Shattered dreams, p.11
Shattered Dreams, page 11
‘I’d love to hear about the Académie Julian,’ Justus said. ‘How about we dig through the car and find a bottle of wine for us all to share? There’s bound to be something tucked in amongst the suitcases. Does that sound like a good idea?’
For the remainder of the afternoon Jack, Sofia and Andrés enjoyed the afternoon in the courtyard sharing stories, olives, dried fish, bread and wine with the Australian visitors while the rest of Spain enjoyed a siesta.
Jack marvelled at the small world of artists when he realised that, not only did they know Margaret, but also Roger Fry, the Bells, whom he had visited in Bloomsbury, and even Gertrude Stein. They were enormously impressed to hear how Roger and Gertrude had organised an exhibition for both Andrés and Jack, eager to learn every detail.
As the afternoon drew to a close, they walked to carpark to bid the Australians farewell. Justus turned to him.
‘So, Jack, will Australia get the benefit of your presence anytime soon?’ Justus asked, his piercing blue eyes searching. The question took Jack by surprise and he found himself stammering an incoherent response that combined a shake of his head with an affirmative. Thoughts of his recent conversations with Andrés, compelling him to take Sofia to Australia, collided with her own assertions that she would never leave the finca.
‘Well, we are thinking... I am not really sure... Perhaps next year.’
Jack resisted the urge to meet Sofia’s eyes even as he felt her jolt beside him.
‘Well, you make sure you look me up when you come home, Jack. I will be very keen to see how your painting progresses and learn more about your experiences here in Spain,’ Justus concluded.
* * *
‘Why did you say we may be in Australia next year, Jack?’ Sofia asked immediately after the visitors left. ‘How could that happen? I cannot leave the gallery!’
Andrés answered for him. ‘Sofia, I told Jack he must take you away from here. Maybe not next year. But one day. When I am gone. You cannot stay here. Too much is happening.’
‘Rubbish, Andrés. You are not going anywhere. I am not going anywhere. And I sure hope that Jack is not planning to go anywhere, either.’ And with a withering glare at the both of them, Sofia stomped into the house, leaving the men looking silently at each other.
Jack felt stricken; he’d never seen Sofia so angry. Shrugging, Andrés smiled feebly at Jack’s worried expression. ‘It’s okay. She’ll come around.’
There was no more reference to a visit to Australia that day, but Sofia’s displeasure with the men, and particularly with Andrés, whom she blamed for putting such mad ideas into Jack’s head, was made evident by her terse exchanges during their evening meal.
However, Sofia’s anger did not last long and the conversation was soon forgotten as the days lengthened and the tourist season made for busy mornings whilst the restful siesta, laying arm in arm under the sweet smell of the orange trees, provided a welcome escape from the summer heat.
Chapter 14
‘Yoo-hoo!’ came the call of a familiar voice across the courtyard.
It was October, and having just taken the kitchen food scraps to the compost, Jack was now helping Sofia clear up the breakfast dishes, pleased that it was once again Monday and the gallery was closed for the day.
He’d heard the squeak of brakes from the road, as the early morning bus crawled up the hill and subconsciously noticed that it had slowed down outside the gallery. However, visitors were rare so early in the morning, not to mention the sign’s warning that the gallery was not open on Mondays, and so he had taken little notice.
At the sound of the voice, they looked at each other and said in unison, ‘Margaret!’
Jack rushed to the door, Sofia close behind, and he opened it, grinning broadly. He had not realised how much he missed this friend who had been such a support to both himself and Sofia during their time in Paris.
‘Jack, Sofia!’
‘Margaret!’ they exclaimed simultaneously, launching into hugs, kisses and talking all at once.
Over two years had passed since they had seen Margaret and yet it felt like only yesterday. She looked different in some ways, every bit a modern woman with her hair cut into a pageboy bob which forced her curls to extend almost horizontal. A baggy cardigan strung across her shoulders revealed a manly-collared shirt, its striped fabric loosely tucked into pleated, baggy trousers with broad cuffs resting high above dainty ankles. Encased in fine slip-on shoes were the feet that seemed to gallantly transport Margaret from country to country, at her whim.
