A Brighter Tomorrow, Maggie Ford [types of ebook readers .TXT] 📗

‘That’s all you’re going to get!’ Ellie flashed at him, exhausted to the point of showing her anger. ‘I’m worn out.’ Hearing her raised, desperate cry, Dora came to put her arms around her and Ellie was glad to lean against her. ‘I can’t do any more,’ she sighed.

For a moment, Hunnard regarded the two girls, perhaps noting for the first time how pale and washed-out Ellie was; then he quietly took hold of a chair and, with Dora helping, eased her down on to it.

‘I do apologize,’ he said, ‘for my brusqueness. I, too, am weary from the work entailed by setting this exhibition up. I don’t wish it to fail.’

Ellie looked up, alarmed. ‘Do you think it could?’ All her hard work!

‘No.’ He smiled, whispering the word with reassurance. His stem lips behind the trim beard could look quite pleasant when he smiled.

‘This exhibition will be a roaring success,’ he went on. ‘Every one of my invitations has been eagerly accepted and all know they will be viewing an exceptional talent with an entirely new concept.’

Weariness fell from Ellie like a cloak. ‘When will the exhibition be?’ she asked, her gaze on the paintings he’d propped against the table. She asked with no sense of enthusiasm for the event, which mildly surprised her: all she wanted was for it to be over, leaving her at last free to visit the Sharps, hopefully finding Ronnie there.

She would say sorry to him for having let him down that Sunday and hope he would understand. Surely he would, after she’d explained the reason.

He was always on her mind lately. The more time painting had taken up, the more she thought of him, wanted to see him. It was almost like an obsession, the best of reasons for her to work even harder so as to be able to go and see him.

To her delight and relief came the words, ‘A fortnight from now.’ Hunnard was apparently taking her question as a sign of impatience. ‘Then you may relax, Ellie, for a while at least.’

She couldn’t ever remember him using her first name before and she looked sharply at him. He was smiling benignly – a smile she’d seen on his lips before, and she hastily looked away.

When she looked back, the smile had gone.

The exhibition was proving a huge success, the place full of people almost immediately the gallery opened. Hunnard had done a good job, seeming to have lots of contacts.

For Ellie, unused to such attention, it all had a dream-like quality, everything happening as if in a mist. She tried to keep out of the way, but Hunnard kept dragging her out from whatever corner she was hiding in to introduce her to this and that person – they with their educated manner of speech making her own, even though she’d learned to talk nicely, sound flat and uncouth.

All wore expensive clothes. At Hunnard’s request she had bought herself a well-tailored dove-grey costume with a smoothly flowing skirt and double-breasted jacket, the high neck of her pin-tucked blouse being fastened with an art-nouveau brooch in silver with blue enamel that he had bought her to celebrate her coming-out, as it were. She had protested, secretly fearing he might be trying to buy her favours. But he waved away her protests and that oily smile was absent.

Nicely dressed as she was, she felt a fish out of water. These people weren’t her kind. This wasn’t her world. She loved painting, but having to do it to order wasn’t what she’d looked for. She was grateful for Dora’s support today and the company of Felix and Jock, though they seemed to prefer to keep to themselves, happier with each other’s company.

Hunnard was dominating her and she began to acquire an awful premonition that from now on he would start to dominate her in all she did, a father figure, taking over almost as her guardian, as Bertram Lowe had done, and whatever else might ensue from that. He hardly left her side, guiding her about, his hand on her elbow, until she almost felt stifled.

It was an immense relief when the day was over. She hadn’t enjoyed being dragged about the gallery, introduced to this one and that one as the newest discovery in the world of art.

The next few days saw her being wined and dined, paraded around by Hunnard, who indeed seemed to be taking over her life.

‘Your fame will grow,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll see to that. No more scrimping and scraping for Ellie Jay. Elizabeth Jay will be lauded among the famous of today’s artists.’

Odd how those words suddenly terrified her. That she now had a rapidly growing bank balance of several hundred pounds in her name, able to be withdrawn as and when she fancied, with no guardian to take charge, was strangely no comfort. She still couldn’t quite take in this change of fortune, didn’t even know what she could do with that kind of money. There was still this quest to find her father, but strangely it seemed to be taking a back seat.

She stood at the window, alone for the moment, Dora sitting on the bed reading a penny dreadful, contented in knowing she too would benefit from her sister’s good fortune. It was all too sudden. She felt unprepared.

‘I shall procure a fine studio for you,’ Hunnard had said when the exhibition had finished and she realized she was a moderately wealthy woman, destined to become wealthier as he handled the work she produced. ‘Separate living quarters, of course. I’ll start looking for suitable accommodation within the next few days.’

She didn’t want him arranging where she should live. She didn’t even know herself what she wanted. She stared down at the street below. It was Sunday again, the street quiet. She thought of the times she had had to struggle off to Bayswater Road with her efforts. Felix still did so.

She determined that she would attempt to offer him