Priceless (4 page)

“She makes me feel so unkempt!” Serena had said after one particularly torturous dinner party. “You must be so ashamed of me.”

“Nonsense,” Tom had said that night. “You are a thousand times sexier than she will ever be. I bet she’s the kind of woman who takes a shower before and after she shags.”

Well, now he would know for sure, thought Serena bitterly.

Naturally, Tom’s boss hadn’t taken the news all that well either. Though technically he couldn’t sack Tom for
shagging his wife, he’d made it practically impossible for Tom to stay at the bank. Tom had leaped at the chance to be laid off. But there had been no fabulous severance package. Tom’s boss had moved back to New York as soon as he could, leaving Donna in the house in South Kensington. Tom had moved in.

“We can’t afford to keep the house in Fulham, Serena. I’m sorry. I’ve got no money coming in. We’ve got to put it on the market. Start looking for something else for you and Katie. You should be able to get two bedrooms in Stockwell.”

Serena had quailed at the thought of such a rough neighborhood. “You want me to live in
Stockwell
while you’re living it up in your love pad in South Ken? For fuck’s sake, Tom, ask
her
for the mortgage money.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. It could prejudice her settlement. I’m doing my best.”

“Well, if this is your best … I hope you can hold your head up when you explain to your daughter that she had to move into some flea-infested pit because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

There was no way that Serena was going to move into some two-bedroom flat on an estate she was afraid to walk through in the daylight, but she couldn’t afford anything big enough somewhere nice. After viewing a couple of shoe boxes in SW6, Serena bowed to the inevitable. The only option was to move out of London altogether. She started looking around Guildford, thinking she should try to stay within an hour’s distance of Tom so that he could see Katie whenever he wanted. But the sad truth was that, even though he lived just a couple of tube stops away and, in theory, had nothing to do all day in his state of unemployment, Tom wasn’t making much effort to see Katie at all.

The final straw came when Serena needed Tom to look after Katie one Wednesday evening while she attended a meeting at the local college where she was hoping to teach a figure drawing course to help cover the rising cost of groceries.

“I can’t babysit,” he said. “Donna’s giving a dinner.”

“I’m not asking you to
babysit
, Tom. I’m asking you to look after your own daughter. To be a dad, for once.”

“I’m sorry,” he said hopelessly. “She’s invited someone who might be a good contact for me. I can’t take Katie. It’s just not going to work.”

“Too right,” said Serena. This arrangement wasn’t working out at all. There and then Serena decided she would no longer run her life for Tom’s convenience. The following day she started browsing the Internet for property in Cornwall.

And then—finally—she had a stroke of luck. Her brother Joe called. His high-flying wife Helena’s company was sending her to Hong Kong for a couple of years, and he was going too, meaning they would have no use for their house in the country.

“It’s all yours, Sis,” he said.

Serena and Katie moved to Cornwall just before Christmas. Sure, Tom protested that his daughter would be so far away, but he didn’t come up with an alternative. And when the day came for Serena and Katie to hand over the Fulham house to the nice young couple who had bought it, Tom was nowhere to be seen. Donna’s concierge service arranged for a removal van to pick up what remained of Tom’s chattels and take them to her sterile mansion, where even the books on the shelves had been chosen by an interior designer for their covers rather than their content. Tom had told Serena she could keep all the furniture. He even left behind his favorite leather chair, the
one he’d bought with his first pay packet. She knew it had nothing to do with being fair, however. As she thanked him, Serena could hear Donna’s voice in her head.

“You think I’m going to have that filthy chair in my salon?”

That Christmas was not the usual festive occasion. Serena forced herself to go out and buy a tree for Katie’s sake. She bought a little chicken rather than a turkey for lunch. She had worried that Katie would be miserable spending Christmas day without her father, but the ridiculously extravagant gifts he sent seemed to make up for his absence. Then Katie spent New Year’s in London with Tom and Donna. Absolutely alone, Serena toasted herself with a cup of tea as the old year turned into the new. Alcohol was too risky while she was feeling so very down.

