Chapter 6

“You have been a busy boy. She is, follow me.”

We followed her to the far corner of the churchyard, where there was a long line of small plots. There, we stood in front of the grave of the six-week-old Jacqueline Hubert. I gave one bunch to Maisie, who knelt down and arranged it on the tiny plot. Geraldine had tears running down her ghostly face.

“If I was mortal, Marcie, I would hug the life out of you, right now. This is the best thing that has happened to me in over seventy years. My poor baby was struck down by what I learned was cot death syndrome, in that nursery. That’s why I started using it as a junk room after we gave away all her things. I couldn’t bear to go in there.”

I took Maisie’s hand, and we went to put the other flowers on Geraldines’ grave leaving Geraldine beside the other plot, talking to her daughter. In the church, we made sure that we sat so that there was an empty seat next to us. That wasn’t hard, as the congregation only took up about a quarter of the pews, with most of them in the silver-hair brigade.

When Geraldine appeared on the seat beside us, she was dressed in full Sunday best of the last century. We could hear her singing the hymns as the service progressed. I wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought I’d be. My early years of attending the Catholic church had given me the background of what went on, although this service was much more modern and pared down. No incense, no bell tolling, no fire-and-brimstone lecturing. It was almost like being at a lecture on ethics and being nice to each other.

We put some coins on the plate as it came around and shook hands with the preacher on the way out. Maisie followed me back to the house to start the roast chicken. I helped by peeling the vegetables. I was glad that the oven did work as it should, and we sat with our Sunday roast and a glass of red wine each, from a bottle we had bought in the supermarket. Dessert was apple and ice cream, all finished with a cup of tea before we washed and wiped. Geraldine left us alone while we did all this. I hung the dish cloth, held Maisie to me, and we kissed.

“If this is what it’s going to be like when you’re my wife, I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m looking forward to something else, which is more sausage-like, rather than chicken.”

“You’ll have to wait until we get a bed.”

“Isn’t there one which you sleep on?”

“That’s only a single.”

“Then we’ll have to overlap to stay in place, won’t we?”

We went upstairs to my room, where we undressed each other and did, in fact, overlap quite well. Afterwards, we showered together and then redressed. When we got back to the kitchen, Geraldine was sitting there with a smile on her face.

“You two look like cats who got the cream. About time too. You’ll have to get the master suite before anything else, so that you can spend the night in comfort. And no, I didn’t watch, although I could hear you from down here.”

In the afternoon, I put one of the smaller canvases on the easel, and set my laptop up on the dresser, so I could see what I wanted to paint. For the life of me, I looked from one to the other but couldn’t pluck up the nerve to even make a mark on the surface.

“Maisie, be a dear and bring down that smock for Marcie to wear. It always helped me to start a painting.”

When Maisie came back with it, I put it on, over my head. For a moment I felt silly in what amounted to a large dress. Maisie went and sat in my recliner, and I moved the easel so I could see her. All of a sudden, I knew what I wanted to do.

I used a soft pencil to draw her face, with a longer neck. Over the next three hours, I painted Maisie in a style that wasn’t so elongated as Picasso, or as romantic as some of the masters. I couldn’t stop until it was complete, and I put the brush I was using into the glass of water and stood back. I heard Geraldine in my ear.

“That’s what love can do, Marcello. Ask her what she thinks.”

I turned the easel so that she could see it and asked the question. She looked up from the book she was reading and burst into tears. She stood and slowly walked towards me.

“Take that painty smock off, Marcie. I want to hug you.”

I lifted the smock over my head, and she almost crushed me, and we kissed. We stood, holding each other, and looked at the picture. It wasn’t Picasso, it wasn’t Reubens, it wasn’t Monet, but it was the very first new version of a Rogue picture. It was definitely Maisie, looking like a model. I had even signed it without realising it.

“That’s never to be sold, Marcie. That will go on the wall in this house. All it needs is a frame.”

“It can go in the lounge when we’ve finished it. I want to get some china cabinets so we can keep the Picasso plates that are originals. The others can go to auction. The painting that Geraldine is going to give us can go over the fireplace so that it’s the first thing you see when you enter.”

We had chicken sandwiches for tea, and Maisie left to go home, I watched her drive away and it was like part of me was going with her. I went into the middle bedroom and worked for a couple of hours, now it had been cleared. When I got into my pre-rumpled bed, I was smiling. Maisie was coming back tomorrow, and we would continue to redecorate. I was to work on the lounge, while she was going to reline the shelves in the pantry, with me just needing to repaint the wood afterwards.

