Doomed Dynasty Pt. 04

"There's more to come, as not all of the buyers had enough money on them. I took sixteen unframed paintings and one framed painting and all sold, the sixteen for £10 each and the larger framed picture fetched 20 guineas. The girls just clamoured for them. I bet I could have doubled the price and sold them all."

"I don't know what to say, except thank you. I am very flattered."

"Flattered be damned," Patricia exploded, quite forgetting her commitment to avoid using bad language. "You said yourself this morning that you felt that your apprenticeship is over. It's time for you to start painting commercially my darling."

When Matt arrived home he was happy, very happy for Courtney. He didn't say it but was amazed that women would queue up to pay £10 for a painting of a single flower head.

"Well," said Courtney. "I'm sick of doing flowers. What should I paint next?"

Before either Patricia or Matt could come up with a suggestion or two, Reece pointed to the sitting room window and said, "Paint that!" They all looked through the window to the glorious beach and ocean view.

At 9:00 the next day, after taking Reece to school, Courtney began a trial sketch of the view through the closed window. A few days later she was in the bank and the manager took her aside "For a quiet word."

Courtney thought he would be trying to get her to persuade Matt to switch banks as she'd done. She preferred the much nicer interior of her new bank. But no, the manager had seen the painting by Courtney that his wife bought home a few days ago.

"It's very good, in fact very, very good, Mrs Curtis. "Now, see that huge wall behind the tellers? I'd like you to sketch something for me that could become a painting to hang on that wall. Whether or not I find the sketch acceptable I'll pay you £10."

"I don't do large paintings, only little ones."

"Look Mrs Curtis could you paint something the size of a postage stamp?"

Courtney nodded.

"Could you paint something the size of a whole envelop?"

"Yes of course."

"Well, then, what's stopping you painting something ten times or fifty times the size of an envelope?"

"Well, Mr Hampton, technically..."

"Oh, let's not get too involved in details Mrs Curtis. May I suggest that we start with a sketch, say done on a sheet of foolscap. Would do you have any difficulty with that?"

"No. I already have something underway. I could bring it to you in the morning."

"Excellent, shall we say 9:45 in my office for coffee?"

That evening Courtney sized up her best sketch on to a sheet of foolscap, titling it 'At Peace'.

Next morning Courtney had coffee with Archie Hampton. He kept looking at the manila folder she had placed on the desk in front of her. When the coffee tray had been taken away she pushed the folio over to him.

Courtney studied Archie's reaction. He touched his horn-rimmed glasses twice, rubbed a finger down the side of his Roman nose and drummed the fingers of his left-hand on the desk. She was confident that he liked what he saw, but why was he now pursing his lips?

Archie closed the folder, and pushed the folder back to Courtney. He cleared his throat and said, "Excellent, Mrs Curtis." Drumming the fingers of both hands on his sturdy and very scarred oak desk Arch looked at her and inquired, "Could you do this as a water colour, when framed, measuring roughly sixty inches wide and say forty inches in depth?"

Holding her breath Courtney nodded.

"I'm willing to back my judgement about you. I will pay you £250 for your painting. You may take as long as you wish to complete it, but not too long I would hope."

Courtney almost fell out of her chair. Her tongue seemed to swell, so she held out her hand and the bank manager shook it. "It's a deal," she gasped.

It was Matt's turn to gasp when told that evening of her commission.

Five weeks later the painting was hanging in the bank chambers. A photographer and reporter Ali Packard from The Bugle rushed over to confirm what people were talking about. They found a slightly stylised view of part of Main Beach, muted blues, greens and browns with smatterings of white providing an arresting effect.

"Gawd, it looks good. Pity we can't print in colour," said the photographer, taking a shot of the painting that would appear right across page two of the next day's edition. Bank manager Archie Hampton's beaming face appeared in the centre foreground of the photo.

For the next couple of days Archie himself stood at the entrance to the bank, handing out account application forms to people coming to see the painting. Representatives from two rival banks sheepishly accepted the application forms, knowing that the manager had recognised the enemy.

"Passed your bank today," said Matt, at the dinner table. "So many people there I though the bank must have been robbed; took a look for myself. Your painting sure looks great hanging up there and you should have heard the compliments people are making about it. Bet most of them know nothing about art."

