The Very Picture of You (6 page)

Polly went over to her dressing table and rummaged amongst all the hand creams, nail polishes and jars of cotton-wool puffs. ‘I can’t afford to have
any
blemishes,’ she muttered. She lifted up a framed photo of her daughter, and my god-daughter, Lola. ‘
Here
it is…’ She sat down on the bed again then held out the pot for me to open. ‘I know you’ve always looked out for Chloë.’

I loosened the lid and passed the pot back to her. ‘Well, she’s a lot younger than me, so yes… I have.’

‘That’s nice; but now you should just… let go.’ Polly looked at me. ‘As I’ve known you since we were six, I feel I can say that.’ She began to massage the skin lightener on to the offending brown mark. ‘Chloë’s got over Max enough now to be able to marry Nate – just be happy for her.’

‘I’d be
thrilled
if Nate was someone I liked.’ I groaned. ‘And
why
does she have to give him a portrait? If she wants to spend that much, then why can’t she give him something normal, like a gold watch or… diamond cufflinks or something?’

Polly squinted at her hand. ‘Why don’t you paint them together?’

‘I suggested that, but Chloë wants a picture of Nate on his own. She’s going to give it to him the day before the wedding.’

‘Which will be when?’

‘July third – which is also her birthday.’

‘Well, she’s always wanted to be married before she was thirty.’

‘Yes – so perhaps
that
explains the quick engagement – as though anyone could care less what age a woman is when she gets married or whether she gets married at all: I mean, I’m thirty-five and still single, but I really don’t…’ I let the sentence drift.

‘I’m thirty-five,’ said Polly, ‘and I’m divorced.’ She tucked a hank of red-gold hair behind one ear. ‘But it doesn’t bother me. Lola has a good relationship with Ben and that’s the key thing. He’s being tricky about maintenance though,’ she added wearily. ‘Lola’s school fees are fifteen grand now with all the extras, so thank God my digits give me an income.’

I considered Polly’s hands with their long, slim fingers and gleaming nail beds. ‘They
are
lovely. Your thumbs are
fantastic
.’

‘Oh, thanks. But it isn’t just about looks – my hands can
act
. They can be sad or happy.’ She wiggled her fingers. ‘They can be
angry
…’ She clenched her fists. ‘Or playful.’ She ‘walked’ her fingers through the air. ‘They can be inquisitive…’ She turned up her palms. ‘…Or pleading.’ She clasped them in supplication. ‘The whole gamut, really.’

‘There should be an Oscar category for it.’

‘There should. Anyway…’ She examined them again. ‘They’re done. Now it’s time for my tootsies.’

‘Have they got a part in the film too?’

‘No. But they’ve got a Birkenstock ad next week, so I need to get them tip-top.’

Polly kicked off her oversized sheepskin slippers and examined her slender size six feet with their perfectly straight toes, shell-pink nails, elegantly high arches and smooth, rosy heels. Satisfied that there were no imperfections to attend to, she put them in the waiting foot spa and switched it on.

‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ she crooned as the water bubbled around them. ‘So what does your mum think about Chloë’s engagement?’

‘She’s elated. But then, she couldn’t stand Max.’

‘Well, he was married, so you could hardly expect her to have been crazy about him.’

‘True – though it went deeper than that. Mum only met Max once, but she seemed to loathe him – as though it was personal. I’m sure that was because… well, you know the background.’

Polly nodded. ‘I still remember when you told me. We were eleven.’

The window was misted with condensation. I rubbed a patch clear and sighed. ‘I hadn’t known it myself until then.’

‘That was a long time for your mother to keep it from you,’ Polly observed quietly.

I shrugged. ‘I don’t really hold it against her – she’d been terribly hurt. Having made a new life, I suppose she didn’t want to remember the awful way in which her old one had ended.’

Your father was involved with someone else, Ella. I knew about it and it made me desperately unhappy – not least because I loved him so much. But one day I saw him with this… other woman; I came across them together: it was a terrible shock. I begged him not to leave us, but he abandoned us and went far, far away…

‘Do you think about him?’ I heard Polly say.

‘Hm?’

She turned off the foot spa. ‘Do you think about him much? Your father.’