She arrived late in the morning, with rolls of shelving cover; that peel and stick stuff that I’ve always had trouble with, getting it stuck to everything but the surface that was intended. She had also been to the locksmiths and had two extra sets of keys made, so that she could have a set and it would leave a spare.

We worked through the day in separate rooms, with me finishing the walls of the lounge, and painting one side of the door as it laid in the floor. I had just finished detailing the picture rail when she announced that she had finished the shelves. As I was complementing her on her work, my phone rang.

“Mister Gambino, it’s Doc at the Tate. Is it possible for the two of you to come into town today. It doesn’t matter if it’s after closing time, us admin types work whatever hours are needed.”

“We just need to tidy up. We’ve been redecorating. We’ll be with you in about an hour and a half.”

When the conversation finished, we went upstairs to the bathroom. Maisie went first and I followed. It was tempting when we passed each other, naked, but what was looming kept us focussed. Maisie drove us in, and we entered the same door and found his office again. The door was open and there was a couple of men we hadn’t met before.

“Maisie and Marcie, come on in. These gentlemen are our esteemed chairman and our chief financial officer. We have authenticated the items that you brought in last week and the Tate wants to make you an offer. Here is a valuation; you will know the auction house.”

We looked at the numbers on the paper. They had valued the Guernica set as a whole at one and a half million alone, with the rest at a total just over two and a half.

“This is a bit of a shock, gentlemen. What are you proposing?”

“We are prepared to offer you the full amount, although we cannot pay it all at once. We could pay it at a rate of half a million each, per year, for four years.”

“Tell me, sir. What would the advantage to us be if we donated the Guernica set to the Gallery, and you paid us the rest now. I guess there would be a tax break if we did that.”

“There certainly would be, young man. You will need to talk to an accountant and set up a company or association that is the vehicle, which will allow you to make it work for you. It’s a very generous offer, I must say. Most would want money for the lot. You haven’t said anything, Maisie. Do you go along with this?”

“I certainly do. The original owner of these would be very happy that the complete works are the property of the Tate, and that the public would appreciate the works of Picasso. For us, the smaller amount will set us up for life. Marcie will be selling his own paintings, and we are registering a company to work on commercial retail shop designs. If it works, the whole thing can be done without our names being made public.”

“Very good. If you give us your banking details, we can sign the amended agreements another day, but we will deposit a hundred thousand, each, as our deposit to secure the collection, with the rest over a six-month period as we cash in our term deposits. Can we visit you, at home, to finalise the deal? It would be good to see where these works have been for so long.”

“When you visit, can you bring someone with knowledge of Picasso pottery?”

We gave them our details and there was a general handshake session and a lot of smiling. We went out to the car, hand in hand, with Geraldine beside us.

“I’m proud of you two, doing that. It has been a privilege to know you both.”

“It’s all down to you, Geraldine. You’re the one who collected it all in your youth. You’re the one who was a friend of Picasso. Why didn’t your husband cash it in?”

“He was a Neanderthal when it came to art. I expect that he would have sold it all once he realised how much they were worth. Lucky for us he’s not around.”

We stopped for a good dinner on the way home. That night we managed to stay in the single bed, but we had to be very friendly to do so. Tuesday morning, we both checked our accounts to find a hundred thousand in each, so it was a trip to Maisie’s flat for her to change, and then on to the carpet store where we looked at the quotes, picked the carpets and colours, and arranged for delivery and laying as soon as they could, with the lounge and master bedroom first. They promised to be with us by the end of the week.

Then it was on to the furniture store to pick the bed and other items for the master, with delivery promised in a week. The lounge furniture was from a different store that concentrated on good timber items. We chose a pair of leather chesterfields with another pair of recliners in the same style, and a buffet and china cabinet to suit. In all cases, we did a direct payment with each of us paying half.

I rang my father and asked him who his accountant was, then rang the accountant to make an appointment. When I told him who I was, he said that he could see me late in the afternoon. When we walked out of that meeting, he would be setting up the Maisie and Marcie Design company, along with PP Holdings, which we could use to run the donation through and to also be the vehicle for any property or equipment that we wanted to get, leasing it to the parent company. He suggested that if we were happy with some of the payment into our own accounts, the rest should go into PP to be separate from our personal dealings.

