Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read. Sara MacDonald

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       Chapter 18

      It was not until Gabby was on the train to London that she stopped to think about what she was doing. She had told herself that she could not do any more work on the figurehead until the paint samples she had sent up to London had been analysed. This was not quite true, for there were other things she could be doing, such as grouting out all the dead wood from the base of Isabella while she waited.

      The sun bounced off the sea as she left Penzance. Nell had wanted to drive her to the station but Gabby had persuaded her it was much too early. Guilt and excitement gnawed at her stomach and she felt odd and jittery as if watching herself from a distance.

      It was a long time since she had been on a train on her own. It felt wonderful. No man’s land. She looked out of the window; to her left the Hayle estuary lay full of waders and the sea beyond the sand dunes was rough, rolling in below the cliffs on a high tide.

      As the train rattled inland she thought about a time before the railway was built and how once tin, copper and coal had to be transported by hundreds of mules and horses. There were many depressed little towns left by the mining industry and Cornwall constantly struggled to survive. It was going to take her five hours to reach Paddington, but in Isabella’s day London must have seemed as remote as New Zealand.

      Gabby’s book lay unread on her knee. Whenever her mind came back to the end of her journey her stomach contracted and her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth. Nell had booked Gabby into her old-fashioned club which was conveniently near to Paddington.

      She went slowly over her conversation with Mark. She had rung him excitedly when Nell had rushed in to her mid-morning, waving a catalogue.

      ‘Gabby! I knew there was something familiar about the face of your figurehead. Look, I’ve been rummaging through my files and found this. Don’t you think this face is similar? I cleaned and restored her in the sixties while I was at the Portrait Gallery.’

      Gabby looked down at the photograph of a dark young woman in a rich ruby dress, looking pensive. It was quite hard to tell; after all, they only had a wooden face and blind eyes with which to compare her. Gabby went to her drawer and got out the photos she had taken of the figurehead and placed one of Isabella’s face next to the catalogue. Gabby and Nell peered down and both women shivered in excitement. The shape of both faces was the same. So were the placing of eyes and mouth, the expression in them almost identical.

      Gabby looked at the description: Helena Viscaria. Believed to have been painted on her eighteenth birthday by her cousin, Bernardo Venichy, as a wedding present for her husband, Daniel Vyvyan, whom she married in 1844.

      ‘Definitely the same family, don’t you think?’ Nell asked, pleased with herself.

      ‘Yes. Oh yes!’ Gabby turned to Nell. ‘What on earth made you remember restoring this painting? It was so long ago.’

      ‘Quite extraordinary, the subconscious. The face on the figurehead seemed familiar and it niggled at me. Last night I kept dreaming of a red dress, and in the morning the face of the painting was clear in my mind so I went looking for her, not really believing I would find her in my chaos.’

      Gabby laughed. ‘Nell, you pretend to be disorganized, but you aren’t really. If I moaned about you making me keep records before, I never will again!’

      ‘I think the other reason I remembered was because it was such a beautiful painting and was in really bad repair having been stored in a damp loft or cellar. A young member of the family had found it and of course Venichy was having a spectacular revival in the sixties when the painting was brought to the gallery. I’m not sure, but I believe the gallery eventually bought it from the Vyvyan family, or they have it on permanent loan somewhere.’

      ‘I wonder,’ Gabby said, ‘if this is what Mark Hannah was chasing. He said he had a lead about the family in Manchester and was going to try to visit the Portrait Gallery before he went home.’

      ‘Possibly,’ Nell said. ‘It might have been hanging in Manchester at some point. Why don’t you ring him? I’ll make some coffee.’

      So she had, and he too had been excited. ‘Gabriella … your Nell is a wonder. This is such a bonus. I … I know this is a lot to ask, but could you possibly bring that catalogue up to London? It would make my job of finding out about the family much easier. Is that at all possible?’

      Startled, Gabby had mumbled, ‘Um … well … could I ring you back on that one?’

      Nell had come back into the study, and Gabby replaced the receiver with nervous hands. ‘He was chasing that painting and it did hang in Manchester. Nell, he wants me to rush up to London with the catalogue so that he can take it to the Portrait Gallery with him.’

      ‘Today?’ Nell asked, startled.

      ‘Not today, Nell. It’s far too late to catch a train today.’

      ‘What if we photocopied it and put it in the post tonight. He would, with luck, get it in the morning.’

      They looked at each other doubtfully. ‘With luck is the word,’ Gabby said. ‘I told him I’d ring him back. I’ll have to think. It would be much better if you went, actually, Nell. You restored the picture.’

      ‘Gabby, I’m not haring up to London for a day. Chelsea Flower Show is my next trip. My dear girl, if you feel like a gallivant to the National Portrait Gallery with your Canadian, you go. It might be quite good for you. I can ring my club and book you in for the night, and you can catch the train home the following day.’

      Gabby bit her lip, thinking of Charlie. Nell said quietly, ‘Gabby, if you’re worried about the expense or what Charlie will say, don’t. You’re earning your own money. I’ll pay for the night at the club. I’d love to, that’s what it’s for, to be used. If you think it would be fun and you can put up with five hours on a train, go.’

      ‘Nell … thanks.’

      ‘Ring him back. I must get to work. I’ll see you at lunchtime.’

      ‘Gabriella? СКАЧАТЬ