A Connoisseur of Beauty by Daphne Coleridge Page B

she going to offer Amy money to stay away from her grandson or something awful like that? Amy wished to goodness that she ’d had the presence of mind to refuse the meeting, but she was too instinctively polite. And she was also very curious. As it was she dressed carefully but casually in a light summer dress, swept her thick dark hair back into a ponytail and made the short walk to the pub. She found Marilyn Lewis already seated at a table with two glasses and a bottle of white wine. “I have ordered us both the fish and chips,” she said to Amy by way of greeting. “I hope they are good here.”
    “They are, as a matter of fact,” said Amy.
    “And they said on the menu that they came with mushy peas – I’ve never tried mushy peas.” Suddenly, for all her smart clothes and decisive manner, Amy saw that there was also sweetness to the old lady’s personality too. She smiled more warmly and sat down opposite her. Marilyn poured Amy a glass of wine. “Of course you know why I’m here?” she said.
    “Not really,” said Amy with complete honesty.
    “Because you refused to paint my portrait of course! I’ve rarely seen Hunter as excited about an artist as he is about you. And I pride myself that his artistic sensibilities are inherited from me. If you are that good, I want to see what your work is like, so I’ve come to persuade you.”
    “It’s a very long way to come just to have your portrait painted,” remarked Amy. “And a long way to come if I don’t accept the commission.”
    “Not if it’s really good – and judging by your paintings I’ve seen since I’ve arrived, it should be,” said Marilyn. “And I hope that the effort I have gone to will help persuade you to agree.”
    “I’d certainly feel pretty mean to say no when you have come all this way, but I would also hate you to be disappointed. I’m not really a portrait painter. I prefer landscapes. The two Hunter has are both of Wolfston Hall, which is a favourite subject for mine. Mind you, my last two commissions were portraits – but they were of cats!”
    “The perfect preparation for tackling my portrait,” said Marilyn wryly . “Anyway, I have heard it said that catching the likeness of a pet for a besotted owner is easily as difficult as capturing the personality of a human sitter.”
    “There’s some truth in that,” admitted Amy. And then a thought struck her. “Did Hunter tell you to come?”
    “Goodness, no! I don’t let my grandsons tell me what to do; not even Hunter. No, this trip was my own idea, although Hunter knows that I am here because I am staying in his house. I hoped you would come there for the sittings.”
    “As a matter of fact I am moving very soon,” said Amy, taking a sip of the chilled wine. “I thought it was time for me to try and establish a career in London. I came back here because my father was ill, but he is dead now. As a matter of fact I’ve sold my house and have arranged to share a studio with a friend.”
    “Good for you,” said Marilyn approvingly. “A girl needs to pursue her dreams, and I wish you every success. But I hope you have time for my portrait before you leave.” She moved the bottle of wine and her handbag to make way for the food which had arrived.
    “Yes, I do just about have time,” conceded Amy. “James is going to show me round the studio at the weekend, and as long as I’m happy with everything I can move up there in a couple of weeks' time.”
    “Enough time to work on the painting then,” said Marilyn sampling the mushy peas with care. “They really are mushed-up aren’t they? I fancy that I would put a little mint in there, but on the whole I like them. I like the way you present food over here. On my last visit I stayed in a rather quaint guest house in Devon. I ordered two boiled eggs for my breakfast. When they turned up, they had little hats on – not the waitresses, the eggs! I asked why they were wearing hats and the girl gave me a funny