Read Online The Land of Summer by Charlotte Bingham - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Bingham
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Emmaline once more went in search of her errant fiancé, whom they finally found in what her escort informed her was the State Drawing Room.
Julius was sitting looking handsome, elegant but disconsolate on the top of a small ladder surrounded by a sea of furniture covered with vast dust sheets. He was holding a palette of colours in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
He took no notice of Emmaline when she arrived in tandem with Roderick, continuing to sit and smoke and stare, first at the wall in front of him and then down at the small palette in his hand, until Emmaline dismissed the manservant and walked over towards the ladder.
‘Good afternoon, Emma,’ Julius called down to her. ‘I trust you enjoyed your morning, and all the rest of it? I apologise if I seem preoccupied but I am having a great deal of trouble mixing this particular colour. May we converse later, perhaps?’
‘When might be a good time?’ Emmaline wondered in return. ‘If you could just tell me when you might be free.’
‘I would imagine the answer to that would be never, would not you?’
Realising that silence and tact were her only possible weapons, Emmaline moved away from the ladder and looked around the vast apartment. She had thought the rooms in her own home were ample enough, yet never in her life had she seen a reception room as enormous as the one in which she was now standing, nor had she ever seen furniture so massive. Even under the dust sheets it was obvious that the two grand sofas lined up along one wall could seat ten or twelve people in a row, and the room itself could accommodate well over a hundred guests with ease. The salon was unutterably grand in conception, set with four enormous marble pillars that supported a domed roof decorated with a faded mural depicting the Creation, and its walls hung with immense formal portraits of crowned and robed men and heavily bejewelled women that from the way they had been framed appeared to have been painted directly on to the walls. Yet like every other room she had seen in the house it was in a bad state of repair, the paint peeling or in some places practically non-existent, the drapes badly frayed and moth-eaten, and the plaster cracked and broken, or at the very least discoloured.
‘I certainly do not envy you your task, Julius,’ she could not resist calling up to him after she had walked round and inspected the entire room. ‘Where would a person start?’
‘This is hardly a task,’ Julius replied from on high. ‘It could be more readily compared to one of the labours of Hercules.’
‘Are you thinking of restoring the paintwork to the original colour, perhaps?’
‘I might be, and there again I might not.’
‘Might I perhaps make a suggestion?’
‘And what might your suggestion be based on?’
‘If you remember the ballroom, our ballroom at home?’ As soon as she said ‘home’, Emmaline felt a stab of homesickness. ‘The ballroom at home – yes – and how at one point you admired the colour with which the walls had been painted?’
For the first time since she had entered the room Emmaline found Julius looking down at her with some interest.
‘I did, did I?’ he asked, a little uncertainly.
‘Yes,’ Emmaline replied, made vaguely uncomfortable by the concentration in his gaze.
‘If you say so, then it must be so,’ Julius murmured, once again staring at his palette. ‘The point being, your point being?’
‘I chose that colour,’ Emmaline informed him, careful to keep the pride out of her voice. ‘We had the ballroom repainted only last year, and because I – well, because Papa thinks I have a good eye for colour, and because Mama was not happy with the previous selections, I ended up choosing the colour.’
‘Now, let me see.’ Julius now held up his palette as if to try out the shade he had in mind against the remains of the existing colour. ‘Are you suggesting you might do the same here, with the same degree of success?
Julius was sitting looking handsome, elegant but disconsolate on the top of a small ladder surrounded by a sea of furniture covered with vast dust sheets. He was holding a palette of colours in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
He took no notice of Emmaline when she arrived in tandem with Roderick, continuing to sit and smoke and stare, first at the wall in front of him and then down at the small palette in his hand, until Emmaline dismissed the manservant and walked over towards the ladder.
‘Good afternoon, Emma,’ Julius called down to her. ‘I trust you enjoyed your morning, and all the rest of it? I apologise if I seem preoccupied but I am having a great deal of trouble mixing this particular colour. May we converse later, perhaps?’
‘When might be a good time?’ Emmaline wondered in return. ‘If you could just tell me when you might be free.’
‘I would imagine the answer to that would be never, would not you?’
Realising that silence and tact were her only possible weapons, Emmaline moved away from the ladder and looked around the vast apartment. She had thought the rooms in her own home were ample enough, yet never in her life had she seen a reception room as enormous as the one in which she was now standing, nor had she ever seen furniture so massive. Even under the dust sheets it was obvious that the two grand sofas lined up along one wall could seat ten or twelve people in a row, and the room itself could accommodate well over a hundred guests with ease. The salon was unutterably grand in conception, set with four enormous marble pillars that supported a domed roof decorated with a faded mural depicting the Creation, and its walls hung with immense formal portraits of crowned and robed men and heavily bejewelled women that from the way they had been framed appeared to have been painted directly on to the walls. Yet like every other room she had seen in the house it was in a bad state of repair, the paint peeling or in some places practically non-existent, the drapes badly frayed and moth-eaten, and the plaster cracked and broken, or at the very least discoloured.
‘I certainly do not envy you your task, Julius,’ she could not resist calling up to him after she had walked round and inspected the entire room. ‘Where would a person start?’
‘This is hardly a task,’ Julius replied from on high. ‘It could be more readily compared to one of the labours of Hercules.’
‘Are you thinking of restoring the paintwork to the original colour, perhaps?’
‘I might be, and there again I might not.’
‘Might I perhaps make a suggestion?’
‘And what might your suggestion be based on?’
‘If you remember the ballroom, our ballroom at home?’ As soon as she said ‘home’, Emmaline felt a stab of homesickness. ‘The ballroom at home – yes – and how at one point you admired the colour with which the walls had been painted?’
For the first time since she had entered the room Emmaline found Julius looking down at her with some interest.
‘I did, did I?’ he asked, a little uncertainly.
‘Yes,’ Emmaline replied, made vaguely uncomfortable by the concentration in his gaze.
‘If you say so, then it must be so,’ Julius murmured, once again staring at his palette. ‘The point being, your point being?’
‘I chose that colour,’ Emmaline informed him, careful to keep the pride out of her voice. ‘We had the ballroom repainted only last year, and because I – well, because Papa thinks I have a good eye for colour, and because Mama was not happy with the previous selections, I ended up choosing the colour.’
‘Now, let me see.’ Julius now held up his palette as if to try out the shade he had in mind against the remains of the existing colour. ‘Are you suggesting you might do the same here, with the same degree of success?
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