Read Online Lettice & Victoria by Susanna Johnston - Free Book Online
Authors: Susanna Johnston
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Much love. Victoria.’
Lettice’s letter was short.
‘Dearest Archie. The great day draws near! It is sweet of you and Harold to say that you will come and support us at the Ritz dinner. The table is booked for eight thirty sharp so don’t dally at the party. How I wish it were all over! What one will do for art’s sake! Fondest love. Lettice.’
Archie slid both letters across the mahogany table. Harold read them with an expression of pain.
‘Oh dear. It is certainly unfortunate. But, then, it is hard to put oneself into either position.’
Victoria could not squeeze into anything suitable. A friend arrived with a choice of loose frocks. They picked out a mauve one with a low-cut neckline.
The friend said, ‘Let’s buy mauve stockings and shoes. You’ll look terrific.’
After locking her car, Victoria ran along the street towards the gallery. Her dread of the gathering was great and she was urged forward by nervous courage. Stopping for a while on the pavement, she peeped in through the window. Inside, at the foot of a staircase, there was a table covered by a white cloth. The staircase led to an upper level and a white-coated man stood behind the table handing out glasses as a grim group walked past her and turned into the gallery. One after another they stopped at a small table just inside the door to sign theirnames in a visitor’s book. A record of the great event. Something for Lettice’s memoirs. Victoria followed them but didn’t add her name.
Before she secured a drink, Lettice caught sight of her. They kissed. Two figures dressed in mauve.
‘Darling. It’s too extraordinary. It shows what a great affinity we must have. Robert. Come and meet my daughter-in-law.’
The painter beamed. ‘But she’s one of my favourite girls. Jolly good at watercolours, too. Roland must be pleased about that.’
Lettice knew nothing of Victoria and watercolours but managed a smile through taut lips.
Robert Stratton had stayed once, and only for a night or two, with Laurence at the villa on his way to Rome. He had encouraged her as she sketched on the terrace.
Happy to find a sympathiser there, Victoria asked him when he had arrived in London.
Lettice, as exotically got up as she had planned to be, silenced her.
‘Now, dearest. I am going to talk to Robert. I haven’t seen him for months and living, as I do, under a curtain of moss and ivy, probably won’t see him for months to come.’
There was a whirl in Victoria’s head. She stepped back and it came to her that she was not only obscuring a picture of a thrush but possibly damaging it as well. She turned round and examined it. It was an unusual example of Roland’s work since it included a human figure. On her first visit to The Keep he had asked her if she would sit for him. She had sat for manyhours under a cedar tree. The thrush had flown away. He had been painted in advance. Now she remembered how peaceful it had been and how stirred she had been by the attention. Maybe she only liked old men. The painting did not seem, to her, to be a very good one. The hands were badly drawn and the eyelashes odd; straight rows of twigs.
Archie was suddenly beside her. ‘I see that you came to the exhibition to look at one painting only!’
‘No. It was a mistake. I didn’t know what to do and fell at the nearest point.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to understand a word of what you are saying. Shall I fetch you a drink?’
Archie had intended to return but was waylaid by a male member of the group that Victoria had followed in to the party. Now that she saw his face, she recognised it as belonging to a man of fame in the world of art. She was not surprised to see how obviously Archie was enjoying the encounter, nor was she perplexed at being so quickly forgotten.
She would like to have talked to Harold who was standing, mute, close by but decided not to. They would only look at each other as they had done on that Sunday morning at The Old Keep.
Lettice’s letter was short.
‘Dearest Archie. The great day draws near! It is sweet of you and Harold to say that you will come and support us at the Ritz dinner. The table is booked for eight thirty sharp so don’t dally at the party. How I wish it were all over! What one will do for art’s sake! Fondest love. Lettice.’
Archie slid both letters across the mahogany table. Harold read them with an expression of pain.
‘Oh dear. It is certainly unfortunate. But, then, it is hard to put oneself into either position.’
Victoria could not squeeze into anything suitable. A friend arrived with a choice of loose frocks. They picked out a mauve one with a low-cut neckline.
The friend said, ‘Let’s buy mauve stockings and shoes. You’ll look terrific.’
After locking her car, Victoria ran along the street towards the gallery. Her dread of the gathering was great and she was urged forward by nervous courage. Stopping for a while on the pavement, she peeped in through the window. Inside, at the foot of a staircase, there was a table covered by a white cloth. The staircase led to an upper level and a white-coated man stood behind the table handing out glasses as a grim group walked past her and turned into the gallery. One after another they stopped at a small table just inside the door to sign theirnames in a visitor’s book. A record of the great event. Something for Lettice’s memoirs. Victoria followed them but didn’t add her name.
Before she secured a drink, Lettice caught sight of her. They kissed. Two figures dressed in mauve.
‘Darling. It’s too extraordinary. It shows what a great affinity we must have. Robert. Come and meet my daughter-in-law.’
The painter beamed. ‘But she’s one of my favourite girls. Jolly good at watercolours, too. Roland must be pleased about that.’
Lettice knew nothing of Victoria and watercolours but managed a smile through taut lips.
Robert Stratton had stayed once, and only for a night or two, with Laurence at the villa on his way to Rome. He had encouraged her as she sketched on the terrace.
Happy to find a sympathiser there, Victoria asked him when he had arrived in London.
Lettice, as exotically got up as she had planned to be, silenced her.
‘Now, dearest. I am going to talk to Robert. I haven’t seen him for months and living, as I do, under a curtain of moss and ivy, probably won’t see him for months to come.’
There was a whirl in Victoria’s head. She stepped back and it came to her that she was not only obscuring a picture of a thrush but possibly damaging it as well. She turned round and examined it. It was an unusual example of Roland’s work since it included a human figure. On her first visit to The Keep he had asked her if she would sit for him. She had sat for manyhours under a cedar tree. The thrush had flown away. He had been painted in advance. Now she remembered how peaceful it had been and how stirred she had been by the attention. Maybe she only liked old men. The painting did not seem, to her, to be a very good one. The hands were badly drawn and the eyelashes odd; straight rows of twigs.
Archie was suddenly beside her. ‘I see that you came to the exhibition to look at one painting only!’
‘No. It was a mistake. I didn’t know what to do and fell at the nearest point.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to understand a word of what you are saying. Shall I fetch you a drink?’
Archie had intended to return but was waylaid by a male member of the group that Victoria had followed in to the party. Now that she saw his face, she recognised it as belonging to a man of fame in the world of art. She was not surprised to see how obviously Archie was enjoying the encounter, nor was she perplexed at being so quickly forgotten.
She would like to have talked to Harold who was standing, mute, close by but decided not to. They would only look at each other as they had done on that Sunday morning at The Old Keep.
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