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Authors: Barbara Taylor Bradford
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those venues if she did an over-the-top theatrical eye job on herself.
M kept herself busy when she wasn’t working. She went shopping for groceries, her everyday needs, and kept her room clean, and scrupulously neat, looked after her clothes and shoes. On a regular basis she emailed her parents in Australia and called her sister in London, either on Friday or Sunday, depending on her new work schedule.
And of course she waited impatiently and with great anticipation for Frankie’s return to New York. She had cancelled the interview with Hank George, on Geo’s advice, who pointed outthat Frankie would probably be annoyed if she went to see another photographer at this stage. After all, he had made it crystal clear that he wanted to launch her modelling career; he had even agreed that she could inform Blane’s of his serious intentions, since she had signed with them when she had first arrived. In fact, he had behaved impeccably.
‘You’ll just have to be patient for a few more weeks until he gets back,’ Geo had murmured recently. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, I just know it is. And when he does return, Blane’s will get you a worthwhile contract with him.’
M thought of Geo now as she wandered around one of the many art galleries in West Chelsea. She often did this at weekends, looking at paintings by people she had never heard of, always deciding that Geo was a much better artist. In fact, she was enormously talented, in M’s opinion, and working extremely hard at the moment, attempting to finish a series of paintings of scenes in Connecticut. They were intended for an upcoming exhibition of her work planned for December and M was encouraging her to stick at it, cheering her on every day.
After meandering around the gallery for a short while longer, M finally left, somewhat unimpressed, and walked in the direction of West Twenty-Second Street having decided it was time to go home.
She was enjoying the late September weather, and it suddenly struck her that today was one of those gorgeous Indian summer days that she and her mother so loved…sunny and warm with a light breeze, a great arc of impeccably clear blue sky above her.
‘A day to be outside in the garden,’ her mother would say on days like this, and she would head outside, beckoning her children to follow.
M experienced an unexpected pang, a sudden tightness in her chest when she thought of her mother, missing her…longingto be with her…in that glorious garden, but she couldn’t go back there…it was too dangerous…
When she got home, M found Geo in the kitchen, filling the kettle. ‘Oh, lovely! I’m just in time for tea,’ she exclaimed as she came into the kitchen.
‘That you are,’ Geo agreed, laughing. ‘I sort of anticipated you, I suppose.’ Lighting the gas ring under the kettle, Geo went on, ‘Come into the studio for a moment, M, please. I’ve finished the painting you liked…I’d love your opinion of it.’
‘Lead the way,’ M said, hurrying after Geo down the corridor and into the light-filled studio that opened onto the garden.
Walking over to the easel, M stood in front of the large oil painting, instantly captivated. It was of a grand lake with stands of trees clustered on the rise of a hill at the far side of the water. The canvas was brilliant with autumn colours at the time of the changing of the leaves…russets, reds and pinks, amber, a strange purple-wine colour and varying shades of gold. And the entire painting was suffused with soft golden light, which seemed to shimmer across the surface of the water.
Stepping back, M stared at it from a distance, and for quite a long time. Finally turning, she said to Geo, ‘Don’t touch it again. Leave it alone. It’s finished, and it’s superb. The way you’ve managed to capture light on canvas is brilliant. I’ve noticed this before in some of your other paintings, and it’s such a marvellous talent. Congratulations, Geo.’ She squeezed the
M kept herself busy when she wasn’t working. She went shopping for groceries, her everyday needs, and kept her room clean, and scrupulously neat, looked after her clothes and shoes. On a regular basis she emailed her parents in Australia and called her sister in London, either on Friday or Sunday, depending on her new work schedule.
And of course she waited impatiently and with great anticipation for Frankie’s return to New York. She had cancelled the interview with Hank George, on Geo’s advice, who pointed outthat Frankie would probably be annoyed if she went to see another photographer at this stage. After all, he had made it crystal clear that he wanted to launch her modelling career; he had even agreed that she could inform Blane’s of his serious intentions, since she had signed with them when she had first arrived. In fact, he had behaved impeccably.
‘You’ll just have to be patient for a few more weeks until he gets back,’ Geo had murmured recently. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, I just know it is. And when he does return, Blane’s will get you a worthwhile contract with him.’
M thought of Geo now as she wandered around one of the many art galleries in West Chelsea. She often did this at weekends, looking at paintings by people she had never heard of, always deciding that Geo was a much better artist. In fact, she was enormously talented, in M’s opinion, and working extremely hard at the moment, attempting to finish a series of paintings of scenes in Connecticut. They were intended for an upcoming exhibition of her work planned for December and M was encouraging her to stick at it, cheering her on every day.
After meandering around the gallery for a short while longer, M finally left, somewhat unimpressed, and walked in the direction of West Twenty-Second Street having decided it was time to go home.
She was enjoying the late September weather, and it suddenly struck her that today was one of those gorgeous Indian summer days that she and her mother so loved…sunny and warm with a light breeze, a great arc of impeccably clear blue sky above her.
‘A day to be outside in the garden,’ her mother would say on days like this, and she would head outside, beckoning her children to follow.
M experienced an unexpected pang, a sudden tightness in her chest when she thought of her mother, missing her…longingto be with her…in that glorious garden, but she couldn’t go back there…it was too dangerous…
When she got home, M found Geo in the kitchen, filling the kettle. ‘Oh, lovely! I’m just in time for tea,’ she exclaimed as she came into the kitchen.
‘That you are,’ Geo agreed, laughing. ‘I sort of anticipated you, I suppose.’ Lighting the gas ring under the kettle, Geo went on, ‘Come into the studio for a moment, M, please. I’ve finished the painting you liked…I’d love your opinion of it.’
‘Lead the way,’ M said, hurrying after Geo down the corridor and into the light-filled studio that opened onto the garden.
Walking over to the easel, M stood in front of the large oil painting, instantly captivated. It was of a grand lake with stands of trees clustered on the rise of a hill at the far side of the water. The canvas was brilliant with autumn colours at the time of the changing of the leaves…russets, reds and pinks, amber, a strange purple-wine colour and varying shades of gold. And the entire painting was suffused with soft golden light, which seemed to shimmer across the surface of the water.
Stepping back, M stared at it from a distance, and for quite a long time. Finally turning, she said to Geo, ‘Don’t touch it again. Leave it alone. It’s finished, and it’s superb. The way you’ve managed to capture light on canvas is brilliant. I’ve noticed this before in some of your other paintings, and it’s such a marvellous talent. Congratulations, Geo.’ She squeezed the
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