Читать книгу Sunshine After the Rain: a feel good, laugh-out-loud romance - Daisy James - Страница 12

Chapter Five

An insistent buzzing sliced into her consciousness. She peeled open her eyelids and for a brief moment experienced a faint feeling of disorientation. Then the whole Jaxx Benson nightmare came rushing back at her with a vengeance. A heavy lethargy grabbed at her limbs. She felt as though overnight she had been transplanted into someone else’s body, and life as she knew it had vanished from beneath her feet like quicksand. With difficulty, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and squinted at the kitchen clock.

Who on earth was ringing so insistently on her doorbell at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning?

She swung her legs to the carpet and stood up but immediately collapsed back onto her sofa. Random pinpricks of light danced across her eyes and her stomach reminded her that not only had she forgone breakfast the previous day in her anxiety to arrive at the gallery, but also lunch and dinner. All that had passed her lips in the last twenty-four hours were a few canapés and a couple of sips of Laurent-Perrier.

‘Ouch!’ Her foot had landed on a cracked beer can and she watched in misery as a globule of blood oozed from her big toe.

The intercom buzzed again, this time for a full ten seconds.

‘Okay, okay, I’m coming!’

As she hobbled to her front door, the new day sent beams of weak ivory light through the gap in the curtains, spotlighting the mess Dylan’s friends had abandoned the previous night. A swift pang of regret snaked through her chest, but when she thought of the way he had changed since they had moved to London, the feeling vanished. She was relieved that Dylan’s reign of auditory chaos had ended; grateful that she would never again have to put up with the broken promises to find a job and the discordant strains of his bass guitar and what he, and his fellow band members, labelled as cutting-edge music.

If this was Dylan at the door, ready to display a few seconds of well-practised contrition, she had no intention of letting him in.

She reached the intercom and pressed the button.

‘Hello?’

‘Evie, it’s Pippa. Let me in, will you? It’s freezing out here!’

‘Oh, hi, Pip. Come on up. You’ll have to excuse the state of the flat though. Dylan and his bandmates have wrecked the place.’

‘Something else to add to my lecture list.’

‘No need.’ And she depressed the entry button to allow Pippa in.

‘Oh my God, Evie, I see what you mean about the mess. Dylan’s friends did all this? I would have held a gun to their heads until they tidied up every last can and bottle!’ Pippa picked up a foil takeaway tray between her thumb and forefinger, her pinkie finger stuck out at a wide angle and her upper lip curled in abject disgust. ‘Animals, the lot of them. Where is Dylan, by the way?’

‘Gone.’

‘What do you mean “gone”?’

‘You were right. Our relationship was so past its sell-by date that mould had started to grow.’

‘At last the girl sees sense! That guy was a complete waste of space. Tell me, in the two years you’ve been here, did he even once take you out for a meal or offer to contribute to the rent?’

‘Pippa, you know Dylan’s band was …’

‘Why are you still making excuses for him? You need to move on now that you’ve finally made the break – find someone who will make your heart sing in celebration, not plod along day after day, undisturbed by the arrows of Eros. You know my mantra – Fill Your Life With Passion – otherwise what is the point? Oh, I’m sorry, Evie, are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Evie, turning her back on Pippa to flick away the tears from her lower lashes.

‘You don’t look fine to me. You look like you’re rehearsing for a cameo role as the reluctant guest in a funeral parlour!’

Pippa followed Evie into the kitchen and leaned her back against the countertop, her arms folded across her chest whilst Evie made coffee for them both. At least Dylan’s friends had stuck to plundering her alcoholic beverages, she thought gratefully. She handed her friend a mug and smiled, hoping to avoid further scrutiny and an enlargement of Pippa’s habitual lecture entitled Evie’s Endless Errors.

It was not to be.

‘You’ve lost weight too, and even the best cosmetics Estée Lauder has to offer can’t disguise those purple shadows under your eyes. And when was the last time you had a manicure? When do you intend to take a break from the whole workaholic whirl you seem to have succumbed to recently?’

Evie strode past Pippa and dropped down onto the sofa, fearful that another bout of last night’s self-indulgent weeping would rear its head. However, it wasn’t her relationship woes that were causing her internal turmoil. She suddenly felt nothing but gratitude to be free of Dylan’s interminable complaints about the music industry’s lack of appreciation of true talent when they saw it. Now she could return her flat to the neat, pristine space she preferred. Her ever-present craving for household orderliness was a seriously undervalued personality trait in her view.

Pippa took a seat next to her, her fingers laced around her coffee mug. The look of sympathy on her friend’s face almost tipped Evie over the edge. But she grabbed hold of her emotions and managed to rein them in as there was one question she was burning to ask.

‘What happened at the gallery after I left? Is Jaxx still furious about the canvas switch?’

‘Well, he’s not happy, to say the least. I think it might be a good idea to steer clear of the gallery for a week or so until the whole episode blows over and James sees what a mistake he’s made by letting you go. You are a fantastic manager, Evie, the best he’s going to get. It’s because of you that Jaxx chose to debut at Bradbury Art in the first place and he knows that.’

