Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER
TWENTY - SEVEN
The next morning Felicity got hold of a bus map from the local newsagents and thus avoided a long walk in the morning and possibly an expensive taxi on the way back. She felt proud of herself for this small act of independence, and she felt proud of her work, too, over the next few days. Miranda and Quentin were also delighted with what she produced.
‘It’s so much better than just scenery,’ said Miranda as the cast were arriving for a dress rehearsal on New Year’s Day. ‘It’s like something you’d see on the wall of a grand house. The trees are so beautiful, intertwined with vines and magic fruit.’
‘I thought it would be all right to use my imagination and not worry about what would really be growing in – well – Babes in the Wood land.’
Miranda laughed. ‘I wonder where that is? Germany, probably. But it’s not a real place so we can grow anything we like. You really are a very talented artist.’
Felicity shrugged. ‘I hope I am. I’m going to Paris to study art next autumn.’
‘How romantic!’
Felicity smiled. Just now, to her, it sounded desperately lonely and far away from those she loved. But being near to Oliver wouldn’t do her any good anyway. ‘I’m glad I got the backdrop done in time.’
‘You’ve been an absolute brick! You’ve worked like a demon. We are so grateful! And please do bring your friends – your mother maybe? – to come and see the show. We’re on for three nights and one matinee only. Thursday, Friday and twice on Saturday. Opening night tomorrow. I hope people will still come, after celebrating the New Year.’ She paused. ‘There’ll be drinks afterwards.’
Felicity doubted she’d ever celebrate anything ever again. ‘My mother is due home early tomorrow morning from Scotland. I know “Hogmanay” is important there.’ She shuddered, and went on: ‘She’ll have spent the night on the sleeper.’ Felicity had exchanged a short, awkward telephone call with her the previous evening. ‘She may not be in the mood for pantomimes in the evening.’
‘Well, she would be very welcome if she decides she would like it.’
‘Maybe my friend Violet will come?’
‘I think someone you know should see what a brilliant job you’ve done. When is Oliver due home?’
Felicity shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
Miranda looked at her watch. ‘Darling, I must rush. I’m principal boy and mustn’t snag my tights which means I have to put them on slowly. Can we talk about this another time?’
‘No need to talk about it at all.’ Felicity leant in and kissed Miranda and gave her a hug. ‘Break a leg! And thank you for all your kind remarks about my painting.’
‘How do you know about “break a leg”?’ called Miranda as she walked away.
Felicity smiled and made a note to tell David, who was an actor, next time he was in London.
‘So,’ said Lucinda to Felicity when she had got in from the train the following morning and had been served her favourite breakfast by Anna. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
Felicity could see her mother was tired and the cinnamon roll that Anna had made for her hadn’t had time to do its job of soothing a weary traveller. ‘Oliver and I fell out. It was so awkward. I do hope it wasn’t awkward for you, too.’
Lucinda sighed. ‘A bit embarrassing, but to be honest, because everyone thought you’d been dreadfully rude – and you had – no one minded that you weren’t there. I hardly saw Oliver so I don’t know what he thought about it.’
Felicity stayed silent. This interview would be over very soon, especially if she didn’t argue.
‘Well, I’m certainly not happy with you for how you behaved, but I’m dreadfully tired so think I’ll have a bath and go to bed for a bit. Will you be home for lunch?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’ve got somewhere I have to be. But I’ll be back in time for tea.’
Her mother’s expression told her this was the right answer. Felicity knew that Lucinda was really only a part-time mother and this suited her. She would use up the day somehow and then, when Violet came home, ask her if she wanted to go and see Babes in the Wood . They could have an early dinner beforehand perhaps.
But even having plans for the evening didn’t make Felicity less restless now. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to explore the art galleries London was full of. Once the idea had occurred to her she became excited at the prospect.
There was a selection of guidebooks kept next to the telephone directories and the A–Z. She flicked through them for a few minutes and then decided to visit the Tate. It would be a pleasant walk along the river and maybe the exercise would help her get rid of the jitteriness which was making it hard to sleep. She knew it was because she couldn’t stop thinking about Oliver. When her mother woke up she would see if she knew when he was planning to come back to London. She didn’t want to see him, of course, but she wanted to know where he was.
She was wearing her flat boots, and the tweed jacket she’d taken to Scotland over her new bell-bottom trousers, and the hat her mother had made her buy, which was at least warm. She felt she could walk for miles.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t realised that walking next to the river, instead of being enjoyable, just made her dreadfully sad. She relived the time they had been mudlarking over and over in her head. By the time she reached the gallery, nearly an hour later, she realised that she could never look at the Thames, and possibly not any river in a city, without thinking about him. How would she manage in Paris? she wondered. Would the Seine send her into a swamp of misery when she should be enjoying the City of Love, with her new bohemian art-school friends?
She kept reliving the awful sight of Oliver with that girl, and the row they had had afterwards. She had said some unforgivable things, things she didn’t even believe, she had just wanted to hurt him. The fact that he didn’t have a proper job was one of them. As far as she knew, Oliver paid his way in the world. Why should it matter what he did in order to accomplish that? As long as it wasn’t illegal or involved hurting other people. She didn’t know which of them she hated more, herself or Oliver.
