Page 61 of The Christmas Invitation
‘Yes, but she’s also told everyone that she won’t gain control of her capital until she’s thirty, so that’s not going to tempt him to jilt his fiancée for her, is it?’
I hoped he was right. Nessa might end with a broken heart, but I’d warned her and could do no more.
My life had become so full of interest and pleasure that I soon forgot all about Nessa and George.
Henry and I had begun to plan for the Christmas vacation: he was to return home to the vicarage with me to reacquaint himself with my parents and then I would travel up to spend theNew Year at Underhill, the family home at Starstone Edge. It was the first time I would have returned there since I was eight, when the reservoir was built, and I viewed the prospect with mixed feelings. While I longed to go back to the place where I had been so happy, the village itself would be invisible beneath the water.
Henry’s father was gregarious and I would be one of a house party that would include George’s fiancée and her parents.
But before that, in November, something disquieting happened.
Nessa had obtained leave to go to London, ostensibly for the purpose of seeing her dentist, but really to stay with her godmother, Lady Leamington, and attend some grand Society party.
I was not much interested … until I glimpsed her, early on the morning of her departure, getting into a car with George.
I sincerely hoped that he was just driving her to London, but as Henry said later, there was nothing we could do about it anyway and perhaps she’d just wangled him an invite to this fabulous party too.
Nessa returned in an unusually quiet and subdued frame of mind and showed no inclination to confide in me, other than describing the grand party and the famous people she’d met. She didn’t mention George directly at all, but instead threw out a few dark remarks about the animal instincts and earthiness of men, and how they had no romantic souls. This made me think George had perhaps made a heavy pass at her on the way to London and disillusion had set in.
Nessa turned to her studies with renewed interest and solaced herself with the company of her coterie. I’d already suspected that she preferred women to men and perhaps she now had some inkling of that herself …
She spent Christmas in London with Lady Leamington and on her return seemed to be forever dipping into a box of chocolates, or consuming cream cakes, so that she rapidly began to resemble the sugar plum rather than the fairy.
20
Resolution
Henry kindly gave me the first portrait sitting early next morning and I spent ages getting the light right, so that it shone on his bony, interesting face under the fine, silvery hair. It also had to shine on his book, for he was reading an old paperback Agatha Christie.
‘Clara doesn’t rate them – she says Agatha Christie’s all plot and no character,’ he said – ‘but I can happily read them over and over again, even though I know what happens.’
‘I’m reading Clara’s first crime novel and really enjoying it,’ I told him. ‘She’s a lot gorier than Agatha Christie.’
Lass, who had come in with Henry and, without any prompting, arranged herself over his feet like a black, grey and white rug, went straight to sleep.
‘Perfect,’ I said, stepping back. I took a photo on the iPad for reference, then decided to draw straight on to the canvas without any preparatory sketches, sweeping the soft black pencil over it until the bare bones of what I wanted to show filled the space. Then I stared at it for what must have been a long time, for Henry finally broke the silence.
‘How is it coming along?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t like to speak before, you looked so intensely absorbed.’
‘The drawing’s really come together quickly. If you don’t mind, I’ll just make a very quick pencil drawing of you in my sketchbook, too, then you can relax.’
This one wasn’t anything to do with the portrait, but to go into one of the mounts I’d bought, as a present for Clara.
‘I’m perfectly comfortable, if it won’t take long, because I’d like to do a little more work before lunch.’
‘Five minutes,’ I assured him, flipping the sketchbook to a clean page and setting it on the easel, in place of the canvas, which I propped against the wall.
‘I think your grandfather will be surprised at the speed at which you’ve worked, Meg. I’m looking forward to meeting him. He sounds such an interesting chap.’
‘He is, and he’s never stumped in any conversation, either, which I think is because he’s so naturally curious abouteverything.’
‘It must have been an unusual upbringing at the Farm. Clara told me about your mother having been adopted and not knowing who her birth parents were.’
‘Yes, she was, though I can’t say she ever seemed inquisitive about it. But she’s always been someone who lives in the present, rather than looks back at the past,’ I said. ‘The adoption wasn’t a success, so in the end she ran away and ended up at the Farm. And that’s where I was born and stayed.’
‘A surrogate family,’ he suggested.
‘The perfect one. I doknowwho my father is and I’ve met him – he lives in France now – but there was no real connection.’