‘But the painting …’

‘Pierre and Antoine replaced the rogue canvas with “Muswell Musings”, which seemed to placate Jaxx and his agent. Most of the VIP guests were fans of Jaxx’s music so it wasn’t the most critical of audiences. Their extravagant compliments massaged his ego, and he sold every single one of his canvases. There was even an impromptu mini auction over the star of the show after it was unveiled – although, as you know, I have no idea what the bidders saw in it, or any of the others for that matter.’

‘I still don’t understand what happened. Was the switch some kind of cruel joke? If it was, it’s not very funny! I’ve lost my job! And who was the trick meant to be played on – Jaxx or the gallery? You know, instead of sitting here, I really should be out there scouring the city for the culprit and when I find out who did this, I’ll … I’ll … well, I haven’t decided what I’ll do yet but it won’t be very nice. Did you find out anything about who the original canvas belongs to?’

‘No, not yet, but James has promised a full investigation. The most likely explanation is that it’s one of Garth Maddox’s masterpieces, which arrived early for his exhibition next month – exceptionally bad timing!’ Pippa took a sip of her coffee, studying Evie over the rim of her mug.

Evie offered her friend a weak smile; bad timing was the understatement of the year. Her whole life had crumbled around her in the space of two hours through no fault of her own. She glanced out of the window of her attic home to the cheerless rooftops and the flat, pewter-grey sky beyond. The rain of the previous night had disappeared only to be replaced by a canopy of drab cloud cover. The meteorological palette reflected her emotions at the moment, but she knew there were worse things happening in the world.

Her earlier surge of anger faded; she couldn’t turn the clock back. So, the best thing to do in situations like this was to try to make the best of it.

‘Actually, I think I should use this opportunity to reassess my priorities. It’s not just Dylan who’s stopped chasing his dreams …’

‘Never a truer word!’ interrupted Pippa as she swept her mahogany eyes around the walls of the living room-cum-kitchen. ‘I don’t see any evidence whatsoever that the owner of this flat is an accomplished artist. Where are those fabulous watercolours of Cornwall you showed me last year?’

‘In a portfolio under my bed.’

‘So, this is the perfect time to start painting again.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Then, why don’t you go down to Cornwall and stay with your parents? It’s a fabulous place to paint – lots of inspiration. Everyone says so.’

‘Oh, God, what are Mum and Dad going to say when I tell them I’ve resigned from Bradbury’s? They’ve been so supportive of my move to London, after what happened at the gallery in St Ives, even though they would have loved me to put on a brave face and stay in Cornwall. Now, with me and Dylan breaking up, they’re bound to want me to go back home so they can help me heal my “broken heart”.’

Evie ran her fingers through her bird’s nest hair and groaned. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but the thought of being treated like the prodigal daughter doesn’t appeal to me after the mess I’ve made of my life so far. I don’t want to lie to them, but at the same time, I know how upset they’ll be if I tell them the truth about last night. It’s just another catastrophe in the turbulent life of Evie Louise Johnson, but I wouldn’t put it past Dad to grab his pipe, don a deerstalker hat, and shoot up here to undertake the investigation into the Mysterious Case of the Canvas Switcher himself.’

‘So, don’t go home, stay here in London. It’s the perfect place for you to do something just for yourself. Now Dylan has vanished into the ether you’ll have all the peace and quiet you need to paint.’

‘Oh, Pip, I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. Over and over again when Dylan and I first arrived in London. But the St Ives gallery fiasco shattered my confidence more than I thought and one of us had to work to pay the rent. Dylan was adamant that a recording contract was just around the corner, so whilst he concentrated on his dream of becoming a famous musician, I worked hard in the gallery. Chasing my elusive painting passion just seemed to get subsumed in the treadmill of life.’

The look Pippa was giving her made her feel guilty for not tending her dreams more carefully. And whilst she adored her job in the gallery – until recent events, of course – she should still have made space for facing up to her demons, maybe even considering a course of therapy, and continuing with her ambition to become, one day, a commercially viable artist like those whose work she had showcased for the last two years. However, the longer she had put off getting her easel out, the less inclined she felt to paint, until a niggle of fear had entered her heart and paralysed her urge to hold a paintbrush. What if she had lost her creative flair altogether?

‘And anyway, have you seen the view from up here? It’s hardly Turneresque. Grey slate roofs under gloomy grey skies punctured by a jumble of chimney pots and TV aerials with only the occasional magpie or pigeon to add fluidity. Dark and brooding landscapes have never floated my artistic boat. I need sun, sea, sand, maybe a Tuscan cypress tree or two, a few terracotta turrets, quaint little fishing boats bobbing at a bleached wooden jetty on an azure ocean. If I stay here I know I won’t paint. I’ll just agonize over the unresolved situation at the gallery. Might even be tempted to join my father in his Sherlock Holmes fantasy to find out what went wrong. You know, Pip, the paperwork that came with the canvas definitely had James’s signature on it.’

‘I knew you’d say something like this. So, your personal Paul Daniels has conjured up a solution.’ Pippa cast a sidelong glance at Evie from beneath her eyelashes.

‘What do you mean?’

