Lamp Black, Wolf Grey

by Paula Brackston

  “Actually, I was swearing at the spade,” she told him, acutely aware of her grubby face, baggy shorts, and old, sweaty T-shirt. She had tied back her hair in a low ponytail, and most of it had wriggled free of its bonds, so that it hung in sticky clumps about her ears. Laura felt uncomfortable looking such a mess, though she knew she shouldn’t. What did it matter?

  Rhys held out a cardboard box. “I’ve brought you some eggs and a few things from my garden, though I can see you will have produce of your own soon.”

  “Oh, I think we might starve if we wait for that day. Thank you,” she said, taking the vegetables from him. “Thank you very much.” She noticed her mother stand up and peer at Rhys. “Mum, this is our neighbor, Rhys. Look, he’s brought us some homegrown veg. This is my mother, Annabel Frey.”

  Annabel pulled off a glove and offered her hand, “Rhys? Is that a Welsh name?”

  Rhys shook her hand and treated her to one of his smiles.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “Ooh, look, Mum. How’s that for a fresh lettuce?” Laura waved it under her mother’s nose with some satisfaction. “And radishes and carrots, too. Lovely.”

  Annabel’s expression did not soften. “I’m surprised any vegetables will grow all the way up here.”

  “Some will, others will not. There is a short growing season.”

  “And is that what you do for a living? Sell lettuces?”

  “Mum!”

  “What? It’s a harmless question.”

  At that moment Dan appeared from behind the house, dragging his scythe.

  “Good morning!” he said, sounding genuinely pleased to see their visitor. Laura knew he would have welcomed anyone to dilute the presence of his mother-in-law.

  “This is my husband, Dan. This is Rhys. Look what he’s brought us.”

  “It’s nothing, really,” Rhys insisted. “I can’t eat it all myself. Besides, it gives me an excuse to come and investigate my new neighbors.”

  Dan laughed at this. “Wow, I bet those are good,” he said, helping himself to an oversized radish and crunching into it enthusiastically. “Mmm, takes me back to my grandfather’s allotment. Lord, they pack a punch, too.”

  “Rhys was just about to tell us what he does for a living.” Annabel was determined to press her question.

  “Mum, leave poor Rhys alone.”

  “The man hasn’t even been offered a drink yet. That’s not very neighborly of us, is it?” Dan pointed out, clearly happy to have an excuse to stop working. “Now, what can I get you?”

  “Well, if I’m not intruding … I wouldn’t want to hold up vital work on the garden.”

  “Nonsense!” Dan let his scythe fall to the ground. “Got to keep the workforce happy, and these girls look like they need a break. I’ll admit I’m more than ready for a cold beer myself—what do you say?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  At that moment the peace was rudely broken by the screeching of a fighter jet. Laura flinched, and her mother threw her hands to her ears as it screamed through the sky above them. In a second it was skimming the far hill, barely clearing the craggy summit, and then it was gone, leaving only a dyspeptic echo.

  “You see, Mum,” Laura said. “We’re not completely out of reach of the modern world after all.”

  “Afraid not,” said Rhys.

  Laura led the way toward the wooden chairs. “Come on, let’s sit down. You must be as tired of battling with this garden as I am, Mum.” She chose a seat opposite Rhys but behind the small table in an attempt to hide herself a little. She was surprised to find that her appearance bothered her. She remembered the last time she had seen Rhys. She had been freshly showered and wearing a pretty dress. Now she felt at a disadvantage, though she wasn’t sure why. She chatted away about nothing, keeping the conversation going if only to stop her mother from asking embarrassing questions. All the time she was conscious of the fact that Rhys was looking at her. Watching her. Intently. And although she felt uncomfortable beneath his gaze she realized that she also liked the way he looked at her. She wanted him to look, even in her disheveled state. She wanted to return his gaze, but was inhibited by her mother’s presence.

  Dan emerged from the house with bottles of beer and a glass of white wine for Annabel.

