Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
On Monday, after finishing college, Felicity headed straight back out into the crisp, December air. There had been a note for her on the doormat that morning from Miranda and Quentin, Oliver’s friends whom she had met when she had lunch on his barge, saying she was needed urgently to paint the backdrop of the little theatre attached to a pub.
After a day of yawning and boredom, struggling to care about short forms and other details of the Pitman’s system for shorthand, Felicity was delighted at the prospect of doing something fun. She left a note for her mother, and another for Violet, just in case either needed to know where she was, and caught the bus to Chiswick. The pub she was heading for wasn’t the Bell and Crown where she had met Oliver before, but nearby.
She really hoped Oliver would be there but suspected he’d either be working or with his father, before it was time to put him on the sleeper train. She knew he had appeared to pay for dinner the previous night as a grand gesture, proof to his father that he wasn’t living on a shoestring, but earning a proper living. But Felicity knew perfectly well that Oliver would have to work to pay back the restaurant for the bill. And it would be for a long time to cover all the alcohol that had been drunk.
Oliver’s friends were very pleased to see her when she arrived. ‘We have so much to do in such a short space of time,’ said Miranda. ‘Will you be able to do us a quick backdrop do you think? A forest scene?’ She paused, looking at Felicity dubiously. ‘I realise it’s an awful lot to ask – I wouldn’t if we weren’t desperate – and Oliver said you could do it …’ Her voice trailed away and Felicity recognised despair.
Felicity looked at the vast area, easily as big as a large room in a chateau. ‘When do you need it done by?’
‘Saturday night, but Friday would be better, to give it time to dry before our first performance. Look, don’t worry about it – it’s far too much—’
‘I can do it,’ said Felicity, ‘if I have brushes, paint and ladders. And of course any help anyone can give me.’
Miranda rushed off in search of supplies.
Felicity soon found herself lost in her project. It had been too long since she had last done any art and although she filled her time without doing it, she felt part of herself blossom as she saw paint going on, art being created.
She had done a rough sketch over the entire backdrop, giving a clear impression of what the end result should look like, when she suddenly realised how tired and cold she was. She climbed off her ladder to look at her work from a distance.
Suddenly there was Oliver, taking her in his arms and hugging her. And then they were kissing, at the back of a dark theatre where the only light was on the stage, far away.
Oliver broke away first. ‘You’d better go home. Your mother will be waiting for you. I gathered from my father that their tea at the Ritz or wherever they went was very successful. I’m not sure if I’m pleased or find it weird.’
‘Weird, definitely,’ said Felicity. ‘I think I’ll take a taxi home. Can I give you a lift anywhere?’ She was suddenly exhausted and longed to be in the back of a comfortable cab speeding through London.
‘It’s all right. We’re very near the moorings here. Although it’s been hard work today, paying for our dinner, the restaurant was happy to have had us. A restaurant critic was in and apparently we enhanced the atmosphere.’
Felicity giggled. ‘I can’t imagine how.’
‘We looked stylish and elegant,’ said Oliver. ‘I’m only quoting what the ma?tre d’ said. He’s giving us the wine on the condition that I take more people there.’
‘Are you the only person who gets jobs like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘Bringing people to restaurants. Things that don’t seem like proper work.’
‘Maybe. But my proper work is mudlarking,’ he said. ‘And one day I’ll be a jeweller. And maybe that will make me rich.’
‘I’d love to go mudlarking with you again.’
‘There’s a very low tide this coming Sunday,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s a date!’
Felicity was a little nervous about appearing back home after nine o’clock in the week, but she needn’t have worried. Lucinda had had a very enjoyable tea with Hector.
‘He insisted on us having champagne. He couldn’t have been more charming, and I adore his military air. He is a little bit stern, but I found that made me feel very … cared-for. He’s a proper man, Felicity. At last, after your father – and Juan!’
Felicity gulped. She wasn’t as thrilled to hear this as her mother seemed to think she should be, or pleased to hear her father bracketed with Felicity’s Argentinian ex-husband, who had turned out to be very unsatisfactory. But she managed to say, ‘Oh, that’s very good. He doesn’t seem very like Oliver.’
Too late she realised this probably wasn’t a tactful thing to say but her mother took it in her stride. ‘He worries about him, of course. It’s what parents do.’ Lucinda paused. ‘Oliver’s mother died giving birth to him.’
‘Oh.’ Felicity thought about how sad that must have been for Oliver and his family, and realised she hadn’t heard him talk about his mother.
‘But one thing you should know …’
This sounded ominous. ‘What?’
‘You may need to come to terms with tweed. We’ve been invited to Scotland for Christmas.’
Felicity felt subsumed by happiness. While she had been looking forward to going home to Provence for Christmas (having not discussed it with her mother yet), the thought of spending the holiday with Oliver was even more wonderful.