Opal Plumstead (34 page)

‘Come, Cassie, we’ll find you some mythological goddesses. They might be more to your taste,’ said Mr Evandale.

We both blinked at Bronzino’s
Allegory with Venus and Cupid
. I was determined to be sophisticated when it came to nudes, but this painting had an extraordinary amount of pearly white flesh. Venus and Cupid and Folly seemed to be flaunting it for all they were worth. Titian’s
Bacchus and Ariadne
was equally compelling, with Bacchus seemingly leaping straight out of the painting, his pink robe flying out behind and practically exposing him.

‘Look what you can see!’ Cassie whispered.

I glared at her, lost in the poetry of the picture, but I couldn’t stop myself peering. It wasn’t very instructive.

Mr Evandale took Cassie off for her bun, as promised. I was hungry too, but I couldn’t bear to waste a minute away from the paintings. I wandered around by myself in a daze, my eyes blurring now, colours whirling in my brain like a child’s kaleidoscope. I noted every line and variation of angel’s wing so that I could appropriate them for my fairies. I took comfort from the Early Flemish paintings because their women were as thin and pale and serious as me.

‘Which is your favourite?’ Mr Evandale asked, when they found me eventually.

‘I can’t say. I love so many,’ I said helplessly.

‘I’ll show you mine,’ he said. ‘It’s a Venus like no other.’

‘We’ve seen enough Venuses already,’ Cassie moaned. ‘I’m tired of all these painted ladies.’

‘This one’s like real flesh and blood,’ said Mr Evandale. ‘She’s a beauty.’

Cassie pouted a little. ‘Is she more beautiful than
my
portrait?’ she asked him coyly.

‘Oh, Cass, I’m a fine jobbing painter but I’m no match for Velázquez,’ he said. ‘Come and see.’

He led us to the Spanish paintings, and there she was, with a little crowd gathered in awe – mostly gentlemen. Mr Evandale was right. It seemed as if there were a real young woman lying there on her blue-grey silk sheet. She was calmly admiring herself in the mirror, showing us her smooth white back, her tiny waist, and her sensuous curves.

‘I suppose she is beautiful,’ Cassie said grudgingly. ‘But don’t you prefer a slightly fuller figure, Daniel?’

He laughed. ‘Possibly. I daren’t reply otherwise.’

‘The painting’s very fine, but I prefer your portrait of me,’ Cassie told him.

‘Then perhaps some dolt will pay forty-five thousand pounds for
my
painting,’ he said. ‘That’s what the nation paid to buy the Rokeby Venus.’

‘Forty-five
thousand
?’

‘And worth every penny. What do you say, Opal?’

I nodded, scarcely able to breathe. I couldn’t stop gazing at the painting, taking in all the sweeps and curves. It seemed astonishing that a man could paint a picture of a young girl more than two hundred and fifty years ago, a girl long since crumbled into dust, yet here she was, young and fresh and glowing, still able to attract the full attention of everyone in the room.

‘It’s just a
painting
,’ said Cassie. She paused. ‘Will your portraits be worth that much one day, Daniel?’

‘Oh, Cassie, how I wish it were so,’ he said.

‘Is it lunch time yet?’ she asked hopefully.

‘We’ve only recently fed you two enormous currant buns. You’ll burgeon into a Rubens if you’re not careful!’

I was rather hoping that Mr Evandale would take us to a hotel. I was very keen to sample oysters and champagne. He took us to a chophouse instead, a much more prosaic choice, but I enjoyed my two pork chops with apple sauce, and then we all had golden syrup steamed pudding. I couldn’t manage more than a mouthful of mine as I was so full of chops.

I’d hoped that we would return, refreshed, to the National Gallery, but Cassie objected fiercely.

‘Let us go to all the department stores in Oxford Street,’ she suggested, but this made Mr Evandale groan.

‘I have a better idea,’ he said, and he hailed a cab.

He took us to the Zoological Gardens. This proved to be an utterly splendid choice. We were all enchanted by the antics of the monkeys and the comical black and white penguins. We thrilled at the roar of the lions and tigers, though Cassie fanned herself ostentatiously, saying she couldn’t bear the smell. Mr Evandale stumped up the money for Cassie and me to have a ride on Jumbo the elephant, though this was really designed for children. We certainly shrieked like little girls as the great beast lumbered to his feet and started plodding along while we perched precariously on a little seat on his back.