  “Here we are.” He handed out the drinks and settled himself next to Laura. Soon he was chatting easily, enjoying being a host, apparently at ease with their mysterious neighbor. Even Annabel relaxed by the time she was halfway through her glass. Much to Laura’s relief she gave up asking awkward questions, subdued by fatigue and alcohol. Laura found herself strangely on the outside, watching and listening as the other three talked of gardens and Wales and mountains and nothing in particular. In this way she was able to observe Rhys quite closely. His eyes were still the same unfathomable blue. His face stern, but relaxed now. His body lean. His hands long-fingered. His skin brown from days spent outside, but not from sunbathing, Laura was sure of that. Suddenly he looked directly at her. The others were talking, but between Rhys and Laura passed a shared moment of stillness. A connection. And a silent acknowledgment of something powerful in that connection. Through it all came Dan’s voice.

  “Laura? I was saying, Rhys should stay for lunch. Don’t you think? It’s the least we can do.”

  “No.” Laura surprised herself with the sharpness of her own response. Suddenly she could bear the strength of his presence no longer. Not here, like this, with her mother and Dan. “I mean, I’m sure Rhys has plans of his own,” she said, trying to explain herself. ’We’ve taken up enough of his time.”

  Dan looked puzzled. Rhys stood up.

  “Actually, I was on my way to the village. But thank you for the offer.”

  “Another time, then,” Dan said.

  After they had waved him off Dan went to the kitchen to see to the meal. Annabel put away the gardening tools. As she walked toward the barn she called back over her shoulder, “A strange sort of fellow. Quite unusual.”

  “Oh, really, Mum, a minute ago you were worrying about me being here with no one for miles around. Now you don’t like it when the neighbors drop by. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I’m just saying you don’t know anything about him,” Annabel said without turning around. She came to the barn door and stopped. Now she pivoted on her heel to face her daughter, her tone serious. “Take care, darling,” she said. “Take care.”

  Laura shook her head and gave a little laugh, but secretly she was in turmoil. Why had this man affected her so? Yes, he was good looking, but they had only exchanged a few words. And for once her mother was right, she knew absolutely nothing about him. Only that he invaded her thoughts. And that his presence disturbed her. And that now he had gone she felt something missing. She finished her beer and went into the house to help Dan.

  * * *

  IT WAS WITH some relief that Laura waved off her mother on Monday morning. Dan had talked her into staying the extra night so that she could travel back with him instead. It was an olive branch, and one Annabel had the good grace to accept. They had survived the weekend without major upsets, but the air was thick with things not said, and the effort of being upbeat about everything had been wearying for Laura. She knew she would feel guilty the moment her mother left, thinking of her going back to London to carry on her life alone. She promised herself to be gentler when Annabel next visited, to try harder, and to make her feel welcome whenever she wanted to come and stay. Perhaps, slowly, her mother would grow used to the idea of Penlan and come to see that the move was a positive thing for her daughter. For all of them. She was about to go to her studio when the telephone rang.

  “Laura, Hi!” Penny’s relentless enthusiasm bounced down the telephone line. “Got you at last! Beginning to think I’d lost you to the wilderness.”

  “I’ve only been here five minutes, give me a chance.” She didn’t feel like being nagged by her agent.

  “Enoug
h time to get things set up? I know how you can’t stand to be without a painting on the go for more than a day or so.”

  “I was just on my way to the studio.”

  “A proper studio already? I’m impressed.”

  “You might not be if you saw it.” She smiled at the thought of what her agent’s reaction would be to the unfinished, dusty space that she had to work in.

  “So long as you’re painting, Laura. Time flies, and all that. How are things shaping up?”

  “If by things you mean paintings, there aren’t any yet. But I’ve got ideas. This place could give me subjects for the next twenty years. I just need a bit more time to find my rhythm again. You know, the move, new place, having had a break … Look, stop worrying—you know I always deliver.”

