The Stranger's Child - Alan Hollinghurst [59]
“I prefer to say portraits,” said Goldblatt, “portrait groups.”
“So if you wouldn’t mind awfully doing what he says for ten minutes, then we can get the damn fellow out of here.”
“Much obliged,” said Goldblatt. “Well, ladies and gentlemen—”
But they saw very quickly that it was Dudley who’d be telling them what to do. A trying hour or more of sittings ensued, different groupings around various stone seats, or posed, with a hint of awkward clowning, under the raised arms and bare breasts of bronze and marble statues. The Scottish boy made himself useful, and quickly set up the croquet lawn, where they started a pretend game which immediately got serious, and was abandoned with bad grace for work at another location. Really there were three of them the photographer wanted, Dudley, Sebby and Revel, with Daphne and the children as decorative extras. Dudley of course knew this, but in a complicated rigmarole brought in all the others, and nearly pretended not to want to be involved himself at all.
Dudley said: “But look here, Goldblatt, you must have a snapshot of our friend Frau Kalbeck. You know, she’s one of the original Valkyries of Stanmore Hill.”
“Oh, yes, Sir Dudley?” said the photographer warily.
“No, no, please …!” said Clara, tickled but mortified at the same time. She seemed ready to tuck her sticks out of sight. Daphne said,
“But not if you don’t want to, dear,” and indeed thought it quite impossible that they’d use such a photograph, which would make it, in the longer view, even sadder for her.
“Perhaps not, I think,” said Clara, and hid her tiny disappointment in a histrionic call—“But where is dear Mrs. Riley?” It was unexpected, but she seemed to have taken a shine to Eva.
“Dudley dear, where’s Mrs. Riley?” said Daphne coolly.
“Oh lord …,” said Dudley, the mad glint showing for a second through his puzzled tone. “Robbie, run and look for Mrs. Riley”—and as Robbie went swiftly away, “She may be just too busy …”
“Is that Mrs. Eva Riley, sir?” said Jerry Goldblatt, with a cunning glance at the house. “The interior decorator?”
“Yes, yes,” said Dudley, “Mrs. Riley, the famous interior decorator of the Carousel Restaurant,” as if writing the copy for the Sketch as well.
“That is a stroke of luck, Sir Dudley,” said Goldblatt.
Daphne saw that Dudley had got almost everything he wanted; he’d rescued a stylish, amusing and important party from the jaws of the other one that bored him to madness, and posed it, for as long as the camera’s flashes lasted, for the world to see. Sebby Stokes in fact declined to join in, suspecting that he shouldn’t be seen playing croquet while the nation stood on the brink of a general strike; he shrewdly told Goldblatt he would be “working on Cabinet papers in the library.” George, quite new to the world of publicity, acted up determinedly, followed Revel’s instructions for new poses, and whisked the children along in a hectic and rather touching show of affection. He seemed to like Revel—perhaps the little friction in their views on St. Pancras Station had excited him. Madeleine, with the unhappy solidarity of the shy, had perched beside Clara, and in effect opted out of the photographs. As for Revel himself, Daphne saw that she needn’t have worried, in fact there was almost some further friction in his eagerness to direct arrangements himself. “Well … yes …,” said Dudley, frowning, “no, no, my dear, you’re the designer!”—shaking his head none the less in slight bafflement, while Jerry Goldblatt pleaded, “If I could just have Lady Valance and the kiddies?” Then Eva Riley arrived, her long legs white in sheeny stockings, almost laughably fashionable, a pearl-coloured cloche hat pulled down tight on her black bob. “Do you really need me?” she wailed, and Jerry Goldblatt called back that he certainly did.
Revel and Daphne had their picture taken together, back by the fishpond. They stood on either side of a rose arch, each with one arm raised like a dancer to gesture at the view beyond it. Daphne laughed to show she was not an actress, not certainly