Unfinished Portrait (5 page)

They opted for salmon fishcakes, and Guy fought his way to the bar to order them, returning minutes later with a tankard of beer and a glass of white wine.

‘So?' Avril enquired, almost as soon as he'd seated himself. ‘What happened?'

He lifted his tankard in a toast, and drank deeply before setting it down again.

‘She was totally unreasonable,' he said then, his face hard. ‘Accused me of putting her in “an untenable position”, if you please. Damn it, her mother died when she was a baby; she can't resent you on her behalf. All these years I've been there for her, and barely looked—'

‘But that's just it,' Avril interrupted. ‘As you say, all these years there've been just the two of you, totally self-sufficient. It's understandable that she should resent someone else coming on the scene.'

‘No, Avril, it's
not
understandable! She's not a child, for God's sake. She's simply being unforgivably selfish.'

There was a pause, while they both reflected on what had been said.

‘In a way,' Avril mused, ‘it's a pity it started while she was abroad – behind her back, as it might seem. If she'd been around, seeing it unfold gradually, it wouldn't have come as a shock – a fait accompli.' She looked down at her glass, forcing herself to say what she'd prepared, but prayed would not be necessary.

‘Guy, the last thing I want is to come between you and Sarah. Might it be best if we just . . .' She stumbled to a halt, aware of his sudden stillness.

‘Just what?'

‘Let it go?' she finished miserably.

There was a pulsating silence. Then he said harshly, ‘Is that what you want?'

She reached impulsively for his hand. ‘Of course not! It's been wonderful these last few months.'

He gripped her hand in both his. ‘It's not what I want, either. Rightly or wrongly, I've started to hope that – well, when your divorce comes through . . .' He gave his head an impatient shake. ‘Anyway, be that as it may, I've no intention of letting that selfish little minx come between us. I love her dearly, but perhaps I've been guilty of spoiling her, letting her think only her wishes count. Dammit, she has a boyfriend – it's quite likely they'll marry before long. Then what am I supposed to do?'

He sighed, adding more calmly, ‘I want to keep the peace with her, Avril, of course I do, but she's not going to dictate how I lead my life.'

Avril's mind was spinning. This was the closest he'd come to hinting at a future together and she knew, beyond doubt, it was what she wanted above all. But at the cost of severance from his daughter? She moistened her lips, trying to be reasonable.

‘Is it me she objects to, do you think, or would it be the same with anyone?'

‘How could she object to you?' he demanded. ‘You've been kindness itself, even giving her advice that time she fell out with Clive. No, what she can't take is the thought of not being the sole object of my affections. Well, I'm sorry, but she'll have to lump it.'

He looked up at her. ‘Did you tell your two?'

She nodded.

‘And?'

‘Well, they were . . . pleased for me. But there's no reason why they shouldn't be,' she added quickly. ‘After all, Tom has someone else. We've all . . . moved on.'

‘Exactly,' Guy said grimly. ‘And that's just what I intend to do.'

THREE

W
hen Avril returned from her lunch date, it was to find a message from Sarah advising her that she was going out straight from school, and wouldn't be back till later.

Avril had been bracing herself for their next meeting, endlessly debating how to tackle the subject on both their minds. Now, she'd have to wait several hours more, and when Sarah did come in, she'd go straight up to her room. But they couldn't go on circling each other like a couple of wary dogs; for all their sakes, the situation
had
to be brought into the open and discussed.

She'd waylay her in the hall, Avril decided; block her route to the stairs, and suggest they had a coffee together. Short of downright rudeness, Sarah would at least have to pause, giving Avril the opening she needed.

Consequently, when, just after ten thirty, she heard her key in the lock, she immediately hurried out of the sitting room. Sarah, startled at her sudden appearance, said involuntarily, ‘Mrs Parish!' Then, before Avril could speak, went on quickly, ‘Actually, I was wanting a word with you, to let you know I'll be leaving soon.'

Avril stared at her, completely taken aback. ‘Oh, now, Sarah, surely—'

‘Clive's buying a flat, and once it goes through, he wants me to move in with him.'

