Chapter 11
When Gladdie came back into the garden she was carrying three mugs of tea on a tray and she had taken her painting apron off.
‘What happened to the wine you promised us?’ Megan asked, stacking the china paint palettes on top of each other to make space.
‘The wine was for Elisavet, to help cheer her up. I’m not wasting it on you two because you don’t need cheering up.’
‘I don’t think wine would have worked anyway,’ Cora said. ‘She’s got a broken heart.’
Gladdie put the tray down with a rattle. ‘Rubbish! What’s given you that idea?’
‘She told me,’ Cora said.
‘Oh,’ Gladdie said shamelessly. ‘I guessed it was something like that.’
‘Gladdie, you fibber!’
Unperturbed, Gladdie handed her a mug and asked, ‘Who broke it, did she say?’
‘Her fiancé, back home. He told her she’s the enemy now,’ Cora said. ‘Where did Gwyn say she was from?’
They shook their heads, couldn’t remember.
Megan sipped from her mug. ‘If you promise a person a glass of wine, Gladdie, a cup of tea is a terrible anticlimax. And can we drop the art club now? I’m not cut out for it.
Don’t try to persuade me with encouraging words because it’s not going to work.
’ She was still irritable, and not just about the wine.
‘Elisavet said we think life is a joke. She doesn’t realise that because we’re old we’ve learnt things.’ Cora added ruefully, ‘Mainly that it is a joke.’
Gladdie was reluctant to let the art club go. ‘If we keep up with the art club we can teach her all the things we’ve learnt.’
Cora had a sudden pleasing vision of them as three old gurus with Elisavet sitting by their feet on the grass, eager to learn the secrets of life.
It didn’t, of course, take into account their different personalities, nor for the fact that she wasn’t sure they had learnt much of anything except the importance of keeping going.
And that wasn’t even something you had to learn – one had no choice in the matter.
‘Bad idea. Nobody likes to have lessons forced on them,’ she added. ‘Elisavet won’t like being preached to. We have to learn things for ourselves.’
‘And you won’t be subtle about it, Gladdie, that’s the problem,’ Megan pointed out, ‘I know you, you’ll ram it down her throat like the art.
Good effort, that’s what you said about my tree trunk with my father’s face in it, and I call that condescending, considering you painted a blue tit wearing red wellingtons.
Give me a hand to get up, will you, Cora. ’
‘The horse liniment not working for you?’ Gladdie asked innocently.
Cora held Megan’s hands and with her assistance, Megan got out of the chair, gritting her teeth.
They collected their things together. If they were together for any length of time they tended to get cranky with one another.
Cora picked up her bag and for a moment she wondered why she had some old newspaper in it, and then remembered what was wrapped up inside it.
‘We’re better behaved when Elisavet’s around,’ she observed.
‘That’s true,’ Gladdie said. ‘So what are we going to do about the art class? Same time next week?’
No one could accuse Gladdie of not being a trier.
‘I’m not promising,’ Cora said. ‘I might have better things to do.’
‘If I come, and it’s a big if, I’m bringing my own wine,’ Megan decided.
The three of them knew that it was settled, and they would definitely come, but they enjoyed a rebellion from time to time.
‘That’s sorted then,’ Gladdie said. ‘Don’t forget your paintings.’
‘Frame it and don’t say I never give you anything,’ Cora suggested. ‘Tell you what, Glad, I’ll sign it for you if you like.’
‘No, you frame it,’ Gladdie said. ‘I’m serious. We’re going to have an exhibition at the end of the summer.’
‘What?’ Megan threw her hands up in disgust. ‘You didn’t tell us there was going to be an exhibition!
’ she protested. ‘I might have known. Trust you to try and show us up, it’s typical of you.
You said it was just for fun and to help Elisavet.
’ She jerked her head meaningfully towards Elisavet’s empty chair.
‘It is for fun,’ Gladdie said, ‘but it might as well be two things as one thing. And look on the bright side – you might have improved by then.’
‘That’s it, I knew you’d insult me sooner or later,’ Megan said firmly, wiping her hands on her smock. ‘I’m hanging up my paintbrush.’
Cora gave Megan an arm to lean on and with a grunt, Megan picked up her damp, puckered painting. ‘See you later.’
‘See you later,’ Gladdie said.