More movement. More embarrassment.
Drusilla shook her head. ‘That’s camp.’
‘Hands clasped behind your back.’
‘That’s one of the royals on a visit.’
Each adjustment brought an extra disturbance to Davy’s person and to the trio from Priory Park School.
Finally, arms folded got the nod from Drusilla and everyone else.
4
The whole class were invited to the next Saturday session at Fortiman House. Mel and two others, Anita and Gail, were to have their turn in the studio with the artists. The rest would work on landscape outside.
Jem said to Ella, ‘I’d give a lot to see Mel’s face when Davy strips off.’
‘She knows what to expect. We told her.’
‘Yeah, but you know Mel. Remember how she fainted when the condom was passed round in that sex lesson?’
‘That was ages ago.’
‘And we’re not going to let her forget it.’
Mel was an open goal for teasing. Her father had been a humble workman — a ‘hole-in-the-road’ man, as Jem had categorised him. The fact that he’d been killed when his drill had hit an electric cable hadn’t met with much sympathy from her schoolmates. In the eyes of the group, people who worked outdoors knew they were taking risks. Mel’s mother had married again — to a bricklayer — and they never attended parents’ evenings.
On this fine, clear morning, it was warm enough for Jem and Ella to set up their easels on the lawn in front of the house.
‘Are you doing the whole building?’ Ella asked.
‘No.’
‘It’d take too long, wouldn’t it? I was thinking of making sketches of bits of it, like those weird chimneys.’
‘Good idea.’
‘So what are you going to draw?’
‘Tom’s MG.’
They worked steadily until the mid-morning break, when Mel and the others emerged from the studio. Tea and coffee were being served from the kitchen at the back of the house.
‘So?’ Jem said when they’d managed to corner Mel.
‘So what?’
‘Come off it, Orphan Annie. You know what we’re dying to hear about. What did you think of Davy?’
‘Who do you mean?’
‘The model, dorkbrain.’
‘There isn’t a model. We’re doing still life, a big Chinese vase and some drapes.’
‘Really? What a let-down.’
‘Not for me. I’m enjoying myself. It’s amazing how everyone in there is dealing with it. Tom lets us move about and talk to the artists and they’re really friendly — well, most of them are.’
‘Except Geraint?’
‘The man with the knives? He’s a bit strange, yes, and he goes at the canvas like he’s paintballing. A dollop of red carried right across the room and hit the woman opposite on the cheek. She wasn’t pleased. I don’t think he said sorry.’
‘What did Tom do?’
‘Didn’t seem to notice. I think he admires Geraint’s work.’
‘Did he tell you to look at it, then?’
Mel nodded. ‘To me, it looked a mess. I couldn’t see it had anything to do with the vase. I didn’t say so to Tom. He thinks I’m too careful anyway. He says I’ve got to break out, whatever that means. Like, there’s a guy in there drawing cartoons of us all.’
‘Manny,’ Ella said. ‘He’s fun. Have you spoken to him yet?’
Mel shook her head. ‘You know me. I find it difficult going up to people.’
‘Tom’s got a point,’ Jem said, winking at Ella. ‘You’ve got to break out.’
‘He was talking about my art.’
‘Are you working in charcoal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Try smudging. That ought to please him.’
‘Maybe I will.’
‘I mean really make a dog’s dinner of it, don’t just blur the lines. Go for it like that woman who gets black all over her face and clothes. Charcoal Charlotte. He’ll say you’ve found your inner genius.’
Ella butted in. ‘Yeah, and he might say she’s taking the piss and doesn’t deserve to be doing A-level art.’
‘Bet you he doesn’t,’ Jem said. ‘That’s the kind of thing the Gibbon would’ve said — not in those exact words, but the message would be the same.’
The mention of their former teacher triggered Mel into saying, ‘Hey, did you know there’s a missing persons bureau and Miss Gibbon is on it? I found her on the website. It gives a date in July when she was last seen.’
‘Never!.. Really?’
‘Honest. There’s a picture of her, quite a nice one actually.’
Ella and Jem had both started navigating their smartphones and, sure enough, there was an official police website showing a photo of Miss Gibbon in a pink top against a background of fruit blossom.
‘Almost human,’ Ella said.
‘What a handle,’Jem said, reading on. ‘Constance Gloria Gibbon. Thirty-nine? That’s a laugh. She was well past forty, in my opinion. Who would have reported her missing, do you think? The head?’
‘She must have family. Does it say?’
‘Just some number to call. That’ll be the police.’
‘What if they find her?’ Jem said, eyes popping at the thought. ‘We could lose Tom.’
‘She’ll be in no state to teach again,’ Ella said. ‘Not right away. She’ll need time to get over it. She wouldn’t come back before we’ve all left.’
‘We can hope,’ Jem said.
Any more talk about Miss Gibbon had to be put on hold because one of the other artists joined them. ‘Right,’ she said in a business-like way. ‘I’m Anastasia. Are you young ladies actually finding this helpful, joining in with us?’
All three made positive sounds.
Anastasia was clearly the woman who had been hit by Geraint’s blob of paint, because there was quite a smear of red to the left side of her face, even though she’d wiped most of it away. Good thing her clothes had escaped, because they were of designer quality, a blue and white striped top, tight-fitting jeans and calf-length light brown boots. ‘The reason I asked is that if it were me looking at all the different styles, I’d just be confused.’
‘It’s what we’re supposed to do for our exam,’ Jem said. ‘Studying different ways of dealing with a subject.’
‘And responding in our own way,’ Ella chimed in.
‘Good for you,’ Anastasia said. ‘In my day everyone tried to draw like Holbein and of course we couldn’t and got deeply depressed. The way art is taught now is so much better for one’s self-confidence.’
‘It is if you get a good teacher,’ Jem said. ‘Tom took over this term and we’re improving in leaps and bounds.’
‘He’s a charmer, for sure,’ Anastasia said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but he gives amazing parties.’
‘Why shouldn’t you say it?’ Mel asked.
‘Because they’re not the kinds of parties schoolgirls attend.’
‘We’re students, not schoolgirls,’ Ella said. ‘We could be at sixth-form college. We’ll all be eighteen next year.’
‘My dear, I can see you’re wonderfully mature. In fact, I wouldn’t have dreamed you were still at school if Tom hadn’t mentioned the fact.’
‘What do you get up to at these parties?’ Jem said.
Anastasia had turned so red that the paint mark barely registered. ‘Oh dear, I’m getting into deep water here. Maybe modern schoolgirls — sorry, students — do attend such events, but I doubt whether your headmistress would encourage it. Tom might find himself out of a job.’
‘Are they, like, orgies?’
Anastasia laughed. ‘If they were, I’d stay away. No, we’re artists. All we do is let our hair down, so to speak.’
‘Smoking pot?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Listen, I’m not saying any more and I’m going to ask you, please, to forget everything I said under pain of death. And now I see them returning to the studio.’ She turned about and moved off as if she’d disturbed a swarm of bees.