Chapter Thirteen
It was Harry! He was staring into the shop window looking at us both, and he didn’t look very happy though it was hard to be sure, as the bull’s eye glass distorted his face quite a lot.
It took a moment to register it was actually Harry, I was so surprised, but when I eventually closed my mouth, all I could do was wave.
He half-waved back again, and grimaced, before turning up the collar on his leather coat and walking off. If proof were needed, I felt that last act said it all, and it was so hard to hide my disappointment.
‘Who was that?’ Piers asked.
‘Oh, he’s just a friend … at least, I think he’s a friend. I don’t really know him very well.’
‘Though you’d like to know him better.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
Piers gave me a long look and nodded. ‘Some people wear their heart on their sleeve … I know I do too. You can’t help it, you know, if you’re the sensitive type.’
‘Perhaps my obvious heart has put him off,’ I said, ‘though I tried really hard not to appear too eager.’
‘Well, perhaps he didn’t want to intrude. He saw you with another man, after all.’
I hadn’t thought of it like that, though it still seemed an equally ridiculous way to behave, storming off when Piers could just as easily have been a brother, as much as a boyfriend.
Except that I realised I’d told Harry that I was an only one, and for the first time I noticed how handsome and well turned out Piers looked in his long and expensive looking wool coat, his perfectly groomed hair and moustache, styled just like Freddie Mercury, under a rakish Fedora.
‘Oh dear, I should have gone after him,’ I said.
‘No, my dear, that’s precisely what not to do,’ said Piers in a voice so confident of his own advice that I was sure he was right.
‘If you have been too keen, though I’m sure you’re overestimating the case, he will now be re-considering.
Besides, you’ve not done anything wrong …
you are simply enjoying lunch with a friend, and if he can’t cope with that, then he probably isn’t the right man for you.
Either way, letting him think on it all will only serve you well. ’
Piers was talking just like Bertie Wooster, but I hoped he was right.
‘He is awfully handsome … I can quite see why you’ve lost your head,’ Piers added, liberally spreading jam on the last of his scone.
‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ I dared to say out loud, and the image of his beautiful, yet stern face crowned with those luscious dark curls that looked quite wild today, rose up before me. Even when he was cross he couldn’t help looking wonderful.
We walked back to Pulteney Street, and by the time we rang the bell and Mrs Partridge was there to let us in, I was feeling a little better.
Piers was very kind, I decided, and he’d made me see the whole situation in a more positive light, though I couldn’t help thinking that I might never see Harry again.
It was ridiculous to be feeling so despondent, and I scolded myself …
for everyone’s sake I vowed to put him out of my mind.
***
I really enjoyed my outing with Piers yesterday, and apart from Ellen pumping us for information, and giving what she imagines are secret looks to Roger the whole time, as if to confirm that she knew we’d get on “like a house on fire”, I’m glad I’m still in Bath.
Piers is really fun, we do have a lot in common, and I’ve a feeling we’ll be friends for life, though I know poor Ellen still has hopes there’ll be a wild romance.
I’ve not picked up Jane’s journal after the last time, which was very draining.
It’s as if I’m being sucked backwards in time, becoming the young girl whose thoughts and words tumble across the page with such life and energy I fear I may be taken over altogether.
I feel all my strange experiences must be linked - what’s happening in Bath with Cassandra and Jane is directly connected to the past happenings described in the journal.
I don’t know if it will make a difference, but I want to stay in the present where I belong for the time being.
***
Oh, I can’t believe what an exciting day this has turned out to be! But, I must record it all faithfully, now I’m home.
Piers suggested we go and see the Reynolds’ exhibition at the Victoria Art Gallery today.
They’ve got a small exhibition on of his paintings, in the downstairs gallery, some of the famous ones with children, the kind you see on chocolate boxes or on prints in Woolworth’s, and because I’ve discovered Piers also loves all things Georgian, you can imagine we were really looking forward to it.
‘I think they called these “fancy pictures” … paintings of beggar or peasant children seemed particularly popular at this time, especially if they told a story,’ said Piers, as we walked along gazing in awe at the deft brushwork, and Reynolds’ ability to capture the impish looks of small children.
We stopped in front of a painting described as The Strawberry Girl whose expression was a combination of timidity and fear.
‘She looks as if she might burst into tears at any moment,’ I said. ‘I can see why they were so popular … she’s a sweet child.’
Our favourite painting, without doubt, was An Age of Innocence, a portrait of a bare-footed girl seated on the grass, against a background of a stormy sky, landscape and trees, and even though there seemed to be some dispute about the sitter, and even the title, it didn’t take away from the charm of her lovely face.
The date on the label said 1788, which made me think of Jane’s journal.
‘It says here that they think it was actually painted three years earlier, and exhibited in 1785, with the title, A Little Girl,’ I said, reading the plaque on the wall.
‘Sometimes artists started a painting, but then wouldn’t finish it for many years,’ Piers added.
‘Provenance is the rule for me, regardless of anything else. Considering the age of all the paintings, it’s a wonder any of them are easily identified or have clear dates.
Even the style of the clothes isn’t a definite marker, as artists of the time seemed to dress their subjects in all sorts of fashions. ’
‘I suppose with the revolution in France fashion was changing so quickly too. In such a period of great upheaval, dress was taking on new styles,’ I said, all my research on the time and memories of history of fashion lectures coming to the fore.
