Opal grabbed a glass of champagne and wandered over to where Ruby and Heather had gathered next to Johan. It was an unlikely grouping, but the passage of even just a few weeks seemed to have mellowed any tensions.
‘The woman of the hour!’ Johan was jovial as he greeted Opal with a kiss on the cheek.
‘Hello, Johan.’ Opal smiled. He looked well, less angry somehow.
‘And who was that ravishing older woman I saw you speaking to just now? Am I right in assuming she’s another Lady Fairfax?’ His contrarianism was dimmed perhaps but he hadn’t lost any of his mischievousness.
‘That, Johan, is my mother, Sapphire Fairfax to you, and Saffie to everyone else; don’t you even think about it.’ Opal’s tone was teasing, but she couldn’t be totally certain that Johan wasn’t at least considering seducing her sixty-five-year-old mother.
‘That’s awfully unfair don’t you think? Some of us have developed quite a taste for Fairfax women …’
Opal found herself blushing again, as she noticed Heather and Ruby making a distinct effort to look like they hadn’t just heard yet another mortifying exchange.
Luckily, Opal was saved from having to think of an appropriate response because just then, the lights dimmed, and the opening wail of Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s ‘Relax’ streamed from the makeshift sound system. When the beat kicked in, Adam and three other men Opal didn’t recognise prowled into the centre of the room and the audience instinctively melted into the edges. The glass of the large windows rattled in time with the music.
Adam and the other dancers contorted themselves into a series of strained poses, as the smell of sweat and cigarettes wafted in – that was Noah’s handiwork. The performance was joyful but a little perverse, each dancer taking it in turns to be smothered and seemingly devoured by the others before collapsing to the floor and convulsing to the rhythm of the song.
At a certain point Heather leant in to whisper in Opal’s ear, ‘It’s about gay sex,’ and Opal tried not to take it personally that they still thought her too sheltered to understand this not so terribly subtle interpretation of the theme.
When it was over, Noah came out to join Adam and the other performers for a bow. And Opal found a mix of pride and satisfaction in her chest as she noticed various members of the affluent art crowd in the gallery appeared a little shellshocked.
Next up was the reveal of Johan’s photographs. Opal heldher breath as Johan approached the velvet cover for his much-loved dramatic reveal. She closed her eyes as the fabric fell away and heard a collective gasp and a certain heat as the eyes turned to her.
Heather’s piece was more conceptual install than sculpture, and Opal found herself impressed by the experimentation, if left a little cold by the end result. A wire bedframe strewn with the crumpled bedsheets of lazy lovers. On the single bedside table were two glasses, each smeared with red lipstick. On each pillow a deep red stain in the centre of the fabric bled out into a kaleidoscope of different colours. It was, Heather said, ‘untitled’ so Opal found herself trying to attach meaning of her own, perhaps something about the effect of sex on the mind? She couldn’t be entirely sure.
Finally, it was Ruby’s turn. Noah helped Gareth set up a microphone and a single spotlight at the far end of the gallery. A couple of wooden pallets painted gold made up her stage. Ruby seemed unusually nervous. Opal watched as she turned to Heather. They appeared to have a silent exchange, and Ruby took a deep breath.
‘Would you mind if I said a few words first?’ Opal didn’t want to intrude on the moment, but she also suddenly felt like now was the time. She wanted Ruby to have the last word, and that meant that she needed to make her announcement first.
‘Go ahead.’ Ruby smiled.
The glare of the spotlight was brighter than Opal had expected. The static of the microphone cracked as she took it from the stand.
‘Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming. I hopeyou’ve enjoyed all the work you’ve seen so far tonight, and there is one more great artist to come, but before that I wanted to make an announcement.’
When the last of her guests had left, Johan first and then Noah and Adam, before finally Gareth packed up too, the house had felt emptier than ever. It had taken Martin a whole week to work up the courage to knock on the front door and collect the last of his belongings. After that the manor wasn’t just missing people, but purpose. If it wasn’t to house a family anymore, or even a marriage, what was the point of all those rooms?
‘I have decided to sell Fairfax Manor to the Royal School of Art, and I’m using the proceeds to fund a fellowship programme for exceptional and cash-strapped artists, like many of the ones you’ve seen tonight, to pay for scholarships, bed and board.’ Opal’s voice was drowned out by the volume of the applause. She shot a worried look at Saffie, who was standing near the back of the crowd. It only occurred to Opal in that moment that she should probably have run this little plan of hers past her mother. She was relieved to be met by an approving nod, and her mother joining in with the clapping. It was the final push of support she needed to continue.
‘And for my original five …’ Opal was surprised to hear her own voice crack ‘… without you I can’t imagine how lost I would be. You have been my lifeblood and my inspiration. To each of you I award an equal share of the prize fund.’ It was fifteen thousand pounds each. Gareth had been right; there was no other way to do it. The applause started up again, but this time she was buoyed to see the enthusiasm come from the people whose approval mattered the most, the oneswho had trusted her with the baring of themselves, and taught her how to do the same. She looked from Adam and Noah to Heather and Ruby, and then to Johan, and each face smiled back at her.
‘Three cheers for Opal,’ Noah called, and Opal left the stage to the boisterous chanting of her name.
Chapter 51
‘I’m not sure how I can follow that,’ Ruby mumbled into the mic when she got to the small gold platform. The crowd chuckled good-humouredly, their spirits high from the generous flow of do-gooding and champagne.
Ruby cleared her throat. ‘My name is Ruby Tongue, and this poem is called “Fuck you till you love me”, and it’s dedicated to every woman who ever thought that the way to her own heart was through a man’s bed.’
She cleared her throat again.
‘It all starts in the flesh of mother’s bed
But you were lain there by
A man, and maybe a promise of love
You are Love made.