After all that, we stopped at the Duke to have dinner, and Maisie dropped me off before going to her home. When I arrived, I found a new bin in the front garden. It won’t be long before we’re comfortable in the house. We would have enough money for a deposit. Before that I’ll hold off on sending the before and after pictures until we were ready to buy. I put another couple of hours into the middle bedroom before bed.

Wednesday, I finished the lounge door and worked on the pantry. It wasn’t a big room and there wasn’t a lot of wood. I did it all in gloss white. I started on the scullery, rubbing down the walls. I didn’t call the agent but went to the hardware store to buy some wet room paint with anti-mould additives. Thursday, I finished the scullery, with a first coat in the morning and a topcoat late in the day. This left two bedrooms, the nursery, bathroom, dining room, conservatory, and downstairs toilet. I would work on the conservatory next.

The Tate called on Friday, telling me that they would like to visit us that afternoon. I started working in the conservatory, rubbing the odd bits off the framework. The easel was moved into the empty dining room, along with my recliner. That gave me room to put up the big stepladder so I could work across the whole frame. When I had done it all, I vacuumed the top of the dresser and the floor.

The carpet people arrived, and they set to on the master bedroom floor, as well as bringing in the roll for the lounge. Maisie arrived at lunch time, having been sorting out what she wanted to bring with her and talking to her landlord about moving out.

Doc and the other two that had looked at the drawings arrived later in the afternoon, with another man, this one an expert from the V and A. I apologised for the state of the place and explained that we were doing it up. They didn’t mind and were keen to see where the drawings had been kept. I had brought the extending ladder in from the shed and set it up with the trapdoor opened. I handed them the hand light and they went up to look at the attic. I called up that we had brought everything down that we could.

When they had seen what they wanted, I opened up the nursery, explaining that almost everything in there had been in the attic, with the clothes in cases. The man from the V and A looked at the two big vases.

“These look weird.”

“There’s a note in one, with the provenance.”

He looked at the note and gave it to the Spanish speaker, who read it out for us. It explained that the vases had been made in the early days when the pottery only had a wood fired kiln, which gave inconsistent results, and that they had been given to Geraldine Ramie. He said that the note was consistent with the other notes with the drawings.

After that, they took pictures of the pots. Then, they looked at the plates. There were pictures taken of both sides, with a ruler beside them. There wasn’t any doubt that they were all Madoura, just that it was needed to gauge which were mass produced, and that would take some investigation.

Before they left the room, Doc looked at the stacked paintings. He wanted to know who Rogue was. I said that it was me and these had to be repaired because they were early works that had been damaged in the move here. I mentioned that I might be having a showing soon. He wanted to see my latest work, so we left the nursery and went downstairs, where I saw the carpet was being laid in the lounge. In the dining room, I showed him the picture of Maisie.

“This is really beautiful. It reminds me of Pablo with Jacqueline.”

“That drawing of her was my inspiration but I wanted it to be more real, rather than abstract.”

“You have a good future if this is part of your earliest works. I can see you with pictures in the Tate in your lifetime.”

I thanked him for his kind words, then told him that we were setting up PP Holdings to handle the donation and the bulk of the payments, but that it would be a few weeks before we could open up a bank account. He told me that there would be another four hundred thousand each into our accounts next week and he would hold the rest until I gave him the new account details. This would mean that we could make an offer next week.

When they left, Maisie and I held each other close.

“Marcie, my love. We will be able to buy this house soon. It is so important in our life; I never want to leave it.”

“You’re right, my darling. It will be our forever home, no matter what. I’ve felt at home from the first day I spent here. Every room will be how we want it, and the only things that we’ll need professionals in for will be the bathroom and toilet. One thing I don’t think I can do properly is tiling. I might bring in someone to do the outside; it can be dangerous on a high ladder on your own.”

We went upstairs and looked at the master bedroom with the new carpet, imagining what it would look like with the suite we had chosen.

“Next week, my love, and this will be our room.”

We kissed and went down to where they were finishing off the lounge. They wanted to know if we wanted any of the old carpet, so I got them to cut a piece big enough to cover some of the conservatory floor. I would set the easel on it when I painted, so that I wouldn’t stain the tiled floor. They took the bedroom and lounge remnants away and we told them that we would get them back when we have the other rooms ready.