"And that would include you my son," sniffed Patricia. "You're now only taking an interest in her work because she's famous."

"Steady on Patricia, "Courtney smiled. "One commercial painting doesn't make me a success story."

"You will be famous, mark my words," replied Patricia.

Courtney went off to answer the phone. She returned, looking very happy.

"The town clerk wants me to call in tomorrow to take me to lunch. He wants to talk to me about doing a painting of the exterior of the Council Chambers and Town Hall in what he calls my unique style."

"Wonderful," enthused Patricia.

"Council's money is good, take it," Matt said. "Pity they are not as enthusiastic about spending it on getting rid of potholes."

CHAPTER 10

In the winter of 1967 Patricia was laid low by influenza. An associated chest infection had weakened her and so she was on medical orders to stay in bed for at least two weeks, possibly longer.

Courtney was constantly at her bedside, with her patient not at all happy about that. "You've got your commissions to work on. Just leave me Courtney. I'll be quite all right left alone. It's not only the Curtis men who are tough characters."

Falling behind with her orders for paintings, Courtney discussed her dilemma with Matt. He listened but offered no solution, Courtney decided to apply a little pressure.

"Can you help out by staying with Patricia three afternoons a week?"

One can always rely on Matt to be blunt. "No, I can't; up to my neck in work."

The disappointment on his wife's face produced an immediate re-think.

"Why don't you get a temp in?"

Courtney looked apprehensive, although pleased that Matt was at least making an effort. She had no idea about how to locate and appraise anyone interested in coming in to help out on a temporary basis. It was the sort of thing Patricia would know about, and would do well at as she was a splendid example of the archetype countrywoman but Patricia was in not state to be saddled with this problem.

"I'm not quite sure of how to go about recruiting temporary help," Courtney confessed.

Glancing at his wife, wondering why she had intelligence to burn yet often seemed to struggle with mundane things, Matt threw her a lifeline. "If you don't know then ask somebody who does. I would go over to the Thompson's if I were you and ask Bette. The hospital is always using temporary staff at peak times and she's probably involved in that sort of thing. If she isn't, she'll know who is."

"Oh Matt, thank you. That's brilliant."

Courtney kissed him sweetly on the top of his head and went to the kitchen to make him coffee. She knew that Bette was on night shift at the hospital that week, so would catch her before she left for work.

A few days later the problem was solved.

"A young woman named Sophia Lorenzo is coming to do some light house work for us," Courtney told her mother-in-law. "Bette from next door knows her and can vouch for her."

"You mean we're hiring someone to sit with me when you and Matt are away?" asked Patricia, incredulously.

"Something like that," smiled Courtney. "Now don't you fuss. If it works out we should try to keep her on. I'm getting very busy and you are too with the presidency of the WDFF. She has a car and told me when I was talking to her on the phone that she would love to take Reece to school and to collect him."

"Lorenzo sounds very foreign," Patricia frowned.

"She didn't sound foreign on the phone."

The next day the Curtis home had a new helping hand. Sophia was short, very plump and filled the house with her laughter. After she'd been introduced to Patricia and left the bedroom after an exchange of pleasantries, Patricia whispered to Courtney, "I think she's gorgeous."

After Matt asked Courtney, "Did you need to hire such a fat woman?" and was smacked on the hand for being so rude he, too, was quickly won over. Ten minutes later, in fact. He'd been thinking of going into the kitchen to get coffee when Sophia arrived at his side with coffee.

"Here you are handsome. Just call me any time you want a drink."

Matt thought he should suggest to Courtney and mother they keep Sophia on. Handsome? Did she really think he was handsome?

Acceptance was not straightforward for young Reece. When told the next morning that Sophia would be taking him to school in her little red car he objected.

"She can't"

"Why can't she?" asked Courtney.

"Because."

Mother and son had reached a familiar impasse but Patricia had no problem dealing with it.

Adopting her deepest voice she commanded: "Reece Collier Curtis, go and get into Sophia's car, but first kiss your mother and me goodbye!"

He went out like a lamb, but moved into the back seat and sat sulking.

Sophia entered the car and without looking at her passenger and said, "Oh, today we have a dear wee baby in the back seat. I was expecting to have a big schoolboy sitting beside me."

