‘I’m glad you like it. I hope the vicar feels the same.’
‘I don’t see how he could fail to. But Lando…’
‘Yes.’
‘She does look very like me. I didn’t think you were doing a portrait.’
It was true. Although I could never hope to achieve such glowing serenity, Mary’s face was unmistakeably mine.
‘Neither did I, and I hope you don’t mind. But…’
He paused and turned to his workbench, shuffling around some papers and tools in what seemed to me to be a completely unnecessary way. I waited.
‘…well…’ He turned back to me. ‘Your calmness and peace…you sort of radiate it, you know, Penny. I thought it was only with the children…You’re fun with them, but you soothe and settle them by – just by being the way you are. I thought maybe it was a professional thing, being a teacher. But you brought that here with you too. It infused my work. How could it not?’
He shrugged and looked so perplexed that I almost wanted to laugh, while at the same time being incredibly moved by his words. What beautiful words, when I thought of myself as dull and sensible. I cleared my throat.
‘Gosh, thank you. I don’t know what to say. I’m glad I could help.’
‘Yes, well, you have.’
‘OK…I’ll change out of my robe then and get off. Get on my way, I mean.’
Stop wittering, Penny. He knows what you mean. That sexual tension you think is in the air? All in your own head.
‘Right. Yes, you’d better do that. Actually, I wondered if you’d like a drink. To celebrate. I’d like to celebrate finishing Mary. If you’d like to stay. You don’t have to.’
I resisted the temptation to make a snarky comment about not being able to refuse such a gracious invitation, which I didn’t think would fit with my new, serene persona.
‘Thank you, I’d like that.’
He disappeared through the door at the back of the studio whilst I hurriedly shed the heavy cloth and tugged my jeans back on. He reappeared carrying a bottle of champagne, no less, and two glasses.
‘Champagne? How delicious.’
‘I hope that’s all right? You haven’t developed a taste for all the fragrant liqueurs my father has been pouring down your throat?’
‘No! Well, they are delicious, but absolutely lethal. I don’t know how he stays so chipper. No, champagne is lovely, thank you.’
‘I hope it’s all right,’ he said, easing out the cork with well-practised skill. ‘Time was I would have drunk it before it had had time to chill, but this has been in the fridge for weeks since I was given it.’
He poured out the sparkling liquid and handed me a glass.
‘To Mary.’
‘To Mary.’
‘Oh, sorry, do sit down. Er, there aren’t many places. Look, sit here, Garbo won’t mind.’
He scooped the little dog off a tatty but comfortable-looking bucket chair and waved me into it, then perched on his work chair. I tucked my feet up and had another sip. I decided I was feeling daring – adventurous, even.
‘So, when was it you would have drunk warm champagne? Sounds like desperate measures?’
‘Yes.’
I wondered if he was going to divulge any more, or if I had overstepped the mark in asking. I stayed quiet and waited. He continued.
‘Well, I used to work in the City, as a broker. It’s a stupidly fast-paced life and fuelled by adrenaline, booze and various prescription and non-prescription drugs. They weren’t really my scene, but the adrenaline and alcohol were a toxic enough mix as it turns out. For a few years I loved it. I was making money hand over fist and having a ball – in that world, work and play mix almost constantly, until you can’t tell which is which or where to draw the line. Hitting nightclubs with clients until four in the morning becomes as crucial as getting into the office at five to beat the competition and spot the best deals. You have no idea who your friends are, or why people want to be with you, and when you’re partying hard on a superyacht in the Med, you don’t really care. For a while, anyway.’