It was not properly spring, but the sun was warm and we sat in deckchairs in Regent’s Park to ease our aching feet. Mr Evandale took out his sketchbook and started doing a quick pencil portrait of both of us. Cassie immediately struck a pose, throwing up her arm and smiling enigmatically. I felt stiff and self-conscious beside her and couldn’t stop fidgeting.

‘Here, Opal, you draw too,’ he said, tearing out several pages of his sketchbook for me.

I tried to draw my sister too, but it was inhibiting after seeing so many masterpieces. I took inspiration from the Zoological Gardens instead and drew Cassie as a sleepy lioness, her hair a magnificent mane, her great paws emerging incongruously from the cuffs of her dress. She was smiling, as if she’d just dined on an antelope and several impala.

Cassie was irritated when she saw what I’d done, but Mr Evandale roared with laughter.

‘Yours is far better than my conventional scribble. It’s Cassie, right down to the last whisker.’

‘I don’t have whiskers! Honestly, how you do plague a girl,’ said Cassie, pretending to be cross, but she couldn’t help simpering at him even so.

We had another train carriage to ourselves on the way home. Cassie fell asleep, snuggled against Mr Evandale’s shoulder. He offered to get us a cab from the station, but we decided to walk instead. I shook his hand and thanked him fervently. Cassie gave him a bold kiss on the lips right in front of me. Then we walked off arm in arm.

‘
SO WHAT DID
you think of him? Isn’t he just the most wonderful man ever? He’s got such style, hasn’t he? And he knows so much, and he has such a wicked sense of humour. He knows exactly how to please a girl, don’t you think? And he’s so youthful, for all that he’s so old. Don’t you think so yourself? Do you think he really, really cares for me? Opie, do say!’ said Cassie in a rush.

‘For goodness’ sake, give me a chance to speak! Yes. Yes, yes, yes!’

‘Yes, you like him? And you think he likes me?’

‘Yes to everything. I can see why you’re so charmed.’

‘Oh, Opie, I’m so happy. I wish he had a younger brother just for you, and then you could be happy too.’

‘I’m happy as I am,’ I said, not quite truthfully. ‘And I’d never ever be able to fib to Mother so fluently. I don’t know how you do it. Have you got today’s story all prepared?’

‘Oh, that’s easy enough. I just open my mouth and a great long story tumbles out,’ said Cassie. ‘You wait and see.’

‘Had we better separate? Mother will wonder why we’re together,’ I suggested.

‘No, no, we’ll say we simply met up by chance on the way home,’ said Cassie.

We got to the front door and let ourselves in.

‘Hello, Mother,’ Cassie called cheerily. There was no reply, just a strange silence. Yet we could hear a series of thumps in the kitchen. We went in, and there was Mother ironing, her face as hard and steely as the iron itself.

‘Hello, Mother,’ Cassie repeated. ‘Have all the shop girls’ babies gone home? Oh dear, you do look tired. Sit down, and we’ll finish the ironing off for you, won’t we, Opie.’

‘Where have you been?’ said Mother, ironing hard.

‘Why, you know where we’ve been. I’ve been at Madame Alouette’s and Opie’s been to one of those boring old meetings,’ Cassie said. ‘Here, Mother.’ She took off her hat and coat and went to take the iron, but Mother clung onto it.

‘Get away from me,’ she said.

‘Mother, whatever’s the matter?’ I asked.

‘I’ve got a liar for a daughter, that’s what’s the matter.’ She thumped the table so hard it actually shook.

‘Do calm down, Mother, you’re getting in such a state. What’s upset you?’ Cassie was trying to sound casual, but she looked frightened now. I clutched her hand.

‘I had a visitor this afternoon,’ said Mother. ‘Madame Alouette.’

I felt Cassie’s hand tighten on mine.

‘She came round specially, because she was worried about you, Cassie. It seems you had a bad toothache. She brought you a bottle of oil of cloves to soothe it. Wasn’t that kind, taking time away from the shop specially? I thanked her for all her past kindness, the many days you’ve spent at her house with her nephew Philip. It turns out that she can’t remember any visits whatsoever – and Philip himself is back in Paris continuing his studies.’

