Page 101 of The Seaside Homecoming
“It is not my place to say.”
“I’m asking your opinion.”
Claire considered. “I admire your abilities and your patriotism. And unless it prevents you from being an attentive father to Mira, then...”
“If it does, I hope you will bring any neglect to my attention. Mira must be my priority. Will you help me? Make sure I don’t lose sight of what is truly important?”
Claire wanted to repeat that it was not her place. She was only there to assist in managing the boarding house. But ... she wanted it to be her place, so she stammered, “I ... I shall try.”
Claire felt honored by his trust, even though she knew she did not fully deserve it.
After breakfast the next morning, Mr. Hammond was the first to excuse himself. Claire followed him into the hall.
“I’ve had an idea,” she began. “Probably a strange one, but an artist might be able to paint a new portrait of Vanita, a composition based on the miniature as well as on Mira’s face and Armaan’s.”
“An artist like you?”
“Heavens, no. I am not that skilled. But perhaps Mr. Filonov?”
“Hmm. Interesting. I suppose it would not hurt to ask what he thinks.”
They found him in the dining room, lingering over a cup of tea and a copy of theSankt-Petersburgskienewspaper. Claire explained the idea to him.
The man considered, then said, “I never attempted it before, so cannot promise good result. Yet I should like to try. Intriguing notion.”
They began that very afternoon.
Mr. Filonov sat with sketch pad and pencil in the morningroom, where he judged the light to be best. On the table beside him sat the miniature portrait. On stools before him sat Mira and Armaan.
He looked at the little girl and explained, “I shall begin by sketching, and try to draw yourammaas you remember. Miss Mira, when you think of her, how is she dressed?”
“Like Miss Summers. In English clothes.”
“Good. And her hair?”
Mira screwed up her face. “I dunno. Papa?”
“Um. At home, she wore it in a plait over her shoulder, like Miss Patel often does. And she pinned it atop her head when going out.”
The artist turned to Sonali. “Miss Patel, if you will oblige us?”
“But my hair is darker than hers was.”
“I shall make allowances.”
Mr. Hammond brought another chair forward, and Sonali self-consciously sat with the other “models,” arranging her long, thick braid over one shoulder.
“Da. Perfect.” The man sketched for a time, then looked up with a smile. “You are all part of dis project now, you see?” He continued sketching.
After a few minutes, he consulted the miniature and asked, “Miss Mira. When you look at your uncle, what reminds you ofAmma?”
Mira gazed carefully and admiringly at Armaan. She placed a hand on his cheek, much as she had at Westmount. “His eyes.”
“Anything else?”
“His lashes are long and dark likeAmma’s.”
“Well done. And his nose?”
