Читать книгу The Darkest Hour - Barbara Erskine - Страница 25

Eddie had a letter in his hand. He caught Evie’s wrist and pulled her across to the kitchen table. ‘Sit.’

Taken by surprise, she sat. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve had a letter from Sir Kenneth Clark’s office.’

‘About me?’ Her eyes sparkled.

He nodded. ‘The War Artists Advisory Committee wants to see more of your work. But –’ he raised his hand as she jumped up ecstatically, ‘it has to be the kind of work that they are approving for women artists.’

She sat down again with an angry pout. ‘I am not going to paint women in aprons.’

‘They don’t like the thought of you painting on an airfield, especially one that may be bombed and strafed regularly. It is too close to the action. There are male artists painting the flyboys and that is enough. I explained that you live near the airfield and technically are in just as much danger at home, and that you go to Westhampnett with your brother and are chaperoned and in no danger whatsoever, but –’

‘You said what?’ Now she was blazing with anger. ‘How dare you!’

‘It’s true, Evie. Well, more or less. They all look out for you, you know they do.’ He folded his arms. ‘It’s up to you. I can’t do any more.’ For a moment they glared at each other, then at last she looked away. ‘Don’t they want to see any more pictures of the planes and pilots then?’

He chewed his lip for a moment. ‘I think it’s worth trying again with a new portfolio. We were stupid; we should have got you to sign the pictures with your initials. Then the issue of you being a woman might not have come up at all or not until it was too late and they had accepted you. I think the best chance now is to win them over with your sheer brilliance.’ He grinned at her. ‘So, sweetheart, have you anything new to show me?’ He stood up and wandered over to the dresser where her sketchbook lay. Picking it up he opened it and began to turn the pages. ‘You’ve torn some out.’

‘So?’ She was still fuming.

‘So, you can’t afford to waste paper. Have you anything upstairs in the studio?’ He glanced up at her. ‘Evie, you can‘t afford to slack. If you want to be taken seriously, you have to work.’

‘I have worked!’

‘Show me then.’ He strode towards the staircase.

On the easel was a half-finished painting. Eddie studied it in silence for several seconds.

‘It’s good isn’t it?’ she said, standing behind him.

‘Who is it?’ He stepped closer, examining it more closely. The figure in the RAF battledress was standing in the middle of the airfield, a Spitfire pulled up on the grass in the distance, his helmet and goggles under his arm, the boyish grin and windswept hair immediately engaging and carefree.

‘Tony Anderson. He’s with the squadron at Westhampnett.’ Her mother had told her of his visit, of the wilting flowers on the seat in the car. His wistful remark about his parents had touched her deeply; she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head and almost without intending to do it she had begun the portrait for his mother. She thought back to his kiss and felt a jolt of excitement at the memory. She had hoped he would repeat his visit but there had been no sign of him.

‘It is good, you’re right.’ Eddie moved away from the painting. ‘Excellent, that can go in the portfolio. It’s not an action painting, and it is a good portrait with lots of warmth and enthusiasm. It would appeal to them.’

‘No.’ Evie folded her arms and stood in front of the painting. ‘This one is not for sale.’

‘What do you mean?’ Eddie frowned at her.

‘What I say. It is not for sale and it is not for the portfolio.’

‘Everything you paint is for sale, Evie.’ Eddie’s voice was suddenly harsh. ‘That is our agreement.’

‘That is not our agreement, Eddie. We have no formal agreement.’ She glared at him. ‘This picture is for Tony’s parents. My gift.’

She held his gaze for several seconds and it was Eddie who looked away first. ‘I’m astonished you think you can afford to be so generous,’ he said coldly. ‘Both with your time and the materials. Which I obtained for you, I may add. If you are giving it away then you will have to reimburse me for the paint and canvas.’

Evie’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘I don’t believe I heard you say that,’ she hissed at him. ‘Of all the callous, hardhearted, mean-spirited –’

‘That is enough, Evie,’ he shouted. ‘This is not a game!’

‘No,’ she said, ‘It’s not.’ Her voice was bleak. She turned to walk out of the room.

He sighed. ‘No, come back, Evie. I’m sorry. You are right. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you can give the picture away. It is just that we can’t afford to squander materials. But you know that.’ He hurried after her and caught her in his arms. ‘Sweetheart. Wait. Don’t be cross. Forgive me.’

She gave him a weak smile. ‘Of course I forgive you. I’ll paint lots more pictures, I promise.’

He followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Rachel had just come in from feeding the hens and she had a bowl of eggs in her hand. ‘Can I give you some, Eddie? I think your mother said you don’t have hens any more.’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘It’s fine, Mummy,’ Evie said impatiently. ‘Eddie is just going and I have to get out to my chores.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll see you next week, Eddie.’

‘Next week?’ he echoed. There was no mistaking the anger in his voice.

‘You said you had to go to London first. And as you say, I have to get down to the airfield and make some more sketches. I mustn’t shirk my duties,’ she said coldly. She pushed past him and walked out into the yard.

He glanced at Rachel. ‘She can be a bit touchy, your Evie,’ he said with an uncomfortable laugh. ‘I think I’ve upset her.’

Rachel gave him a cool glance. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Eddie.’ She put three eggs in an old brown paper bag and handed them to him. ‘Give my best wishes to your mother.’

She watched through the window as he walked across the yard to his car and climbed in. As soon as he had gone she threw on her cardigan and went to find her husband in the barn.

The more she saw of Eddie Marston the more she found herself beginning to dislike him. Oh, he was good-looking enough, and had a certain charm but there was something about him which put her teeth on edge. She had known him since he was a child, of course, but this new, confident, older Eddie was beginning to grate on her nerves.

‘Hopefully the honeymoon period is coming to an end,’ she said to Dudley as he straightened his back with a groan. He had been working on the engine of the tractor, the tractor that Ralph had persuaded him to buy. ‘They’ve had a row.’ She put her hand down to the dogs as they milled round her.

‘Do you know what about?’

‘He’s trying to exploit her again. She finally stood up to him. I could hear them shouting at each other upstairs.’

Dudley grimaced. ‘He’s too sharp for his own good, that one. Let’s hope she stays seeing sense. The trouble is he is dangling some tempting ideas in front of her, to say nothing of the money. He’s got the contacts. She thinks he can make her dreams come true.’

They were both silent for a minute and into the silence came the unmistakable drone of distant aircraft engines. They walked to the door of the barn and looked up.

‘They’re ours,’ Dudley said quietly as he shaded his eyes against the glare of the sky. ‘Spits. I wonder if our Rafie is up there with them.’