Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER
TWENTY - SIX
Felicity took her time tidying Violet’s flat, putting off the moment when she would be downstairs in the main house waiting for her mother to return. She had done the dishes, dried them and put them away. She had found a tin of furniture polish so when she’d finished there was a pleasant odour of beeswax and turpentine. Then she changed the sheets on the spare bed. When she could think of nothing else to do, she took the used sheets and went downstairs. The sheets could be sent to the laundry next week.
In the main house she dusted and then went into the garden with the kitchen scissors to find something to put in a vase. She was lucky: some far-sighted person had planted something very fragrant. Felicity cut enough sprigs of it for Violet’s flat as well as her mother’s drawing room. The scent was glorious.
When there was nothing else useful to do that she could think of, she put on her coat and went for a walk.
Inevitably, she found herself next to the Thames and thinking even more about Oliver than she had been already. She remembered going mudlarking with him, how much fun it had been, how romantic. She remembered him giving her the little coin, worn thin, with the edge bent up. A sign of true love, he had said. What did that mean now?
While she didn’t take the trouble to go back to the house to find the coin so she could fling it into the Thames, she did pick up her pace. Eventually she found herself outside the pub that had the little theatre in it, where she had done the scenery for Oliver’s friends. He was so intertwined with her time in London, she realised. It was going to be very hard to stop thinking about him. She stopped to read the poster outside the building and was glad of an excuse to have a rest.
‘Oh my goodness!’ said a voice. ‘What has the Christmas Fairy produced for us?’
Felicity turned. ‘Miranda! How are you?’
‘To be honest,’ said Miranda, ‘I’m a lot better for seeing you, unless you are desperately busy and haven’t got time to draw breath!’
Miranda had a very dramatic way of saying things which Felicity was drawn to after Oliver’s very stiff-necked friends and relations she had shared Christmas with.
‘I’m not busy at all,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’ve got time on my hands. I don’t go back to college for another ten days.’
Miranda took hold of her arm. ‘That’s marvellous news! Because we have a proper theatre this time! Come with me!’ she said and led her down an alley to the stage door at the side of another building.
‘We’re opening next Thursday – really not long –and because of the Christmas holidays, once again we have no scenery!’ Miranda announced, having taken her into the auditorium and switched on a few lights. ‘As you’ll see, the space is bigger in this theatre.’
‘What are you putting on?’ asked Felicity, her interest stirred. ‘What play?’ Currently what scenery there was indicated a drawing room.
‘It’s Christmas. It’s a panto!’
Miranda was looking so enthusiastic, Felicity realised she assumed she knew what she meant. She had heard the word mentioned by David but couldn’t remember the details. She’d probably been quite young at the time.
‘Pantomime?’ Miranda went on. ‘Maybe you don’t have it in France, and your posh mother probably wouldn’t take you to one. Anyway, who cares? Can you help us?’
‘Of course!’ said Felicity, hoping it didn’t matter that she hadn’t ever been to a pantomime. ‘Where is this panto set?’
‘It’s Babes in the Wood ,’ said Miranda. ‘It’s a woodland scene, basically, like you did before, but much bigger. We can’t afford to have more than one so that’s the one we’ll have.’
‘So all I need to do is paint another woodland scene on the backdrop?’ Felicity had learnt this word before. To her, it was like painting a huge mural, which was what she liked doing best. ‘OK,’ she said, standing back, mentally making plans. ‘Do you have enough paint?’
‘It’s house paint. Will you be able to manage with that?’
‘Of course. I did before. Do you want a building in the picture? Or just woods?’
Miranda grasped Felicity’s arm in her enthusiasm. ‘Just woods. What colours do you need?’
‘Just brown, black and white for mixing, and then as many shades of green as you can get. And brushes. Is there anyone who can help?’
‘We’ll all help when we can, although thanks to Christmas, we all have day jobs. But we could roller out this charming drawing-room scene, so you’ve got a blank canvas, so to speak.’
It was a huge space, bigger than anything Felicity had done before. In her previous scenery-painting experience, a few weeks earlier, her task hadn’t seemed so enormous.