‘Women started to cut their hair short, in a bizarre imitation of those sent to the guillotine, and followed the children’s fashion of high-waisted gowns, discarding the heavy brocades for a simpler look. ’
‘Quite … it simply wasn’t de rigueur to look too wealthy … one had to blend in with the peasants and working people, though I’m sure they didn’t succeed.’
‘It’s a very romantic vision of rural life,’ I added, ‘but, I suppose every age and generation likes to idealise life to a certain extent.’
‘And the rich had to justify their wealth, while protecting themselves at the same time,’ added Piers with a grin.
I was really enjoying Piers’ company, and it was so good to discuss art and painting with someone so knowledgeable.
We decided to go upstairs and look at the glass and ceramics, which Piers really enjoyed, as he seems to have as much passion for porcelain as his friend Simon.
I’ve already decided I’ll paint an eighteenth century piece for his Christmas present.
There was a beautiful Georgian teapot that he loved, that might be just the subject for my painting.
He wanted to have a look at the other painting gallery, and I said I hoped a favourite painting I’d seen on my last visit to Bath was still on display.
‘It’s of a girl, Sophia Dumergue who must be French, I think.
She’s dressed in pink, wearing a sheer muslin cap decorated with glossy ribbons, roses and orange blossom, and with a tiny kitten resting on her arm.
She has the most exquisite fingerless glove on one hand, which extends along her arm to the elbow, where the cat’s paws rest.’
‘It sounds perfectly delicious,’ Piers said, as we went round the corner and stepped through into the room lined with paintings.
He rushed on ahead, and I heard him call out, ‘Here it is, and isn’t the gilt chair she’s sitting on simply divine?’
I’d come to a complete standstill. The room was empty apart from us and one other person. At the far end of the room, engrossed in what looked like a Gainsborough from this distance was Harry - his back to us, but immediately recognisable by his long coat.
Because I didn’t answer, Piers looked round to see why I hadn’t caught up with him, and at the very same time Harry turned round to see who’d just entered the room. There was a really awkward moment when nobody spoke or did anything, and then to my relief Harry started to walk towards me.
‘I’m just going down to reception for a guide book,’ said Piers tactfully, and disappeared off, leaving us alone together.
‘Hello,’ said Harry, stopping just inches in front of me, ‘it seems so long since we saw one another.’ He appeared taller than ever, towering over me, and was looking at me intensely with those blue eyes, but there was something quite melancholy about them, a certain sadness that I wished I could erase.
‘Yes, it does … they said at the Pump Rooms that you were on holiday.’
‘Well, not exactly a holiday. My uncle, the one I was telling you about, has been very ill. His housekeeper actually got in touch to say he wanted to see us.’
‘Oh dear, I am sorry; I hope he’s feeling better … but that’s such good news that he wanted to make contact again. We were told you’d gone back to Cheltenham. ’
‘We went to Pembrokeshire … he seemed to be recovering well by the time we left him. And I was so happy for my mother that they’d renewed their friendship. He apologised to us both, saying he’d been a little lost for a few years, which was just what we’d suspected.’
‘What a shame that you’ve missed all that time being able to support one another, and being a family.’
‘Yes, it is a pity, but now that Mum, Elsa and I are back in his life, I’m sure we will make up for missed time. He’s invited us for Christmas.’
‘How is Elsa?’
‘She’s working hard, too hard as usual, trying to catch up on work she’s missed.’
‘You’re so lucky to have such a lovely sister.’
‘She speaks very highly of you too.’
There was a pause in the conversation and I didn’t know what to say. Harry was gazing into my eyes again, and looked as if he was thinking hard about what he was going to say next.
‘Have you been seeing him long … the guy you’re with? I saw you in the café yesterday … he looks very keen.’
I had to bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. Harry clearly had no idea.
‘He’s Ellen Appleby’s nephew … we’re not ‘seeing’ each other, though he’s a lovely guy. I’m pretty sure he’s committed elsewhere, and besides that, we’d never suit each other.’
‘Oh, right.’
Silence again, and this time it was almost painful, and I wondered if I’d said too much. He looked very interested in the paintings on the walls for a minute, his head moving one way, and then the other, the curls that refused to be tamed trembling on the nape of his neck.
‘I’m sorry I walked off yesterday without coming in to say hello properly,’ he said finally, looking at me square on, his eyebrows drawing together once more in a frown.
‘That’s fine - I thought you were probably very busy and had to be somewhere.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to go out tomorrow evening, would you? There’s to be a candlelit tour of number one, Royal Crescent … I think you’d like it.’
It came out in a rush and for a minute I wasn’t quite sure if I’d heard him correctly. Had he just asked me out?
‘Oh, Harry, that does sound wonderful. Yes, I’d love to go.’
‘Of course, you must ask your friend to come too.’
‘Why don’t you ask Piers yourself? Come on, I’ll introduce you.’
We found Piers downstairs talking at length to the receptionist about his favourite eighteenth century painters, and he smiled broadly when he saw us both. After I’d introduced him properly, I waited to see what his answer would be when Harry asked him if he’d like to do the tour.
‘You’re so kind to ask me, Harry, but I always wash my hair on Friday evenings,’ he said with a completely straight face, and I nearly burst out laughing because I knew he’d only said that so I could see Harry on my own.
I thought how bitterly disappointed Ellen was going to be at the news, though I secretly hoped she’d be pleased for me in one way.
I knew she liked Harry, and I was sure Piers would find just the right thing to say to her, even if I suspected he’d say nothing as outrageous as the excuse he’d given to Harry.