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

couple of watercolours of scenes she’d taken from a poster advertising trips into the country and two small oil paintings of street scenes, hopefully quite saleable. She also included her mother’s portrait, which she knew would be given no more than a few odd glances from passers-by and would probably end up being brought back here the same way as she was taking it.

In the dingy hallway she handed over next week’s rent to the scruffy-looking landlord.

‘Letter for you,’ he said shortly, handing her the envelope with the single blue stamp on it, and disappeared back into his room.

Recognizing her sister’s hand, Ellie put down her parcel and ripped open the envelope. Her first thought was that Dora might be in need of her, but scanning it gave no indication of anything wrong – just an ordinary account of daily goings-on.

But something about the letter wasn’t quite as it seemed. Ellie began to read it over again, more carefully. Dora had written that she missed her so and wished she had left at the same time as her. That was odd. She’d been so adamant about staying.

Slowly Ellie began to realize, reading between the lines, that though Dora seemed to be making light of all that went on, little things – the odd word dropped here and there – appeared to reveal that Dora was not at all happy.

Refolding the letter and putting it into her pocket, Ellie hoisted the somewhat bulky tied-together canvases under her arm and turned towards Bayswater Road. But her mind kept going over all that Dora had written, bit by bit deciphering it until by the time she arrived there she was convinced something must be done about the girl. That evening she’d go and see her – not slink there as she’d done on delivering her letter, but arrive openly, and brave whatever unfriendly reception she would get from Dora’s employers.

She was ready for Mrs Lowe, but how would Bertram Lowe deal with her sudden appearance? What would his reaction be? Hurt, bewildered, angry? Or would he keep well out of the way, unable to confront her? She would face that when she got there.

The next move would be to get Dora to come away with her. That was if she meant all she had put in her letter. It could have been a moment of upset when she’d written it. By the time she got there, Dora might have changed her mind, feeling better. It was an uncertainty that dogged her mind as she began to set out her few paintings against the park railings.

Felix was already there. She’d not seen him since the New Year party, being too engrossed in her work and he probably in his. Whether he’d been here she didn’t know, not having come here herself. But she had thought about him a lot since the party. Despite his scruffy looks he was certainly handsome, his face smooth and gentle – she would have said ‘sweet’.

She felt her heart race as he lifted a hand at seeing her. His light-voiced salutation – ‘Hullo there, love! Are you all right?’ – had her replying that she was fine and experiencing a little thrill of excitement as he came over.

The sensation surprised her. It seemed to her that it never took long for a man to be lured by her: Ronnie, Michael, now Felix. Had she in some way been instrumental in luring her own father to do what he did? As she smiled at Felix, her mind flew back to those days. Had it been her fault? Had she the right to look for revenge for what he’d done? Was she so pure that she could blame him entirely? She shuddered and pushed the thought away.

‘It certainly is cold this morning,’ Felix laughed, misinterpreting the shudder. His laugh was high, musical. ‘All I hope is that this bit of sunshine, cold as it is, will bring out a few punters. Can’t wait for spring.’

Pausing, he eyed her for a moment, seeming about to say something.

‘Yes?’ Ellie prompted.

He gave a small shrug. ‘Oh… it’s nothing really.’

‘Tell me.’

What had he been about to say? Ask her to go out with him? Mention going to another party? She knew that artists frequently met together, maybe in a café, or someone’s studio, being ever in need of company after working alone for hours on end. Some shared accommodation, and not only to eke out the rent. Most artists were hard up. Paints cost, and paintings were hard to sell. Normal working men, poorly paid as they were, could never know the sort of income some of these people often had to subsist on.

It was obsession for their art that drove them to live as they did – pure obsession, and the hope that one day a painting would make them suddenly rich. For her, all she’d wanted was enough to be able to stand over her father and humiliate him. Now she wasn’t sure. She, too, wanted to be blessed by that one big success. But her sights had been set long ago: to find the man she loathed so much. She couldn’t give up now.

‘Tell me what you were going to say,’ she said again.

Felix nibbled at his top lip. He had such lovely white teeth. ‘It’s just that…’ He paused again, then went on with visible determination.

‘Just that I went to Hunnard’s galleries only to see if that self-portrait of yours was there. And it was.’

‘Did you?’ Ellie cried excitedly, unable to curb the thrill of knowing that something of hers was actually hanging in an important art gallery. ‘Was it? What did it look like?’

He still seemed to be playing for time, again nibbling at his lower lip. When he spoke, his words were stilted. ‘Well… it was small compared with some, but it looked very special. But what I’m trying to get at – and I think you ought to know it – was the price being asked.’

‘Yes?’ she prompted