PART FOUR: you claim a bleeding heart (Teddy/Deirdre)

1. The Gallery
They first meet years ago, just after the War, when they are studying at St. Andrew's. He is an art student, and she is attracted to his bohemian ways and the red-gold comma of hair that falls so casually into his eyes.

He takes her out to tea several times before she gets up the courage to ask him about his portraits. His eyes light up with excitement as he takes her hand and brings her to his studio, a fourth-floor room near the Greyfriars Kirkyard.

There are many portraits, mostly of women, and she looks through them all with a discerning yet appreciative eye. When she looks up at him she sees him studying her intently, as though he is placing her in a portrait he has yet to paint.

'Will you pose for me?' he asks her, and she agreed, flattered.

It is winter, so he first paints her standing by the window, the icicles behind her catching the light and shimmering. By the time he is finished with that portrait, it is spring and the roses are blooming.

The next time she visits the studio, he greets her with a bouquet of roses. She holds them to her nose and inhales their heady scent. She will always believe that this is why she kisses him a few moments later.

He quickly pushes her back to the bed, the roses falling forgotten on the floor.

Afterwards, he picks up the roses and handed them to her.

'Stay still,' he says, 'don't move,' and sets up a blank canvas. She watches him paint her, her clothes still on the back of the chair, his dungarees still on the floor.


2. The Artist
It is a casual remark of Sandy's that opens her eyes to her husband's infidelity. She knows, of course, that he's had affairs since their precipitate marriage, but they do not bother her. It is what he feels for this colleague of his, this schoolmarm, that disturbs her and changes the way she views their marriage.

She's known for years that he doesn't really love her, that he had only married her because he had gotten her pregnant that first time they made love. But she has been content with that realisation, for he had loved no one else either... until now.

It's not so much Sandy's remark that all the portraits of Rose look like Miss Brodie that worries her – after all, perhaps Rose herself resembles Miss Brodie in a way. But it is the way he reacts to her remark that Miss Brodie seems a bit queer – the way he storms out of the room – that makes her suspect his feelings for her run far deeper than professional regard.

When she finds the small snapshot of Miss Brodie in his studio, then compares it with Rose's portrait, she sees what Sandy means.


3. Unusual Way
When he begins spending the evenings in his studio, several years after she first realises he is in love with Miss Brodie, she grows worried. What is he doing up there, why is he ignoring her and the children? She sneaks up one afternoon, when he and the children are at school, and pulls off the sheet that covers his latest portrait from view.

It is Miss Brodie embodied on the canvas, as she knew she would be. It is a very good portrait, she is forced to admit, even as she hates him for loving her. She covers the portrait up again and goes downstairs.

When he slips into bed late that night, smelling of paint, she knows he has been working on his portrait of her.

'What were you doing?' she asks anyway.

'Nothing,' he lies, and begins to kiss her.

'Do you love me?'

'Let me show you,' he replies, evading her question even as he gently makes love to her.

Afterwards, she cries. He is cruel, terribly cruel to lie to her about this. She cannot bear it anymore.

He listens to her cry but does nothing.


4. Overs
He has paid more attention to her in the past year, and at first she is curious why that is. Sandy enlightens her, telling her that Miss Brodie has been dismissed. How else can she respond to this news but with joy? She no longer has such a hold over her husband, no longer sees him every day and enraptures him.

So it is a surprise to her when Teddy tells her over the breakfast table, a year after she begins to breathe easier, 'Oh, by the way, Miss Brodie is coming to tea today.'

Her hands begin to shake, and she deliberately sets down her cup of tea, looking at him.

'She'll be here at five,' he continues, ignoring the glare she directs his way.

When Miss Brodie does arrive, she is not the woman Deirdre expects to see. There is nothing of the determined glint in her eyes, the noble bearing of her head, the aura of superiority, shown in the portrait her husband painted several years ago. There is only a defeated, melancholy, out-of-place woman clutching a bouquet of flowers, its colours garish in the evening gloom.

Her children run screaming through the house, and Deirdre feels a burst of pride when she notices the other woman's discomfort. But her husband is solicitous, drawing Miss Brodie away and up the stairs to his studio.

She wonders what they are doing up there, but suspects that he may be showing her the portrait. But perhaps, just perhaps, he is kissing her in the way he has not kissed her in so long. Her footsteps are loud and quick on the rickety attic stairs, and when she reaches the studio, she is glad to find Miss Brodie's portrait still covered by the same sheet, glad to see that they are not standing together, but apart.

Miss Brodie faces her, stoic and controlled in her defeat, eyes downcast as she follows Deirdre down the stairs.