It seemed too much to hope that the New Year would be better, but she prayed for it all the same.

About a week into January, one of Serena’s new neighbors dropped by to introduce herself. Serena liked Louisa Trebarwen at once. Not least because she brought homemade chocolate cookies.

“I’m from next door,” said Louisa.

She didn’t have to introduce herself. Serena knew of her already. The house next door was called Trebarwen, and Serena had heard plenty about its chatelaine. Louisa lived in the enormous house on her own. She was in her late seventies but still slim, sprightly, and very elegant indeed. That afternoon she wore a neat skirt and a Hermès scarf around her neck. Serena glanced down at her own jeans and felt ashamed.

“Is this a good time?” Louisa asked.

“I … er … Of course.”
Might as well let the woman in
now
, Serena thought. At least she could realistically claim unfinished unpacking as an excuse for the disarray.

But Louisa Trebarwen seemed oblivious to the mess around her. She perched on one of the high stools next to the breakfast bar and chatted about the weather while Serena made tea in the pot she never used.

“What a lovely painting of your daughter!” Louisa admired the little picture on the sitting room wall. “Where did you find the artist? I’ve been looking for someone to paint my two for the past five years. This is the first portrait I’ve seen that doesn’t look as though you had it done by one of those caricature chaps in Leicester Square.”

“Thank you.”

“So, are you going to tell me who painted it?”

“Actually”—Serena looked down at her shoes a little shyly—“it was me.”

“You painted that picture?”

“I did.”

“Wow. I mean, Helena told me that you had been to art school, but … gosh. It’s like an old master.”

“That was the idea,” said Serena. “I spent a bit of time in Florence after I graduated, getting to learn the traditional techniques.”

“Well, it was certainly time well spent,” said Louisa with real admiration. “I’m in awe.”

“Oh, please … It’s not so good. I knocked it out in a couple of hours.”

“No, Serena. You must not belittle your talent. You really have something. Will you paint my babies for me?”

Serena started to shake her head. It was one thing painting her own daughter for herself, but she couldn’t imagine painting Louisa’s children. She hadn’t painted properly in a long while. When she’d left work to go on maternity leave, Serena had told herself that she would soon pick up her paintbrushes again, but the reality was
that she simply didn’t have time. Before the baby was born, she’d spent all her time getting ready for the new arrival. And after the baby had been born … well, finding a moment to sleep became a far greater priority.

Later, Serena wanted to go back to work, but Tom insisted there was no need. He’d had a promotion. He was earning enough to support them both. Besides, if Serena went back to work, they would have to get proper child care, which would all but wipe out the money she earned anyway.

“And I don’t like the idea of my daughter being looked after by strangers,” he’d added. “That’s not going to happen to you.” He’d kissed Katie on the head.

He seemed to have forgotten about that little promise. How could Serena be expected to support herself now without going back to work and leaving Katie in the care of a stranger?

“I would pay you.” Louisa interrupted Serena’s thoughts.

“I really couldn’t accept any money,” Serena said, fearing that she would only have to give it back when Louisa saw the result.

“But you must. Serena, I hate to be presumptuous but Helena has told me all about your situation. That terrible feckless husband of yours going off with another woman.”

Serena blushed.

“I know it hurts, my dear.” Louisa placed a hand on Serena’s arm. “It happened to me. And because it happened to me, I know there is no place for moping around. You have to pick yourself up as quickly as you can. And that means earning some money of your own. I am willing to pay you a thousand pounds for your trouble. Please don’t turn me down.”

Serena opened her mouth to protest.

Louisa misread her hesitation. “Was that insultingly low? How about one thousand five hundred? Two?”

“Mrs. Trebarwen …”

“Call me Louisa.”

“Louisa, I can’t take your money. Heaven knows I would love to. I can’t deny I need it. But this little painting of my daughter—it was a fluke. I don’t know how I managed to get such a good likeness. I’m out of practice. This was my first attempt after having not picked up a paintbrush for years. It was lucky. I suppose it helped that I know the subject’s face better than I know my own. I promise you would be disappointed if I tried to do portraits of your sons.”