‘Margaret! My, my, you look like one of those snooty-nosed society women we see in the newspapers! You know, with polo horses and hounds. You have moved up in the world!’
‘Don’t you bloody society-lady me, Jack, or I will give you one of my finely practised withering glares. They’re killers and are quite the thing in England, only usually I am on the receiving end. Freddie and I traipse around the country estates with their ten bedrooms and maids’ quarters and acres of gardens, appraising the art collections of the Who’s Who. It’s little wonder all the old lords and dukes are going broke and being forced to sell up the family collections, what with their gardeners and housekeepers and chamber maids to pay. Some of those places are enormous. I need to dress respectably, else they might think that Freddie’s just a two-bit art dealer, or so he tells me. It’s all about gaining their confidence, apparently. Look after them, and they will have us selling their priceless family collections for ever. And of course, there is the hope that they will refer us to all of their friends, who are equally strapped for cash.’
‘Well, I think you look wonderful – doesn’t she, Sofia? It is just so good to see you again! I can’t believe that you are here! How did you get here?’ Jack wanted to know everything, Margaret’s very presence reminding him of how much he enjoyed her company and how much he’d missed her. She was the closest thing to a sister that he’d ever had, and he loved the bond he’d shared with her from almost the minute they’d met on the Ormonde.
‘Oh, you know – trains, and more trains and then the bus to get me up to here. Tell me about you both. I want to hear about everything and see everything. The wedding, your paintings, the gallery! This place is charming, Sofia – how wonderful, and what a view!’
Sofia nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, we love it. It’s the only home we’ve ever known.’
‘Well, well! Margaret! Here’s trouble.’ Andres’ grin was broad as he appeared at the doorway. ‘I could have guessed that you would be the cause of all this ruckus... How wonderful to see you here.’
Margaret crossed the room excitedly to greet him with a kiss and hug. ‘Andres, how are you? You look much better than the last time I saw you, that’s for sure.’ Of course, he did, Jack thought – the last time Margaret had seen Andres, he’d been lying in a bed at the Hôpital de la Pitié, pale and gasping for each breath.
‘I’m very well, Margaret, and so much better for seeing you. How fantastic of you to come and visit us.’
Margaret kept her arm around Andres’ waist, beaming back at Jack and Sofia. ‘So here I am, together with you all again!’ she said. ‘Don’t let me get in the way. Just tell me what happens and give me a job. I’ll need to earn my board because my suitcases are out on the roadside. I’m planning on a nice long stay.’
Sofia laughed delightedly. ‘Another woman in the house! How lovely! I need all the help I can get to keep these two layabouts organised!’
‘Come on, Margaret. If we head out into the courtyard, Sofia might stop complaining and find us a pot of coffee,’ Andres said with a chuckle. ‘Then you can tell us exactly what you have been doing that has been keeping you so busy in London – or is it Paris? – these days.’
* * *
For the next few hours, the four sat in the courtyard, drinking coffee and catching up on each other. Margaret described some of the changes that were going on in London. The crash of the American stock exchange had spread to England, causing high unemployment in some places, although others seemed to barely feel it.
‘It gets a bit hard sometimes. Freddie and I go to these enormous posh houses to look at art collections, while the poor coal miners and ship builders can barely afford food. In some of the towns up north, there are hardly any jobs – and yet other industries are booming. New houses are going up everywhere and I am sure that the number of motor vehicles on the roads increases every day.’
Margaret loved the gallery and immediately insisted that she should attend to it for a few hours each day to give Sofia a break.
As the afternoon wore on, Jack took Margaret out the back to show her the orchard. At the woodpile, Jack wielded the axe, chopping kindling for the kitchen stove in readiness for the next morning. Margaret asked quietly, ‘Jack, what is going on with Andres? He looks awful.’
