Page 50 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Well, I have nothing,” Caitlin says decisively. “Absolutely nothing. I’ve been practically living in rags as it is.”

Having spent a lot of time in Caitlin’s room, rifling around in her enormous walk-in wardrobe full of extremely beautiful clothes, I think this is something of an overstatement. Laurie, however, is nodding sympathetically.

“This is what happens when you spend an extended period out here in the sticks.” She looks at me and raises her glass. “Not that it doesn’t have its benefits, of course, sugar.”

Caitlin is tapping her cheek thoughtfully. “Of course you’re right,” she says finally. “And it’s not just the clothes. There will be so much to organize. And we’ll have to get the word out to make sure we draw a big crowd. It’s quite late in the day to throw something spectacular together.”

“It sounds impossible,” I say. “It’s a nice thought, Caitlin, but really, I don’t mind. Why don’t we have a small party here, just us?”

“Impossible?” Caitlin repeats, arching one delicate eyebrow. “That word is not in my vocabulary. No, it’s certainly not impossible.” She is leaning forward now, and she has that look in her eye, the one that I know spells trouble. “It simply means that I will need to go to London for a couple of days,” she says.

“London?” Robert shifts forward in his seat. “Is that really necessary?” The movement seems a little anxious, his green eyes searching her face. “I’m not sure that you need to—”

“Of course it is!” Caitlin sings. “We can pick up your dress while we’re there, Laurie.”

“We?” I say, glancing towards her brother. “Is Robert going with you as well?”

“No, silly.” Caitlin’s eyes meet mine. “You are.”

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Two days later I am on my way to London. I am not quite sure how it has all happened, and yet here I am in the back of a chauffeur-driven car with Caitlin, off for my first ever trip to the big, shining city that has loomed large in my imagination for years.

Unbeknownst to me, Caitlin sent a note to Midge on the evening she came up with the idea, explaining that she and “a few friends” would love to throw me a birthday party. If Midge and Pa had no objections, the note continued, she would like to take me to London to oversee the preparations and to make sure that everything was to my liking. When confronted with that gold-plated, ivory paper and Caitlin’s scrawling enthusiasm, punctuated with so many exclamation marks, Midge was helpless to refuse. (Not that I think she would have protested much anyway, but such a kind letter left even Aunt Irene [almost] silent on the matter.) And so, by the time I arrived back at the farm, everyone knew I was leaving the next day for London.

Which brings me here, sitting back in my plush seat as I watch the world slip by through the window. Caitlin is next to me, chattering brightly about the people she most wants to avoid while we’re here, on the understanding that they are the most dreadful bores, darling. There is something jittery about her high spirits, which seems to be growing with every mile we cover. I am beginning to worry that this trip might not be the distraction that Caitlin needs, but rather that we are throwing ourselves into the path of some danger that I don’t understand.

We are headed to Mayfair, I know that much, although I don’t really know where Mayfair is or what it entails. What I do know is that we are going shopping, and that Caitlin keeps saying the word shopping as if it is in italics, and that this way of saying it sends a delighted shiver down my spine. We are going to go and see about the clothes, and we are also going to go and “show our faces” around town. This is another thing that I don’t quite understand, but I am excited about it all the same. The whole trip seems impossible somehow. While I have just about started to get used to the idea of being at the Cardew House, I wasn’t prepared for the speed at which things have happened. A trip that would have taken me an awful lot of preparation is thrown hastily together by Caitlin in the course of a couple of phone calls, and so, while only a few short days ago I had no thoughts of going to London at all outside my persistent far-fetched fantasies, gathered up over many years, now I find myself pulling up outside an elegant mews house on a quiet, leafy street.

“Thank you, Franks,” Caitlin sings to the driver as she sails out of the car, fitting a gleaming silver key into the lock on the front door. “Please bring the bags in and take them upstairs.”

I step cautiously into the house behind her. The floor is laid with black and white tiles, and a curved white staircase runs up one wall. The space is light and airy, with high ceilings, and there is a table in the centre, on which a vase full of white lilies fill the air with their heavy scent.

Caitlin is a whirlwind, disappearing into the rooms beyond, and I follow, my eyes wide, as I take in every detail. “Well, everything looks in good order.” Caitlin shrugs off her light jacket and throws it on to the back of a pale green covered sofa. “I know it’s poky, but there is no point in opening up the big house for only a couple of days.” Her voice is bright, although her smile falters a little. “I prefer it here anyway, the big house is…” She trails off here, and I think she looks a little pale. “Too big,” she says finally.

“I don’t think I’d call this poky, Caitlin,” I reply, gazing around at the perfectly proportioned rooms, the pretty, modern furniture and the walls covered in elegant framed sketches. There are more flowers in here too – fat, pink roses that remind me of Alice’s wedding day. Thinking of Alice makes me feel uneasy. I haven’t seen her since that day at the farm. Does she even know that I am in London, that I’m about to enter the hallowed halls of fashion? Probably, but not from me, and that feels wrong.

I turn my attention back to the room that we are standing in, struck once again by the easy elegance of it all. I allow myself to shrug off any difficult thoughts, to simply enjoy the moment. “I think it’s heavenly,” I breathe.

“Oh, I’m so glad you like it!” Caitlin claps her hands together. “It’s going to be such fun. There’s no staff here at the moment, so we’ll fend for ourselves, but as we’ll hardly be at home that won’t matter.”

“If there’s no staff, then who put out all the flowers?” I ask, moving over to take a closer look at one of the sketches that line the walls.

“Oh, I have a woman come and tidy, of course,” Caitlin says airily. “I hadn’t even noticed the flowers.” Her eyes flicker in their direction. “How nice.” Caitlin takes the smoothness of the way her life runs for granted, I know, but it is still a little jarring.

I look more closely at the picture on the wall. It is a charcoal sketch, deftly drawn and simply full of life. The lines almost tremble with energy. It speaks to the restlessness inside of me, and I am overwhelmed by how intimate the feeling is, as though I am seeing a part of myself set up in a frame for everyone to see.

“Why, this is the house in Cornwall!” I exclaim.

“Do you like it?” Caitlin asks, coming to stand beside me.

“Of course I do,” I reply truthfully. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s one of Robert’s,” Caitlin says, and she is smirking, waiting for a reaction.

She gets one. “Robert’s?” I echo, my mouth falling open. I am silent for a second, staring at the picture. “I had no idea that Robert could even draw,” I say.