Page 26 of Searching for Mr Tilney

‘I suppose with the revolution in France fashion was changing so quickly too. In such a period of great upheaval, dress was taking on new styles,’ I said, all my research on the time and memories of history of fashion lectures coming to the fore. ‘Women started to cut their hair short, in a bizarre imitation of those sent to the guillotine, and followed the children’s fashion of high-waisted gowns, discarding the heavy brocades for a simpler look.’

‘Quite … it simply wasn’t de rigueur to look too wealthy … one had to blend in with the peasants and working people, though I’m sure they didn’t succeed.’

‘It’s a very romantic vision of rural life,’ I added, ‘but, I suppose every age and generation likes to idealise life to a certain extent.’

‘And the rich had to justify their wealth, while protecting themselves at the same time,’ added Piers with a grin.

I was really enjoying Piers’ company, and it was so good to discuss art and painting with someone so knowledgeable. We decided to go upstairs and look at the glass and ceramics, which Piers really enjoyed, as he seems to have as much passion for porcelain as his friend Simon. I’ve already decided I’ll paint an eighteenth century piece for his Christmas present. There was a beautiful Georgian teapot that he loved, that might be just the subject for my painting. He wanted to have a look at the other painting gallery, and I said I hoped a favourite painting I’d seen on my last visit to Bath was still on display.

‘It’s of a girl, Sophia Dumergue who must be French, I think. She’s dressed in pink, wearing a sheer muslin cap decorated with glossy ribbons, roses and orange blossom, and with a tiny kitten resting on her arm. She has the most exquisite fingerless glove on one hand, which extends along her arm to the elbow, where the cat’s paws rest.’

‘It sounds perfectly delicious,’ Piers said, as we went round the corner and stepped through into the room lined with paintings.

He rushed on ahead, and I heard him call out, ‘Here it is, and isn’t the gilt chair she’s sitting on simply divine?’

I’d come to a complete standstill. The room was empty apart from us and one other person. At the far end of the room, engrossed in what looked like a Gainsborough from this distance was Harry - his back to us, but immediately recognisable by his long coat.

Because I didn’t answer, Piers looked round to see why I hadn’t caught up with him, and at the very same time Harry turned round to see who’d just entered the room. There was a really awkward moment when nobody spoke or did anything, and then to my relief Harry started to walk towards me.

‘I’m just going down to reception for a guide book,’ said Piers tactfully, and disappeared off, leaving us alone together.

‘Hello,’ said Harry, stopping just inches in front of me, ‘it seems so long since we saw one another.’ He appeared taller than ever, towering over me, and was looking at me intensely with those blue eyes, but there was something quite melancholy about them, a certain sadness that I wished I could erase.

‘Yes, it does … they said at the Pump Rooms that you were on holiday.’

‘Well, not exactly a holiday. My uncle, the one I was telling you about, has been very ill. His housekeeper actually got in touch to say he wanted to see us.’

‘Oh dear, I am sorry; I hope he’s feeling better … but that’s such good news that he wanted to make contact again. We were told you’d gone back to Cheltenham. ’

‘We went to Pembrokeshire … he seemed to be recovering well by the time we left him. And I was so happy for my mother that they’d renewed their friendship. He apologised to us both, saying he’d been a little lost for a few years, which was just what we’d suspected.’

‘What a shame that you’ve missed all that time being able to support one another, and being a family.’

‘Yes, it is a pity, but now that Mum, Elsa and I are back in his life, I’m sure we will make up for missed time. He’s invited us for Christmas.’

‘How is Elsa?’

‘She’s working hard, too hard as usual, trying to catch up on work she’s missed.’

‘You’re so lucky to have such a lovely sister.’

‘She speaks very highly of you too.’

There was a pause in the conversation and I didn’t know what to say. Harry was gazing into my eyes again, and looked as if he was thinking hard about what he was going to say next.

‘Have you been seeing him long … the guy you’re with? I saw you in the café yesterday … he looks very keen.’

I had to bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. Harry clearly had no idea.

‘He’s Ellen Appleby’s nephew … we’re not ‘seeing’ each other, though he’s a lovely guy. I’m pretty sure he’s committed elsewhere, and besides that, we’d never suit each other.’

‘Oh, right.’

Silence again, and this time it was almost painful, and I wondered if I’d said too much. He looked very interested in the paintings on the walls for a minute, his head moving one way, and then the other, the curls that refused to be tamed trembling on the nape of his neck.

‘I’m sorry I walked off yesterday without coming in to say hello properly,’ he said finally, looking at me square on, his eyebrows drawing together once more in a frown.

‘That’s fine - I thought you were probably very busy and had to be somewhere.’