Barbara Taylor Bradford - Playing the Game

There were not many people about as Annette walked next to Laurie in the motorized wheelchair, crossing Eaton Square, making for their flat on the far corner. But then it was cold, breezy, a typical early March day, with a hint of rain in the air. People stayed home on days like this.

They were moving along at a fairly quick pace, both wanting to get inside, into the warmth. She glanced up at one moment and was startled to see that the sky had changed in the last hour she had been at her sister’s flat. It had become a deeper, brighter blue.

‘We’ve suddenly got a Renoir sky,’ she exclaimed, glancing at her sister. ‘It was pale, almost grey, earlier.’

Laurie lifted her eyes, and nodded. ‘Yes, it is that lovely blue he used for his own skies and bodies of water, and frequently for the dresses he painted on his incomparable women.’ Swivelling her head, she looked up at Annette, and smiled. ‘Only you would call it a Renoir sky.’

‘I know. But then he is my favourite Impressionist.’

‘And mine. And of course Rembrandt’s a favourite now! Let’s face it, he’s a painter who has been lucky for you. Does Christopher Delaware have any more tucked away in his house?’

‘If only.’ Annette laughed.

‘He might find some other treasure put away, you know,’ Laurie ventured. ‘Collectors like his peculiar uncle often bought paintings and simply stashed them away, hid them. Because they didn’t want anyone else to look at them.’

‘That sometimes did happen, and it still does. However, I imagine that by now Christopher has scoured that house from top to bottom.’

‘You bet he has.’ Laurie suddenly shivered, turned up the collar of her coat, brought her scarf to her chin, fumbling with the scarf through her cashmere gloves.

Annette, who missed nothing when it came to her sister’s wellbeing, asked swiftly, ‘Are you feeling the cold?’

‘No, not too much. And I’m glad to be out and about with you. Thank you for taking the day off to spend it with me.’

‘I’m happy to be with you. A whole day with you is one of my real luxuries.’

Her sister smiled at this comment, snuggled into her coat, and let her gaze wander around Eaton Square. ‘The trees are sad today – bereft, lifeless. Twigs in the wind. This is such a beautiful square, but I must admit I like it best in the summer when the gardens are filled with leafy branches. They make such a lovely cool green tent over our heads when we picnic there.’ Laurie let out a long sigh. ‘I’ll be glad when spring comes; it’s been a dreary, weary winter.’

‘We’ll go somewhere warm soon. In the spring. We’ll make plans,’ Annette assured her, love echoing in her voice for her only relative. Well, there was their brother, Anthony, but he was long gone from their lives. Who knew where he was, and their parents were dead. They only had each other. She’s enough, Annette thought. She has such a big heart and so much to give. She’s strong and determined and filled with compassion for others; then there’s her bravery and courage, and her selflessness. Yes, she’s enough. She might be petite and delicate but she packs a wallop. Also, Laurie was her good right hand, a brilliant researcher and an integral part of her art business.

‘Here we are,’ Annette exclaimed a moment or two later.

Annette now came to a stop in front of a dark green front door, turned the wheelchair around, backed up the two steps, pulling the wheelchair after her. Once she was on the top step, she rang the intercom bell which had the brass nameplate engraved with the name Remmington next to it.

‘It’s us,’ she answered when Marius’s disembodied voice echoed down to them.

There was a loud buzz and a click; Annette pushed the door open, and Laurie took control of her chair again once they were in the hall of the building. She headed straight for the lift. A few seconds later they were on the landing, where Marius was standing at the open door of the flat.

Beaming at Laurie, he leaned over her, kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said warmly. ‘Let’s get you in front of the fire. Your face looks pinched.’

‘It’s lovely to see you, Marius,’ Laurie responded, removing her gloves and scarf, shrugging herself out of her coat. After pulling the coat out from under her sister, Annette went to hang it up.

Marius said, ‘We’ll go into the living room, darling.’

‘Good idea. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

Laurie loved this large, beautifully proportioned room, overlooking Eaton Square, with its tall windows and a white marble fireplace at one end. The colour scheme was a mixture of yellows, which gave it a sunny feeling whatever the weather outside, and the accent colours were blue and white. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth and the scent of flowers was fragrant on the air. There were bowls filled with blooms scattered about, but Laurie knew Annette always used Ken Turner’s scented candles throughout the flat to get the proper effect she wanted.

Once she had positioned herself near the fire, Marius went to the drinks table nearby, took a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the silver ice bucket. As he popped the cork, he looked at Laurie, said, ‘You’re a naughty girl, not coming to my sixtieth, you know. I was very disappointed.’

Before she could answer, Annette came hurrying in with a plate of canapés. ‘Marius, don’t chastise her! I’ve done that already!’

‘Well, of course you have,’ he remarked with a cheerful laugh, then asked, ‘So, who wants a glass of bubbly? Both of you, I hope. Certainly I’m going to have one.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Laurie answered, beginning to thaw out in front of the blazing fire. She was filled with happiness to be with them; she adored Annette and loved Marius, who had never been anything but very kind to her.

‘I’ll have one too,’ Annette said, and went and sat on the sofa. As Marius poured the champagne, she asked, ‘What time’s your plane this afternoon?’

He glanced across at her, still pouring the wine. ‘I had a bit of luck a short while ago. Jimmy Musgrave has offered me a lift on his private jet.’

‘Who’s Jimmy Musgrave?’ Annette asked, a brow lifting. ‘Do I know him?’

‘No, you haven’t met him yet because he’s been in Los Angeles. He’s a new client of mine, came to me through one of my Hollywood contacts. He called to tell me he was flying to Barcelona later today and couldn’t see me next week. I said, what a coincidence, so am I. And he was quick to invite me to fly with him. He said he’d like my company, that we could “talk art", was the way he put it. To answer your question, I have to be at the airport at five.’

‘That was a lucky break.’ Annette accepted the flute of champagne from him and smiled. ‘It should be nice in Barcelona this weekend; you’ll be able to get a bit of sun.’

Walking over to Laurie, he handed her the glass, then sat down in the chair next to her. ‘I doubt it,’ he murmured, addressing Annette. ‘I really do need to spend some time with the director of the Picasso Museum, and I want to do a good long walk through, to refresh my memory.’

‘How’s the book coming along?’ Laurie asked, referring to the one Marius was writing about the painter.

‘Rather better than I expected. It’s odd, Laurie, it just started to take off in the last six months or so. I’ve done more work in that time than I did the whole of the previous year. I think Picasso really comes alive on the pages at last. And by the way, ladies, I’ve decided to dedicate this book to the two of you – my very special muses.’

‘How lovely,’ Laurie cried, and raising her glass she said, ‘Here’s to your new book, Marius, and thank you for the dedication to us.’