Evie snapped her attention from considering her fingernails to her friend’s beaming face. Pippa put her coffee mug down and scooted along the sofa to take Evie’s hands in hers.

‘Before you say anything just hear me out.’

‘What’s going on, Pippa?’

‘Promise to listen first and ask questions later?’

‘Pippa …’

‘Promise?’

‘Okay, okay,’ Evie sighed.

A wave of tiredness washed over her and her brain felt like it was crammed to bursting with marshmallow. The kitchen clock told her that it was eight o’clock on Saturday morning and, in another world, she would have been back at the gallery directing the tidy-up operation and mulling over the success of the debut show with Pippa, and maybe Sam who occasionally popped by on a Saturday morning laden with cappuccinos and cupcakes for everyone as there was no risk his father would be in attendance at a weekend.

Pippa was busy scrabbling in her handbag, and when she withdrew her hand, a set of keys dangled from her fingertip.

‘What are they?’

‘Keys to James’s villa in Corfu.’

‘And how come you have them in your handbag?’

‘James’s brother George dropped them in last week after he had closed the house up for the winter. I haven’t had chance to give them to James yet.’

‘So …’

‘Well, isn’t it obvious? You need some time and space to consider your future and what better place to do that than overlooking the crystal blue calm of the Ionian Sea? Maybe you could even indulge in a passionate fling with a handsome Greek guy to reacquaint yourself with what life is really all about?’

‘No! No way! I can’t stay in someone else’s house without their permission! Especially if that house belongs to the man who has just fired me!’

‘James did not fire you, you resigned.’

Pippa narrowed her eyes and raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. The determined tilt of her friend’s chin warned Evie to select an alternative submission in her argument for the defence.

‘Even if I did agree with your suggestion, didn’t you just say it’s been closed up for the winter?’

‘The house has, yes. But there’s a little studio above the garage next to the swimming pool, which James lets anyone use. Remember? Last year when our cleaner, Doris, and her husband, Stanley, enjoyed their very first foreign holiday there? And one of the clerks at Dad and James’s chambers went with his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. James said they could use it for a bottle of Bolly. He even offered it to you and Dylan in the summer, remember, but you said you were too busy to take advantage of his generous offer? Go there, relax, gain some perspective. As long as you stay away from the main villa there’ll be no problem – no one will even know you’ve been.’

Pippa clearly took Evie’s gobsmacked silence to be acquiescence so she continued.

‘It’s the perfect location to recharge your batteries and it’s the ideal place to paint. You said it yourself: sun, sea, and sand – it has all those things in abundance. You have to do this, Evie. You have to get away from everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours and rediscover what is important in your life – your passion for art and your dream of being an artist. Remember what Sam is always telling us? If you want to fly, you first have to jump! Get some distance and I know you’ll make the right decision about where your future really lies.’

‘But Pippa, it might not come as a surprise to you that I don’t even have enough cash for a train ticket to Penzance …’

‘You’ve got a credit card. Use that for the airfare. It’s the end of September – flights will be cheap. And you can live frugally when you get there – aren’t artists supposed to be at their best when they’re suffering for their work? No, sorry, I’m joking. Maybe you can find a job at the local bar or something.’

‘I don’t think so …’

‘Look.’ Pippa levelled her eyes to stare directly at Evie, her expression serious. ‘It’s time you put yourself first for a change. You’re always at the bottom of those long lists you insist on living your life by. Love yourself a little – come back refreshed and in control of your own destiny with a portfolio stuffed with gorgeous watercolours of Greece. You never know, maybe James will have missed your organizational skills so much that he’ll offer to host your debut show at the gallery!’

‘Whoosh, look, a pig just flew past the window!’ Evie giggled for the first time since Jaxx had appeared on the threshold of Bradbury’s to demolish her carefully constructed life.

She allowed the audacious plan Pippa was proposing to sink into her sluggish brain and begin to morph into a potential solution to her current predicament. Her suggestion had a number of advantages. Yes, it offered time away from her frazzled work schedule and the treadmill her life in London had become, but it would also afford her the opportunity to dissect the reasons why her relationship with Dylan had fizzled out. However, the thing that finally swung it was the opportunity to replenish her artistic coffers with golden-hued, sun-soaked inspiration. When would she get the chance to shoot for her creative dreams again?

Could she do it? Or, more importantly, could she live with herself if she didn’t? Would she look back and regret not grabbing this chance with both hands? A rush of optimism, mingled with a generous splodge of gratitude, shot through her veins. She leapt from her seat to envelop Pippa in a hug.

‘You are the best friend anyone has ever had, Pip.’

‘So you’ll go?’

‘Yes!’

‘Fantastic.’ Pippa clapped her hands, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling with delight. ‘I want regular progress reports and lots of selfies. No social media though don’t forget, not until this whole “Mystery Canvas Switch Fiasco” has been sorted out.’

Evie laughed as the concrete weight that had been bearing down on her chest shifted to allow her to breathe freely again.

‘There won’t be anything to report. If I’m going to Corfu, I intend to paint, paint, paint until my brushes are bare. Now come on, help me book a flight before my sanity returns!’