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The Portrait
by Jon Thorn
Lucy had decided on having a portrait painted almost from the moment she had come into her inheritance. She was the youngest to inherit the title in over three hundred years, and with the title had come the properties - a townhouse on Montpelier Square just off the Brompton Road and a more substantial house in the Suffolk countryside. There had also been a substantial financial legacy, so at the age of twenty-six, Lady Lucinda Westfield was a very rich young woman indeed. As such, it seemed fitting that her portrait should grace the great hall at Westfield Park alongside those of her ancestors, and so she had begun the search for the right artist.

Money was not a problem, so Lucy could afford to be choosy, which was fortunate since there was a strong streak of perfectionism within her character. For Lucy, only the best would be good enough, and it didn't take her long to discover who the best was. In her humble opinion, the only man up to painting Lady Lucinda's portrait was a young artist by the name of Rob Morton. Morton was an up and coming star in the art world. Not much older than Lucy herself, he was already starting to make a name for himself. Lucy had contacted him herself, and he had (albeit reluctantly) agreed to come to the house at Montpelier Square to talk about the proposed commission.

Lucy heard a car pull up outside and glanced out of the window. A rather scruffy, fair-haired young man was extricating his long body from behind the wheel of a tiny little Fiat. Lucy smiled to herself; he certainly had the look of an artist with his unkempt hair and untidy clothes. She went down to the door to let him in.

He was just about to ring the bell, so was rather taken aback when the door opened suddenly before he had the chance to place his finger on the bell push.

Lucy thrust out her hand. "How do you do? Lucinda Westfield."

He recovered his composure quickly. "Hi, Rob Morton." He shook her hand briefly, as though shaking hands was something he was unaccustomed to doing, then followed her through into the house - his eyes taking in the quiet wealth displayed all around him. Lucy led him through into the drawing room.

They both sat, and there was a moment of awkward silence before Lucy spoke.

"Well, welcome," she said brightly. "I'm pleased you could come, this really is so important to me." Her smile was met by what felt like a rather hostile stare. Lucy pressed on. "You see, I'm the youngest Lady Westfield for a very long time, so it seemed rather important to me that I mark that fact by having a portrait done. A rather younger face to hang amongst all the old crusty ones in the great hall at Westfield Park."