The Very Picture of You

The girl sipped her champagne. ‘And what happens if you don’t like the person you’re painting – could you still paint them then?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Though I don’t suppose I’d enjoy the sittings very much.’ Suddenly I noticed the doors swing open and there was Chloë, in her vintage red trench coat, and behind her, Nate. ‘Luckily I’ve never had a sitter I disliked.’

‘Going once,’ we heard the auctioneer say. ‘At eight thousand pounds. Going twice…’ His eyes swept across us, then, with a flick of his wrist he tapped the podium. ‘Sold to the lady in the black dress there.’ I glanced over at Mum. She looked reasonably happy with the result. ‘On to lot two now,’ said Spiers. ‘An evening gown by Maria Grachvogel, who designs dresses for some of the world’s most glamorous women – Cate Blanchett, for example, and Angelina Jolie. Whoever wins this lot will receive a personal consultation and fitting with Maria Grachvogel herself. So I’m going to start the bidding at a very modest five hundred pounds. Thank you, madam – the lady in pale blue there – and seven hundred and fifty?’ He scrutinised us all. ‘Seven hundred and fifty pounds is still a snip – thank you, sir. So do I hear one thousand now?’ He pointed to a woman in lime green who’d raised her hand. ‘It’s with you, madam. At one thousand two hundred and fifty? Yes – and one thousand five hundred …thank you. Will anyone give me two thousand?’

I glanced to my right. Chloë was making her way around the room, leading Nate by the hand.

I know you’re going to love him, Ella…

She’d been wrong about that. I loathed the man. I watched her as she spotted Roy and waved.

‘Is that two thousand pounds there?’ The auctioneer was pointing at Chloë. ‘The young woman at the back in the scarlet raincoat?’

Chloë froze; then with a stricken expression she shook her head, mouthed sorry at Spiers, then looked at Nate with horrified amusement.

‘So still at one thousand five hundred then – but do I hear two thousand? There was a pause then I saw my mother raise her hand. ‘Thank you, Sue,’ the auctioneer said. ‘The bid’s with our organiser, Sue Graham, now at two thousand pounds.’ Mum’s face was taut with tension. ‘Will anyone give me two thousand two hundred? Thank you – the lady in the pink dress.’ Mum’s features relaxed as she was outbid. ‘So at two thousand two hundred pounds… going once… twice and…’ The gavel landed with a ‘crack’. ‘Sold to the lady in pink here – well done, everyone,’ he added jovially. ‘On we go to lot three.’

As the bidding for the weekend at the Ritz got underway I saw Chloë greet Mum and Roy. Mum smiled warmly at Nate, then as Chloë leaned closer to say something to her, Mum clapped her hands in delight then turned and whispered in Roy’s ear. I wondered what they were talking about.

‘So for three thousand pounds now…’ Tim Spiers was saying. ‘A weekend at the Ritz in one of their deluxe suites – what a treat. Thank you, sir – it’s with the man with the yellow tie there. Going once… twice… and…’ He rapped the podium. ‘Sold! You have got yourself a bargain,’ Spiers said to the man amiably. ‘If you’d like to go the registration desk to arrange payment, thank you. Now to the dinner party for eight, cooked by Gordon Ramsay himself – well worth all the shouting and swearing. Let’s start with a very modest eight hundred pounds – to include wine, incidentally…’

The sound of the auction faded as I silently observed Chloë and Nate. Chloë seemed to do most of the talking while Nate just nodded now and again, absorbing her conversation, rather than responding to it. I saw him look at his phone and wondered if the woman he’d promised to meet that night was still in his life.

‘Now for the portrait,’ I heard the auctioneer say, and as my picture of Polly was projected on to the screens he indicated me with a sweep of his hand. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Gabriella Graham is an outstanding young artist.’ I felt a warmth suffuse my face. ‘You’ve probably seen media coverage of the lovely painting she did of the Duchess of Cornwall which was commissioned by the National Portrait Gallery for its permanent collection. Now you too have the chance to be immortalised by Ella. So I’m going to open the bidding at all pitifully low – two thousand pounds. Do I hear two thousand?’ Spiers looked at us over his spectacles. ‘No? Well, let me tell you that Ella’s portraits usually command between six and twelve thousand pounds, depending on the size and composition. So who’ll give me a trifling two thousand? Thank you, madam!’ He beamed at the woman in the turquoise dress who’d spoken to me earlier. ‘And two thousand five hundred?’ I heard Spiers say. ‘Just two and a half thousand – anyone?’ He smiled indulgently. ‘Come on, folks. Let’s see some bidding now! Thank you, Sue.’ My mother’s hand had gone up. ‘So it’s with Sue Graham now at two thousand five hundred pounds… and three thousand – the lady in turquoise again. Who’ll offer me four thousand?’ I was startled. That was a big jump. ‘Four thousand pounds?’ There was silence. ‘No takers?’ he said with mock incredulity. I felt a pang of disappointment tinged with embarrassment that no one thought it worth that much. Suddenly Spiers’ face lit up. ‘Thank you, young lady!’ He grinned. ‘I hope you mean it this time!’