Avril brushed that aside. ‘I've been wanting to talk to you, too, about your father—'

Sarah made a dismissive gesture. ‘That's none of my business.'

‘But I don't want you to feel you have to leave, just because—'

‘I told you, I'm moving in with Clive. It was always on the cards, once he got a place of his own.'

‘We still need to talk,' Avril said desperately.

‘Obviously I'll let you know as soon as we have a firm date, but I wanted to give you time to find someone else.'

‘Sarah, I really—'

‘Now, if you'll excuse me . . .' And she brushed past and started up the stairs.

Defeated, Avril turned back into the sitting room.
Now
what should she do?

Dominic didn't phone till eleven fifteen, and then only to say goodnight. Lindsey, who had waited in all evening, had retired, disgruntled, to bed, and was on the point of switching off the light. The weariness in his voice, however, precluded an acid comment.

Instead, she asked, ‘Did you get the contract signed?'

‘Eventually, but not till gone six. They kept raising further points. I'm sorry, angel; I was hoping to see you tonight.'

‘Me too,' Lindsey said.

‘So it'll have to be tomorrow. Collect you at seven?'

‘Dominic, I'm sorry; I can't make tomorrow.'

There was a pause. Then, simply, ‘Oh?'

‘I'm going to Catherine's for supper. She and Pops are off to Portugal this week.'

Another silence, and she remembered, with a mixture of annoyance and anxiety, that he disliked having his plans thwarted.

‘You have to go?'

‘Yes,' she said tightly, ‘I have to go, and what's more, I
want
to. It's not my fault you were delayed this evening. I postponed an appointment to wait in for you.'

His voice was cool. ‘If we're apportioning blame, Lindsey, it wasn't my fault, either; I couldn't leave Athens without that contract.'

‘Fair enough; just don't expect me to cancel an engagement to suit you.'

There was a short silence and she held her breath, wondering if she'd gone too far. Then he said evenly, ‘Perhaps we should postpone this conversation until we're both less tired.'

‘Perhaps we should.'

‘Goodnight, then.'

‘Goodnight.' She jammed her finger on the off-button and, flinging the phone down the bed, buried her face in the pillow and pounded it with her fist. Why, she demanded of herself, did she have to fall for such an infuriating man? Why couldn't he be like Hugh, always there at her beck and call? Or, she wondered in a moment of self-analysis, if he were, would she treat him in the same way?

She rolled on to her back, uncomfortable with the thought. He'd phone tomorrow, she assured herself, and she'd be all sweetness and light. He'd probably suggest Wednesday, and then they – oh hell! Nina and Nicole were coming! But that would take only an hour or so; she'd ask him to make it seven thirty. If he phoned.

But when she set out for Catherine's the next evening, there'd been no word from him and she was back on the emotional see-saw. She'd thought, a few weeks back, that they'd gone beyond that, but it seemed she was wrong.

She reached the bungalow in Willow Crescent just as Rona was drawing up, and they went down the path together. Catherine, elegant as always, opened the door and kissed them in turn.

‘Lovely to see you! Do go on in. Tom's on bar duty.'

‘It's very noble of you to entertain just before going away,' Lindsey remarked. ‘I doubt if I could do it.'

‘Well, we both wanted to see you, and we have to eat, after all. I'm afraid, though, it's family fare tonight, rather than cordon bleu.'

‘A very well-fed family, mind you!' Tom commented, coming into the hall and kissing his daughters. ‘How are you both? You look positively blooming!'

Rona's forehead creased slightly. ‘Not sure that you do, Pops. Are you OK?'

‘Absolutely fine. Just in need of a holiday.'

‘Surely now you've retired, your whole life's a holiday!' Lindsey teased.

‘Then perhaps it's sea air I need,' Tom amended. ‘Now, what are you drinking? The usual?'

