Forgive Me (26 page)

‘I think I loved Flora from the moment
I clapped eyes on her, but our relationship was a platonic one at that point and she had
several other men in her life. We didn’t become lovers until the Christmas of
1965. By then she had her art degree, and I was making jewellery and selling it to
boutiques. But Flora was already becoming noticed as an artist. We had so many dreams
then, Eva, commune-type visions of living in an old farmhouse and all sharing our
possessions and any income from our art …’ He paused and a wry smile played
around his lips.

‘Impractical hippy dreams?’ Eva
said.

‘Oh yes, totally impractical, as none
of us was doing more than scratching a living.’ He chuckled. ‘But it was a
good time for all of us in that house, we had some wonderful times – that is, when we
weren’t freezing or starving, and the landlord wasn’t getting heavy about
the rent we owed. Then, in 1967, quite suddenly everything changed for Flora. She became
a minor star in the art world. Galleries exhibited her work, and they sold it hand over
fist. Her mother had died of cancer before I met her, but during the latter half of that
year her father died too, and he left her some money.’

‘Jack and Lauren told me some of
that,’ Eva said. ‘And that she bought this house.’

‘Yes, that’s right. But what
they probably didn’t tell you was that all our friends, Jack and Lauren included,
were still clinging to the idea of a commune. When Flora bought a house for herself, not
for all of them to share, they chose to see it as selling out to Capitalism. That was
ridiculous, really. If any of them had come into money, they would have done exactly as
she did. But it soured things. Anyway, Flora and I moved here, and
she got pregnant. We were thrilled – completely wrapped up in one another – and we
intended to get married. But, sadly, she miscarried at six months. It was a little
girl.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Eva said.
She could see the sadness etched into Patrick’s face.

‘It was never the same
afterwards,’ he said glumly. ‘Flora went into a very dark place. At the time
I was very afraid that she might end her life. She didn’t of course – she just
ended it with me. She just upped and left one day while I was out. Her note said it was
over and she’d gone away “to find herself”.’

‘How awful for you!’

Patrick shrugged. ‘I remained here in
this house, hoping of course that she’d return before long. I didn’t hear
anything from her for weeks. I didn’t even know where she was, and if she was
alright. Then I got a little watercolour of a cottage from her in the post. She said in
the accompanying letter that she was in Scotland, and that she was sorry it had all gone
wrong for us. But then she went on to say that if I wanted to stay on here, I would have
to start paying her rent, as she needed an income, and that her solicitor would be in
touch with the terms.’

‘That was very cold-hearted!’
Eva exclaimed. Yet however unkind she thought it was, it did bear out some of the things
her old friends had hinted at about Flora.

‘It was fair enough, being asked to
pay rent,’ Patrick sighed. ‘I didn’t mind that. What upset me most was
that she believed it was she alone who had suffered in losing our baby. I felt the pain
just as badly as she did, and she shut me out at a time when we should’ve been
grieving together. I forgave her so much in our time together, but I could never forgive
her for that.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘I duly paid rent to her solicitor for
some weeks. Not another word from Flora. Then out of the blue I got an eviction notice.
That was the last straw. I was very bitter, and for a while I was tempted to refuse to
leave – just to spite her. But I’d been thinking of going to Canada, anyway. And
on balance I realized it made more sense to sever all connections with her and go. So I
went. Some time later – well over a year, I’d say – I heard from a friend that she
was back here in this house with Andrew Patterson and they had a baby girl. But if
Patterson came along after your birth, then she must have met your father while she was
in Scotland.’

‘I hoped it would be you,’ Eva
said in a small voice. ‘You see, I bought
Mr Bear Goes Camping
and got
carried away, thinking my father was Mr Bear.’

He smiled. ‘Strangely enough,
Flora’s pet name for me was Mr Bear.’ He looked a little embarrassed at
admitting that. ‘I often wondered if she ever looked at the Mr Bear books and
thought about our time here together. She was the successful one. I wasn’t doing
very well selling my stuff, so I worked as a meter reader for the electricity board to
keep my end up. But we were so very happy before she lost our baby. I decorated the
little room upstairs with a frieze of bears, though I expect she painted over
it.’

