The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(13)
‘What do you mean, wash?’ Diana retorted, forgetting to wipe her mouth.
‘Well, I just dip the brush in water and wash it all over the page, then add a tiny bit of blue, tiny, tiny. Look, like this.’ She demonstrated with exaggerated strokes across the paper. ‘There, rather effective don’t you think?’ She sat back and admired her painting in the same way that she admired everything she did in her life, with total confidence. Still attractive at sixty-eight with a handsome face, intelligent blue eyes and fine silver hair, she believed that allure was dependent on self-assurance not beauty. It didn’t matter what one did; as long as it was done with utter decisiveness one would always be admired.
‘Very effective, Charlo,’ breathed Phyllida Bates deferentially, passing a dry tongue over thin, scaly lips. Possibly the most poisonous of the four, Phyllida was cowardly yet utterly ruthless. With the spine of a reptile she always twisted in whichever direction the majority turned and relished the spilling of guts more than anyone else. ‘Are you suggesting, Charlo, that Louis Forrester is, to put it delicately, mentally unstable?’ she asked, rubbing her arthritic hands together with pleasure.
Charlo laughed out loud. ‘Trust Phyllida to be delicate. Delicate but incisive.’
‘Mad,’ Cynthia Klein interjected from behind her easel. The least malicious of the Crocodiles, Cynthia’s only vice was to say things as she saw them, good or bad. ‘He’s definitely mad.’
‘I agree,’ said Charlo, nodding her head. ‘It’s the look in his eyes that unsettles me. There’s something very unpredictable about him, not to mention self-indulgent. He’s handsome enough, but the dishonour of not fighting for one’s country negates anything positive about him. Do you know I saw him dancing all by himself the other night after dinner? I was on the point of leaving when I saw his silhouette in the moonlight. It was unmistakeably him. That hat set crooked on his head, no one else wears it like that, especially at night! Imagine dancing all by oneself without any music. Most peculiar. His brother is clearly embarrassed by him and I don’t blame him. Cecil is a decent, beautifully mannered young man who returned from the war a hero. A true hero. It’s because of men like him that we’ve been saved from the horrors of Nazi Germany. He risked his life for all of us while his silly brother danced the war away. The shame of it! One wonders why on earth he came out here in the first place.’
‘I think it’s obvious why he came out here – because he had disgraced himself in London.’ Diana chuckled, wiping her clumsy hands on her painting smock.
‘Well, he’s got off to a bad start,’ said Charlo. ‘We all know his secret. He can’t run away from such shame. What do you think his excuse is, pacifism?’
‘For certain – or some mad religion,’ said Diana, taking pleasure in adding another dimension to the subject.
‘Oh yes, he’s probably a member of some sect,’ Phyllida agreed in a thin voice. ‘Black magic under the guise of pacifism.’
‘Come on, girls, this really is taking it too far. He’s not a bad person, just a little too unpredictable for us old people,’ said Cynthia, tearing the paper off her easel and discarding it on the grass with the other painting she had started and grown tired of. ‘One can’t blame him for not fighting without knowing why. Perhaps he has a perfectly legitimate reason. Besides, I think he’s attractive, in a roguish way. I’m rather partial to that vulnerable look in a man. He clearly needs looking after. One wants to mother him.’
‘In your case, Cynthia, you’d be grandmothering him,’ said Charlo with a sneer.
‘Pot calling the kettle black, Charlo, my dear. You’re so many years beyond your prime one can barely remember it.’
‘Those poor girls, all waiting hopefully for marriage, what with such a shortage of young men.’ Diana sighed, bringing the brush up to her mouth, adding a touch of green to her blue lips. Charlo watched her put more paint on her face than on the paper and smirked.
‘No mother in her right mind will want him for a son-in-law,’ said Cynthia. ‘If I were fifty years younger I’d put my money on his brother Cecil. Now he’s a sensible young man.’
‘Oh, he most certainly is,’ Diana gushed, remembering his gentle manner the day he had helped her into her car. ‘Such a gentleman. He possesses true nobility.’
‘Unfortunately, girls can be very stupid,’ said Charlo loftily, ‘they don’t always know what’s best for them. Some poor fool will fall for Louis’ vague charm.’