that all? I’ll have it done in a jiffy. Can’t have you messing about with oily tools, can we? Don’t wait for me, Mick – I can get the bus.’
The young man rode off on a motor bike and Teddy Redfern accompanied her back to her silver-grey Golf.
‘Is your own car out of action?’ enquired Mrs Oliphant, watching him roll up his sleeves and set to work.
‘Yes, temporarily. Bit of a nuisance, but I think there’s a bus I can get in about twenty minutes.’
‘Oh, but I insist that you let me run you home. It’s the very least I can do after your kindness. I believe you live quite close to me,’ she went on, as he gratefully slid into the passenger seat. She had seen him one day in a ramshackle Citroën Dyane coming out of the drive of a rather nasty-looking little bungalow.
‘And you live … ?’
‘Vine Cottage; I don’t know whether you know it?’
‘Ah yes, I think I’ve passed it in the car. Is there actually a vine?’
‘Yes, quite an old one at the back of the house. Are you at all interested in gardening?’
‘Love it,’ said Teddy Redfern, who occasionally, in a wild spurt of energy, would go out to his garden and attack the lawn for ten minutes or so before collapsing into a deckchair with his heart pounding. ‘I’m afraid mine’s a bit neglected at the moment but I’ve got great plans for it. You must come round one day and advise me.’
‘Oh, I adore telling other people what to do with their gardens,’ she said effusively. ‘But isn’t your wife fond of gardening?’
‘I live on my own. Was married for a time but it didn’t work out; just one of those things, I suppose. My fault. I’m not an easy man to live with – put it down to the artistic temperament!’
He went on to tell her about his days at the Slade in the 1960s when he had been ‘a bit of a terror’ then gave her an account of his teaching career. He was naturally obliged to leave out all the most interesting bits but made up for this by enlarging on his reasons for ‘opting out’.
‘… had enough of the rat-race. I made up my mind I was going to devote myself to my own work, sink or swim. I’m simply not cut out for a regular nine-to-four-thirty job. Nowadays I can stay in bed till noon then work all night if I feel like it.’
How Bohemian he was! thought Mrs Oliphant, remembering her own husband setting off at the same hour each morning with briefcase and bowler hat. One could see how the artistic temperament would be difficult to live with but at the same time quite fascinating.
‘Perhaps you’d like to pop in and have a cup of tea with me as it’s on the way,’ she said, as they neared Vine Cottage. ‘Unless of course you’re in a frightful hurry?’
But Teddy Redfern was in no particular hurry and thought it would be interesting to see the cottage. As he followed Mrs Oliphant through the front door he was instantly struck by the unnatural tidiness of the place, then by the elegance and quiet good taste evident in the drawing room. His feet sank into a soft, pale carpet; the chairs were covered in blue-and-white flowered chintz; a few good pieces of porcelain were displayed here and there. On a low table with the colour and sheen of a new horse-chestnut stood an elaborate flower arrangement of mauve and white lilac, fat white peonies and purple irises. He felt large and ill at ease, fearful of bumping into some valuable piece of furniture or marking the carpet with his shoes.
Mrs Oliphant led him out to the neat little kitchen so that he could wash the traces of oil from his hands.
‘I think it might be pleasant to have our tea outside, don’t you? It’s such a beautiful afternoon. Why don’t you go out to my little courtyard and relax, and I’ll bring the tray in a minute.’
The courtyard was delightful with its tubs of double petunias and trailing lobelia. Behind him the vine climbed almost to the roof of the cottage, its leaves a tender pale green against the faded coral of the brickwork. He sat down on a white wrought-iron chair and gazed down Mrs Oliphant’s garden.
‘You don’t do all this yourself, do you?’ he asked, as she set the tray down on the table.
‘No, I must confess I have a man in to do the heavy work. But I think beautiful, peaceful surroundings are so important for one’s well-being, don’t you?’
This was an idea that had never occurred to Teddy Redfern. It was odd, he thought, that no yellow or orange or scarlet flowers seemed to grow in Mrs Oliphant’s garden, and he remarked on the fact.
‘But how frightfully clever of you to notice! To tell you the truth, I find those colours strike a jarring note – I love blues and mauves, and white of course, and all those heavenly things with silvery leaves. One tries to keep the effect muted.’
‘And do you get many grapes from the vine?’
‘Yes, certainly. More than I know what to do with. You must have some in the autumn.’
‘Maybe if you decide to come to my class again we could use them for some still-life work.’
‘Yes, what a splendid idea! I’m sure I shall want to carry on with the class – one feels one still has such a great deal to learn. I’m finding drawing from the figure a tremendous challenge. I think we were all a little apprehensive before today; one half-expected to be confronted by a nude!’ She gave a musical laugh.
‘Oh, we shall get to the nudes,’ said Teddy Redfern with confidence. ‘Oh, yes – the nudes are all lined up. Or nude, I should say; only one of the models will be doing it. We have to pay them more, you see.’
‘Yes, I suppose one would have to … It won’t be the young man who posed for us today, then?’
‘Mick? Oh, no. The female figure – that’s the usual drill. I shan’t be inflicting any naked male bodies on you, ha, ha!’
That was rather a relief, thought Mrs Oliphant, after she had driven Teddy Redfern home. It wasn’t that one would be shocked or embarrassed; more that one might feel obscurely uncomfortable, possibly on behalf of the unclothed male model, so heavily outnumbered.
The next week Mick posed for them again. He sat on a hard wooden chair with his arms and legs crossed, and his body seemed to be all planes and angles, difficult to reproduce on the paper.
After the class she saw Teddy Redfern getting into his little red Citroën and felt slightly disappointed that there was no longer any need to offer him a lift.
The following week a new model appeared. To Mrs Oliphant and her contemporaries she seemed hardly more than a child, though one realized of course that she must have been in her early twenties. Her dark hair was cropped short like a boy’s and her skin was as firm and shiny as a nectarine. In spite of the plumpness of her figure she was wearing black cycling shorts and an orange T-shirt that was really no more than a vest. Her black canvas shoes were dusty and her nail polish chipped.
How unattractive girls nowadays made themselves look! thought Mrs Oliphant, narrowing her eyes a little as she started to sketch the ripe curves that only too clearly needed the support of a good brassière. And how very unflattering those tight shorts were, made from some slightly shiny synthetic material … Teddy Redfern had introduced her as
