Page 36 of The Christmas Retreat
They both seem to think, however, that he has only to clap eyes on Bea again to be as madly in love with her and really, she is so very pretty that they might be right. And perhaps they do really love each other? We will see!
After lunch Cosmo did not return, and since he had told me to make myself free of his studio, I boldly went there to explore. There were so many strange things there: African and Japanese masks hanging on the walls, the skins of strange animals, tall spears and other weapons, a Chinese screen, an open trunk containing sumptuous lengths of fabric, a huge, thronelike chair and a divan covered in bright velvet …
Then, feeling rather guilty, I examined the painting he was currently working on, which was on a large easel, and which is a landscape of mountains under a lowering sky, dramatically lit by one shaft of light. I slid out one or two of his other works from the racks, too.
I was glad we had been to the gallery where his work is displayed before I left London, and observed that his previously formal landscapes and figure paintings have become distinctly looser in style, like the current one he is working on, even if his rather dark palette of colours remains the same.
After this I donned my stoutest boots, stuffed my little watercolour box and small sketchbook into the pockets of my jacket and then begged a little bread and cheese from Mrs Bradley, having first complimented her on the delicious Welsh cakes – and she has unbent enough to promise me the recipe! Then I went out to explore alone, leaving by a handy little side door into the shrubbery, which bordered one side of the sloping lawn at the back of the house, then out through the gate on to the gorse and wiry grass of the cliffs. There I turned right and followed the path back up to the highest point, and Mab’s Grave. I did a little sketching there and had my bread and cheese, before returning back to the house by way of the cliff path and then up through the village, where several people were about and greeted me politely.
There is a little general store with a post office counter, and I mean to post all my letters to you there, so that I can see them on their way!
It was almost time for dinner when I got back. Maudie and Bea were going up to change and suggested I do the same for I was very windblown!
I did wash and put on a frock, although since apparently I am still such a child, despite being little more than a year younger than Bea, I don’t see that it matters much what I wear.
Mr Jones was at dinner again too, and told me several of the Welsh legends from a book called – if I have it right – theMabinogion,which fascinated me, although Bea looked profoundly bored. He is designing the porcelain figurines they will make atthe pottery, and he discussed with Cosmo having the woman who sits for him assume the guise of Morgana le Fay, legendary sorceress. Cosmo and I were to paint her, while Mr Jones modelled her in clay.
After dinner, Cosmo went out on to the upper terrace, which is over the small ballroom at the back, to smoke a cigar, as seems to be his habit, but Mr Jones came into the drawing room with us to take coffee and we carried on talking about such characters from legend and history he meant to depict in his figurines, while Bea yawned very rudely and talked to Maudie in a low voice instead. Then Cosmo came in and took Mr Jones off into his study.
Cosmo has told me he is usually in his studio at about ten most days and clearly expected me to be there at this hour on Monday morning, but I had hatched a plan and, the good weather continuing, decided to get up very early every day before breakfast and slip out to sketch, paint or merely walk about, revelling in the salt air and scenery. I have carried out this plan ever since, using the handy side door that gives on to the shrubbery. I am not sure anyone other than Efa, the servant who brings my morning tea – whom I have told not to bother since I don’t drink it – is aware that I have been slipping out in this way and I enjoy my bit of freedom.
In the studio on Monday morning, Cosmo made me free of his stock of art materials and also told me he had an account at a shop in St Melangell that also had artist’s supplies for the many visitors, which I might also use. However, I still have a little money of my own and do not wish to be so beholden to him!
Then he asked me what I thought of the landscape on the easel and seemed very pleased when I told him I had been to see some of his previous work and much admired the new, freer and expressive way he was painting.
After this he told me he had decided we were to drive out to a favourite spot of his to paint and I should go and get my things, so that was a pleasant surprise.
We took a picnic basket and the chauffeur, Wykes – a rather shifty-eyed man whom I do not much like the look of – drove us to a place called Blaenau Ffestiniog, up in the mountains, and carried our picnic and gear to the place Cosmo chose for us to work, before returning to the car.
The scenery was very desolate and strange, but also oddly beautiful, the mountain slopes covered with shards of purplish slate.
It was Cosmo’s custom, like mine, to work in watercolour outdoors, before translating that into oils in the studio, although I would like to try painting outdoor in oils at some point soon.
I was quite keen to set to work but, to my disappointment, Cosmo requested me to try and paint the scene in his style rather than my own, which he said would show him if what Papa had said was true: that I could master any painter’s style. He also seemed to think I would learn something from this, but I have no idea what.
However, by the time we had stopped for lunch I had produced several watercolour sketches in a denser and darker palette than my usual one, and in Cosmo’s style, which he deemed almost indistinguishable from his own, but that the proof of my skill would come in the studio, when I translated it into oils.
After lunch we set to again, but this time he did not constrain me in any way so I wandered off a little to where a stream was turning the slate a darker purple and the grasses that sprung out around it seemed a very deep and vibrant green in that almost barren landscape.
Dear Milly, I will admit to you that I am feeling pleased and a little flattered by Cosmo’s admiration of my work, except I wouldhave preferred it to have been for my own original work. Also, I am beginning to feel quite relaxed in his company, until he gets back on his autocratic high horse again, and I remember the relationship between us and his power over my actions.
Since our excursion, we have both been working in the studio in the mornings, rendering our sketches into oils, mine still perforce in his style. But he is often occupied elsewhere in the afternoons, so I may paint as I please, or go out and continue the early morning studies I have begun of the sea and sky. It is so ever-changing, and I put the time, date and place of each sketch on the back, a sort of diary of the elements.
Finally, my paintings from our excursion completed to his satisfaction, Cosmo said I was free to paint in whatever way I wish, to my relief.
I must share a suspicion with you about Cosmo’s evolving and more spontaneous painting style. I believe he has become short-sighted, but too vain to wear the spectacles I see peeping out of the top pocket of his jacket, for I have never seen him use them.
I have come to meet several of the local people while out on the cliffs or walking back through the village, including the artist Gwendoline Sutler whom I mentioned to you, whose companion, Effie Parker, is to model for us next week in the role of Morgana le Fay.
Gwendoline is of stocky build and weather-beaten complexion, with iron-grey hair even shorter than ours and a nose like a rocking horse. She has a very downright manner, but I liked her and was dismayed when Cosmo discovered I had spoken to her and told me that there was no need for anything other than the barest civility.
Maudie said that Effie Parker was quite a common woman, so I rather look forward to meeting her on Monday!
Since I went out right after breakfast this morning, takingsome bread and cheese with me – Cosmo having said the previous evening that he would be engaged with Mr Jones all day – I had entirely forgotten that today is the day of Mark Prynne’s return home, until I went back, ravenous, for tea and found Bea and Maudie there before me, very put out at having been denied a sight of him.
They were too aggrieved to do justice to the buttered slices of a delicious spiced fruit loaf – another recipe I must ask Mrs Bradley for – or the scones, but eager to pour out their grievances to me.
I can’t say I felt any sympathy for them. Having heard on the efficient local grapevine that, the last stage of the journey being but a short one, Mark Prynne and his father were expected home by noon, they had set off right after lunch, bearing a gift of crystallized fruit and messages of welcome and good wishes, ostensibly to leave for the invalid, but in reality fully expecting to be invited to stay for tea and see him in person. But the butler had denied them admittance. To add insult to injury, Lily Trimble came downstairs at that moment, pulling on her gloves!
