Flying High. Литагент HarperCollins USD

cup of tea with me as it’s on the way,’ she said, as they neared Vine Cottage. ‘Unless of course you’re in a frightful hurry?’

      But Teddy Redfern was in no particular hurry and thought it would be interesting to see the cottage. As he followed Mrs Oliphant through the front door he was instantly struck by the unnatural tidiness of the place, then by the elegance and quiet good taste evident in the drawing room. His feet sank into a soft, pale carpet; the chairs were covered in blue-and-white flowered chintz; a few good pieces of porcelain were displayed here and there. On a low table with the colour and sheen of a new horse-chestnut stood an elaborate flower arrangement of mauve and white lilac, fat white peonies and purple irises. He felt large and ill at ease, fearful of bumping into some valuable piece of furniture or marking the carpet with his shoes.

      Mrs Oliphant led him out to the neat little kitchen so that he could wash the traces of oil from his hands.

      ‘I think it might be pleasant to have our tea outside, don’t you? It’s such a beautiful afternoon. Why don’t you go out to my little courtyard and relax, and I’ll bring the tray in a minute.’

      The courtyard was delightful with its tubs of double petunias and trailing lobelia. Behind him the vine climbed almost to the roof of the cottage, its leaves a tender pale green against the faded coral of the brickwork. He sat down on a white wrought-iron chair and gazed down Mrs Oliphant’s garden.

      ‘You don’t do all this yourself, do you?’ he asked, as she set the tray down on the table.

      ‘No, I must confess I have a man in to do the heavy work. But I think beautiful, peaceful surroundings are so important for one’s well-being, don’t you?’

      This was an idea that had never occurred to Teddy Redfern. It was odd, he thought, that no yellow or orange or scarlet flowers seemed to grow in Mrs Oliphant’s garden, and he remarked on the fact.

      ‘But how frightfully clever of you to notice! To tell you the truth, I find those colours strike a jarring note – I love blues and mauves, and white of course, and all those heavenly things with silvery leaves. One tries to keep the effect muted.’

      ‘And do you get many grapes from the vine?’

      ‘Yes, certainly. More than I know what to do with. You must have some in the autumn.’

      ‘Maybe if you decide to come to my class again we could use them for some still-life work.’

      ‘Yes, what a splendid idea! I’m sure I shall want to carry on with the class – one feels one still has such a great deal to learn. I’m finding drawing from the figure a tremendous challenge. I think we were all a little apprehensive before today; one half-expected to be confronted by a nude!’ She gave a musical laugh.

      ‘Oh, we shall get to the nudes,’ said Teddy Redfern with confidence. ‘Oh, yes – the nudes are all lined up. Or nude, I should say; only one of the models will be doing it. We have to pay them more, you see.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose one would have to … It won’t be the young man who posed for us today, then?’

      ‘Mick? Oh, no. The female figure – that’s the usual drill. I shan’t be inflicting any naked male bodies on you, ha, ha!’

      That was rather a relief, thought Mrs Oliphant, after she had driven Teddy Redfern home. It wasn’t that one would be shocked or embarrassed; more that one might feel obscurely uncomfortable, possibly on behalf of the unclothed male model, so heavily outnumbered.

      The next week Mick posed for them again. He sat on a hard wooden chair with his arms and legs crossed, and his body seemed to be all planes and angles, difficult to reproduce on the paper.

      After the class she saw Teddy Redfern getting into his little red Citroën and felt slightly disappointed that there was no longer any need to offer him a lift.

      The following week a new model appeared. To Mrs Oliphant and her contemporaries she seemed hardly more than a child, though one realized of course that she must have been in her early twenties. Her dark hair was cropped short like a boy’s and her skin was as firm and shiny as a nectarine. In spite of the plumpness of her figure she was wearing black cycling shorts and an orange T-shirt that was really no more than a vest. Her black canvas shoes were dusty and her nail polish chipped.

      How unattractive girls nowadays made themselves look! thought Mrs Oliphant, narrowing her eyes a little as she started to sketch the ripe curves that only too clearly needed the support of a good brassière. And how very unflattering those tight shorts were, made from some slightly shiny synthetic material … Teddy Redfern had introduced her as ‘Lynne’, and at half-time sat on the edge of his table chatting to her and laughing a lot.

      On the afternoon that Lynne came into the art room wearing a gaudily patterned short kimono a frisson of excitement ran through the class, for obviously they were about to tackle The Nude.

      She really looked very little better without her clothes, thought Mrs Oliphant as, after discarding the kimono, the girl settled herself on an old chaise longue. She lay in such a position as to make it clear that she was not in the least self-conscious about the size of her hips. Today Teddy Redfern fetched her a cup of tea in the break, and though she shrugged herself back into the lurid kimono she did not bother to tie its belt. He sat beside her on the chaise longue and once again did a lot of laughing.

      No doubt he was as detached as any doctor or nurse, the ladies reminded themselves, for after all the human body was merely a piece of machinery. Nevertheless, one did feel that it might have been more suitable not to have given the model that jolly slap on the behind just as she was about to start disrobing, or to have whispered whatever it was that made her giggle so uncontrollably.

      After the class Mrs Oliphant walked to her car with Mrs Prentice, a nice woman of her own age, and they discussed Teddy Redfern’s behaviour in hushed voices.

      ‘Of course, one never knows with divorced men,’ said Mrs Prentice sensibly. ‘One shouldn’t be surprised if they go off the rails.’

      ‘Off the rails?’ repeated Mrs Oliphant in a high, alarmed tone. ‘Oh, but surely, my dear, there couldn’t be anything like that! Goodness knows, one isn’t a prude, but the girl is young enough to be his daughter. No, I think he was just being a little bit foolish in the way that middle-aged men so often are …’

      Certainly Teddy Redfern was not foolish on any subsequent occasion that Lynne posed in the nude; indeed his manner towards her seemed offhand and almost brusque. Twice he complimented Mrs Oliphant on her work. A new model came and sat for them; an elderly man with a face full of unusual lumps and bumps like a potato. Teddy Redfern pinned Mrs Oliphant’s drawing of the potato-like head on the art room wall.

      At their final class Mick posed for them again. The ladies had brought strawberries and cream to eat at half-time; Teddy Redfern had provided a couple of bottles of wine; a party atmosphere prevailed. Under the influence of this Mick became quite chatty and got out photographs of his girlfriend and baby daughter. At the end of the afternoon Mrs Oliphant walked out to the car park with Teddy Redfern.

      ‘Will you be coming to the class again next term?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, naturally one would love to if it can be arranged. But I’m not quite sure what my commitments will be; I’ve promised an old friend that I’ll go to Italian classes with her.’

      ‘Oh, do come, Anthea,’ he said, looking at her with his warm, brandy-coloured eyes. ‘I can’t manage without my star pupil. We’ll be doing still life in the autumn; I seem to remember you were rather good at that.’

      ‘Still life …’ she echoed, seeing in her mind’s eye a bunch of dark purple grapes lying in a pottery dish, perhaps beside a slim green wine bottle. ‘Yes, I do feel that’s very much me.’

      ‘Jolly good!’ he said, like an enthusiastic schoolboy. ‘I’ll expect to see you in September. You will come, now won’t you?’

      Yes, thought Mrs Oliphant,