Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4 (24 page)

‘Very droll,’ said Harry. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Clive Bingham.’

‘And have you met him?’

‘Yes, they’re rarely apart, and I know he proposes to her at least once a week.’

‘But she’s far too young to be thinking about getting married,’ said Emma.

‘You don’t have to be a wrangler, Mama, to work out that if you’re forty-three and I’m twenty-four, you must have been nineteen when I was born.’

‘But it was different in those days.’

‘I wonder if Grandpa Walter agreed with you at the time.’

‘Yes, he did,’ said Emma, taking Harry’s arm. ‘Gramps adored your father.’

‘And you’ll adore Clive. He’s a really nice chap, and it’s not his fault that he isn’t much of an artist, as you can see for yourself,’ said Sebastian,
guiding his parents across the room so they could look at Clive’s work.

Harry stared at
Self Portrait
for some time before he offered an opinion. ‘I can see why you think Jessica is so good, because I can’t believe anyone will buy
these.’

‘Fortunately, he has wealthy parents, so that shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘But as Jessica’s never been interested in money, and he doesn’t seem to have any talent, what’s the attraction?’

‘As almost every female student on the course has painted Clive at some time during the past three years, it’s clear that Jessica’s not the only person who thinks he’s
good-looking.’

‘Not if he looks like that,’ said Emma, taking a closer look at
Self Portrait.

Sebastian laughed. ‘Wait and see before you pass judgement. Though I ought to warn you, Mama, that by your standards you might find him a little disorganized, even vague. But as we all
know, Jess always wants to look after any stray she comes across, possibly because she was an orphan herself.’

‘Does Clive know she was adopted?’

‘Of course,’ said Sebastian. ‘Jessica never hides the fact. She tells anyone who asks. At art school it’s a bonus, almost a badge of honour.’

‘And are they living together?’ whispered Emma.

‘They’re both art students, Mama, so I think it’s just possible.’

Harry laughed, but Emma still looked shocked.

‘It may come as a surprise to you, Mama, but Jess is twenty-one, beautiful and talented, and I can tell you Clive’s not the only guy who thinks she’s a bit special.’

‘Well, I look forward to meeting him,’ said Emma. ‘And if we’re not going to be late for the prize-giving, we ought to go and change.’

‘While we’re on that subject, Mama, please don’t turn up this evening looking like the chairman of Barrington’s Shipping Company, and as if you’re about to preside
over a board meeting, because it will embarrass Jessica.’

‘But I am the chairman of Barrington’s.’

‘Not tonight, Mama. Tonight you’re Jessica’s mother. So if you’ve got a pair of jeans, preferably old and faded, they’ll be just fine.’

‘But I don’t own a pair of jeans, old or faded.’

‘Then wear something you were thinking of giving to the vicar’s jumble sale.’

‘How about my gardening togs?’ said Emma, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm.

‘Perfect. And the oldest sweater you can lay your hands on, preferably one with holes in the elbows.’

‘And how do you think your father should dress for the occasion?’

‘Dad’s not a problem,’ said Sebastian. ‘He always looks like a shambolic, out-of-work writer, so he’ll fit in just fine.’

‘I would remind you, Sebastian, that your father is one of the most respected authors . . .’

‘Mama, I love you both. I admire you both. But tonight belongs to Jessica, so please don’t spoil it for her.’

‘He’s right,’ said Harry. ‘I used to get more worked up about which hat my mother was going to wear on speech day than whether I might win the Latin prize.’

‘But you told me, Papa, that Mr Deakins always won the Latin prize.’

‘Quite right,’ said Harry. ‘Deakins, your uncle Giles and I may all have been in the same class, but just like Jessica, Deakins was in a different class.’

‘Uncle Giles, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Clive Bingham.’

‘Hi, Clive,’ said Giles, who had taken off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt within moments of entering the room.

‘You’re that with-it MP, aren’t you?’ said Clive, as they shook hands.

