The Plantation - Di Morrissey [144]
‘You feel as though you could walk right into the paintings,’ said Julie in some awe.
‘They’re astonishing,’ agreed Caroline.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ said a voice behind them.
They turned.
The woman who had spoken held out her hand. ‘I’m Cyndi George, the gallery director. We’re very proud of this exhibition. Would you like to meet the artist?’
Before either Caroline or Julie could speak, she gestured to the woman beside her. ‘Please, may I introduce you to Mrs Tsang, or Bette Oldham – as she is known professionally?’
Mother and daughter stared at Bette and struggled to speak. For Caroline there were only hazy memories of this woman from long ago. For Julie there were the conversations she had had, the stories that had captivated her. Now, it was almost like seeing a ghost. But in Bette’s smile, her direct gaze and her firm handshake, Julie glimpsed the strong and intriguing young woman she’d come to know through anecdote, and the gift of her pen and her brush.
The pause was long enough for Cyndi George to look quickly at them and consider what she should say next as this silence was unusual. Gallery guests were usually prompt to gush at the presiding painter.
‘And your names are?’ She looked enquiringly at Caroline and Julie, who hadn’t taken their eyes off the tall, straight figure standing before them.
Bette was striking looking, her beauty transformed from the unformed clay of youth to the beauty of old age, radiating a sense of satisfaction with herself, though it was not through ego. Her presence seemed to say, Here I am, a woman who has followed her own path. A woman who has no regrets, no recriminations and no unfinished business.
It was Bette who broke the silence. ‘I know who you are.’
A smile softened her features as she took Caroline’s hand. ‘What a beautiful woman you are. I always hoped I’d see you again. You were such a sweet child.’ She turned to Julie. ‘And you are Julie? Yes, I can certainly see the family resemblance.’ She leaned forward and brushed her lips against Julie’s cheek before turning to embrace Caroline.
This woman was not the frail woman in a wheelchair they’d anticipated. Bette had short cropped grey hair streaked with dramatic white strands that looked modern even though the style was inspired by the twenties. She wore tailored dark slacks and a shirt softened by a burst of lilac ruffles at her throat. On her shirt was pinned a large diamond and gold brooch of a tiger with ruby eyes. Beautiful rings on her fingers. Despite her narrow frame and slight build she wore the jewellery stylishly. The ebony walking stick with a silver head that she leaned on slightly was the only hint of any frailty.
Cyndi looked at the trio in surprise. ‘You’re all old friends then?’
‘Yes, in a way.’ Caroline smiled, her eyes filled with tears. In the rush of different emotions she couldn’t help but wish that Margaret was here, too. No matter what had happened in the past between the sisters, she would have liked her mother to have been around to share in their lives once more. ‘I do remember you, Aunt Bette.’
‘You’re relations! How wonderful,’ said Cyndi. ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes. But, Bette, we do have to move on with the proceedings. There’s a chair beside the podium for you, if you think that you’ll need it.’
‘Thank you, Cyndi. Just give me the signal.’ She smiled at Caroline. ‘Speeches, you understand how things are. And I don’t hang around after the formalities. I can only cope with so much these days.’
‘Of course, Aunt Bette. I’m so pleased to see you again. This is my husband, Paul, and, as you’ve realised, my daughter, Julie. We’re sorry to intrude on such an important occasion. This exhibition must have taken a long time to put together,’ said Caroline.
‘It was a while, I suppose. I finally had to rent a studio to get all my mess out of the living room,’ said Bette. ‘Besides I needed good light, and the studio was perfect.’
‘Do