‘She didn’t,’ Eva
exclaimed. ‘It’s still there. I’ve repainted the room, but I left it
in place because it’s lovely. I thought Mum had painted it for me. But now I know
it was done by you, I’ll keep it for ever.’

‘Oh, Eva,’ he sighed.
‘I’d have been so proud to call you my daughter, and I’m really glad
you like Mr Bear. I also wish I could shine more light on to the time after Flora left
me, to make things better for you.’

Eva felt a rush of affection for this nice
man, and she
couldn’t help but think her mother would have been
a great deal happier with him than she ever was with Andrew.

‘You’ve done that just by coming
here. After what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you wanted
nothing to do with her daughter.’

He shook his head in denial. ‘Flora
was the big love of my life, and I’d have been a very odd sort of man if I had no
curiosity about what happened to her. When I got back from Canada I asked friends about
her and was told she’d married Patterson and moved away. I spoke to one or two
gallery owners who had exhibited her work in the past, and they seemed baffled as to why
she hadn’t been in touch with them. You said she didn’t tell you about her
earlier success, but did she carry on painting?’

‘No, the only things she ever painted
were pictures for us kids. I don’t understand it either, we only had one oil
painting of hers at home. Like I said, she never talked about her past, never even gave
us a hint she’d once had exhibitions of her work. The paintings here are ones I
found up in the attic. Lauren said that maybe once she had children she felt no further
urge to paint.’

‘I suppose that could be the
explanation, though I can’t think of any other artist who gave up painting all
together. But enough of Flora … tell me what you work at. I can see
you’re artistic by the decor of the house. Do you paint and draw too?’

‘No, I’m useless at it. But I
suppose I am artistic in that I’ve always liked sewing and handicrafts, and now
interior design too,’ she said with a grin. ‘Back in Cheltenham I worked in
telephone sales for a mail-order fashion company. I was involved with every aspect of
that company, and I really loved it. I was working here in a bistro, but there was an
unpleasant incident there and I decided to take a month off and get the house fixed
up.’

A little later, Eva got the box of her
mother’s things down to show him. She lifted out the necklace and asked if he had
made it.

‘Yes, I did,’ he said, his face
lighting up. ‘Fancy her keeping it!’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Eva
said. ‘And if it’s any consolation to you, it must have meant a lot to Mum
too, because all the things in this box appear to have some special
significance.’

She showed him the watercolour of the
cottage, and he said it was the same cottage she’d sent him a picture of. ‘I
can’t be absolutely certain after all this time but I’m pretty sure she said
it was in Pitlochry.’

‘What about this row of shops?’
she asked him, holding out the photograph. ‘There’s a painting of it
too.’

Patrick shook his head. ‘I
haven’t a clue. Maybe she knew someone who lived there, or stayed there herself
for a while. But I really can’t imagine why she would paint such a dreary scene, I
only ever knew her go for vivid or very beautiful subjects.’

‘I’ve got a feeling that place
is important,’ Eva said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve been working through her
diaries, but so far I haven’t found anything that ties it in. But then they are
quite hard to read – awful scrawl, and so many initials instead of names.’

He grinned. ‘I can imagine. She used
to leave notes like that to me, and sometimes I hadn’t a clue what she was trying
to tell me. I can remember her scribbling in a diary, she even joked that if anyone ever
tried to read it they’d be baffled.’

‘Well, she’s succeeded in
baffling me.’ Eva laughed.

Patrick picked up the necklace and fastened
it around her neck. ‘You should wear this. I might not be your father, but
I’d like you to keep some room in your life for me. I haven’t got any
children of my own, and I think Flora would like me to take you under my
wing.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said,
smiling up at him. ‘And I love the necklace.’

‘Good, because it was made with love
and therefore a powerful amulet. But let’s talk about you and your career. I think
you should train in interior design. You’ve got a flair for it.’

‘Really?’ It was odd that
he’d picked up on the one thing she kept thinking she’d like to do.
‘I’ve really enjoyed doing this place up, and I’ve got quite good at
doing jobs such as putting up curtain poles, shelves and things. But surely you need to
know more than that?’