‘No.’ I registered the surprise in her eyes. ‘Why would I when I haven’t seen him since I was five and can barely remember him?’

One, two three… up in the air she goes.

‘You must have
some
memories.’

Ready, sweetie? Don’t let go now!

I shook my head. ‘I used to, but they’ve gone.’

Through the smudged window pane I watched the children playing on the green below.

Again, Daddy! Again! Again!

Polly reached for the towel on the end of the bed and patted her feet with it. ‘And where in Australia did he go?’

‘I don’t know – I only know that it was Western Australia. But whether it was Perth or Fremantle or Rockingham or Broome, or Geraldton or Esperance or Bunbury or Kalgoorlie I’ve
no
idea and I’m not interested.’

Polly was looking at me again. ‘And he made
no
attempt to stay in touch?’

I felt my lips tighten. ‘It was as though we’d never existed.’

‘But… what if he wanted to find you?’

I heaved a sigh. ‘That would be hard—’

‘Oh, it probably
would
be,’ Polly interjected. ‘But you know, Ella, I’ve always thought that you should at least
try
to—’

I shook my head. ‘It would be hard for him to
do
– given that he doesn’t even know my surname.’

‘Oh.’ She looked deflated. ‘I see. Sorry – I thought you meant…’ She swung her legs off the bed. ‘I remember when your name was changed. I remember Miss Drake telling us all at register one morning that you were Ella
Graham
now. It was a bit confusing.’

‘Yes. But it was so that Chloë and I would be the same – and Roy had adopted me by then, so I can understand why they did it.’

I had a sudden memory of Mum cutting the old name tapes out of my school uniform and sewing in new ones, pulling up the thread with a vehement tug.

You’re not Ella Sharp any more…

Now I remembered Ginny Parks, who sat behind me, endlessly asking me
why
my name had been changed and where my
real
father was. When I tearfully told Mum this she said that Ginny was a nosy little girl and that I didn’t have to answer her questions.

You’re Ella Graham now, darling.

But—

And that’s all there is to it…

‘What if he got in touch?’ Polly tried again. ‘What would you do?’

I looked at her. ‘I’d do… nothing. I wouldn’t even respond.’

Polly narrowed her eyes. ‘Not even out of… curiosity?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m
not
curious about him. I
was –
until Mum told me what he’d done; after that I stopped thinking about him. I have no idea whether he’s even
alive.
He’d be sixty-six now, so perhaps he isn’t alive any more, perhaps he’s…
not
…’ A shiver convulsed me. I looked out of the window again, scrutinising the people below as though I somehow imagined I might spot him amongst them.

‘I think it’s sad,’ I heard Polly say.

‘I suppose it is. But if your father had behaved like mine, you’d probably feel the same.’

‘I don’t know
how
I’d feel,’ she said quietly.

‘Plus I wouldn’t want to upset Mum.’

‘
Would
it still upset her – after so long?’

‘I know it would, because she
never
mentions him – he broke her heart. But I’m sure that’s why she had it in for Max, because his affair reminded her of my father’s betrayal. She and Chloë had huge rows about it – I told you.’

Polly nodded. ‘I guess your mum just wanted to protect Chloë from getting hurt.’

‘She did. She kept telling her that Max would never leave his wife – and she was right; so Chloë finally took Mum’s advice and ended it.’ I shrugged. ‘And now she’s with Nate. I hope
he’s
not going to cause her any grief, but I’ve got the awful feeling he is.’

Polly put her slippers on again then stood up. ‘So when did they decide to tie the knot?’

‘Yesterday, over lunch. They went to Quaglino’s to celebrate her promotion and came out engaged. They told Mum and Roy at the auction. Mum’s so thrilled, she’s offered to plan it all for them.’

‘She hasn’t got long then. Only – what? Three and a half months?’

‘True, but she has a tremendous talent for arranging things – it’s probably all the choreography she’s done.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Yikes! I must go.’ I shot to my feet. ‘I’ve got to get to Barnes for a sitting.’

‘Anyone of note?’ Polly asked as we went on to the landing.

‘Not really – she’s a French woman married to a Brit. Her husband’s commissioned me to paint her for her fortieth. He sounds quite a bit older – but he kept telling me how beautiful she is: I could hardly get him off the phone.’

