JESSICA CLIFTON
1964
21
‘AM I MEANT to understand what this represents?’ said Emma, looking more closely at the painting.
‘There’s nothing to understand, Mama,’ said Seb. ‘You’ve missed the point.’
‘Then what is the point, because I can remember when Jessica used to draw people. People I recognized.’
‘She’s past that phase, Mama; she’s now entering her abstract period.’
‘I’m afraid they just look like blobs to me.’
‘That’s because you’re not looking at it with an open mind. She no longer wants to be Constable or Turner.’
‘Then who does she want to be?’
‘Jessica Clifton.’
‘Even if you’re right, Seb,’ said Harry, taking a closer look at Blob One, ‘all artists, even Picasso, admitted to outside influences. So, who’s Jessica influenced by?’
‘Peter Blake, Francis Bacon, and she admires an American called Rothko.’
‘I haven’t heard of any of them,’ admitted Emma.
‘And they probably haven’t heard of Edith Evans, Joan Sutherland or Evelyn Waugh, whom you both admire so much.’
‘Harold Guinzburg’s got a Rothko in his office,’ said Harry. ‘He told me it cost him ten thousand dollars, which I reminded him was more than my last advance.’
‘You mustn’t think like that,’ said Sebastian. ‘A work of art is worth what someone will pay for it. If it’s true for your book, why shouldn’t it be equally true for a painting?’
‘A banker’s attitude,’ said Emma. ‘I won’t remind you what Oscar Wilde said on the subject of price and value, for fear you might accuse me of being old-fashioned.’
‘You’re not old-fashioned, Mama,’ said Sebastian, placing an arm around her. Emma smiled. ‘You’re positively prehistoric.’
‘I admit to forty,’ Emma protested, looking up at her son, who couldn’t stop laughing. ‘But is this really the best Jessica can do?’ she asked, turning her attention back to the painting.
‘It’s her graduation work, which will determine if she’s offered a postgraduate place at the Royal Academy Schools this September. And it might even make her a bob or two.’
‘These paintings are for sale?’ said Harry.
‘Oh yes. The graduation exhibition is the first opportunity for a lot of young artists to display their work to the public.’
‘I wonder who buys this sort of thing?’ said Harry, looking around the room, whose walls were covered with oil paintings, watercolours and drawings.
‘Doting parents, I expect,’ said Emma. ‘So we’ll all have to buy one of Jessica’s, you included, Seb.’
‘You don’t have to convince me, Mama. I’ll be back here at seven when the show opens, with my cheque book ready. I’ve already chosen the one I want – Blob One.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’
‘You just don’t get it, Mama.’
‘So where is the next Picasso?’ asked Emma, ignoring her son as she looked around the room.
‘Probably with her boyfriend.’
‘I didn’t know Jessica had a boyfriend,’ said Harry.
‘I think she’s hoping to introduce you to him tonight.’
‘And what does this boyfriend do?’
‘He’s also an artist.’
‘Is he younger or older than Jessica?’ asked Emma.
‘Same age. He’s in her class, but frankly, he’s not in her class.’
‘Very droll,’ said Harry. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘Clive Bingham.’
‘And have you met him?’
‘Yes, they’re rarely apart, and I know he proposes to her at least once a week.’
‘But she’s far too young to be thinking about getting married,’ said Emma.
‘You don’t have to be a wrangler, Mama, to work out that if you’re forty-three and I’m twenty-four, you must have been nineteen when I was born.’
‘But it was different in those days.’
‘I wonder if Grandpa Walter agreed with you at the time.’
‘Yes, he did,’ said Emma, taking Harry’s arm. ‘Gramps adored your father.’
‘And you’ll adore Clive. He’s a really nice chap, and it’s not his fault that he isn’t much of an artist, as you can see for yourself,’ said Sebastian, guiding his parents across the room so they could look at Clive’s work.
Harry stared at Self Portrait for some time before he offered an opinion. ‘I can see why you think Jessica is so good, because I can’t believe anyone will buy these.’
‘Fortunately, he has wealthy parents, so that shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘But as Jessica’s never been interested in money, and he doesn’t seem to have any talent, what’s the attraction?’
‘As almost every female student on the course has painted Clive at some time during the past three years, it’s clear that Jessica’s not the only person who thinks he’s good-looking.’
‘Not if he looks like that,’ said Emma, taking a closer look at Self Portrait.
Sebastian laughed. ‘Wait and see before you pass judgement. Though I ought to warn you, Mama, that by your standards you might find him a little disorganized, even vague. But as we all know, Jess always wants to look after any stray she comes across, possibly because she was an orphan herself.’
‘Does Clive know she was adopted?’
‘Of course,’ said Sebastian. ‘Jessica never hides the fact. She tells anyone who asks. At art school it’s a bonus, almost a badge of honour.’
‘And are they living together?’ whispered Emma.
‘They’re both art students, Mama, so I think it’s just possible.’
Harry laughed, but Emma still looked shocked.
‘It may come as a surprise to you, Mama, but Jess is twenty-one, beautiful and talented, and I can tell you Clive’s not the only guy who thinks she’s a bit special.’
‘Well, I look forward to meeting him,’ said Emma. ‘And if we’re not going to be late for the prize-giving, we ought to go and change.’
‘While we’re on that subject, Mama, please don’t turn up this evening looking like the chairman of Barrington’s Shipping Company, and as if you’re about to preside over a board meeting, because it will embarrass Jessica.’
‘But I am the chairman of Barrington’s.’
‘Not tonight, Mama. Tonight you’re Jessica’s mother. So if you’ve got a pair of jeans, preferably old and faded, they’ll be just fine.’
‘But I don’t own a pair of jeans, old or faded.’
‘Then wear something you were thinking of giving to the vicar’s jumble sale.’
‘How about my gardening togs?’ said Emma, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm.
‘Perfect. And the oldest sweater you can lay your hands on, preferably one with holes in the elbows.’
‘And how do you think your father should dress for the occasion?’
‘Dad’s not a problem,’ said Sebastian. ‘He always looks like a shambolic, out-of-work writer, so he’ll fit in just fine.’
‘I would remind you, Sebastian, that your father is one of the most respected authors . . .’
‘Mama, I love you both. I admire you both. But tonight belongs to Jessica, so please don’t spoil it for her.’
‘He’s right,’ said Harry. ‘I used to get more worked up about which hat my mother was going to wear on speech day than whether I might win the Latin prize.’
‘But you told me, Papa, that Mr Deakins always won the Latin prize.’
‘Quite right,’ said Harry. ‘Deakins, your uncle Giles and I may all have been in the same class, but just like Jessica, Deakins was in a different class.’