Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles) Read online

  “How kind of you to say so, Mr. Agnew. Did you manage to buy any of Jessica’s pictures?”

  “I bought every one of them, Mrs. Clifton. The last time I did that was for a young artist called David Hockney.”

  Emma didn’t want to admit that she’d never heard of David Hockney, and Sebastian only knew about him because Cedric had half a dozen of his pictures on the wall of his office, but then Hockney was a Yorkshireman. Not that Sebastian was paying much attention to Mr. Agnew, as his thoughts were elsewhere.

  “So does that mean we’ll be given another opportunity to buy one of my daughter’s pictures?” asked Harry.

  “Most certainly you will,” said Agnew, “because I’m planning to hold a one-woman exhibition of Jessica’s works next spring, by which time I’m rather hoping she’ll have painted a few more canvases. Of course, I’ll send you and Mrs. Clifton an invitation to the opening night.”

  “Thank you,” said Harry, “and we won’t be late this time.”

  Mr. Agnew gave a slight bow, then turned and headed toward the door without another word, clearly not interested in any of the other artists whose work peppered the walls. Emma glanced at Sebastian, to see he was staring at Mr. Agnew as he crossed the floor. Then she spotted the young woman by the dealer’s side, and understood why her son had been struck dumb.

  “Close your mouth, Seb.”

  Sebastian looked embarrassed, a rare experience that Emma relished.

  “Well, I suppose we’d better go and have a look at Clive’s paintings,” suggested Harry, “which might also give us a chance to meet his parents.”

  “They didn’t bother to turn up,” said Sebastian. “Jess told me they never come to see his work.”

  “How strange,” said Harry.

  “How sad,” said Emma.

  22

  “I DO LIKE your parents,” said Clive, “and your uncle Giles is something else. Even I could vote for him, not that my parents would approve.”

  “Why not?”

  “Both of them are dyed-in-the-wool Tories. Mother wouldn’t allow a socialist in the house.”

  “I’m sorry they didn’t come to the exhibition. They would have been so proud of you.”

  “I don’t think so. Mum didn’t really approve of me going to art school in the first place. Wanted me to go to Oxford or Cambridge, and just wouldn’t accept that I wasn’t good enough.”

  “Then they probably won’t approve of me.”

  “How could they not approve of you?” said Clive, turning over to face her. “You’re the Slade’s most award-winning pupil ever and, unlike me, you’ve been offered a place at the RA. Your father’s a bestselling author, your mother is chairman of a public company and your uncle’s in the Shadow Cabinet. Whereas my father’s the chairman of a fish paste company, who’s hoping to be appointed the next High Sheriff of Lincolnshire, and that’s only possible because my grandfather made his fortune selling fish paste.”

  “But at least you know who your grandfather is,” said Jessica, resting her head on his shoulder. “Harry and Emma aren’t my real parents, although they’ve always treated me as their daughter, and perhaps because Emma and I even look alike, people assume she’s my mother. And Seb’s the best brother a girl could ever have. But the truth is, I’m an orphan, and have no idea who my real parents are.”

  “Have you ever tried to find out?”

  “Yes, and I was told that it’s Dr. Barnardo’s strict policy not to release any information about your biological parents without their permission.”

  “Why don’t you ask your uncle Giles? If anyone knows, he will.”

  “Because even if he does, isn’t it possible that my family have their reasons for not telling me?”

  “Perhaps your father was killed in the war and decorated on the battlefield after carrying out a heroic action, and your mother died of heartache.”

  “And you, Clive Bingham, are an unreconstructed romantic, who should stop reading Biggles and try All Quiet on the Western Front.”

  “When you become a famous artist, will you call yourself Jessica Clifton, or Jessica Bingham?”

  “Are you by any chance proposing again, Clive? Because that’s the third time this week.”

  “You noticed. Yes, I am, and I was hoping you’d come up to Lincolnshire with me at the weekend and meet my parents, so we can make it official.”

  “I’d love to,” said Jessica, throwing her arms around him.

  “Mind you, there’s someone I’ll have to visit before you can come to Lincolnshire,” said Clive. “So don’t pack yet.”

  * * *

  “It was good of you to see me at such short notice, sir.”

  Harry was impressed. He could see that the young man had gone to a lot of trouble. He’d turned up on time, was wearing a jacket and tie, and his shoes shone as if he was on parade. He was clearly very nervous, so Harry tried to put him at ease.

  “Your letter said that you wanted to see me about an important matter, so it has to be one of two things.”

  “It’s quite simple really, sir,” said Clive. “I’d like permission to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  “How sublimely old-fashioned.”

  “It’s no more than Jessica would expect of me.”

  “Don’t you feel you’re both a little young to be thinking about getting married? Perhaps you should wait, at least until Jessica graduates from the RA.”

  “With respect, sir, Sebastian tells me that I’m older than you were when you proposed to Mrs. Clifton.”

  “True, but that was at a time of war.”

  “I hope I don’t have to go to war, sir, just to prove how much I love your daughter.”

  Harry laughed. “Well, I suppose as a prospective father-in-law I ought to ask about your prospects. Jessica tells me you weren’t offered a place at the RA schools.”

  “I’m pretty sure that didn’t come as a surprise to you, sir.”

  Harry smiled. “So what have you been up to since you left the Slade?”

  “I’ve been working at an advertising agency, Curtis Bell and Getty, in their design department.”

  “Is that well paid?”

  “No, sir. My salary is four hundred pounds a year, but my father tops it up with an allowance of another thousand, and my parents gave me the lease on a flat in Chelsea as a twenty-first birthday present. So we’ll have more than enough.”

  “You do realize that painting is, and always will be, Jessica’s first love, and she’ll never allow anything to get in the way of her career, as this family became aware on the day she stepped into our lives.”

  “I too am well aware of that, sir, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she fulfills her ambition. It would be crazy not to, with her talent.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” said Harry. “But despite her great talent, there’s an insecurity there that you will, at times, have to handle with compassion and understanding.”

  “I’m also well aware of that, sir, and it’s something I enjoy doing for her. It makes me feel very special.”

  “Can I ask how your parents feel about you wanting to marry my daughter?”

  “My mother’s a great fan of yours, as well as an admirer of your wife.”

  “But do they realize we’re not Jessica’s parents?”

  “Oh, yes, but, as Dad says, that’s hardly her fault.”

  “And have you told them you want to marry Jessica?”

  “No, sir, but we’re going up to Louth this weekend, when I intend to, although I can’t imagine it will come as much of a surprise.”

  “Then all that’s left for me to do is to wish you every happiness together. If there is a kinder, more loving girl in the world, I’ve yet to meet her. But perhaps every father feels that way.”

  “I’m well aware that I’ll never be good enough for her, but I swear I won’t let her down.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” said Harry, “but I have to warn you there’s