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“Very droll,” said Harry. “Does he have a name?”
“Clive Bingham.”
“And have you met him?”
“Yes, they’re rarely apart, and I know he proposes to her at least once a week.”
“But she’s far too young to be thinking about getting married,” said Emma.
“You don’t have to be a wrangler, Mama, to work out that if you’re forty-three and I’m twenty-four, you must have been nineteen when I was born.”
“But it was different in those days.”
“I wonder if Grandpa Walter agreed with you at the time.”
“Yes, he did,” said Emma, taking Harry’s arm. “Gramps adored your father.”
“And you’ll adore Clive. He’s a really nice chap, and it’s not his fault that he isn’t much of an artist, as you can see for yourself,” said Sebastian, guiding his parents across the room so they could look at Clive’s work.
Harry stared at Self Portrait for some time before he offered an opinion. “I can see why you think Jessica is so good, because I can’t believe anyone will buy these.”
“Fortunately, he has wealthy parents, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But as Jessica’s never been interested in money, and he doesn’t seem to have any talent, what’s the attraction?”
“As almost every female student on the course has painted Clive at some time during the past three years, it’s clear that Jessica’s not the only person who thinks he’s good-looking.”
“Not if he looks like that,” said Emma, taking a closer look at Self Portrait.
Sebastian laughed. “Wait and see before you pass judgment. Though I ought to warn you, Mama, that by your standards you might find him a little disorganized, even vague. But as we all know, Jess always wants to look after any stray she comes across, possibly because she was an orphan herself.”
“Does Clive know she was adopted?”
“Of course,” said Sebastian. “Jessica never hides the fact. She tells anyone who asks. At art school it’s a bonus, almost a badge of honor.”
“And are they living together?” whispered Emma.
“They’re both art students, Mama, so I think it’s just possible.”
Harry laughed, but Emma still looked shocked.
“It may come as a surprise to you, Mama, but Jess is twenty-one, beautiful and talented, and I can tell you Clive’s not the only guy who thinks she’s a bit special.”
“Well, I look forward to meeting him,” said Emma. “And if we’re not going to be late for the prize-giving, we ought to go and change.”
“While we’re on that subject, Mama, please don’t turn up this evening looking like the chairman of Barrington’s Shipping Company, and as if you’re about to preside over a board meeting, because it will embarrass Jessica.”
“But I am the chairman of Barrington’s.”
“Not tonight, Mama. Tonight you’re Jessica’s mother. So if you’ve got a pair of jeans, preferably old and faded, they’ll be just fine.”
“But I don’t own a pair of jeans, old or faded.”
“Then wear something you were thinking of giving to the vicar’s jumble sale.”
“How about my gardening togs?” said Emma, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm.
“Perfect. And the oldest sweater you can lay your hands on, preferably one with holes in the elbows.”
