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“Good question. I struggle with that, I guess.” Elda turned back to the canvas. “Something in my gut. In my heart. When I’m no longer compelled to lift the brush or spread the paint.” She stood back from the three easels. Charlie joined her and their shoulders touched, sending a rush through Elda as if someone was tickling her ribs. “This is it.” She blinked, the sudden clarity hitting like a freight train.
Charlie squeezed Elda’s right arm and wrapped her in a hug. Her body softened into Charlie’s curves like she belonged there. It was too brief. They broke away, and she left a yellow smudge on Charlie’s neck where her thumb had rested. Elda fought the temptation to touch her.
“You did it.” Charlie brushed away a tear.
“Yeah, I did it.” She’d never had anyone mirror the pride she felt when she’d finished a piece. Every part of her filled up with joy.
“Stay here. I’ll be back.” Charlie put her jacket on and disappeared out of the studio.
“Where are you off to?” Elda whispered after her, but she was grateful for the respite. The tension in the room was simmering. Tears of relief threatened to stream down her face, and she didn’t want to melt in front of Charlie. She hadn’t really believed that she could finish the canvases in time for the exhibition, and now that she had, a burden lifted from her shoulders. She distracted herself by cleaning her tools and packing away her paints. She could take a break now and focus on the hanging space and promoting the exhibition.
Ten minutes later, Charlie returned, holding two mugs from the mill’s kitchen and a bottle of champagne. She popped the cork with a flourish. “I’m so excited for you. This is it! You can relax now.”
“I know. I’m bloody knackered. And so over making excuses to Francis. He’s been at me all week.” Holding out her mug to Charlie, she swallowed the relief at the back of her throat and wiped away a tear. “Thank you for being here with me.”
“It’s a privilege. I know that.” Charlie had looked at her feet and then back up to Elda. “Anyway, I needed to carry your bags and make your tea. It’s my fault you’ve only got one arm.”
Somehow, she’d allowed Charlieinto her innermost thoughts and had explored her most vulnerable, creative depths with Charlie sitting on a rug, sipping tea from a mug that she’d made her own. She thought back to Jack’s warning and promised herself that this couldn’t go any faster. If she rushed into something with Charlie, she’d fall flat on her face just like every other time.
***
Once again, Elda found herself as a passenger in the Ford Capri that had forced her off the road. There was no denying the vintage sex appeal of the car. Almost as sexy as its owner. Charlie changed lanes through tunnels without slowing down, undertaking tourists in the city. They turned into a tiny multi-storey that Elda had never noticed before.
“This is the chambers’ car park. I have a space.” Charlie made a corkscrew ascent to a roof top with views across the skyline. Even with its grey, autumn cloak, it was beautiful.
“Fancy.” Elda poked her in the ribs, and Charlie shot her a humble but gorgeous smile.
“It’s convenient. We can just cross the road over the bridge.”
Elda was desperate for something to wear for the private viewing on Friday night. She’d spent the last couple of weeks obsessing over the final strokes of her paintings and hadn’t given the actual exhibition and its mechanics much thought.
Charlie took her free hand, sending a jolt of excitement through Elda. She was thrilled to be featuring in her first proper, grown-up exhibition and grateful to have Charlie’s advice with the wardrobe choices. But the pressure was on, and every moment reminded her of the literal pedestal Francis had built for her. Elda wanted the event to be a success but her anxiety about looking good and living up to everyone’s expectations threatened to overwhelm her.
Charlie led the way into a trendy-looking boutique, and Elda shrunk into her coat. It wasn’t her usual kind of place. She squinted at a sea of fabrics, textures, shapes, and sizes all in the same black and grey palette.
“How about this?” Charlie lifted a black jacket off a rail. “You’d look stunning.”
Elda touched it gently, and the leather moved under her fingertips like silk. She stroked its high collar and folded darts. “I need something underneath it first,” she said.
“Do you?” Charlie’s eyes wrinkled as she laughed.
“Be serious, you.” Elda pulled her away, and her cheeks flushed. She was glad the store was so dimly lit.
“Try this.” Charlie passed her a charcoal silk shirt and a pair of wide leg trousers.
“I don’t know if I’ve got the height for those.”
Charlie ushered her into the fitting room, and she changed without fuss, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She drew back the heavy curtain and met Charlie’s waiting gaze.
“You look beautiful,” Charlie said.
Elda’s stomach flipped. “Do you think it’ll do?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect.” Charlie fidgeted with her buttons. “I’ll wait out in the shop while you get ready.”
Charlie looked more flustered than her usual cool self. But now wasn’t the time to be misreading signals. She was just being a good friend.
Purchase made and bags in hand, they marched arm-in-arm through the city.