They preceded him into Catherine's pleasant sitting room, familiar to Rona, less so to Lindsey, who, siding with her mother in the break-up, had remained hostile to Catherine for some time. Even now, she wasn't quite at ease with her. She seated herself on the sofa and checked her mobile was switched on.

Tom, having served their drinks, sat down beside her. Across the room, Catherine had produced a brochure of their hotel, and she and Rona were discussing it.

‘So, how are things, Lindy-Lou?'

It was a pet name he hadn't used for years, and in her rocky state it brought a lump to her throat.

‘Fine,' she said.

‘And the man in your life?'

‘Fine too, last time I saw him.' Her voice sounded brittle; she hoped he wouldn't notice.

‘And when was that?'

‘Oh, God, Pops, I don't know! Two or three weeks ago.'

She felt his quick glance, and added defensively, ‘Everything's OK, you know.'

‘Is it? I worry about you, sweetheart; I just wish you could find the right one and be happy, like Rona.'

‘Well, you always said our similarity was only skin-deep.'

He laughed. ‘That's true, and I wouldn't have it any other way.'

Lindsey took a quick sip of her drink, willing the tears not to come. When she and Rona had quarrelled as children, she'd always run to their mother, Rona to their father, and she'd grown up suspecting – no doubt quite wrongly – a corresponding bias on the part of her parents. It was oddly comforting to know her father worried about her.

His large, warm hand closed briefly over hers. ‘Just remember I'm in your corner,' he said.

She nodded, incapable of speech, and, realizing this, he turned back to the others.

‘Well, Rona, what have you been up to since we last met?'

She smiled across at him. ‘You'll be glad to hear I've agreed to another bio.'

Tom and Catherine exclaimed together. ‘Now, that
is
good news!' Tom went on. ‘And who's it to be this time?'

‘The artist, Elspeth Wilding.'

‘Really?' Catherine's interest quickened. ‘Did you know that as a child she attended St Stephen's? Well before my time, of course!' Catherine had been head of the Buckford primary for twelve years. ‘She was one of our most illustrious old girls!'

Rona leant forward eagerly. ‘Did you ever meet her?'

‘Unfortunately, no. We kept inviting her to present prizes at Speech Day, but she always declined.'

Disappointed, Rona sat back again. ‘That's par for the course; she seems to have shunned any kind of publicity.'

‘I did see her occasionally, about town. It was odd, though; you'd expect people to recognize her, since she's so famous, but no one ever seemed to.' Catherine smiled. ‘I always thought she was a bit like Alec Guinness.'

Tom gave a bark of laugher. ‘I think that requires an explanation, darling!'

‘Well, you know how brilliant he was at looking completely different every time you saw him? Most actors, however good they are,
look
the same, even if the characters they play are entirely different. But he was like a . . . a blank canvas, seeming to paint on a different face for each part.'

‘You mean she looked different, every time you saw her?' Rona asked with a frown.

‘Not exactly; it was as if she
was
that blank canvas. What I'm trying to say is there was nothing memorable about her, no distinguishing feature you could latch on to. Apart, that is, from her hair, which was silver-blonde and often bundled under a hat anyway.'

‘Didn't she die a year or two ago?' Tom asked.

‘No,' Rona corrected, ‘she disappeared, and hasn't been seen since.'

‘I trust finding her isn't part of your remit?'

She smiled. ‘I've a feeling that's what her family's hoping, but I'm not to be drawn. A bio is what they requested, and a bio is what they'll get. Full stop.'

‘But you'll have to look into it, surely?' Catherine said. ‘It's something that happened in her life, after all.'

‘Thankfully, it'll be some time before I come to it,' Rona replied. ‘When I do, I'll play it by ear.' She glanced at Catherine. ‘You knew about her disappearance?'

‘Yes; I'd left Buckford by then, but it was reported in the press. “Her family are anxious to contact her” sort of thing, and a rehash of her career to date, presumably to keep up the interest. There were several reported sightings, but nothing ever came of them. So, when do you start work?'

‘Eddie phoned this morning with the publisher's offer, which I've accepted. So once the contract has been drawn up and signed, we're away.'