‘Yes, his health is declining,’ Jack answered in the same low tone. ‘Sleeps a lot more these days and his coughing has got worse.’ He realised with alarm that, in Margaret’s eyes, Andres declining health was even more drastic than he and Sofia had realised.
‘I wish there was something we could do. Apparently not, according to the doctor. Andres is quite resigned to his fate. He just wants to enjoy what time he has without being morbid. In saying that, I think he is trying to prepare Sofia for the future. He jokes about dying often, much to her annoyance. She won’t hear him speak of it. Refuses to discuss it, even with me. She’s going to be a terrible mess when he...’ Jack stumbled at the words and Margaret nodded sadly and patted his arm.
‘I know, Jack, it is awful. Such a lovely, talented man,’ she said. ‘It’s so unfair. Poor Sofia. She’ll have lost all of her family and she’s what – only twenty-four?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, it’s awful. Little wonder she refuses to talk about it.’
‘Well, Jack, if Andres wants to get on with living, then let’s enjoy this time together. The time to be morbid will arrive soon enough, I dare say.’
True to her word, throughout dinner, Margaret had them in stitches describing how she had started some commissions, painting - of all things - pets! She shuddered. Her very first cat portrait began quite by accident.
‘I was looking after Michelangelo – Freddie’s beloved cat,’ she informed Sofia and Andres, ‘and just began, you know, sketching. And then my sketch turned into a painting, which of course, Freddie just had to hang on the gallery wall. Not because I am a great painter, of course, no...just because he is nuts about anything to do with that great fiend of a beast. Well, then, of course, one of his old dames spotted it and had to have her cat painted, too...and so it went on. Now, not only am I the go-to person for cats, but also dogs, and anything else that people with far too much money can think of. Last week, I was commissioned to do an enormous bloody parrot sitting on its owner’s shoulder. The human was placid enough, but the darned bird scared me witless, squawking and glaring at me whenever it decided that I’d ventured too close. “He won’t hurt you, love...he’s just excited!” the old biddy kept saying to me!’
Later they took Margaret into the studio and showed her his and Andres recent works.
‘What a lovely big studio!’ She glanced around at the overcrowded room, where finished paintings leaned haphazardly against the walls.
‘Have you been keeping touch with your Parisian contacts?’ she asked.
‘From time to time. We had a letter from Miss Stein a few months ago and a couple of cheques did come through from the galleries, but we haven’t heard anything for a while now. Really, it’s near impossible to keep up with it all from here. We did plan to go back soon, but...well, it’s not really the right time, now.’
The truth was that conversations about their proposed trip to Paris had been all but abandoned since the wedding. Margaret nodded, her expression thoughtful, and Jack could see that she understood that Andres’ health had put a question mark over their plans.
‘Why don’t we pack some of these off and send them up to London? Freddie would love to show these to his clients. He was thrilled to hear about your exhibition with Roger and Gertrude. When Roger was over at the Grafton, bragging about the exhibition, Freddie was green with envy. You know, they all try to outdo each other with their new discoveries, each determined to be credited for finding the next Picasso.’
Sofia was thrilled by her suggestion.
‘What a wonderful idea, Margaret,’ she exclaimed. ‘I have been worrying about Andres’ and Jack’s paintings in Paris. It’s been months since we heard anything from the galleries there. Perhaps Freddie might know someone who could follow them up.’
‘Very likely. They all seem to know each other and I know he has connections all over Paris. How about we send him a list of the galleries in Paris, along with these paintings? He is just as likely to slip across to France himself for a few days. I’m sure he would be happy to follow these up for you.’
The afternoon was spent with the four of them sorting through paintings, and finally, a dozen canvases from each Andres’ and Jacks’ collections were set aside to be rolled, packaged and forwarded to Freddie.
After dinner that evening, Margaret began questioning Andres about his life.
‘So, when did you start painting, Andres?’
‘Who were your greatest influences?’
‘Margaret, go away and leave me alone,’ Andres made a show of grumbling. ‘Let’s play cards.’