“My sons?” Louisa Trebarwen gave a little giggle. “Who said anything about my sons? Darling, I don’t want portraits of those great ugly lummoxes. They both grew out of their looks a very long time ago. Serena, you’ll have to get used to me. When I refer to my ‘babies,’ I am talking about my dogs.”

Dogs were an altogether different matter. Serena could easily paint dogs. Later that same afternoon, when she had picked up Katie from school, Serena dropped by Trebarwen House to meet her new subjects. Louisa was delighted to meet Katie, and Katie was instantly smitten with Louisa’s beloved pets. They were two rather regal-looking greyhounds, called Berkeley and Blackwater Bess.

“I got them from a greyhound rescue charity,” Louisa explained. “They both raced when they were young, but now that they’ve retired, they’re actually the ideal companions for older people like me. They don’t need half so much exercise as you would imagine.”

As if on cue, Berkeley opened his mouth and curled his tongue in an extravagant yawn.

“How would you like to paint them?” Louisa asked. “You’re the artist, so I’m giving you free rein.”

Serena thought for a moment. “How about I paint them together, standing at the top of the steps leading down to the garden with a stormy sky in the background. A cloudy sky would be the perfect way to highlight the sheeny gray of their coats.”

“That sounds wonderful,” said Louisa.

Serena set to work that very day. While Louisa took Katie all over the house and even let her ride the delicate old rocking horse that had carried Trebarwen children since the nineteenth century, Serena got out her somewhat outdated digital camera and took a few snaps of the dogs. Then she headed outside and took some more snaps of the garden to help her make a start on the portrait’s composition. There was little hope that the dogs would stand still on the step for real. It was hard enough to get them to stand at all. They really were the most amazingly lazy creatures.

A week later, Serena had completed a number of preliminary sketches and let Louisa choose the composition she liked best. Then it was time to transfer the sketches onto canvas. Serena asked Louisa how big the painting should be. She would order the canvas online.

“Hmmm. Actually, I was wondering if you could paint over this?” Louisa asked as she produced a Victorian portrait of a rather dour-looking man.

“But that … I can’t …”

“It’s not a family portrait,” Louisa explained. “I think I found him at a fête in 1973.”

Louisa quickly became a friend. Serena set up her easel in the drawing room of the big house so that she could look out on the garden as she filled in the background. Louisa
was always happy to have Katie around. Katie was delighted to have so many dusty old rooms to roam in.

“I rarely see my grandchildren,” she sighed. “My eldest son’s wife doesn’t like me. God knows if the youngest will ever breed. He doesn’t seem to be able to commit to any one woman for more than a month. He takes after his father. Couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants for a minute, that one …”

It was odd, but listening to Louisa’s stories about her feckless ex-husband was strangely comforting. Serena liked Louisa very much, and the knowledge that she too had been a victim of infidelity reassured Serena that it happened to the best of people. It didn’t mean that she was a loser.

And so for the first time since Tom had walked into the kitchen and announced that he wanted out of their marriage, Serena felt as though she had reason to smile. Katie was happy. Serena had a great new friend in Louisa. And then there was her work. She had forgotten the most important reward of painting: a sense of flow that pushed all other concerns to the back of her mind if only for a little while.

The portrait of the dogs turned out very well. Though she was usually her own harshest critic, Serena allowed herself to be pleased with the result of her hard work. She had been right with her initial thoughts for the piece. The stormy sky was a perfect backdrop for the regal silky gray of the dogs’ glossy coats. Serena thought perhaps that even the dogs’ faces had turned out better than she’d hoped. There was individuality to them. Louisa could tell at once which was which.

“I love it,” she said. “You are an absolute marvel.”

She enveloped Serena in an extravagantly perfumed hug. “I will hang it above the fireplace right here in the drawing room.”

“Really?” Serena was stunned. That would mean moving a painting of Louisa’s two sons as small children. “But that’s such a wonderful picture. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m bored to death of that old thing. And my beautiful babies need a truly regal setting.”

“Well, okay,” said Serena.

“Help me hang it now?” Louisa asked.