Pandora walks along Cheyne Walk. She has been meaning to visit Irene’s studio – her studio – for weeks. The thought of going back to a place where she has spent so many happy hours with Irene, but in Irene’s absence, makes her nervous. But she must go. She’d thought of taking one of her girlfriends, but then they’d be inclined to nose around and suggest improvements. So she is going alone.
It’s a windy day, the Thames is choppy – like her, she thinks. In the big old houses of Cheyne Walk, there’s no sign of life. How will it be, living in this neighbourhood?
She is frightened of going into the studio: it might be neglected and dusty and full of old paint rags and mice droppings. Irene could not work in a space that was not immaculate, but after so many weeks. . .
She turns into a side street. It’s not so posh round here. First right, then first left. There are hardly any studios round here any more.
The white wall of the building looks as it always did. Hesitant, fearful, she turns the key and goes inside.
The room is very light with its huge northern skylight. She sees at once that it is spotless. The canvasses stand where they have always stood, the paint-spattered table is where it always was, the piles of paper and sketchbooks have not changed. But what is surprising is the vase of white tulips on the table. Irene loved tulips.
She stands in the middle of the room for a few moments. Then—
‘Pandora, is that you?’ From the little kitchen at the back of the studio comes a familiar figure, Mrs Avery, the lady who worked for Irene for years. ‘Hello, dear. Yes, it’s me. I’m so glad to see you, Pandora, I’ve been waiting for you for weeks, thought you’d never come. What kept you? I’m in every afternoon to make sure the place is in good shape. I’ve tried to keep it nice. How does it look, dearie? And would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Oh yes, I would.’
‘There, give us a kiss, in memory of your gran. I’ll make the tea, and you can tell me what you’d like changed before you move in and when that’s going to be, and any improvements you might be making – the bathroom is very old-fashioned. Oh, and there’s a letter for you.’
‘A letter? Who from?’
‘There, on the table.’
The letter is addressed to ‘Pandora’.
My darling Pandora,
I don’t have so long to live now. But I am very happy to be leaving my studio to you. Sell it if you want, my dear, I don’t want it to be a burden, but I hope perhaps you will keep it, and look after my plants, they will respond to your care.
With dearest love,
Irene
Mrs Avery comes back in, with two white teacups and a white teapot on a black tray.
‘The best,’ she says. ‘I thought we’d better have the best cups on such an occasion. Don’t cry, dearie, this is a happy place. Will you want to be living here, do you think?’
‘Yes,’ says Pandora.