I took the picture of Maisie into the lounge and leaned it against the wall, I would have to get it framed. The easel and recliner went back into the conservatory. It had been a big day.

We went to the Duke for a drink and a meal, hearing the sad news that Albert was back in hospital, as the biopsy had been positive for a malignant cancer. Maisie dropped me at home, and I went inside. Geraldine spoke.

“Marcie, do you think that you can find out where Albert is? I would like to visit him and tell him that he isn’t alone, whatever happens.”

“We can do that Geraldine. Will you want to show yourself to him?”

“I will. We can look at the jewellery box and see if there’s something we can leave with him.”

I went up to the nursery and had a look in the box. I found a single ruby pendant earring.

“Take that with you. I lost the other one somewhere.”

I put it in my room and made ready for bed. This was galloping forward like a coach and horses out of control. Next week we will have the lounge furnished, and a big bed to sleep in. We would have to go and get new sheets, pillows, and blankets before it gets delivered, so we can make it up and christen it. I was thinking about what we would say to the estate agent when we went to make an offer to buy, as I dropped into slumberland.

Saturday morning, I asked Maisie if she knew anyone at the hospital and to find out how Albert was. She knew his surname, made the call and when she put the phone down, looked sad.

“My friend told me that Albert has been put into a single room. He has refused intensive care as he has decided that he’s lived a full life. They don’t expecting to last more than a couple of weeks. His daughter has been in to see him.”

We decided to go and see him in the afternoon visiting hours. I made very careful measurements of Maisie’s picture, and we went off to the artist supply to get a frame we both liked. I also bought a pack of hanging hooks, picture rail hooks, and a length of chain. Back at the house, I made the frame and added the hanging hook, got Maisie to hold the picture to the wall while I measured the drop. I cut the chain to length and attached it. I got up on the stepladder, where we thought it should be, and hung the picture in place.

I took the stepladder back to the conservatory and joined Maisie and Geraldine to look at the picture. Who knows what others would join it over the years.

We had lunch and I put the earring in my pocket. Maisie drove us to the hospital. We were allowed to see Albert, but he was heavily sedated, and we could only tell him that we were thinking of him. I went to put the earring in his drawer but saw a small jewellery box already in there. I pulled it out and opened it, seeing the companion to the one I had in my hand, minus the top loop. Geraldine did not make an appearance, but when he was able to see his visitors, she would be able to appear when she went in with us.

Maisie was going to cook us a Saturday dinner after we had shopped on the way home. We also bought a leg of lamb to do for Sunday. While she busied herself in the kitchen, I put another canvas on the easel, got the paints ready and put on the smock.

By the time she was ready I had started a version of one of my earlier works from memory. It was a lot more complicated than the one I had done on the computer. I set the brushes in water and took off the smock. After washing my hands, we sat at the kitchen table and tucked into the pork chops and mash. We had finished washing and drying when Geraldine appeared, sitting at the kitchen table. She looked serious.

“Hello, Geraldine, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. No pun intended.”

She smiled a little.

“Since we went to church, I’ve been seeing what I can do. It takes something of mine to allow me to focus. I’ve visited Maisie when you were all sleeping, and I’ve been to visit my daughter several times. Today, I went back to the hospital to see Albert. I heard the nurses talking about his future, and they were saying that he may not last much longer, as the cancer has got almost everywhere. That earring that he had; he must have found it in the garden and kept it. I had no idea that he had a thing for me. It’s a shame, because I would have let him into my bed while my husband was at work. There’s things in your life that you regret, and this is one of them.”

We sat down with her and told her that she was a wonderful person, and that one regret was not the end of the world. She laughed, and told us that she did have others, but this wasn’t the time or place to discuss them.

Maisie went home and I spent a little while thinking about the painting. I started painting the middle bedroom before bed. On Sunday, she came early to pick me up for church. This time, when we arrived, we noticed Geraldine by her daughter’s grave, so we bought a bunch of flowers and took them over. We laid then at the marker, and she smiled her thanks. We didn’t see her during the service and spoke to the preacher afterwards about a wedding.

He told us that he didn’t do weekend weddings but could fit us in on a Wednesday. We asked him when the next Wednesday was free, and he took us to his office and looked in his diary. We were booked in for a Wednesday afternoon wedding, in just over four weeks from today. We were back home, and the roast was cooking, when Geraldine appeared. There were ghostly tears pouring down her cheeks.

Marianne Gregory © 2024