Page 94 of The Christmas Invitation
‘Marriage. If I’m not going to be constantly travelling any more, I can be your base camp in London.’
His diffident, very sweet smile appeared and I exclaimed, ‘I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before, Henry! I mean, not only do we love each other but it would certainly make life easier.’
‘I’m so glad,’ he said, then kissed me again, which I returned with enthusiasm, audience or no audience.
When we finally parted he dug a tissue-wrapped ring out of his pocket and offered it to me. ‘Do you care for this carnelian seal I picked out, or would you rather choose something else?’
But the antique and very beautiful carved carnelian ring did indeed seal our union because we were married at the very first opportunity.
I ran our surnames together and became Clara Mayhem Doome, a conjunction that seems to have provided amusement for many.
27
Everyman
The birth certificate, in an old brown envelope, had been replaced right at the top. Apart from the mother’s name, it gave little information.
Underneath it was an old, cancelled passport, in which Mum looked unbelievably young … and a lot thinner than the last time I’d seen her, when she’d been on the plump side of curvy.
Other than those, the trunk contained only a rainbow of discarded clothes in flimsy Indian silks and cottons … and all the gifts I’d made for her as a child, when she was paying one of her fleeting visits to the Farm.
She’d always expressed great delight in these offerings – and at least she’d kept them – but at some point in our relationship I’d begun to feel thatIwas the mother andshethe feckless and irresponsible offspring.
While I was upstairs, the cleaners from Mary’s Pop-ins had arrived to give the house a quick spruce up. Clara told me they were fortnightly, so this must be in lieu of the day they’d miss over Christmas.
They passed me on the stairs as I came down, kitted up like the Ghostbusters and ready, as Clara put it, to go through the whole house like a dose of salts.
‘But not the studio,’ I said anxiously. ‘Could they leave that out this time? There’s so much wet or tacky paint about!’
‘Of course, dear, I’ll let them know when they come down. We’ll all have to shift then, so they can clean the rest of the house, but since Den always does the kitchen himself, we can hide out in there if necessary.’
Henry and River seemed to be getting on brilliantly, and took Lass out for a walk, even though she did her best to tell them that she was quite happy to skip it today and stay in the warm.
I’d taken the birth certificate down with me and Clara scanned it for the family records, so that I could replace the original in the trunk. River would return it to the Farm, ready for when Mum turned up again.
The sound of vacuum cleaners and voices upstairs continued, so I went to the studio and looked through my gallery of photographs, thinking how much I’d love to paint Tottie in her Carmen Miranda mode, and Den with his sleeves rolled up to show a bright assortment of tattoos as he chopped vegetables at the kitchen table. If Tottie would give me some sittings, I could make a start before Christmas.
I’d told Henry that I still wasn’t quite happy about the way the shadows merged around him in the portrait and it would help if he sat in the pose for a little while when they got back. When they did, River came in with him in order, it seemed, to carry on a discussion about some aspect of poetic construction that would have been far above my head even if I hadn’t been concentrating on what I was doing.
Their voices rose and fell, as did Lass’s snoring.
‘That’s it, it’s right now,’ I said eventually, and they both came to look at the portrait.
‘Truly, you have captured Henry’s essence – it’s a kind of magic,’ said River.
‘She did the same with Clara.’ Henry indicated her portrait, which I’d propped up on the mantelpiece high above dog hair range. The surface was fairly hard to the touch now, though, so I brought it over and put it on the other easel.
I was amused when they both then fell back a few paces, hands clasped behind their backs and heads tilted consideringly on one side, like a parody of two art critics.
‘Eventually we mean them to hang in the drawing room, one on either side of the fireplace,’ said Henry.
‘I hope you and Clara will let me show them in my small one-woman exhibition in London in February, first,’ I said.
‘We’d be delighted, and although I rarely go to London these days, I’ll make an exception in your case.’
‘Thank you, it would be so lovely if you could come, and River will be there, too, won’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I might hire a minibus and bring a few of the Family with me.’
