Chapter 41 Kate
KATE
The clouds methought would open, and show riches.
“Leonard, I think you should go first, bearing in mind what we were talking about earlier.” The large screen is suddenly filled with the image of Constable’s painting, The Hay Wain, a horse and cart depicted halfway across a shallow stream, surrounded by Suffolk countryside.
“Could we draw the curtains a little?” Pia suggests, and Tay obligingly closes them. The room is now almost dark, and the painting stands out rich and clear on the screen.
“Ah, wonderful,” Leonard enthuses. “Do you want to know why I chose it?”
“That would be good,” Kate agrees.
“I think you probably have guessed I’m quite a traditionalist. So this is a classic English painter, showing us a part of the world I love. And just look at that sky, those clouds,” he enthuses.
“Sort of painting I like too,” Lou tells Leonard.
“I hope the gallery does get some Constables, and they get some publicity. It would be a shame if it had to close,” Satya adds.
“Linda, how about you, which painting did you choose?” Kate asks. She already knows and loves Linda’s choice. It is by another famous painter, this time the Dutch artist Vermeer: Officer and Laughing Girl.
The screen is now filled with a painting of a girl smiling at a young man in a large, extravagant hat. He is wearing a red coat with ruffled sleeves. The light from the window falls on the girl’s face. The man has his back to the artist.
“Now this reminds me of when we went to Amsterdam to see the Vermeer exhibition. It was a wonderful weekend.”
“It was indeed,” Leonard agrees, and Kate thinks how much nicer it is, now that he can hear most of what is being said.
Linda continues, “When we were looking at this painting, some American academics were in front of us and, my goodness, how they went on about the supposed love affair between the two of them. In the end, I just had to interrupt them.”
“She did, you know,” Leonard chortles.
“It seemed to me that they didn’t really know much about the two figures. In fact, nobody did. So I just said, ‘Excuse me, but she’s his older sister.’”
“What did they say?” Bardy asks.
“Well, quite a lot as it turns out, but eventually they asked me if I was an art historian and I said no, I was a retired nurse. They had quite a lot to say about that too, but eventually, when I could get a word in edgeways, I told them that I was also a sister and that when my younger brother joined the police and came home for the first time in uniform, that is just how I looked.”
They all gaze at the woman in the painting. And Kate sees it. A girl gazing with love and pride, but also a fleeting smile of suppressed humor. An expression of, Just look at you all grown up.
“What did the academics say?” Lou asks.
“Oh, they went on and on. I think it rather upset them. But we didn’t stay around to listen. We wanted to go for a coffee and to smoke some dope.”
Kate chokes on her wine.
“Only medicinal, of course,” Nurse Linda says, eyes gleaming.
They are all laughing now. Even Lou, who is clutching his side.
“More wine?” Bardy suggests.
Most agree, and as he tops up glasses, Kate wonders which image she will show next.
Bardy’s.
She is intrigued by his choice. An abstract in all shades of orange, with the hint of leaves within the design.
It takes her back to the words she overheard in the hospital.
She selects the image, and the room is filled with a rich orange glow.
There is no mistaking the look on Lou’s face.
Surprise and also—there is no hiding it—love.
Bardy looks at Lou as he speaks. “This is by a lad I used to teach. Went on to study English at Cambridge, although it’s fair to say he was equally good at art.
In his last two years of school, he did a series of paintings inspired by the poet Rilke.
This one is based on his poem ‘Dance the Orange.’”
Even in the gloom, Kate can see that Lou is transfixed.
“I chose it because it has given me the idea for a short story. It is going to be about a man who sees certain people in color. Not their skin, or hair—just that his mind is flooded with a color when he looks at them.” Bardy’s voice falters.
“There will be a woman he meets, a friend, who is warm and generous. A woman who this man sees as the color of Seville oranges, plucked from the trees, bursting with zest and life, and scented with sunshine.”
Kate sees Lou wipe a tear away.
“Is that you, Bardy? Is that how you see people?”
She hadn’t meant to speak, but something suddenly made sense. She is conscious of the shock on Bardy and Lou’s faces. There is a heartbeat of silence and then Bardy coughs, “No, just a story, Kate. Nice idea though.”
But now he won’t meet her eye.
“Okay,” she says, slowly, “who’s next?”
Tay and Satya follow quickly, one after the other.
Tay chose a Banksy, an image of a seagull left on the wall of a house in Suffolk.
She says the bird reminds her of living here, but it shows how messed up things get.
People tried to steal part of the wall, and the owners were told by the council they had to spend thousands guarding the art twenty-four seven.
In the end, they had to have the wall cut away. “How fucked up is that?” Tay concludes.
Satya goes for a Picasso, The Old Guitarist. She says very little about her choice, and Kate is left wondering if her feelings about her own guitar player are as complex as the deconstructed shapes in Picasso’s painting.
After this, Linda declares, “Time for coffee and a loo break, I think.” She heads to the kitchen with Leonard in tow. Bardy flicks one of the side lights on, illuminating the room in a gentle light, and then follows them. Is Bardy avoiding her?
This makes her think of Simon. Is he avoiding her too?
Not many texts and only vague mentions of meeting up.
She can’t decide if he is pissed off with her for not going to London, has lost interest, or is simply busy.
Thinking about Simon makes her feel like a teenager, excited and uncertain.
But trying to interpret hidden messages in his texts just makes her feel exhausted.