  “Of course you do. I have every faith, every confidence. So looking forward to seeing what you produce out there. Nearer the time I’ll organize a van to pick it all up. We’ll get everything framed down here, as per norm, yes? I’ll get back to you once the gallery have confirmed the dates. A November opening is looking likely at the mo’.”

  “November? I thought you said Christmas.”

  “November is Christmas these days, Laura my love.”

  The phone call left her feeling rattled. Whatever she had said to Penny about ideas and inspiration she still found it difficult to settle into any proper work. Potching about was all very well, but it didn’t put canvasses on walls. She still felt strangely restless and knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate until her state of mind settled. She had already had one failed attempt at painting the day before because she had not been able to focus. Her mood was in no small part due to the continued heavy, storm-laden weather. She had never known such humidity to last so long without breaking. She needed to shake the weekend from her head somehow and decided a little exercise and an hour or so of being on the open mountain might help. She took her sketching bag and headed up the path to the hill gate. The steep climb pulled at the back of her calves and made her knees ache. She forced herself to march on, breathing deeply, enjoying the physical effort. She followed the sheep track for a mile or so, then turned up across the whinberries and heather. She loved the vastness of the space, the distant mountains, the openness. It made her feel free and unburdened by life’s petty problems. She walked for another half hour before sitting on the wiry grass for a short rest. The skylarks whirred and bobbed about her. High up a buzzard wheeled and soared. Nearby some sheep paused in their grazing to look at her, decided she was no threat, and put their heads down again. The view had a strangely muted quality because of the damp air. The sky was almost opaque, pregnant with rain that was still too high to descend. Laura thought how difficult it would be to paint the mountains when they were like this. How could she transfer all those nuances to canvas without rendering them dull and flat? Cobalt blue and Indian red for the clouds? French ultramarine and rose madder for the distant hills? She remembered Rhys had said the mountains had a hundred moods. She had thought it an exaggeration at the time, but perhaps he was right.

  She pulled out her block and began to loosely sketch the view before her. She had not half covered the page when there was a sudden rumble almost directly overhead. The sky darkened as the thunderclouds lowered with tremendous speed. She barely had time to register what was happening when there was a sound like a hundred cracking whips and a fork of lightning struck the ground on the ridge below the highest point of the hill.

  Her pulse raced at the unexpectedness of the storm. She had waited for it for days, and now it had caught her here, exposed on the open mountain, and she was truly frightened. She had never seen lightning strike the ground like that before. She looked around for somewhere to take shelter, but there was nothing. There were a few leaning rowan trees farther down the slope, but they were barely tall enough to sit under. And anyway, Laura remembered you were not supposed to get under a tree in a thunderstorm. But what was she supposed to do? If she stayed where she was she would be completely unprotected. She was at the tallest point for a mile around, and what little understanding she had of lightning was not reassuring. Logic told her that it would seek out the highest point of something.

  That’s why it strikes trees and chimneys, she thought, and if I stay here, it will strike me. There was nothing else to do but get off the mountain as fast as possible. Another clap of thunder galvanized her into action. She started to run. The springy grass of the path was dry and the earth beneath it firm, so she covered the ground quickly. Another flash of lightning, this time illuminating the whole sky, drove her on. By the third roar of thunder the storm was directly above her, and it was accompanied by simultaneous lightning, both sheet and forked. Laura had never been so terrified. She couldn’t outrun the storm, and she felt only luck was keeping her alive. Luck that could run out at any moment. And then came the rain. Rain that had been pent up and longing for its release for days now hurled itself downward. Within seconds the path became impossibly slippery. She fell heavily, bruising her knee on a waiting rock. She picked herself up and ran on, limping, her injured leg slowing her down. She had reached the bracken now, but the path veered off around the side of the hill, not downward. She realized with mounting panic that she had missed the original track. This was not the way home. What was worse, this was not the way off the hill at all. In that moment, finding the house was not the most important thing anymore. Getting off the mountain and out of the storm was. The next crash of thunder was so loud it made Laura shriek and clutch at her ears. It was as if the storm had swallowed her up, and she might drown or be deafened before she was burned alive by the lightning. Her clothes were soaked, her hair heavy with rainwater, her bare legs mud-splattered, bruised, and scratched by the grasping bracken and thorns hidden amongst it. She tripped again and fell into the ferns, tumbling over and over down the steep hillside. At last she stopped and hauled herself, battered and sobbing, to her feet.