‘Having a good eye for colour and
design is the main requirement. That’s inborn – it can’t really be taught.
But there are courses on the other skills you need, and how to go about making a career
in design. I had a girlfriend back in Canada who was an interior designer. People who
have money but very little imagination employ them. They oversee the making of curtains,
the choice of wallpaper and furniture, sometimes even do up the whole house.’

Eva liked the sound of that. ‘So where
would I find a course to take?’

‘Many of the art colleges run them,
though I imagine most start in September or October. I’ll make some inquiries for
you. I expect you could get a grant for it too. But from what you’ve told me, Eva,
ever since Flora died you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. What was this
incident at your work?’

She blushed, wishing she hadn’t told
him that. She was quite over it now and mostly wished she hadn’t even called the
police, as when the court case came up she knew it would be unpleasant. ‘A man
made a nuisance of himself,’ she said quickly. ‘He turned up here and barged
his way in, and the upshot was that he assaulted me.’

‘You poor girl!’ he exclaimed.
‘I hope you called the police?’

She felt she had to explain now, and added
that she wished she hadn’t involved the police.

‘You can’t let men get away with
such things,’ he said sternly. ‘I think you should take yourself off on a
holiday and recharge your batteries.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to
go.’ She laughed. ‘Besides, I’m more or less having a holiday now,
doing nothing but lying in the sun and pottering around the garden.’

‘It’s a change of scene that
rests you,’ he said firmly. ‘You could go up to Scotland to see if you can
find that cottage your mother painted. You might discover your real father there. But
more importantly, to quote Flora, you need to “find yourself”.’

Eva laughed. ‘Very Sixties,
“Peace and Love”! But haven’t I already found myself by coming to live
here?’

‘In part. You’ve become
independent, and your creative side has emerged, but you are still being held back by
all these questions you have about Flora. Until they are answered to your satisfaction,
or you decide they are no longer important to you, you won’t be totally your own
person.’

‘So how will a holiday achieve
that?’

‘It will give you time to relax,
reflect and take stock. Find out what’s important to you and what
isn’t.’

‘I’ll think about that
one,’ she said. ‘Now let’s have some lunch, shall we?’

She made a tuna salad and they ate it in
the garden. Patrick had been to Italy recently, and he talked about the works of art
he’d seen in Florence and Rome with such enthusiasm and awe that she wished she
could see them too and resolved to get some art books from the library to learn more
about the artists he mentioned. They discussed fiction too, and although their tastes
were mostly very different, they both
loved Tom Sharpe’s books
and reminded each other of the parts they’d found funniest.

Eva could never have had such a conversation
with Andrew. He had often sneered at the things she said and belittled all her attempts
to try anything new. But she felt totally at ease with Patrick and liked the fact that
he was interested in her, what she thought about, her interests and goals. He also
seemed to really understand how it felt to be cut off from family.

Sophie hadn’t responded to any of her
letters. Ben had come down the previous weekend, but it soon became obvious that he saw
her house as just somewhere to stay so he could visit old friends, not to spend time
with her. On the Saturday night he went off, and didn’t come back till midday on
Sunday. She had been very hurt and disappointed but she didn’t say so, because she
didn’t want to lose him all together.

She told Patrick a little of this.
‘Ben moved up to Leeds a while back, but he’s gone back home to Cheltenham
for a bit of a holiday. And to try to straighten Sophie out, because apparently
she’s running wild. But it seems Andrew’s got this woman staying at the
house most of the time, and Ben couldn’t stop ranting about her. He thinks his dad
is totally insensitive to his and Sophie’s feelings, and that’s why
Sophie’s playing up. He says that once university starts in October he’s got
no intention of going home ever again.’

‘You must let them get on with their
lives,’ Patrick said calmly. ‘The way Andrew treated you was despicable, so
you don’t have to feel responsible for his children. A pretty girl like you should
be out with boyfriends, not worrying about a half-sister whose own father should be
doing that. Have you got a boyfriend?’