Polly heaved a sigh of deep longing. ‘I’d love to have someone appreciate
me
like that.’

‘Any progress in that area?’ I asked as we went downstairs.

‘I liked the photographer at the Toilet Duck shoot last week. He took my card – not that he’s phoned,’ she added balefully as I opened the cupboard and got out my parka. ‘What about you?’

I thrust my arms into the sleeves. ‘Zilch – apart from a bit of flirting at the framer’s.’ I looked at the bare patch of wall where Polly’s portrait usually goes. ‘Shall I hang you up again before I go?’

She nodded. ‘Please – I daren’t do
anything
practical until the shoot’s over; the tiniest scratch and I’ll lose the job; there’s two grand at stake and I’m short of cash.’

I pulled the bubble wrap off the painting. ‘Me, too.’

Polly leaned against the wall. ‘But you seem to be busy.’

I lifted the portrait on to its hook. ‘Not busy enough
– and my mortgage is
huge
.’ I straightened the bottom of the frame. ‘Perhaps I could offer to paint the chairman of the Halifax in return for a year off the payments.’

‘Maybe one of Camilla Parker Bowles’s friends will commission you.’

I picked up my bag. ‘That would be great. I’ve just joined the Royal Society of Portrait Painters, so I’m on
their
website – and I’ve got a Facebook page now…’

‘That’s good. Then there’s that piece in
The Times
. I
know
you didn’t like it,’ Polly added hastily, ‘but it’s great publicity and it’s online. So…’ She opened the door. ‘Who knows
what
might come out of it?’

I felt my gut flutter. ‘Who knows…?’

There was a sharp wind blowing as I walked home so I pulled up my hood and shoved my hands into my pockets. As I cut across Eel Brook Common, with its bright stripe of daffodils, my mother phoned.

‘
El
-la?’ She sounded elated. ‘I’ve just had the final figures from last night. We raised
eighty
thousand pounds – five thousand more than our target, and a record for the Richmond branch of the charity.’

‘That’s wonderful, Mum – congratulations.’

‘So I just wanted to thank you again for the portrait.’ I resisted the urge to say that had I known who the sitter was to be I wouldn’t have offered it. ‘But
how
funny that you’re going to paint Nate.’

‘Yes… extremely amusing.’

‘It’ll give you an opportunity to get to
know
him before the wedding. I’ve just booked the church, by the way.’

‘Mum… they’ve been engaged less than twenty-four hours.’

‘I know – but July third’s
not
that far off! So I phoned the vicar at St Matthew’s first thing and by some
miracle
the two p.m. slot for that day had become free – apparently the groom had got cold feet.’

‘Oh dear.’

There was a bewildered silence. ‘No, not “oh dear”, Ella – “oh
great
”! I didn’t think we’d find
any
churches in the area free at such short notice, let alone our own one.’

‘And where’s the reception going to be?’

‘At home. We’ll come out of the church then stroll down the lane to the house through a cloud of moon daisies.’

‘There aren’t any moon daisies in the lane, Mum.’

‘No – but there will be, because I’m going to plant some. Now we’ll need a large marquee,’ she went on. ‘Eighty feet by thirty feet, minimum: the garden’s
just
big enough – I paced it out this morning; I think we should have the “traditional” style, not the “frame” – it’s
so
much more attractive – and I’ll probably use the caterers from last night, although I’ll get a couple of other quotes…’

‘You’ve got the bit between your teeth then.’

‘I
have
– but most weddings take at least a year to plan: I’ve got less than four months to organise Chloë’s!’

‘Doesn’t she want to do any of it herself?’

‘No – she’s going to be very busy at work now that she’s been promoted, and it means that she can enjoy the run-up to her big day without all the stress. She’ll make the major decisions, of course, but I’ll have done all the legwork.’

‘Can
I
do anything?’

‘No – thanks, darling. Although… actually there is
one
thing. Chloë’s thinking about having a vintage wedding dress. Could you give her a hand on that front? I don’t even know who sells them.’

‘Sure. Steinberg & Tolkien’s gone now, hasn’t it, but there’s Circa, or Dolly Diamond, and I think there’s a good one down in Blackheath – or hang on, what
about
…?’