to the church of Santa Rufina with your mother.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘In the village square.’
‘My mother doesn’t know about this.’ Olive rose to her feet. ‘I’ll have to get to her before Daddy does.’
‘He’s gone out,’ Teresa said.
Olive’s face fell. ‘Of course he has.’ She sat back down.
‘Are you enjoying being painted?’ Teresa asked.
‘I don’t think I make a very good subject. My mother loves it, of course.’
‘Your father will be very happy to see it.’
‘Maybe. If it’s any good. Isaac won’t let me look.’
‘Your father – he tells me he is going to have a party.’
Olive groaned. ‘Is that what he said?’
‘Do you not want a party, señorita?’
‘You haven’t been to one of my parents’ parties. I think I’d rather visit the church.’
She was in an irritable mood, and Teresa wondered quite how badly the portrait session had gone between Olive and her mother. All Teresa could conclude was that whilst Sarah was born to be watched, Olive was more of a watcher.
She walked to the counter, fetched an onion and a knife, and began to chop. ‘Do you know the story of Santa Rufina?’ she asked, hoping to distract Olive from her gloom.
Olive gazed towards the darkness of the corridor, where Isaac was moving around in his room. ‘No.’
‘It is a story about two sisters. They were Christians. They lived in Seville, in . . . la época romana?’
‘Roman times,’ said Olive.
‘Yes. They made pots and bowls. The Romans wanted them to make pots for a party. A pagan party. But the sisters said, “No, no we won’t. Our pots are our own.” And they broke the mask of the goddess Venus.’
‘Goodness me.’
‘They were arrested. They threw Justa down a well. And Rufina – they made her fight a lion.’
Teresa noted with pleasure how Olive had stilled, listening to her story, as the shadows threw black dancers up the walls and the onion sweated in the pan.
‘A big lion,’ she went on. ‘A hungry lion. En el anfiteatro. All the people watching. But the lion did not want to fight. He sat, he did not move. He would not touch her.’
‘What then?’ whispered Olive.
‘They cut off her head.’
‘No.’
‘And they threw it down the well to meet her sister.’
Olive shivered. ‘That’s awful.’
Teresa shrugged. ‘I like the lion.’ Her eye was caught by Isaac standing at the door. ‘He knows the value of peace. He keeps his place.’
‘Maybe he didn’t like the taste of bony girl,’ Isaac said. Olive turned to him. He folded his arms and fixed Teresa with a look. ‘Telling stories again, Tere?’
‘She’s a good storyteller,’ said Olive. ‘Imagine waiting down in the darkness whilst your sister faced a lion. Imagine holding her head in your hands; the rest of her, disappeared. What happened to Justa?’
‘She died of the shock,’ said Teresa.
‘So would I,’ said Olive.
‘You don’t know that, señorita,’ said Isaac. ‘You might be strong.’
‘Oh, no. I’d definitely faint.’ Olive looked thoughtful. ‘Do you know, I might visit that church.’
‘Señorita?’
‘Why not?’ said Olive. ‘At least then we could say that one of our lies was actually a truth.’
II
BELONGING
7
Lawrie and I made it to the cinema for our first date. In the end, we went for You Only Live Twice. There was so much bare flesh and sadism in it, I was embarrassed for making the suggestion. No romance, just gadgets and Sean Connery’s chest that looked borrowed from an ape. I think, on reflection, I would have preferred to watch Catherine Deneuve, but I was happy simply to sit with Lawrie, to catch his lovely scent, the dense warmth of his body, this person who in turn had chosen me.
Over the next two weeks, we saw each other nearly every single day. It was a fabulous sickness. We went to the Wallace Collection and the National Gallery, to see if we could spot any more paintings with the initials I.R. (no success). We went to the theatre, and I still have the ticket stub. It was called Play by Samuel Beckett, and I had never seen anything like it. I remember my delighted shock as the curtain went up, the three actors revealed – one man and two women, playing his mistress and his wife – stoppered to the neck in giant grey funeral urns, unable to move, gabbling incoherently before they began interspersing their stories to the audience, remaining oblivious of one another.
We went to Soho restaurants and bars – All Nighters, the Flamingo – and discovered that we danced together very well. I didn’t like having