Page 5 of The Christmas Invitation
‘I know a good charm for warts,’ River offered.
‘I haven’t actually got any – I was speaking figuratively – though thank you for the offer,’ Clara told him. ‘Anyway, Meg – I hope I may call you Meg, since we’re about to spend quite a lot of time in each other’s company – here I am. In fact, I’ve popped round twice in the last week and found the place shuttered up, so my visit tonight was the final throw of the dice, because I’m going home tomorrow. Luck usually favours me, though,’ she added complacently, ‘and I thought if youhadreturned from whatever commission you were undertaking and were now free, I could quite easily take you back with me.’
She made this astounding proposition as if she was offering me a high treat and expected me instantly to fall in with herplans. Her personality was quite forceful, so I suspected most people probably did.
‘I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ve been away from home for the last two months and I got back less than an hour ago. I didn’t answer your messages or emails because I left my iPad and phone here. They’ll be as dead as a dodo by now.’
‘A novel disinterest in modern communication technology from someone of your age,’ she commented, then changed tack. ‘You don’t look a bit like your photograph on the Society’s website. For a start, your hair was dark brown, except for a white fringe, like a frothy cappuccino. And your face is thinner … though you do look faintly familiar. We haven’t met before, have we?’
‘No, I’m certain we haven’t. And I like to ring the changes with my hair colour,’ I told her, then summoned a professional smile. ‘I reallyamMeg Harkness, though! I’ve just recovered from pneumonia. After I got out of hospital River here took me home to convalesce.’
‘River?’ she queried, looking at him. ‘Any particular waterway?’
He bestowed on her one of his more enigmatic smiles. ‘No, just River,’ he said, then told her he’d read another of her books, one about early Orkney runic stone markings, and there was a point he’d like to discuss with her …
‘Not now, River,’ I said hastily, but her eye had been caught by the runes printed in silver round the hem of his tunic.
‘Turn around,’ she ordered, and he obligingly twirled.
‘Do you know what that says?’ she asked.
‘Yes: do you?’ he replied tranquilly.
‘Hmmph!’ she grunted. ‘So, I suppose you must be Meg’s grandfather? You’re not a bit alike.’
This was true, since I was several inches taller, for a start. Nor did I have his elegantly patrician features or sky-blue eyes.
‘I’m Meg’s grandfather in spirit and in loving regard,’ River explained. ‘There is no blood tie, but the commune is her family and my son, Oshan, is as her brother.’
That sounded a bit odd, but before she could demand any explanation, I broke in quickly, ‘Anyway, I’ve been convalescing and although I mean to start taking commissions in the New Year, I have a few loose ends to tie up first.’
‘In a way, then, the pneumonia was a stroke of luck for me, because it means you’re not engaged on any other portraits at the moment,’ Clara said, single-mindedly cutting to the chase. ‘You’re free to take my commission right away!’
‘No, I—’ I began to protest, but she carried on as if I hadn’t spoken.
‘You’ll find the moorland air up there very bracing, you know. It’ll do you a power of good. Rest and good food, fresh air … for, after all, one can’t paint all day, I suppose.’
‘Up where?’ I asked, without in the least meaning to.
‘Our house is in a small hamlet high on the Lancashire moors – big, roomy, warm,verycomfortable,’ she said, tempting me with its attractions. ‘Even a studio, as one of the Gillyflowers fancied himself as an artist.’
‘Gillyflowers … ?’
I felt myself struggling like a fly trapped in amber now. It had been a long day and I was starting to wonder if I’d fallen asleep and would wake up shortly in the jolting old Land Rover, the itchy rug tucked around me.
‘It would take too long to explain now. You’ll see for yourself.’ Clara beamed at me, as one who has sorted everything out to her satisfaction.
River came to my rescue. ‘Meg’s had a month of rest, fresh air and good food at the Farm. She’s only just got back.’
‘That’s all to the good, then, because she needn’t repack,’ Clara said. Nothing seemed to deflect her: she was a human juggernaut. She turned her attention back to me.
‘I expect you’ll want to get your painting gear together tonight, though. I’ll pick you up in the morning. I have a hired car and driver, with plenty of room for everything.’
I stared blankly at her. ‘But it’s absolutelyimpossiblethat I should go to Lancashire with you tomorrow! I mean, I’m happy to discuss a commission with you and pencil it in for the New Year, but—’
She still wasn’t listening. ‘I want you to paint my portrait and my husband, Henry’s, too, as a joint Christmas present to ourselves … and possibly posterity.’
She smiled happily and very engagingly. ‘It will be such fun. I can’t imagine why I’ve never thought of it before!’
