Diary of a Painted Lady by Maggi Andersen Page A

landlord rapped on her door that morning, before Milo was even in the ground and offered her a way to pay her rent that made her long to hit him. She’d thrust the rent money into his grubby hand telling him not to concern himself, she’d found work. Despite the lie, she’d almost enjoyed the stupefied look on the man’s face. She had no idea what to do next, only that she would pack up and leave here as soon as she could.
    The next morning, Gina selected the two paintings she thought the best, wrapped them, and took an omnibus into the city. Struggling with the canvasses she walked the rest of the distance to a gallery in Great Russell Street.
    The proprietor stood the paintings up on an easel and stepped back to study them. He stroked his moustache. “They are good, certainly,” he said. “But now Russo has died, I don’t know if I can sell them. Buyers want living artists who’ll build up a good body of work which will increase in value.” He turned to look at her. “You can leave these with me if you like. I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Might I have some money in advance?”
    The expression in his pale eyes lacked sympathy. “Sorry. As I said, I may not sell any.”
    “But Milo’s works are very much sought after. Why, one of his earlier paintings resold at auction for more than double what was first paid for it. The art critics are saying he could become one of the most noted artists in England.”
    “But not a true indication of what his painting will sell for now. And beggars can’t be choosers miss.”
    Her heart sinking, Gina paused to think. “I’ll leave them with you for two weeks.
    Please give me a receipt.”
    She left the shop tucking the receipt into her purse. Her final chance of work lay at Mabel’s theatre. She would have to walk; she couldn’t afford to waste money. Holding up her skirt to cross the wet road, she hurried to the Folly Theatre.
    When she arrived at William IV Street, a street singer stood on the pavement outside the theatre. She must once have been pretty. Now, a mask of thick rouge and powder covered her cheeks, and she’d lost a front tooth. In her tattered gown, she looked emaciated and unwashed.
    As Gina passed, she caught the reek of gin. The girl began to sing off-key and tried an unsteady dance step or two. A couple stopped to cheer her on as she sang
    One lovely morning as I was walking, In the merry month of May,
    Alone a smart young pair were talking,
    And I overheard what they did say.
    Gina put a penny in the girl’s upturned hat, as a scruffily dressed man approached the singer and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and followed him around the corner into the alley. As Gina approached the stage door, she saw the girl pull up her dress. She wore nothing underneath and her thin body looked blue with cold. The man fumbled with his trousers and pushed the girl back against the wall. Gina shivered and turned away as the man’s breathy grunts filled the alley. No matter how difficult things became, she would never resort to this.
    She would rather die first.
    She entered the stage door and asked for Dave, the stage manager. Minutes later, he appeared. “I remember you,” he said. “Mabel’s friend. You don’t sing or dance, do you?”
    “No, but you thought I might be suitable for the statue number,” Gina said.
    He shook his head. “I’ve got all the goddesses I need.”
    Gina’s throat constricted and tears pricked her eyes. “Do you have anything else?” she asked desperately.
    “Try again next week.” The man turned away.
    Tears trickled down Gina’s cheeks and she hurried away swiping at them angrily. She’d reached the street when the doorman called to her. “Dave wants you back.”
    Returning, she found the man waiting. “I’ve just heard one of me girls is sick. Let’s have a gander at you.”
    Gina followed him into the recesses of the theatre. He stopped behind a painted backdrop.
    “Unbutton your dress,” he