Chapter 7 Clash of the Titans #2
‘Really, after all these years, I feel more part of the family,’ said the sweet, plaintive voice of an angelically fair woman, seated on the sofa opposite.
‘I’m Verity Poole, an artist, working in watercolour and gouache.
I’m looking forward to all the Christmas festivities, of course, but I’m also hoping to complete a lot of work while I’m here, because all the paintings on my website gallery have sold out!
My work just seems to strike a chord with so many people. ’
‘Yes, you see it in the garden centres, printed on everything from greetings cards to tea towels,’ Nerys agreed gravely.
‘One must make a living,’ Verity said, with that sweet, misty smile.
She looked a few years older than me, her wavy hair drawn back in two pale wings and her eyes a misty blue. With her thin hands clasped in front of her, she looked as if she might be posing for a depiction of the Madonna.
‘Verity has been coming to our retreats for some years,’ Nerys said. ‘She was a friend of Rhys’s late wife.’
Verity cast a quick, melting glance in Rhys’s direction and said softly, ‘Yes indeed, so I feel I’m practically Cariad’s auntie!’
She gave her sweet plaintive smile and said to Cariad, ‘We must spend some time together when I can spare it from my work, because it is ages since I’ve seen you.’
Cariad looked less than keen on this prospect. ‘You needn’t bother – there’s lots of fun things to do over Christmas, and also, I spend a lot of time with my best friend, Mel.’
‘Ungraciously put, perhaps, Verity,’ Rhys said to her, ‘but at least you can now get on with your work with a clear conscience.’
For a second Verity’s smile wavered, then she rallied and said, bravely, ‘Well, you know I’m always here for you, Cariad, if you need me.’
‘That’s true – she is always here,’ I heard Nerys mutter, sounding sardonic.
Kate Komodo obviously thought Verity had hogged the stage too long, because she threw out an imposing bosom clad in what looked like a khaki bell tent – maybe there had been a sale on vintage boy scout equipment? – and announced, sonorously: ‘I’m Kate Komodo, bestselling author of literary crime.’
I wondered how literary crime differed from any other sort, but I suspected that Kate would inform us all at the first opportunity and probably at tedious length.
‘I’ve brought the edits for my next novel, The Ghastly Stain, with me, which need completing by the New Year, and I will get right down to them once all this Christmas nonsense is over and I can work in peace.’
‘You would be unlikely to be disturbed in your room anyway,’ pointed out Nerys, ‘so we’d hate you to feel you had to join in the festivities.’
‘Of course,’ Timon said hastily. ‘Now, shall we move on to you, Toby?’ he added to the young man who seemed to be trying to hide in the corner.
‘I’m Toby Sweft,’ he said, blushing faintly.
His handsome face, the clear grey eyes ringed with the longest of dark lashes, wore the expression of a startled and wary fawn.
He had good cause, too, for the Heavenly Twins were now eyeing him with the expressions of ravenous Maenads, rather than winsome elven folk.
‘I’m trying to write my second novel, and hoping the change of scene will help.’
‘I expect it will, and the second novel is always the hardest to write,’ Rhys assured him. ‘I enjoyed your first very much.’
Toby blushed even more, but looked gratified. ‘Thank you! And also,’ he added with a shy smile, ‘although my late mother was too ill to really celebrate Christmas properly for the last few years, I love everything about it, so I’m looking forward to experiencing a traditional family one.’
‘Oh, so am I!’ I exclaimed. ‘I love Christmas too!’
We exchanged smiles and the twins glowered.
Then one of them said: ‘We’re very into learning about the old pagan traditions and incorporating them into our work. We are performance artists.’
Verity gave what sounded like a derisive snort, but something had clicked in my memory and I cried: ‘I was sure we’d met before! You were in your first year studying fine art when I was finishing my MA. You’re Iris and—’
‘We’re Opal and Pearl Gemini,’ one of the twins cut in loudly.
I was very sure they’d been called Iris and Irma Dodds at college, but there is no law against changing your name, even if they had chosen something a bit precious. I realized then that although at first glance they might look like teenagers, they had to be heading rapidly for thirty.
