Page 56 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Well now, let’s see what you have achieved,’ Jillian said. ‘It’s been so nice to have you all here, working together. For once.’
We went to look at each other’s work, agreeing it had been an enjoyable and enlightening session.
Dennis had concentrated on Costas’s profile and done very well, sketching out his noble nose, broad forehead and determined chin.
‘I would have liked longer; after all, it’s just a work in progress,’ Dennis said modestly.
My efforts to draw Costas’s foot were admired, and I had to admit it was quite realistic. Effie had tried to do Costas full length and even coloured in his green thong with a watercolour pencil. Beryl had focused on one of Costas’s arms, the one that wasn’t involved with the smoking. June had been quite perturbed by the whole thing and spent most of her time drawing the structure of the sun lounger behind his reclining figure.
Anita had drawn Costas full length too and had been very successful in capturing the essence of the man, although as she herself said, his nose had gone a bit wrong. And she hadn’t drawn his hands or feet because they were too difficult.
Susan’s picture of the hotel cat was much praised, and Will, who had been sitting opposite me in our circle, had done well with the outline of Costas’s muscular shoulders. But also, I noticed, he had drawn beyond his view of Costas and included me in the picture. I had been hunched over my sketchpad, my legs slanted to one side, my hair a mess by the looks of it, and surely I was neither that stylish nor that trim?
‘I like this,’ Jillian announced, holding up Will’s picture. ‘Including someone else in the picture gives a real depth. Movement and perspective. Some charm and rustic honesty. What prompted this, Will? I am sure we would all be able to learn from your ideas.’
Will looked embarrassed, and I sent him a little grin.
‘Someone once said that by drawing a picture, you remember it far more than just taking a photograph. So, I wanted to remember it properly.’
‘How very true,’ Jillian said, delighted, ‘and I’m sure your friends and family back home will be amazed at what you have all achieved.’
‘I don’t think Rick will want to pay to have a picture of a glistening, nearly naked man framed unless it was him, and in any case, it certainly wouldn’t go into the dining room,’ Anita murmured.
* * *
After a quick snack at the taverna a few doors down from the hotel, Beryl and Effie decided they needed an afternoon nap as the morning spent with such concentration in the sun had worn them out, and Anita said she was going to stay outside in the shade of the courtyard to finish off her sketch of Costas and try to give him a better nose.
Left to my own devices, I set off from the hotel towards the irresistible pull of the sea. It was such a beautiful afternoon and I felt for once that I needed some time on my own. I wanted to keep thinking about the future, what I might do with it and how to achieve my fledgling ambitions.
Sitting under the shade of a straw-fringed parasol with an icy lemonade, I thought of all the things I would like to see. For a moment I could almost visualise myself on that luxury train, boarding in Vancouver and speeding off through the Rockies. Maybe I would be standing somewhere in the Alps overlooking wonderful mountain ranges, taking deep breaths of the crystal-clear air.
Hang on, why the heck would I be there? It would mean I was on a walking holiday, wouldn’t it? That would be most unlikely.
I closed my eyes and tried to visualise myself in some sturdy walking shorts with lots of pockets down the legs and a pair of stout walking boots. Add to that a backpack filled with maps, water and Kendal mint cake, and my father’s binoculars round my neck like a ton weight. Nope. Not in a million years.
So where would be a nice place to visit? Somewhere less energy sapping.
The Italian Lakes. Will had said they were lovely. Like a film set. Or the Grand Canyon. Standing on a viewing platform, looking down at the Colorado river. Marvelling at the way it had patiently cut its way through the rocks over millions of years.
Or what about Paris in the spring? I imagined myself sitting at a café table where the bright, new leaves were unfurling from the trees around me. There would be a snake-hipped waiter bringing me black coffee and pastis. But I didn’t like pastis. Okay, perhaps he would bring me Kir Royale instead and a single perfect almond biscuit.
This scenario had almost morphed into one where I was wearing Audrey Hepburn sunglasses and had a white poodle on a leash beside me. I wondered what Ivan would think about that? Not much.
Maybe I would board a cruise liner, setting out from Southampton towards New York in style. People would be leaning over the edge and throwing paper streamers to the people standing on the dockside. No, I didn’t think that had been allowed for years. People were fined for dropping a sweet wrapper these days.
And there was another thing. Would I be brave enough to drive on the other side of the road in Europe or America? What if I broke down? It might take a while for the AA to reach me if I was marooned in the Lincoln tunnel with a flat tyre on my way out of Manhattan.
Perhaps I would stick to trains. After all, if the Rocky Mountaineer got stuck in a snowdrift, no one would expect me to help dig it out. I would just sit back with another cocktail and smile at the rather attractive man sitting nearby and we would agree that it wouldn’t be long until we got to Kamloops or Whistler or wherever it was we were going, and then we would strike up a conversation.
Then magically we would be standing on a wooden balcony overlooking a snowy New England landscape and somewhere Frank Sinatra would be softly crooningMoonlight in Vermont, which has always been one of my favourite songs. The air would be as clear and crisp as iced water, and perhaps I would be drinking mulled wine from a glass cup. Inside there would be an open fire, blazing with logs.
No, actually, it would be Christmas, and there would be a tree in one corner sparkling with coloured lights and underneath it a pile of beautiful presents with ribbons and tags which hadn’t fallen off. Nicky and her husband would be there too, and perhaps some of my new friends from this holiday. Gosh, it would have to be a massive house to fit us all in. Like the Pine Tree Lodge. It was a place that every time I watchedWhite Christmas, I wanted to go. To a mountain lodge with friendly people and glorious views. And snow.
And then I had a more realistic image of myself in the massive kitchen, rooting about in the giant fridge for something, and realised I’d probably be doing all the catering, so no, I wouldn’t think of that.
I went back in my imagination to the Rocky Mountaineer. I would look fixedly out of the window at the lovely scenery until the track was cleared of the snowdrift, like something out ofMurder on the Orient Express, and we got going again.
Then it struck me that the handsome stranger of my imagination in the train looked an awful lot like Will. That wouldn’t do at all. I had already decided I didn’t need a man to make my life complete. I just needed my own self-belief for a change.
