other things, and it had been such a monumental task, which was what she had intended it to be. It was full of detail: the old buildings on which she had spent painstaking hours of research, the market traders, the church and the old pump where the fountain and dirty pool now stood, people chatting beside it. Looking at the figures on the canvas, some of whom had the faces of people she knew, she allowed her mind to drift.
George seemed to have got over Virginia’s death and so had Donald and they continued to work together. If anything it seemed to bring the two men closer, leaving Barbara on the periphery of her husband’s life which was, she supposed, where she had always been. Business, politics and golf were all he thought about. She was heartily sick of all three, but especially politics. It was politics which had ruined George as a husband. That and his craving for power. As her mother had often advised her, she had counted her blessings. She had a nice home, a husband who, whatever his faults, was a good provider, and three children who were a credit to them. She had friends and charitable work which often reminded her that there were a great many people worse off than she was, and whenever counting blessings did not seem to work, she had her painting. She spent hours in this room, absorbed in composition and colour and effect, cut off from reality, almost content.
Alison, in a printed cotton dress, her dark hair worn in two plaits, put her head round the door. ‘Mum, Aunt Penny’s here. Didn’t you hear the doorbell?’
‘Penny?’ she queried in surprise. ‘Why ever didn’t she say she was coming?’
She cleaned her brush and hurried from the room, leaving Alison looking at the picture with her head on one side. It was huge, every inch of it covered with figures. She recognised Lady Isobel sitting upright in a carriage drawn by four horses and driven by James. There was Mrs Younger, carroty hair spilling out beneath a black straw hat and her shoulders draped in a fringed shawl, with a basket of flowers on her arm. There was Dad, sitting arrogantly on a fine hunter, and Jay-Jay, a barefoot urchin, dodging among the stalls with an orange in his hand. Gran was there, shopping basket on her arm, and Nick sitting on the back of a cart, and she was there, dressed in a crinoline of blue taffeta, a straw bonnet on her dark hair, carrying a frilled parasol. A young boy was working the old pump, and the water sparkled as it gushed into a bucket, and there was an old-time policeman in shiny-buttoned uniform and top hat, standing on the kerb. There was so much to explore, she was reluctant to leave it, but she had arranged to go to the Saturday matinee with one of her friends and she didn’t want to miss the beginning. She’d come back to it later, persuade Mum to hang it somewhere where it would be seen.
Penny was like a breath of fresh air, her red-gold hair framing a face that didn’t seem to have aged one iota since Barbara had first met her. She was bright, cheerful and glamorous in a dress of flower-patterned silk with puffed sleeves and a skirt gathered at the natural waist. Her hat, worn tilted to one side, had a huge brim. It was an elegantly simple outfit which had obviously cost a great deal.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Barbara said, kissing her cheek. ‘I don’t need to ask how you are. How do you manage to stay looking so young?’
Penny laughed. ‘With difficulty. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything. Alison said you were painting.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. May I see it?’
‘Yes, if you like. Come up and I’ll show you.’ She led the way. ‘You’ll stay for lunch? There’s some ham and a salad, is that OK?’
‘Lovely.’
‘Are you filming in the area?’
‘Not exactly. I’m going into production in partnership with Hal Erikson. He’s the man who produced Dragon Castle. We’ve got a story lined up, but we need a location. I’m looking round East Anglia for something that fits…’ She stopped when she caught sight of the painting. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes.’
She walked over to inspect it more closely. ‘It’s terrific. All those people. However long did it take?’
‘Months. I started it last October.’ Barbara moved over and pointed to a figure wearing a riding habit