Giles was lost for words as he looked up at the young man wearing an open-necked yellow polka-dot shirt with a large floppy collar and a pair of drainpipe jeans. But the mop of unruly fair hair,
Nordic blue eyes and captivating smile made him understand why Jessica wasn’t the only woman in the room who kept glancing in Clive’s direction.

‘He’s the greatest,’ said Jessica, giving her uncle a warm hug, ‘and he should be the leader of the Labour Party.’

‘Now, Jessica,’ said Giles, ‘before I decide which of your pictures—’

‘Too late,’ said Clive, ‘but you can still get one of mine.’

‘But I want an original Jessica Clifton to add to my collection.’

‘Then you’ll be disappointed. The show opened at seven, and all of Jessica’s pictures were snapped up within minutes.’

‘I don’t know whether to be delighted by your triumph, Jessica, or cross with myself for not turning up earlier,’ said Giles, giving his niece a second hug.
‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you, but you must take a look at Clive’s work, it’s really good.’

‘Which is why I haven’t sold a single one. The truth is, even my own family don’t buy them any more,’ he added as Emma, Harry and Sebastian walked into the room, and
immediately came across to join them.

Giles had never known his sister wear anything that wasn’t extremely fashionable, but this evening she looked as if she’d just come out of the potting shed. Harry looked positively
smart in comparison. And was it possible there was a hole in her jumper? Clothes are one of a woman’s few weapons, Emma had once told him. But not tonight . . . and then he worked it out.
‘Good girl,’ he whispered.

Sebastian introduced his parents to Clive, and Emma had to admit that he wasn’t anything like his self-portrait. Dishy, was the word that came to mind, even if his handshake was a little
weak. She turned her attention to Jessica’s pictures.

‘Do all these red dots mean—?’

‘Sold,’ said Clive. ‘But as I’ve already explained to Sir Giles, you’ll find I don’t suffer from the same problem.’

‘So is there none of Jessica’s work still for sale?’

‘None,’ said Sebastian. ‘I did warn you, Mama.’

Someone was tapping a glass at the far end of the room. They all looked around to see a bearded man in a wheelchair trying to attract everyone’s attention. He was scruffily dressed in a
brown corduroy jacket and green trousers. He smiled up at the assembled gathering.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘if I could just have your attention for a few moments.’ Everyone stopped talking and turned to face the speaker. ‘Good evening
and welcome to the annual Slade School of Fine Art Graduate Exhibition. My name is Ruskin Spear, and, as chairman of the judging panel, my first task is to announce the winners in each category:
drawing, watercolours and oil paintings. For the first time in the history of the Slade, the same student has come top in all three categories.’

Emma was fascinated to discover who this remarkable young artist might be, so she could compare their work with Jessica’s.

‘Frankly, no one will be surprised, other than possibly the winner herself, that the school’s star pupil this year is Jessica Clifton.’

Emma beamed with pride as everyone in the room applauded, while Jessica simply bowed her head and clung on to Clive. Only Sebastian really knew what she was going through. Her demons, as she
called them. Jessica never stopped chattering whenever they were on their own, but the moment she became the centre of attention, like a tortoise she slipped back into her shell, hoping no one
would notice her.

‘If Jessica would like to come up, I will present her with a cheque for thirty pounds and the Munnings Cup.’

Clive gave her a little nudge, and everyone applauded as she made her way reluctantly up to the chairman of the judges, her cheeks becoming more flushed with every step she took. When Mr Spear
handed over the cheque and the cup, one thing became abundantly clear: there wasn’t going to be an acceptance speech. Jessica hurried back to join Clive, who looked so delighted he might have
won the prize himself.

‘I can also announce that Jessica has been offered a place at the Royal Academy Schools in September to begin her postgraduate work, and I know that my colleagues at the RA are all looking
forward to her joining us.’

‘I do hope all this adulation doesn’t go to her head,’ Emma whispered to Sebastian as she turned to see her daughter clutching Clive’s hand.

‘No fear of that, Mama. She’s about the only person in the room who doesn’t realize how talented she is.’ At that moment an elegant man sporting a red silk bow tie and a
fashionable double-breasted suit appeared by Emma’s side.

