The Darkest Hour. Barbara Erskine
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painting. Eddie studied it in silence for several seconds.
‘It’s good isn’t it?’ she said, standing behind him.
‘Who is it?’ He stepped closer, examining it more closely. The figure in the RAF battledress was standing in the middle of the airfield, a Spitfire pulled up on the grass in the distance, his helmet and goggles under his arm, the boyish grin and windswept hair immediately engaging and carefree.
‘Tony Anderson. He’s with the squadron at Westhampnett.’ Her mother had told her of his visit, of the wilting flowers on the seat in the car. His wistful remark about his parents had touched her deeply; she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head and almost without intending to do it she had begun the portrait for his mother. She thought back to his kiss and felt a jolt of excitement at the memory. She had hoped he would repeat his visit but there had been no sign of him.
‘It is good, you’re right.’ Eddie moved away from the painting. ‘Excellent, that can go in the portfolio. It’s not an action painting, and it is a good portrait with lots of warmth and enthusiasm. It would appeal to them.’
‘No.’ Evie folded her arms and stood in front of the painting. ‘This one is not for sale.’
‘What do you mean?’ Eddie frowned at her.
‘What I say. It is not for sale and it is not for the portfolio.’
‘Everything you paint is for sale, Evie.’ Eddie’s voice was suddenly harsh. ‘That is our agreement.’
‘That is not our agreement, Eddie. We have no formal agreement.’ She glared at him. ‘This picture is for Tony’s parents. My gift.’
She held his gaze for several seconds and it was Eddie who looked away first. ‘I’m astonished you think you can afford to be so generous,’ he said coldly. ‘Both with your time and the materials. Which I obtained for you, I may add. If you are giving it away then you will have to reimburse me for the paint and canvas.’
Evie’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘I don’t believe I heard you say that,’ she hissed at him. ‘Of all the callous, hardhearted, mean-spirited –’
‘That is enough, Evie,’ he shouted. ‘This is not a game!’
‘No,’ she said, ‘It’s not.’ Her voice was bleak. She turned to walk out of the room.
He sighed. ‘No, come back, Evie. I’m sorry. You are right. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you can give the picture away. It is just that we can’t afford to squander materials. But you know that.’ He hurried after her and caught her in his arms. ‘Sweetheart. Wait. Don’t be cross. Forgive me.’
She gave him a weak smile. ‘Of course I forgive you. I’ll paint lots more pictures, I promise.’
He followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Rachel had just come in from feeding the hens and she had a bowl of eggs in her hand. ‘Can I give you some, Eddie? I think your mother said you don’t have hens any more.’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘It’s fine, Mummy,’ Evie said impatiently. ‘Eddie is just going and I have to get out to my chores.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll see you next week, Eddie.’
‘Next week?’ he echoed. There was no mistaking the anger in his voice.
‘You said you had to go to London first. And as you say, I have to get down to the airfield and make some more sketches. I mustn’t shirk my duties,’ she said coldly. She pushed past him and walked out into the yard.
He glanced at Rachel. ‘She can be a bit touchy, your Evie,’ he said with an uncomfortable laugh. ‘I think I’ve upset her.’
Rachel gave him a cool glance. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Eddie.’ She put three eggs in an old brown paper bag and handed them to him. ‘Give my best wishes to your mother.’
She watched through the window as he walked across the yard to his car and climbed in. As soon as he had gone she threw on her cardigan and went to find her husband in the barn.
The more she saw of Eddie Marston the more she found herself beginning to dislike him. Oh, he was good-looking enough, and had a certain charm but there was something about him which put her teeth on edge. She had known him since he was a child, of course, but this new, confident, older Eddie was beginning to grate on her nerves.
‘Hopefully the honeymoon period is coming to an end,’ she said to Dudley as he straightened his back with a groan. He had been working on the engine of the tractor, the tractor that Ralph had persuaded him to buy. ‘They’ve had a row.’ She put her hand down to the dogs as they milled round her.
‘Do you know what about?’
‘He’s trying to exploit her again. She finally stood up to him. I could hear them shouting at each other upstairs.’
Dudley grimaced. ‘He’s too sharp for his own good, that one. Let’s hope she stays seeing sense. The trouble is he is dangling some tempting ideas in front of her, to say nothing of the money. He’s got the contacts. She thinks he can make her dreams come true.’
They were both silent for a minute and into the silence came the unmistakable drone of distant aircraft engines. They walked to the door of the barn and looked up.
‘They’re ours,’ Dudley said quietly as he shaded his eyes against the glare of the sky. ‘Spits. I wonder if our Rafie is up there with them.’
Saturday 13th July
As they stood up to leave the pub Mike paused thoughtfully. ‘You know, there is one way I can help you sort out the research. Why don’t I ask Dolly to go through the stuff that’s in the studio and weed out all the shoes and hats and handbags and things? I’ll tell her she can keep what she wants and pack up the rest to go to the charity shop. Some of that stuff probably counts as vintage. They would make some money out of it.’
Lucy froze. ‘I suppose that would be all right.’ She swung round to face him. ‘The only thing is, there may be letters and papers in the bags. People often leave that sort of thing – I know my own grandmother did. Dolly might not recognise what is important.’
‘We can tell her not to touch anything that looks like a letter. I’ll make sure she understands that. I’ll ask her to put anything she spots which might be significant into a box file or something and keep it safe until you have had a chance to look at it.’ He led the way across the terrace and back into the bar, heading through it towards the front door. It was dark in there after the sunlight and Lucy found herself squinting to see where she was going, threading her way between tables as she hurried after him. When they were once more outside and heading back down the lane she caught up with him.
‘You know, I think I would rather she didn’t poke around in the studio, Mike.’ She gave an awkward smile as he glanced at her. ‘I think Dolly has a bit of her own agenda as far as Evie is concerned. She is very protective, that’s obvious. If she were to find something important, she might feel that it would be better if she quietly put it somewhere out of my reach.’
He stopped. ‘What makes you think that?’
She sighed. ‘Instinct?’
‘Has she said anything?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s more the way she looks at me; the constant checking up to see what I’m up to.’
He laughed. ‘I’m afraid that is inevitable. Look, supposing I say you can come any day you like, even when she’s not here? I’d rather you avoided the weekends, that’s when Charlotte and I like to get a bit of time on our own, but any other day. I’ll give you a key to the studio. How would that do?’
She felt the relief sweep over her. ‘That would be a great help. Thank you.’
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