in her own mind there was now no real doubt as to the picture’s provenance. Evelyn’s story had caught her imagination in a way it had failed to before. At the beginning it had been of more academic interest, now, since she had seen the young man with his hand on her shoulder, and since seeing her studio and her home, Evelyn had become real to her.
She still hadn’t mentioned the portrait to Michael, she realised. The fact that she owned a possible Lucas original was crucial; it had been the reason behind the decision to research Evelyn’s life, to find out where the picture fitted into her oeuvre, to date it and, since she had uncovered him, to identify the young man with his hand so affectionately on her shoulder.
‘Did she live here during the war?’ Lucy sat down uninvited on the arm of the sofa by the window. She felt more comfortable with her host now, more relaxed. His initial suspicion of her seemed to have lessened.
He shook his head. ‘She still lived at home with her parents during the war. Her father was a farmer over near Goodwood. She inherited the farm after they died, then she sold up and bought this place. I can give you the address of the farm if you like, then you can go and pester them.’ His smile compensated slightly for the harshness of the words. He glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation of dismay. ‘I’m sorry. I do have to get on. I’m expecting someone. If you would like to give me your address and contact details I will get in touch with some suggestions about where you could start your research if I think of anything.’
‘So, you don’t mind my doing it?’ She was disappointed at the sudden change of mood after he had seemed to be mellowing towards her, but at the same time elated that he appeared to be agreeing to help her with the project. She reached into her bag to find the gallery’s card. ‘You’ll find my e-mail and phone number there.’
‘And you are?’ He was examining the card.
‘Lucy Standish. I told you.’ Twice to be precise.
He grinned, acknowledging the slight tetchiness of her tone. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t take it in.’
And then she was outside and he had shut the door behind her.
Walking slowly back up the lane she noticed a car parked in the lay-by behind her own. A woman climbed out, locked it and turned towards her. They approached one another, exchanged the rather awkward smiles of strangers in a situation where they cannot avoid acknowledging each other, and passed. The woman was tall, slim and elegant in a pale silk shift dress. There was a large designer tote on her arm. Her car, Lucy couldn’t help noticing as she pulled out her car keys was a BMW Z4. She couldn’t resist a glance behind her. The woman was climbing the steps to Rosebank Cottage.
So there was someone in his life after all.
August 6th 1940
‘Evie?’ Ralph found his sister in the dairy. At twenty-one, he was two years older than Evelyn and had always enjoyed his role as her big brother. ‘I’ve asked my station commander and he says he can fix it for you to go and sketch over at Westhampnett. I know it’s not Tangmere as you asked, but it’s a satellite field and only a couple of miles away. He reckons if you come to Tangmere people might ask why a squit of a girl like you was there. There are too many big brass there with it being the local sector control. He suggested that Westhampnett might be less conspicuous and a bit safer as a place to draw. There is a Hurricane squadron based there.’
‘I don’t want a safer place, Rafie!’ She glared at him.
‘I’m only obeying orders!’ He held up his hands in mock surrender.
‘I know.’ She swallowed her indignation and dropping the empty bucket she was holding threw her arms round his neck. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you for arranging it!’
‘Get off!’ He pushed her away good-naturedly. ‘You smell of cow. Don’t say anything to Dad. I’m not sure he would approve and I know he will worry. You’ll have to find an excuse to leave the farm for the afternoon.’
‘That will be easy.’ She was glowing with excitement, her golden-blond hair mostly hidden by the scarf knotted round her head. ‘I’ll think of something. There are loads of things I need to collect in Chichester. I can do that first to justify using the petrol. It will give me an excuse to be out for a bit. Once I know where to go I can bike over there.’ She reached up and ruffled his hair. ‘How’s it going? We see the enemy planes, watch the fights. There are so many of them, Rafie. I can’t bear to think of you up there. Dad was listening to the wireless last night –’
‘I’ve got a few hours off, Evie.’ Ralph spoke sharply. ‘Leave it. I don’t need the official commentary.’
‘Sorry.’
He shook his head. She could see the exhaustion in his face now she looked more closely, the strain in his eyes. As always when she felt a strong emotion she found her fingers itching to pick up a pencil; it had always been her way of dealing with things, even when she was a small child. Sternly she pushed the longing aside.
‘I’ve finished here. I’ll go and wash. Come into the kitchen and we’ll see where Mum is.’ She stacked the dropped bucket by the door and headed out into the yard. Tearing off her scarf she shook out her hair in the sunshine. ‘I’ve had a letter from an art student friend, Sarah Besant,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘They are talking about evacuating the Royal College of Art for the duration. They are tired of having their windows blown out! She thinks they are going to go up to the Lake District.’
Ralph gave a sharp laugh. ‘That will shake up the locals a bit, won’t it?’
‘Students and locals, both.’ Evie smiled.
He glanced at her fondly. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go back and finish the course? I had thought it meant everything to you, getting into the RCA.’
She folded her arms. ‘I’m needed here. I can always go back after the war.’
He sighed. She was needed on the farm because he wasn’t there. It was that simple. But he couldn’t be in two places at once. He was no longer a farmer, he was a pilot now, first and foremost. His father had resumed the running of the farm and he needed Evie to help him. Even so, Ralph couldn’t bear to think of her stuck here when she could be back in the college, studying the painting she loved so much.
‘Mum and Dad would feel much better if you were out of it all. If they are going to evacuate the college it would be so much safer,’ he persisted.
‘No, Rafie. You are not going to change my mind. It wouldn’t feel right, leaving Daddy running the farm alone. I can paint as well as helping him. I’ll find a way.’ She glanced up. He followed her gaze and for a moment neither spoke. Small white summer clouds dotted the clear blue of the empty sky.
Ralph had joined up in 1938, much to his father’s disgust. His only son had turned down the opportunity to go to university after he took his Highers and had instead immersed himself in the farm, but suddenly he was turning his back on his destiny for the sake of a bit of excitement in the