She sat there, looking straight ahead. The back door opened, and slammed shut. The passenger door beside her opened, and slammed shut, with a big schoolboy sitting beside her.

The driver shrieked with laughter when Reece sullenly commented: "I think I know why you don't have any children."

On the way to school Sophia taught Reece the first two verses of 'Waltzing Matilda'. The tune fascinated the young boy and he learned the rough meaning of some new words including billabong, Coolibah tree and billy.

"How come you sing that song? Mum says you're from Italy."

Sophia laughed. "No, I think you may have misunderstood her. My parents were from Italy but have lived much of their live in Australia. I have lived all of my life in Australia but we love things Italian. Do you understand?"

Reece shrugged. "I think you are funny, and very happy."

"Why thank you sir. And now may I ask why you did not want me to take you to school?"

Silent for a moment, Reece finally said: "Because my friends will think that I have a new mother."

Concealing her mirth, Sophia patted him on the knee and said, "Just tell them that I'm your mistress." At that she clamped a hand over her mouth. "Whoops. You didn't hear that, did you Reece?"

Reece dutifully shook his head.

"Look, just tell them that I'm your personal maid. It means I have been hired to feed you, do your washing and clean up after you. Do you understand that?"

Reece nodded, and said, "My maid. I like the sound of that."

Later that day Courtney, Patricia and Reece were at the table looking at Reece's handbook he'd bought home from school explaining metrics; New Zealand was to switch to decimal currency in early July.

"This is written for children. I can understand it so easily," said Patricia, who'd lived a lifetime using Imperial measurements and currency based on the English Imperial system. New Zealand had been established as a colony by the British.

Courtney had little trouble adjusting, having lived in numerous countries in her younger day with their different currencies.

Matt came into the room and asked what they were doing. "Hmmm," he said. "I bet the country will switch back to pounds shillings and pence before the end of the year because people won't be able to cope."

Of course, time would prove him wrong on that prediction because the younger generations would know nothing but metric measures and metric currency.

Next morning when Reece was ready to leave for school, Courtney asked would he like her to take him.

"Nah, I'm waltzing to school with Sophia," he said, leaving his mother perplexed. Understanding came when the two got into the red Fiat and commenced singing 'Waltzing Matilda'.

A bonding was underway between a boy soprano and an ebullient contralto, though neither would make it to the stage.

* * * *

A wave of new prosperity was being enjoyed throughout most of the country, and even the pessimists were edging away from their earlier doomsday predictions that "It cannot last."

Even in Miranda's commercial centre there were signs of increased investment, with three shops being demolished and replaced by architecturally designed structures and other premises were receiving face-lifts and interior improvements.

Matt had gone into the Riverside Café for a cup of coffee, knowing that Vikki had taken the afternoon off and had gone off on a picnic with two of her girl friends. He was seated alone when someone called, "Hullo, Matt. Do you wish to be left alone or may I join you?"

Looking up Matt saw it was Archie Hampton, manager of the bank Courtney now used.

"Take a seat Archie, no charge."

The banker smiled.

The two had met in The Settler's Inn singles snooker final the previous year. Archie had won, quite comfortably in fact, to take the £50 prize. However, by the night's end most of that had gone in drinks and he and Matt had virtually been 'last men standing.'

"Haven't seen you at a snooker table since last year," Archie said.

"Nope, got such a thrashing last year that I've taken up croquet."

"Is that so? From what I hear you have been too busy for play, that you're building up quite a nice business empire."

"Is that so? From what I've heard your bank was on its last legs until my lady came along in put one of her paintings on the wall to pull in new customers for you."

"No wonder the ladies like you, Matt. You've got such a silver tongue. But seeing you here has given me an idea. How would you like a free trip to Wellington with a hotel room for three nights thrown in?"

"And the catch is?"

"Your only commitment will be to declare in your written reply to the invitation I will send you that you are a prospective new investment client of our bank. That's all, and I place emphasis on the word 'prospective'. You walk away, we still pay for your trip and with no hard feelings."

"Is your bank overloaded with money?"