‘Will you be able to do it in time?’ asked Miranda, after Felicity had been silent for a few moments.
‘Of course! Have you got overalls? And does the theatre have to be so cold?’
‘Yes to both, I’m afraid. I’ll pop home and get you overalls. Do you want to come with me?’
Felicity shook her head. ‘I want to make a plan. Do you have pencil and paper?’
Miranda found Felicity a poster for her to draw on and a pencil. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can and I’ll bring a couple of extra jumpers for you, too. I think Quentin has got pretty much all the paint you need. I’ll ask him to bring it. I can’t believe you happened to walk past the pub just when we needed you! It’s really saved our bacon!’
Later that afternoon, Miranda put down her roller and said she was starving. Felicity had been aware of being hungry but not enough to stop work.
‘We’ll go to the caff,’ said Miranda.
‘That should be pronounced “café”,’ said Felicity, moving her shoulders, feeling a bit stiff.
Miranda shook her head. ‘It’s a caff, trust me.’
‘Oh! Is it a “greasy spoon”?’ she said. ‘Oliver has taken me to one.’
‘It is! So we’ll have breakfast although it’s late even for lunch. On me.’
‘Good, as I haven’t brought any money with me.’ Felicity realised that she’d have to go home eventually, and she really didn’t want to walk through the darkening streets when she knew she would be tired. ‘Could you lend me some cash for a taxi later?’ she asked Miranda. ‘I’ve got money at home; I didn’t bring my purse with me. I thought I was just going for a walk.’
Felicity thought Miranda’s smile was a little forced. ‘I’ll get some. Could you manage the bus?’
Felicity suddenly felt over-privileged and stupid. ‘Of course I can! Just tell me which number I need—’
‘No, you deserve a taxi,’ Miranda went on. ‘You’re doing all this work for it. Now, will you want beans with your breakfast? I mean lunch? Or whatever it is.’
Felicity felt her energy returning as she sat in the café eating bacon and eggs. She took a sip of tea. ‘Honestly, I don’t need a cab. I feel braver now I’ve had something to eat.’
Miranda shook her head while she finished chewing a mouthful of toast. ‘I won’t hear of it. Oliver would never forgive us if we took advantage of your amazing painting skills and sent you home on the bus.’
While she had never stopped thinking about Oliver, he had slipped to the back of her mind until Miranda said his name. Felicity looked down at her plate. ‘I don’t think he’ll care, to be honest.’
‘Are things not going well between you?’ Miranda looked worried. ‘You spent Christmas with his father and family, didn’t you?’
‘I came home early – ran away. No one will ever speak to me again.’ Felicity laughed as if she was making a joke, but just then she was certain of it.
‘What happened?’ Miranda obviously found it hard to believe that Felicity and Oliver had fallen out.
Felicity sighed. ‘Scotland was just so – awful.’
‘That’s not what everyone says. Was there no heather and whisky?’
‘There was whisky,’ said Felicity, laughing at Miranda’s indignation. ‘But it’s the wrong time of year for heather.’
‘Of course, silly me. So what was it like?’
‘Freezing cold, but I’d expected that. Lots of family. His sisters-in-law thought I was French and they made it clear that they didn’t like French people. And Oliver’s childhood sweetheart was there. They were very glad to see each other!’
Miranda nodded, not needing more explanation. ‘Oliver is very charming.’
Felicity had been praying for Miranda to say something that indicated she shouldn’t take any notice of the childhood sweetheart. There were times when she’d almost thought this for herself. But Miranda’s plain statement of fact made her feel so much worse.
‘Does he have lots of girlfriends?’ Felicity asked. She felt she had to know. It was like lancing a boil, painful but necessary.
‘A few. But I must say, I did think he really liked you. He doesn’t often invite girls to the barge, like he did you.’
‘He probably does like me, but not enough to give up the others,’ said Felicity. ‘Men are like that.’
‘That makes you sound very world weary,’ said Miranda.
Felicity gave an unamused laugh. ‘I know what my brother is like. He’s younger than me but has had several girlfriends, often at the same time.’