‘We need to send some information about you. Freddie will want to give his clients a story about the artist!’
‘Tell them anything. Ask Jack about himself.’
‘I was just an everyday scribbler,’ Jack offered. ‘And then I met a crazy lady on a ship,’ he said, grinning.
With an exasperated sigh, Margaret persisted. ‘Well, at least tell me the prizes that you’ve won. You first, Andres!’
‘Well, Jack has won Sofia, but I am still waiting for my prize. Maybe you will do?’ Andres said cheekily, far too playful to take Margaret seriously, and so she gave up, shaking her head in mock disgust before turning to Sofia to gain the information she sought.
* * *
Margaret quickly established herself as Andres’ daily companion, leaving the ‘lovebirds’ to ‘gaze into each other’s eyes’, as both she and Andres teased them at every opportunity. Together they developed a balance of work in the studio, as well as rest. She was sensitive to keep from fatiguing Andres and keen to support him as he immersed himself in his first great love in life – painting. Like her, he loved to discuss the latest goings-on, including the gossip of the art world: who was being favoured and who was being ridiculed and the latest outlandish prices that were achieved by various artists.
During the afternoons, while Andres rested, Margaret relieved Sofia in the café, as she’d promised, although Sofia also enjoyed Margaret’s company and usually elected to remain with her. Over the course of a week’s siesta periods, the two women totally rearranged the gallery and Jack was more than willing to lend his strong arms to help them move tables and supply them with endless cups of iced tea.
* * *
Jack and Sofia felt that it was a godsend to have Margaret stay with them. Without doubt, she completed the group and even Andres agreed, claiming that now he did not feel so much like the third wheel seated with newlyweds who couldn’t keep their hands off each other! On fine afternoons, they ventured out for sightseeing drives to the nearby villages and beaches, avoiding crowds wherever possible, and in the evenings they played cards, Sofia and Andres teaching Jack and Margaret Chinchón, a Spanish variation of gin rummy, and in turn, Jack and Margaret teaching them bridge.
* * *
It was in the fourth week of Margaret’s visit that Andres took a turn for the worse. The day had started the same as every other, with Jack rising early to help Sofia receive the morning deliveries for the café while Margaret drew water, ready to tackle the day’s laundry. Breakfast had been as lively as it had been fun; he’d enjoyed bantering with Margaret, insisting that it was her turn to wash the dishes, while she argued back that he needed more practice, for he never washed them properly.
‘Can you two children stop fighting for once, or do I have to send you to your rooms?’ Sofia glared at them, even as she tried to control her smile, and Jack grinned at Margaret, thinking how wonderful it was to truly be part of a happy, noisy, teasing family, instead of being on the outside looking in, as he’d done all of his life.
‘Oh, she started it,’ he replied, and Sofia swatted him with her tea towel as he left the kitchen to join Andres in the studio.
Later, they’d met up in the courtyard for a quick morning tea, following which the girls had headed across to the gallery, whilst Jack and Andres returned to the studio.
At about eleven-thirty, Andres mentioned that he was feeling particularly tired and Jack noticed that he looked pale.
‘Too much cards last night, mate! Why don’t you go and have a lie-down before lunch? Leave your brushes – I’ll clean them when I do mine.’
‘Thank you. I think that I might do that,’ Andres said. ‘I’ll see you at lunch.’
As he painted, Jack thought about Andres’ decline, and when Sofia called him for lunch at midday, he suggested they delay their meal for a little longer to let Andres have a good rest.
‘We have a few customers today. I will call you when they’re finished,’ Sofia agreed, and the next hour slipped by quickly.
It was after one o’clock when Jack stepped back from his painting and decided he could do no more for now. He’d finished the main blocking for the larger shapes of a castle scene: the hill, the outline of the walls and the turrets rising from within, as well as the sky and blue sea in the distance. Next he would add detail – the window sills and foliage, the shadows and reflected light – brushwork that would bring the painting to life.