‘Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs Clifton.’ Emma smiled up at the stranger, wondering if he was Clive’s father. ‘My name is Julian Agnew. I’m an art dealer and I
just wanted to say how much I admire your daughter’s work.’

‘How kind of you to say so, Mr Agnew. Did you manage to buy any of Jessica’s pictures?’

‘I bought every one of them, Mrs Clifton. The last time I did that was for a young artist called David Hockney.’

Emma didn’t want to admit that she’d never heard of David Hockney, and Sebastian only knew about him because Cedric had half a dozen of his pictures on the wall of his office, but
then Hockney was a Yorkshireman. Not that Sebastian was paying much attention to Mr Agnew, as his thoughts were elsewhere.

‘So does that mean we’ll be given another opportunity to buy one of my daughter’s pictures?’ asked Harry.

‘Most certainly you will,’ said Agnew, ‘because I’m planning to hold a one-woman exhibition of Jessica’s works next spring, by which time I’m rather hoping
she’ll have painted a few more canvases. Of course, I’ll send you and Mrs Clifton an invitation to the opening night.’

‘Thank you,’ said Harry, ‘and we won’t be late this time.’

Mr Agnew gave a slight bow, then turned and headed towards the door without another word, clearly not interested in any of the other artists whose work peppered the walls. Emma glanced at
Sebastian, to see he was staring at Mr Agnew as he crossed the floor. Then she spotted the young woman by the dealer’s side, and understood why her son had been struck dumb.

‘Close your mouth, Seb.’

Sebastian looked embarrassed, a rare experience that Emma relished.

‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and have a look at Clive’s paintings,’ suggested Harry, ‘which might also give us a chance to meet his parents.’

‘They didn’t bother to turn up,’ said Sebastian. ‘Jess told me they never come to see his work.’

‘How strange,’ said Harry.

‘How sad,’ said Emma.

‘I
DO LIKE
your parents,’ said Clive, ‘and your uncle Giles is something else. Even I could vote for him, not that my parents would
approve.’

‘Why not?’

‘Both of them are dyed-in-the-wool Tories. Mother wouldn’t allow a socialist in the house.’

‘I’m sorry they didn’t come to the exhibition. They would have been so proud of you.’

‘I don’t think so. Mum didn’t really approve of me going to art school in the first place. Wanted me to go to Oxford or Cambridge, and just wouldn’t accept that I
wasn’t good enough.’

‘Then they probably won’t approve of me.’

‘How could they not approve of you?’ said Clive, turning over to face her. ‘You’re the Slade’s most award-winning pupil ever and, unlike me, you’ve been
offered a place at the RA. Your father’s a bestselling author, your mother is chairman of a public company, and your uncle’s in the shadow cabinet. Whereas my father’s the
chairman of a fish paste company, who’s hoping to be appointed the next High Sheriff of Lincolnshire, and that’s only possible because my grandfather made his fortune selling fish
paste.’

‘But at least you know who your grandfather is,’ said Jessica, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Harry and Emma aren’t my real parents, although they’ve always
treated me as their daughter, and perhaps because Emma and I even look alike, people assume she’s my mother. And Seb’s the best brother a girl could ever have. But the truth is,
I’m an orphan, and have no idea who my real parents are.’

‘Have you ever tried to find out?’

‘Yes, and I was told that it’s Dr Barnardo’s strict policy not to release any information about your biological parents without their permission.’

‘Why don’t you ask your uncle Giles? If anyone knows, he will.’

‘Because even if he does, isn’t it possible that my family have their reasons for not telling me?’

‘Perhaps your father was killed in the war and decorated on the battlefield after carrying out a heroic action, and your mother died of heartache.’

‘And you, Clive Bingham, are an unreconstructed romantic, who should stop reading Biggles and try
All Quiet On The Western Front.’

‘When you become a famous artist, will you call yourself Jessica Clifton, or Jessica Bingham?’