‘Oh Lord,’ Cassie murmured.

‘So would you mind telling me exactly where you’ve been, madam? And you’re clearly in on this whole deception too, Opal. How could you two girls let me down so badly?’

‘Opal hasn’t deceived you. She’s just been going to her suffragette meetings – until today. It’s all me. But I told you all those tales because I didn’t want to worry you, Mother. I’ll tell you the truth now. I have been seeing a wonderful gentleman called Mr Daniel Evandale.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you make up this nonsense about Madame Alouette’s nephew? What’s wrong with this gentleman that you had to keep him such a deadly secret?’

‘I didn’t, Mother. I told you all about him the very day I met him. He came into the shop and ordered a fancy hat and I modelled all our latest designs for him. Don’t you remember my telling you?’

‘But that was a much older man!’

‘He’s not a callow youth. He is a cultured gentleman in his prime.’

‘What does he do for a living?’

‘He’s an artist,’ Cassie said proudly.

‘An artist!’ Mother exclaimed, thumping the iron down fiercely, as if she wished to brand Cassie’s gentleman with it. ‘An
artist
. Oh, Cassie, when will you learn? Of all the disreputable professions! He’ll have you modelling for him next.’ She saw Cassie’s face and gave an anguished moan. ‘How could you sink so low? I suppose you took your clothes off too!’

‘Yes I did,’ said Cassie. ‘Daniel’s painted several portraits of me, and they’re all beautiful and may well be displayed in the Royal Academy. I’m so proud, Mother. Daniel is a fine artist. I know he’ll be truly famous one day and I shall be too, as his muse.’

‘As his
muse
!’ Mother spat, as if it were a filthy word. ‘Now listen to me, Cassie Plumstead. You are never to see that man again. I’m not going to let you out of my sight on Sundays. You’ll stay home with me and help with the chores. And on Monday you’ll go to Madame Alouette’s and beg her forgiveness for all the ludicrous stories you’ve been telling, though I’m not sure she’ll keep you on at the shop. She’s truly shocked by your deception.’

‘I don’t care if she doesn’t want me to stay on. I’m tired of working there anyway. Why should I waste my time sitting with a lot of silly girls making hats for other women all day long? I don’t even earn anything yet. Daniel’s painter friends are all keen for me to model for them and they’ll pay handsomely!’ Cassie shouted. ‘You can’t stop me seeing Daniel, Mother. I
love
him.’

‘What do you know about love?’

‘I think I know more about love than you do,’ said Cassie, her head held high. ‘Who are you to preach at me anyway? You ran off with Father when you were my age, or near enough.’

‘And look at me now. Look what it’s reduced me to,’ said Mother bitterly. ‘Shame and penury.’

‘Well, I hope to avoid both. Because Daniel is wealthy and I am proud to be seen with him.’

‘I’m warning you, if you see him even one more time, you’ll not set foot in this house again,’ said Mother.

‘Very well. I shall pack my belongings now,’ said Cassie, and she picked up her skirts and walked upstairs.

Mother clasped the handle of the iron, suddenly helpless. She looked at me. ‘Can’t you stop her, Opal?’

I ran up the stairs after Cassie. I thought she might be bluffing, but she was calmly and methodically going through her chest of drawers, selecting her best nightgown, her set of underwear embroidered with little violets, her new stockings, her velvet bag of hair ribbons, packing them all into the big carpet bag. We never went away so we’d always used it as a storage bag. Cassie and I had kept our dressing-up clothes in it when we were little. I saw a discarded heap of tattered costumes on the floor – the ‘princess’ rose-pink dress we’d always fought over, the white ‘ghost’ gown that had once been Mother’s wedding veil, the dark green velvet skirt that had been our mermaid outfit.

‘You’re not really packing your things, are you, Cassie?’ I asked stupidly, because it was plain she was doing just that.

‘I don’t have any option, do I?’ Cassie went to her wardrobe and rifled through her clothes. ‘You can have most of these, Opie. I haven’t got room to take them, and I’m tired of them anyway. I’ve got my green dress and I’ll take my black costume with the pink blouse. I’ll leave my cream one for you – and you can certainly keep the old elephant.’