As people move around, Kate reflects that it is nice to see Lou, Pia, and Tay chatting. Pia had told her about Lou, saying she was like the Norfolk flint. She thinks he has a point. She goes to sit beside Satya on the sofa.
“How are things?”
Satya swats the question away like it is too much effort to answer.
Eventually, she says, “I liked what Linda said about the Vermeer painting. I’ve got a brother too.
When I saw him all dressed for his wedding, I couldn’t help smiling like that.
He looked amazing, so grown up, but I kept thinking of the little boy playing cricket. ”
Linda and Leonard are back with fresh coffee and a pot of tea.
Satya drifts away to cut more cake. Kate wonders if she is exhausted, going around in circles, but nothing really changing.
And she is not sure she has any answers that would help her—apart from feeling that Jack and Satya seem good together. Despite the fights.
The lights are dimmed once more, and Kate puts her own choice up.
The screen is filled with billowing light and glorious, gentle colors.
“This is a painting called Sewing the Sail by the Spanish artist Sorolla.” A group of women is shown working on a huge white sail, the fabric flowing down the painting.
They are under a veranda surrounded by flowers.
Painted in an impressionistic style, the picture is luminous: bright sunshine plays across the sail, yet under the veranda and in the edges of the garden, the light is dappled.
“Sorolla was known as the master of light.”
“I can see why,” Leonard comments.
Kate nods—she thinks Sorolla must be her favorite artist. The light in the painting is extraordinary.
Kate looks at it, head slightly to one side.
“He often painted outside. His paintings of the beaches near Valencia are filled with people and life and are just wonderful. You can still see the sand caught up in the paint.”
“Why didn’t you choose one of those?” Pia asks.
“I think because of Alice.” She looks at Linda.
“Go on,” Linda tells her.
Kate can feel the others watching her. The lamps may be off and curtains drawn, but the painting on the screen has lit the little group.
“My sister, Alice, died when she was fifty-eight.” Kate can feel the stir of sympathy in the room.
“All her life, she was a great campaigner. She never shied away from things that were difficult, and she really did do her best to help.”
Kate hears a murmured, “Real,” from Tay.
She is taken back to watching Life of Pi with Alice.
Two sisters, one who wanted to see the story, one who was brave enough to look at the pain.
Kate thinks her sister was one of the bravest people she has ever known.
Maybe she had chosen her own time to die, thinking she was sparing her younger sister.
Kate blinks her tears away. “I do love Sorolla’s paintings of the sea, but I chose this because Sorolla also painted the things others didn’t.
He was a campaigner in his own way. He painted children who were suffering from inherited syphilis, women prisoners, and here, the sailmakers.
They would have had a hard life. They weren’t the type of people who would normally feature in a painting. ”
“So an homage to Alice,” Pia says.
Kate smiles. “Yes, and because, well, it is the most awe-inspiring and beautiful painting.” She gazes at the image in front of her, as do the others.
“I think I’m getting somewhere with the colors in my paintings, but how to ever capture that light.” Kate half laughs, thinking of the view from the lifeboat station, the evening light playing over the broad stretch of sand as the sun sets. “I know I will never be able to paint like this.”
“I’m never going to write like Shakespeare,” Jon Shakespeare comments, “but it’s good to know there were people who could write or paint like this.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Kate replies.
“It is a beautiful painting, Kate,” Lou says, sitting back in his chair as if taking it all in.
“Yeah, okay, no one can paint like Sorolla.” Tay struggles to say the Spanish name but keeps going, all now looking at her. “But no one else can paint like Kate. Only you see it your way.”
“Well said, Tay,” Leonard approves.
“At the end of the day, it is what it is,” Bardy murmurs.
Kate catches the muttered, “Oh, fuck off, Bardy,” from Tay. But she can also hear the laughter.
Leonard looks around, slightly confused. His hearing aids are good. But not that good.
“So, there you have it, the master of light,” Kate concludes.
The final painting is Pia’s choice, Summer Evening at Skagen Beach by Kr?yer. For Pia, it is also about the light.
She explains, “I was fascinated by that point at the horizon, where the sea and the sky merge, it is what my mother calls a liminal space, a threshold of sorts between worlds.” Pia shakes her head.
“I am not sure I believe what my mother does about people crossing over from one world to another.” She smiles.
“But,” she continues slowly, “when I gaze at that space, the haze between ocean and sky, I do feel suspended and I wonder . . .”
They all sit in silence for a while, until Tay’s phone buzzes. She jumps up, “Gotta go. Uzma. See ya.” And she’s gone.
“Oh, to be able to move that fast,” Linda murmurs as she hauls herself to her feet and starts clearing plates and glasses. Bardy turns on the light, and he and others go to help.
From his chair, Lou calls, “That was great, Kate. Thank you.”
“I know it wasn’t the same as London . . .”
“Better!” Lou exclaims. “No crowds, or going on the Underground.” He raises his glass of wine, still half full. “Saluti, grazie bella.”
“What painting would you have chosen?” Kate inquires, smiling. She hadn’t asked Lou for a choice, conscious that he was settling in after the hospital.
He glances toward Bardy, who is struggling to get the screen back into the box. “You might want to ask Satya to give you a hand with that,” Lou suggests.
Bardy swears.
Lou looks up at Kate. Back to paintings. She knows what he is going to say, so she says it for him. “You loved ‘Dance the Orange.’”
Lou smiles wistfully.
“Always.”