‘So what happened with Oliver, exactly?’ said Miranda. ‘More tea?’
Felicity shook her head. The tea was so strong she imagined she could feel it staining her insides orange.
‘Toast then. I’m having some. With jam, so we know it’s not breakfast.’
Felicity was confused.
‘If it’s breakfast, we have marmalade,’ Miranda explained. ‘So tell me everything!’
Felicity described how she couldn’t do Scottish reels and how snooty everyone had been and how she wanted to say, ‘My father is a count and I live in a chateau,’ but didn’t quite dare. She ended with the man giving her whisky and his telephone numbers, both in Scotland and in London. ‘I realised he could help me escape – the castle felt like a prison! So I wrote a note for my mother—’
‘But not for Oliver?’
‘I didn’t know what to say. Then I got on the train – luckily I had my return ticket in my bag – and came home.’ She sighed. ‘Painting your scenery is a lovely thing to do. It makes me feel useful instead of like a spoilt brat who has behaved badly.’
‘I don’t care how you’ve behaved, we are so absolutely thrilled you appeared, like an angel, or a Fairy Godmother.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘No, Cinderella was last year. I mustn’t get my pantomimes muddled up.’
Felicity laughed politely, aware she didn’t really understand pantomimes. ‘We should maybe get back to work?’
Felicity was exhausted by the time the taxi dropped her off outside her home, but in spite of this, she still climbed the stairs to visit Violet.
‘Here I am again! With wine!’ she said, having collected a bottle from her mother’s supply in the pantry. ‘But do send me away if you don’t want me.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ said Violet. ‘It was so nice coming home to everything tidy and smelling delightful. Did you find the winter honeysuckle in the garden? Oh, and thank you for changing the sheets on the spare bed.’
‘It was the least I could do. You took me in!’ She had a thought. ‘There’s a small restaurant just round the corner. Can I take you out to dinner? Then neither of us will have to wash up.’
‘What a good idea! Shall we have a glass of wine first?’
Once they were at the restaurant and had given their orders, Felicity told Violet about finding Miranda and painting the scenery in the little theatre. ‘Just recently I’ve been feeling as if I’m in the way, that I’m just taking up space that could be occupied by more useful people,’ she said.
‘I don’t know why you should feel that. You’re just as useful as I am, for example,’ said Violet.
‘You have a job.’
Violet agreed that she had. ‘But you’re doing your course and when you’ve finished it, you can have a job too. It’ll be your key to the world of jobs and being useful.’ She paused. ‘It’s Oliver making you feel like this, isn’t it? Being so unhappy about him is making you question everything. It’s understandable. But now you’re doing this difficult painting, and you’re obviously doing it well, or Miranda wouldn’t have asked you again after the last time. Art is your thing, Felicity. While you have that you never need to worry about being useful. That’s enough.’
Felicity laughed ruefully. ‘When I told people in Scotland that I was going to art school next year in Paris, they made a lot of very rude remarks about Picasso and any artist who didn’t do figurative work. They only like pictures of dogs or horses.’
‘Did they ask you what you did? If you had a particular style?’
‘Of course not! They had no interest whatsoever in me or in art. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise it’s a good thing that Oliver and I have broken up. I’d have a terrifying father-in-law, possibly married to my mother, and perfectly ghastly sisters-in-law.’
Violet laughed a lot at Felicity’s expression as she said this. ‘You just sounded very, very English. Your snooty sisters-in-law would be proud of you.’
Felicity smiled back. ‘It’s a pity they won’t ever know how English I have become.’
‘You never know, love,’ Violet said. ‘I haven’t given up on Oliver yet, even if you have.’
After their main course, they decided to order lemon sorbets, which came in real, frozen lemons. They seemed the height of sophistication.
As they walked the short way home, Violet was aware she hadn’t told Felicity anything about her day. She felt guilty about it, as if she had something to confess. It was unlike Felicity not to ask her, but she seemed wrapped up in herself at the moment. She had lost her first love and was now trying to lose herself in hard work. Violet had lost a first love herself. She knew how utterly devastating it could be.