‘We work through live performance and film, exploring the themes of mirroring. As we mirror each other, we also mirror the world about us. Our first major success came when we stood face to face and naked in a gallery, holding up mirrors to reflect each other.’
There was a short silence while we digested this image, and I distinctly heard a muttered ‘Piffle!’ from the direction of Kate Komodo.
The other twin said, ‘While we are identical in every way, you can tell us apart when we are not performing by our pendants.’
She indicated a necklace that lay on her scrawny chest, revealed by the low neck of her dress. ‘Pearl for me and Opal for my sister.’
I thought I’d be able to tell them apart anyway, now I’d had a good look at them, because Opal seemed to be in much sharper focus somehow, the dominant one.
‘How interesting,’ said Nerys politely. ‘But I wouldn’t try filming yourselves naked during the Winter Solstice celebration, because it takes place outside and you’d freeze to death.’
Before they could reply, she turned to me with her warm smile and said, ‘Do tell us about yourself, Ginny.’
I’d been so interested I’d forgotten I’d have to take my turn, but I swallowed hard and then said, ‘I’m Ginny Spain, and I write and illustrate children’s board books. I’ve also written a series for older readers. But I have a different writing project I want to focus on during the retreat.’
Cariad abandoned a plate of cheese and pickles on cocktail sticks, which she’d been wolfing down, and stared at me.
‘Did you write the Mrs Snowboots books? I’ve got all those!’
I nodded.
‘Not that I read baby books now, of course,’ she said hastily, ‘but I’m collecting your Hedgehoppers series. The new one should be in my Christmas stocking, because it was on the list I sent to Uncle Noel.’
‘To Santa,’ corrected Nerys.
‘Same difference,’ Cariad said. ‘I know Uncle Noel stands in for him sometimes, so he must have a hotline.’
I thought Cariad had reached the age where she couldn’t believe in Santa any more, but was willing to play along with it, to please the adults.
‘That’s right,’ said Noel. ‘I’m a deputy Santa, so I can stand in for him when he’s too busy to come here himself. But how lovely for you, darling child, to have your favourite author staying here!’
‘Children’s board books!’ snorted Kate Komodo. ‘Still, at least there are two serious novelists here beside myself.’
‘In what way do you consider writing for young minds less serious than writing for adults?’ asked Evie, suddenly and combatively.
She’d been so unwontedly quiet I’d managed to forget she was in the room, but I expect she’d been sizing the other guests up.
‘Ginny, you always put yourself down, but your books wouldn’t be so hugely successful if they were not both brilliantly written and illustrated – especially given that you refuse to do any promotion at all! ’
I stared at her. I’d given copies of all my books to her and Liv, but I hadn’t realized she’d ever so much as opened one!
‘Do you two know each other?’ asked Nerys curiously, looking from one of us to the other.
‘We’ve met,’ said Evie enigmatically, but I was not going to fall in with her idea of being a secret Watson to her Holmes in order to ferret out family information from Nerys, who I already very much liked.
‘Evie’s my mother,’ I said shortly. ‘She’s Evie Chase, the art historian.’
‘And a very distinguished one, too,’ Timon said, riding gallantly to the rescue in the ensuing silence.
‘Feminist art historian,’ Evie corrected. ‘Some of you may have seen my TV series, Reassigning Brilliance, or read some of my many books on the subject of underrated female artists, like my biographical Painted Back In series?’
There was an indistinct answering murmur – no one wanted to admit they hadn’t, with Evie’s bright beady eyes on them – but Verity suddenly leaned forward and exclaimed: ‘Oh, I saw those TV programmes, where you proved masterpieces painted by famous male artists were really the work of unknown female painters! It didn’t make you popular with the galleries and museums, did it? ’
‘No, but I wasn’t out to win a popularity poll. I want justice and recognition for underrated or forgotten female artists.’
‘I think you are quite right,’ Nerys said. ‘I loved the series. Are you working on one of your biographies now?’
I wasn’t sure Evie wanted to come out into the open so soon with the subject of her current research – and I certainly felt I’d had enough revelations for one day – so it was a relief when a gong rang so loudly you could practically feel the walls vibrate along with your eardrums.
‘Dinner!’ announced Timon brightly.