Page 75 of The Christmas Retreat
Bea is especially waspish at the moment because Mark Prynne’s friend, Miss Stretton, arrives tomorrow and apparently he can talkof nothing else! His general health is improving but he still dislikes crowds, and any kind of loud noise jars on him, so he has refused all her suggestions for entertainments. I doubt the poor man’s nerves will ever recover from his experiences on the battlefield. Even if Bea persuaded him to marry her, he could never live in London now, or any other metropolis.
I suspect Bea knows this in her heart, for she again begged her papa to let her visit friends in London. However, he once more refused. I don’t know why, since he doesn’t seem to hold her in such affection that he would want her to stay at home with him. I suppose that he would prefer Bea to make a match with Mr Jones, his partner in the new business concern of Triskelion Art Porcelain.
So, here I am, watched and suspected by all parties – and I realize now that Cosmo’s jealousy of my talking to other artists might stem from his not wanting me to get too friendly with them in case I let slip something about his eye condition or my helping him with his work. The only time I ever feel free and happy is when I am out alone in the elements, in the early morning or when Cosmo is otherwise occupied.
This brings me to a rather exciting bit of news. Yesterday morning, some men came to pack up Cosmo’s work for his exhibition in London on the 24th, so I went out and climbed the hill to the grove of ancient oaks to paint in the central clearing, where the spring burbles out from the rocks. It is quite magical there, with the diffuse light through the leaves and the bright emerald moss.
The packing of the paintings was finished by lunchtime and Cosmo summoned me to the studio afterwards where the racks of his work were now depleted. Nor could I see any of my own stacked small canvases.
When I asked where he had put them, presumably to be out of the way, he told me that when Mr Maudsley, the art dealer, had visitedhe had quite taken a fancy to some of my work and suggested Cosmo send those down with his own paintings and he might try them in the gallery when Cosmo’s exhibition is on.
I was quite stunned by this, as you can imagine, but Cosmo said that it was not certain that the dealer would display them, or not at the same time as his own work, so it was better not to mention it to anyone for the present.
Having recovered from the surprise a little, it occurred to me that I had not yet signed any of my work. I had taken to transferring the date, time and weather conditions when each was painted in pencil on the canvas stretchers, as a reminder to myself. To my surprise he said he had thought of that and initialled them all for me!
I thanked him, and for his interesting Mr Maudsley in my work, and he said that now perhaps I would see that he valued my skill as an artist in more ways than just assisting him, so I may have done him an injustice.
But then he interrogated me about where I had been and who I had spoken to that morning, so I told him only the birds and the trees, but perhaps not as snappishly as I would otherwise have done before I learned the news about my paintings!
I crossed my fingers when I promised not to mention it to anyone else about my paintings going to London, for of course I had to tell you, dearest of my friends – and you may tell Edwin, too!
Your loving friend,
Arwen
23
A Dickens of a Christmas Feast
Pearl and Toby had moved on to Monopoly when we went back into the other room, but loud snores came from the library where Kate was ‘thinking’.
They stopped abruptly when the gong in the hall went for dinner and she appeared in the doorway with today’s navy bell tent dress slightly crumpled, so she looked like a well-travelled yurt.
Pearl said she’d better just check on Opal, and Nerys, who had just come in to round us up for dinner, said she would go up with her, in case she felt worse.
The rest of us went into the refectory, to find the long table spread with a crimson cloth embroidered with holly, ivy and yet more mistletoe. There were large golden crackers at every place setting and the lights on the tree were twinkling madly – all very festive! There was a lovely porcelain ornament of a robin sitting on a tree stump in the middle of the table, the base wreathed in holly.
As the rest of us gathered and automatically took our usual places for dinner, Nerys and Pearl came back, without Opal.
‘I’m afraid Opal isn’t very well – hot and a bit feverish, so I think it’s flu,’ said Nerys. ‘I’ve taken her temperature, and we’ll keep checking on her, of course, and although she’s not hungry she must have lots of fluids and soup. It’s such a pity she can’t have chicken soup. I always feel that cures anything!’
‘I’ve never known her to bereallyill – I mean, to the point where she admits it,’ Pearl said, worriedly, sitting down by Toby and looking at him appealingly. ‘Do you think it was getting cold yesterday while filming? She would insist on staying out there after we’d gone back.’
‘It might be just a bad cold, and anyone can catch those,’ he said, then added reassuringly, ‘I’m sure she’ll soon be fine.’
‘I knew that girl had caught something,’ said Evie, who had come in with Noel and was now seating herself in her usual place next to Timon and opposite Kate.
‘Toby’s probably right and we must just let it run its course,’ Nerys said. ‘But if she seems worse tomorrow, I’ll ask the district nurse to pop in and take a look at her.’
‘That’s Nanny Jones’s daughter,’ explained Cariad. ‘Nanny lives with her.’
‘Opal says she only wants to be left alone to sleep and for everyone to stop fussing over her,’ Pearl said.
‘We’ll leave her in peace for a bit, and perhaps she can have her soup and hot whisky and lemon later,’ Nerys suggested.
‘What a shame she’s ill and will miss all the fun of Christmas,’ said Noel. ‘Poor girl.’
‘I could take the small TV from our private sitting room up later and fix that up for her to watch,’ suggested Timon.