I followed his gaze and to my surprise saw that this remark had been directed at Chloë, who was nodding enthusiastically. So she was bidding in order to help Mum. ‘Do I hear four thousand five hundred now?’ Spiers demanded. ‘Yes, madam.’ The woman in turquoise had come back in. ‘And who will give me five thousand pounds for the chance to be painted by Ella Graham? You’ll be getting not just a portrait but an heirloom. Thank you! And it’s the young woman in the red raincoat again.’ I stared at Chloë – why was she still bidding? ‘It’s with you at five thousand pounds now.’ I held my breath. ‘And five thousand five hundred? Yes? Now it’s back with the lady in turquoise.’ Chloë was off the hook – thank God. ‘So at five thousand five hundred pounds – to the lady in the turquoise dress there – going once… twice… and… SIX thousand!’ Spiers shouted. He beamed at Chloë then held out his right hand to her. ‘The bid’s back with the lady in the red coat, at six thousand pounds now! Any advance on six K?’ This was crazy. Chloë couldn’t spare six thousand – she probably didn’t have six thousand. Now I felt furious with Mum for asking her to bid. ‘So at six thousand pounds – still with the young woman in red,’ Spiers continued. ‘Going once… twice…’ He looked enquiringly at the woman in the turquoise dress, but to my dismay she shook her head. The gavel landed with a ‘crack’, like a gun firing. ‘Sold!’

I expected Chloë to look appalled; instead she looked thrilled. She made her way through the crowd towards me, leaving Nate with Mum and Roy.

‘So what do you think?’ She was smiling triumphantly.

‘What do I think? I think it’s insane. Why didn’t you stop when you had the chance?’

‘I didn’t want to,’ she protested. ‘I decided I was going to get it – and I did!’

I stared at her. ‘Chloë – how much champagne have you had?’

She laughed. ‘I had some at lunchtime, but I’m not drunk. Why do you assume I am?’

‘Because you’ve just paid six thousand pounds for something you could have had for free. What on earth were you doing?’

‘Well… today I was made a director of PRoud – with a thirty per cent pay rise.’ So that was what Mum had been looking so thrilled about. ‘And I’ve just had a tax rebate – plus I want to support the charity.’

‘That’s very generous of you,’ I told her. ‘But it was at five and a half grand, which was already a good price, plus I’ve done a portrait of you, remember?’

‘Of course I do – don’t be silly, Ella – but the point is—’

I suddenly twigged. ‘You want me to do it again.’ I thought of how distressed Chloë had been at the time. She’d broken up with Max shortly after I’d started painting it. I’d urged her to wait, but she’d refused. She’d insisted that she wanted me to paint her in that state, so that she would never forget how much she’d felt for him. ‘You know, Chloë,’ I said, ‘it probably would be good to do another portrait of you now that—’

‘Ella,’ she interrupted. ‘That’s not why I bid. Because it isn’t me you’re going to paint.’

‘No?’

‘It’s Nate.’

My heart sank. And now here he was. I gave him a thin smile. ‘Erm… apparently it’s you I’m to paint, Nate.’

He looked at Chloë in confusion.

‘Yes, you,’ she confirmed happily.

‘Oh… Well…’ He was clearly as dismayed as I was. ‘I don’t know whether I want Ella to paint me. In fact I don’t want her to – I mean, I don’t want anyone to paint me.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, Chloë, it’s not my kinda thing, so I’m going to have to say thanks – it’s very sweet – but no thanks.’

Chloë gave him a teasing smile. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re not allowed to refuse, because the portrait’s to be a present from me to you – a very special one.’

‘His birthday present?’ I asked her.

‘No.’ Chloë smiled delightedly. ‘His wedding present.’ She slipped her arm through Nate’s. ‘We’re engaged!’

TWO

‘I will be keeping the sittings to a minimum,’ I said to Polly grimly the following morning as we sat in her bedroom overlooking Parsons Green. I’d taken her portrait, carefully bubble-wrapped, back to her flat. ‘I am not relishing the prospect of spending twelve hours with that creep in order to paint his face – or rather his two faces. I’ll paint him as Janus,’ I added darkly.

Polly’s nail file paused in mid-stroke. ‘So I take it you still don’t like him?’

I shuddered with distaste. ‘I thoroughly dislike him – and I don’t trust him.’ I went and sat on the window seat. ‘I told you how he behaved before her party.’

‘Hmm.’ Polly scrutinised the tip of her left index finger then began filing it again, the rasp of the emery board masking the drone of morning traffic.

‘He was very disparaging about Chloë – plus it was obvious that he was already in a relationship with the woman he was on the phone to. So for those two very good reasons I have taken against him.’

Polly shifted on the bed. ‘Fair enough, although – let’s assume he was in a relationship with this other woman…’

‘He was.’

‘But at that stage he hadn’t known Chloë long – so he was hedging his bets.’ She shrugged. ‘Lots of men do that.’

‘Well… okay. Not that it’s any excuse.’

‘Or it could be that he was only pretending that he wasn’t keen on Chloë in order to protect the other woman’s feelings.’ Polly blew on her fingertips. ‘I’d hardly condemn him for that.’

‘But if he’d wanted to protect the other woman’s feelings then he shouldn’t have told her about Chloë’s party at all. He should have lied.’

Polly looked at me. ‘Now you’re saying you don’t trust him because he didn’t lie?’

‘Yes. No… but… what if that other woman’s still on the scene?’

She began to file her thumbnail. ‘As he and Chloë are engaged, I doubt it.’