When she got home, her mother was up and in the drawing room, talking on the telephone. She ended the conversation shortly after Felicity entered. Lucinda had obviously been talking to Hector.
‘No one knows where Oliver is – he left Scotland right after you did. Hector is blaming you.’ Lucinda gave Felicity a hard look. ‘But I told him you had no idea where he was, and what’s more, his whereabouts are nothing to do with you any more.’
‘Oh.’ Felicity was pleased to see that her mother had stuck up for her. ‘Thank you.’
Lucinda shrugged. ‘I told Hector that we really couldn’t get involved with the love affairs of our children. He does have a tendency to interfere with people’s lives. But he’s very handsome and I confess I like a masterful man.’
‘Shall I make some tea, Mummy?’
Lucinda shook her head, apparently unaware of the concession Felicity had made. ‘Anna is doing it. I think she’s glad to be back at work. So, what have you been up to since you came back?’
‘I’ve been painting scenery at a theatre for the people I helped out before. They’re doing Babes in the Wood . I do enjoy it. I like a really large canvas.’ She laughed. Lucinda didn’t respond. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to see it? They said I can bring as many people as I like as a thank you for getting it all done so quickly. Apparently usually people are still painting the scenery while the dress rehearsal is going on around them.’
‘What play is it again?’
‘ Babes in the Wood , Mummy.’
Lucinda shook her head. ‘A pantomime? I’ve never liked pantomime. Even as a child I found it all too raucous. Why don’t you ask Violet? I’m sure she’d be happy to have an outing.’
Felicity bristled inwardly on behalf of her friend. ‘What do you mean?’
Lucinda took a breath. ‘I’m not saying she’s not a very attractive woman, but when you’re over thirty it isn’t easy to find a man. It’s different when you’re like me, a woman of the world, with her own money and – although I hesitate to say it, I might as well be honest – very attractive. There’s a generation of men – widowers, divorcees – who want wives, but unless Violet is happy to look for a much older man, she’s destined to stay on the shelf a long time.’
Felicity didn’t know how to reply to any of this.
‘I’ll ask Violet, then. I didn’t think you’d really like panto.’
‘Darling, it’s really rather common to call it that. If you must go, call it by its proper name. And what did you end up doing today?’
Felicity felt she’d told her mother quite enough about her life already, but as she had done something that was beyond reproach she thought she might as well inform her. ‘I went to an art gallery. The Tate. I thought I should make the most of my time here in London and look at some great paintings. I plan to be an artist, after all.’
Lucinda pursed her lips but didn’t comment on Felicity’s ambition of which she disapproved. ‘What paintings did you see?’
Felicity considered telling her about the David Hockneys, which she had found very inspiring, but anticipated her mother would not appreciate the art of anyone still alive. ‘There were some lovely Turners. Did you know he liked to paint en plein air at a time when his contemporaries were all stuck in their studios?’
‘Ah, here’s Anna with the tea. And you’ve made those little cakes I’m so fond of and shouldn’t eat.’ Lucinda smiled almost warmly. ‘Just put the tray down, thank you. Felicity will pour.’
Violet was perfectly happy to go to the pantomime, especially as Felicity insisted on treating them to a taxi.
‘I feel so bad,’ said Felicity when they were settled in the back. Actually, Violet felt Felicity was looking a little better. ‘I never asked you how it was going back to work. Was it very dreary? Will you leave and get another job?’
‘Er, no,’ said Violet.
‘Why not?’
Violet cleared her throat. She found sharing this sort of confidence embarrassing. But although she was young, Felicity had a certain amount of wisdom, possibly because of her upbringing. ‘I met my new boss.’
‘Oh! And is he attractive?’
‘Very. And I met him at home, at Christmas.’
‘What do you mean? How could you have?’
‘It turns out he’s a friend of my father’s. He knows Athene – you know, my godmother. In fact he said he was so afraid of her that he wouldn’t have dared not give me a job when she asked him to.’
‘And what’s he like? Does he have a sense of humour?’
‘Yes. And it chimes with mine. So awful if a man doesn’t get your jokes and he makes ones you don’t think are funny.’
‘And does he fancy you?’
‘Yes, I think he does.’
‘Ha!’ said Felicity delightedly. ‘I can’t wait to tell my mother! She said you’d be happy to come to the panto tonight because being thirty you probably wouldn’t have anything else to do.’
‘Felicity …’
‘She said it was different at her age but you’d have to accept someone older to get a man. Is he older?’
Violet couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’m afraid he is.’
Felicity frowned. ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘I hate it when she’s right.’ She paused. ‘Oh, we’re here. What does it say on the clock?’ Felicity got out her purse.
A moment later she said, ‘Look! People are queuing to get in! I wonder if they are all friends of the cast members?’
‘Pantos are very popular at Christmas in England,’ said Violet, wondering if what Felicity had said was true. ‘I’m sure they’ll love your scenery!’