invite the artist to immortalise them’) and praising the quality of the painting. Then he suggested that they each return to peruse personal favourites at leisure. Glancing covertly round, Annabel saw that the dark-haired man who had caught her attention earlier was standing before a moderately pretty picture of climbing sweet peas, called
Ascension
, so she casually strolled over to look at
Pragmatism
, which stood next to it, but as she reached it, Mr Leahey himself summoned the gentleman away, and inwardly sighing, Annabel decided not to bother with
Pragmatism
, but to try and see what had drawn her fellow guest to
Ascension
.

The colours were quite pretty, she thought. The mauve and the blue could be woven in stripes, perhaps with white in between, to make quite a becoming sash, but as a painting itself, it did not interest her. She moved back to see whether it would look better viewed from several feet away, or perhaps from further still.

‘You’ll find that the paintings have more impact if looked at with the eyes, rather than the back of the head,’ a soft voice, with the slightest suggestion of a chuckle, said almost in her ear and Annabel jumped. Swivelling around abruptly she found she was almost touching
Cornucopia
and that the dark-haired gentleman was standing right by her. His eyes were blue. ‘Or perhaps you were intending a tactile appreciation of the work?’ he continued.

‘No, no,’ Annabel shook her head vehemently. ‘I was merely considering how the colours of those flowers blend into each other. It would make a very nice taffeta weave, the blue and the violet,’ and then she blushed to think how frivolous that made her sound.

‘
What an original thought!’ she wasn’t sure if he were laughing at her, with those turned up eyes, but she suspected he was.

‘Do you have a favourite painting, Mr-’

‘Ah, Denham,’ Mr Leahey, who had been standing nearby, turned back to them, smiling, rather nervously, Annabel thought, but she was glad to learn her companion’s name. He appeared to be just a few years older than her brother and she could ask Henry if he knew him. ‘I see
Cornucopia
has caught your eye. I’m often asked about my inspiration for painting it, but as I always say, one does for the subject what it asks of one.’

Privately Annabel wondered how anyone, except perhaps for the artist’s mother, could have previously asked Mr Leahey anything about these paintings if this was their first public showing, but she confined herself to saying ‘My father paid great attention to
Cornucopia
,’ and it was quite true. Colonel Black was presently closely engaged with a painting at the far end of the room and seemed rather taken with all of Mr Leahey’s work.

‘Is your father here?’ Mr Denham said in surprise. ‘I didn’t see him, perhaps…’ and then he stopped as Annabel looked at him in confusion. It seemed unlikely he was Henry’s friend after all if he hadn’t identified Colonel Black among the party, and she had been treating him as if they were acquainted. What had she said? Very little, she thought, but she suddenly realised she was standing far too close to him and stepped hastily back. At once she was aware of the loss of the warmth radiating from him but, she couldn’t, in all propriety, remain standing that close to him a moment longer.

Mr Leahey, however, seemed to be well acquainted with Colonel Black. ‘Yes,’ he said eagerly. ‘I saw him pay particular attention to
Utopia
, perhaps my most outré piece in this exhibition. Was it also a favourite of yours, Miss Black?’

‘Miss
Black
?’ Mr Denham echoed sharply, and although rather surprised at the vehemence of his response, Annabel was pleased to see him suddenly look as disconcerted as she felt herself.

She ignored him and smiled sweetly at Mr Leahey. ‘All your work is of great impact, but my particular favourite is
Ascension
. I like the colours.’

‘Then you must have it,’ he declared expansively and Annabel reeled back in shock.

‘But, Mr Leahey…’ she gasped and searched around for the words to convey the complete inappropriateness of such a gift from someone to whom she had only that evening been introduced. ‘I couldn’t possibly accept it, I… please excuse me,’ she hurriedly cast around the room and then waved to Mrs Drake who mercifully was standing not far off. ‘My friends are beckoning me, I must go.’ With what she hoped was an apologetic smile she turned on her heel and set off in pursuit of the Drakes who were engaged in conversation with Lord Seaforth.

‘Good evening, Miss Black,’ Lord Seaforth said as she joined them. ‘I saw you were conversing with Mr Leahey. He is one of my most recent finds, quite an up-and-coming young artist, if I may say so.’

‘He seems charming,’ Mrs Drake said, ‘and his watercolours are delightful.’

‘Yes, quite,’ Annabel said, which was all she thought she could manage at that moment, still feeling quite shocked by Mr Leahey’s bold offer.

‘Ah,’ Lord Seaforth said, suddenly, and following his gaze across the room, Annabel saw that a liveried footman had just come in. ‘Refreshments are served. Won’t you please accompany me?’ He held out his arm and Annabel felt herself obliged to take it, hoping he wouldn’t continue in his praise of Mr Leahey as they walked. Fortunately he didn’t, but told her instead about the sculptures they would be viewing after their light supper.

The sculptors had obviously been inspired by the Elgin marbles. All the work was in stone and the subject matter classical, but Annabel found her attention was repeatedly drawn away from the work to the guest themselves, or rather two guests in particular. Mr Denham seemed to share her taste in art and whenever Annabel walked over to inspect a piece of work she found he was there, two steps ahead of her, almost as if he were waiting for her to join him, but she had no wish to embarrass herself by pursuing an acquaintance with a man to whom she had not been introduced and she hung back. She had plenty of opportunity to observe him however, and she found her eyes were repeatedly drawn to him. There was something in his debonair appearance and composed manner which made her want to look and look at him, as if she were drinking him with her eyes. The other person who distracted her was Mr Leahey. He hovered nearby and whenever Annabel lingered in one place for more than a few seconds he made a move as if to join her, but his grand offer to give her a painting had made her quite uncomfortable and she took care to keep herself a step out of reach at all times.