  Get up! she told herself. Get up and run, you stupid woman. Run!

  But she had lost the path altogether now and found herself battling through the near impenetrable bracken. At every step it caught her feet or wrapped itself around her ankles, so that she spent more time on the ground than walking. She dragged herself on. Such was her distress she failed to notice her sketching bag slip from her shoulder as she pressed on. Then, though the rain was coursing down her face with such speed she was half blinded by it, she spotted a building in the middle distance. She squinted at it, spitting out water and mud. It was Rhys’s croft. She let out a cry of relief and pushed ahead with renewed hope. Another blaze of lightning forked into the ground terrifyingly close. She heard the crackle of the electric charge and a terrible sizzling noise as the wet earth hissed where it had been struck.

  Laura reached a steep bank which was slippery with freshly watered mud, so that she quickly lost her footing at the top and slithered downward, coming to rest in an exhausted heap near the stream at the bottom of the slope. She felt herself unable to go on but knew she was not yet safe. Somehow she succeeded in staggering to her feet, and wiping water and mud from her mouth with the back of her hand. A sound close by made her jump. A sheep leaped from its hiding place behind a rock, all but knocking her over in its haste to get away. Another movement made her pause. A figure stepped out from the dense bracken. It was Rhys. Laura had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life before and was sure she never would again. Infuriating tears of relief spilled down her cheeks. Rhys hurried over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

  “I was walking, on the mountain,” she told him, her voice shaky and full of sobs. “The storm started so suddenly…”

  “Shhh. You’re safe now,” said Rhys. He pushed her muddy hair out of her eyes.

  In that instant, with that gesture, he transported her back to another time. Another place. There was something familiar, something Laura recognized in the feel of his fingers on her face. In that second all her fear was swept away and replaced with something else.
Something equally strong, equally engulfing, yet completely different. Desire swept through Laura’s body. Desire and excitement, real and raw and full of as much heat and fire as the lightning she had been trying to escape.

  * * *

  WHEN MEGAN ARRIVED at Penlan the dew had barely dried on the grass, yet already the sun was hot. As she neared the farm she could hear Twm moving about in the barn, talking to his beloved horses. He’d grown so fond of each and every one that he’d bred and raised. Megan knew it was hard for him to part with them when the time came. She stepped into the shade of the barn entrance and let her eyes adjust to the change of light. Her father stood beside a beautiful white mare, speaking softly to her as he lifted the saddle onto her back.

  “There we are, my pretty one, not so bad is it? No cause for you to be frightened.”

  Megan smiled, touched by her father’s gentleness.

  “She is beautiful, Father.”

  “Ah, Megan! You mustn’t creep up on an old man like that,” he said, laughing as he embraced her. “What brings you here twice in as many days?”

  “Surely a daughter needs no reason to visit her father other than wanting to see him,” she said lightly, but turned her face to the mare so he might not read her eyes. The animal bent its neck and sniffed at Megan with wide eyes. “I have not seen this one before, Father. She is very fine. And such a color. Whiter than a fresh fall of snow.”

  “It is unusual, in such a young horse. I bought her cheaply enough, though. Her owner had purchased her for his wife, but the mare proved too nervous. Not suitable at all, he said. She’s too small for a man. She has to be a lady’s mount.”

  “Do you think you can calm her?”

  “We shall see. Of course,” he said, looking pointedly at his daughter. “What would be of great assistance is a maid willing to ride her gently for me. Someone who will treat her kindly and whisper courage in her snowy ear.”

  Megan could not help her grin broadening into a smile. “But where would you find such a person?” she said with a laugh.