"Well, we've got a bit awaiting new clients. You see our new managing director at head office who comes from Orange County, California has new ideas in marketing, one of which is we go out looking for clients. Over in America they target prospective clients who appear to be climbing the money list."

"Well, bugger me. At least one bank is emerging into the real world. But why the invite to Wellington?"

"We're staging an intensive two-day investment symposium, invitation only and definitely no Press. It's really big time, Matt. We're bringing in three specialists from overseas who will present papers, and some of our international investors have also accepted the opportunity to come to rub shoulders with their New Zealand counterparts. That's why we're not including spouses; it will be lectures and forums followed by dining and then continuing social interaction until you drop. What do you say?"

"When is it?"

"Three weeks from next Tuesday the twenty-seventh."

"Hmmm."

"You've got nothing to loose, plenty to gain. It may even lead you to becoming a millionaire but don't quote me on that."

Near the end of that month Archie drove Matt and Ian Owens, the major shareholder of the huge farming enterprise High Country Pastoral Holdings, to the Blenheim airport for the short flight to the capital to attend that seminar. Also boarding and heading for the symposium were Archie's principal from the bank at the Blenheim along with a property developer also from Nelson and an American agronomist doing research for the New Zealand Government throughout the top end of the South Island.

Over drinks that evening Matt told the agronomist that when on the Mariposa a few years ago he'd met a red-haired American crop researcher who was going to Australia, an astute poker player.

"Remember his name by any chance?" asked Roy Flynn.

"Yeah Lee, um, Lee Lewis."

"Well, fancy that. You'll see him in the morning. He's arriving late tonight and will be one of the presenters. He goes round the world advising Governments on crop management problems and introduction of new species. He's a really big shot these days. So he also plays poker? Never knew that."

At dinner the symposium director handed out a huge bundle of papers to attendees, asking them to read as much as they could before morning. Matt didn't think he needed to read anything, preferring to chat in the bar after dinner. But by 10:00 there was no one left in the bar so he wandered off to read something from the pile of magazines on the coffee table in his room. Clad only in his underpants, Matt was reading on top the bed when there was a tap on the door.

That will be the director, checking up to see if we're reading our stuff, thought Matt. Well, he can go and get stuffed. Striding to the door Matt flung it open. His eyes widened. Standing in front of him was an attractive woman, with long blonde hair and wearing a very tight-fitting blue cocktail dress.

"Hullo, stranger; I thought you might like to take me out for a drink, but I can see that your choice is bed. I guess I'd better come in."

She brushed past Matt, and sniffed just under his chin. "Nice after-shave."

Matt was at sixes and sevens and couldn't even remember if he'd put on after-shave that day. He looked to where his trousers were, quite some distance away. Perhaps he should act as if he were fully dressed.

So he shut the door and said, "Elizabeth; nice to see you."

"And nice to see so much of you darling."

"Er, excuse the state of my undress. I'll put my clothes back on."

"Oh, I wouldn't race to do that Matt. I'll call for some drinks and snacks. What's the room number?"

Matt was uneasy having Elizabeth, Courtney's aunt, in his hotel room with him half undressed. He'd better get the woman out of his room.

Elizabeth seemed to read his mind.

"I was at Eva's yesterday and she mentioned that you would be staying at this hotel for a few nights. I didn't show any interest and I haven't spoken to Courtney lately. How is she?"

"She fine," mumbled Matt, thinking that she was probably feeling a lot better than he was right now. It felt as if the room was heating up.

There was a knock at the door and Elizabeth responded, returning with a bottle of brandy, ice and a variety of mixes. She put them down on the coffee table and turned to Matt.

"Oh, you poor boy. You're perspiring." She began removing her clothing. "It's hot, let's take a shower."

Matt stared as Elizabeth removed her top and then pulled away her bra to free her breasts. They were bigger than he'd expected and he rather liked heavy hangers. He licked his lips and adjusted his rising erection, noticing Elizabeth's sly smile of approval. Well if she wanted it up her, she could have it.

Elizabeth knelt in front of Matt on his chair and unzipped him and pulled it out gently and then began to lick it. He was astonished. It had taken him more than six months to get Courtney to get her to suck his dick and she'd only do it after having had a few drinks. Although Vikki took him into her mouth she only gobbled the head of his dick.