by June Gadsby
“You’re not old.” Was I just a little too emphatic in my denial? I didn’t care. His smile on hearing it was so sweet and grateful, and I wished I knew him well enough to give him a hug. “Old is in the mind. It’s all a question of attitude. Besides, I didn’t know that musicians, like artists and writers, ever retired. We’re driven by our passions right to the grave.” I hesitated, pleased that I was feeling more confident. “Besides, you could compose anywhere as long as you have a piano.”
“You’re quite a philosopher, Megan,” he laughed, then became instantly serious, fixing his dark eyes on me. “I feel like some fresh air. Care to come for a walk with me? We’ll whistle up Prince.”
And so, for an hour or more, music, painting, philosophy and France were all forgotten. Or, at least, not mentioned. We walked by the river. We walked largely in silence, side by side, breathing in the spring air and the wet wood odour of rain-sodden bark emanating from the trees. The big Alsatian dog was ecstatic. We took turns throwing sticks for him and he brought them back to us with untiring efficiency.
We examined mosses and lichens on the rocks, admired newts, frogs and toads and laughed together at the sight of a young rabbit diving for cover, its white tuft of a tail bobbing behind. The air was cool, almost to the point of being ice-edged. Above our heads the trees were beginning to push out tiny, bright green, succulent buds and there were droplets of water on the branches that glistened and gleamed like white fairy lights.
I was just about to tell Callum that I had an aunt and uncle who lived in France, so I was very familiar with the country and its people, when his arm shot out and his hand grabbed me.
“Look out,” he shouted.
Even though his fingers were gripping my upper arm, the shock of his warning cry and the simultaneous sight of the slithering snake almost beneath my feet, made me lose my balance completely.
With a sort of sawn-off scream, I whirled about and found myself clasped in his steadying arms. And pressed tightly to his chest. There was a strong heartbeat that vibrated between us. I wasn’t sure whose it was. For that one moment, we seemed to have one heart between the two of us.
“God, I’m sorry,” I breathed shakily, pushing myself away from him feebly. “Has it gone?”
“Long gone!” he chuckled deep in his throat. “Don’t worry. It was just a grass snake and more frightened of you that you were of it.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” I insisted bluntly, though I don’t think he really believed me. “I was more concerned about standing on the poor thing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It’s true!”
I gazed up at him, realising that, although our bodies had separated themselves by a few inches, he still had hold of me. His long fingers were digging into the flesh of my upper arms and it was hard to believe that those same fingers could drift so gently like feathers over the piano keys and produce beautiful music.
It probably wasn’t a very long time that we stayed like that, him clutching me and me gazing up into his oddly surprised face. However, it seemed like an eternity of shocked silence.
“You really do have the most incredible eyes,” he said with a hoarse break in his hushed voice.
I blinked. I think I had time for a couple of blinks before the real embarrassment set in. Callum was just as embarrassed as I was, I was sure of that. He suddenly let go of me and shoved his hands into his pockets. His mouth twitched into a shy, uncertain smile before he sauntered off, back in the direction of the house, whistling to Prince on the way.
I followed behind, not even trying to catch up. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that he had felt it too. The chemistry that had seemed to flare up between us. That sudden blinding flash of scary knowledge. Instant desire. No need to shake or stir. Simply remove the lid and stand well back.
By the time we got back to the house the incident had been put away tidily at the back of our minds. I knew I would take it out and look at it later, when I was alone. I wondered whether Callum would do the same. For now, he appeared to be back to normal. Refreshed by his walk, he returned to his piano and continued to compose while I pretended to sketch him. I, in fact, did hardly more than a few insignificant strokes and one or two candid camera shots for reference. I had been more than a little disturbed by the snake incident. For one moment out there, I had been afraid Callum might kiss me. And disappointed when he didn’t.
What is it with you, Megan Peters? Stop acting the goose. Just because you’re not happy in your marriage, don’t start throwing yourself at the first man who comes along. Especially not a married man. And more especially not Callum Andrews. And anyway, you haven’t known each other for more than five minutes. Just stop it, Megan!
“Let’s break for lunch,” Callum was saying and I dragged myself out of my profound thoughts. “Hilary’s left us some cold lamb and pickles. I hope you’re not vegetarian.”
“I eat vegetarian often for health reasons, but I’m not vegetarian,” I assured him, amazed at how boringly normal we both sounded. Maybe, I thought, I had imagined the whole thing.
When he came back from the kitchen, Callum had not only brought a tray full of thinly sliced lamb, cheese and pickles, but a bottle of Chardonnay, as well as two thick slabs of chocolate cake.
“My wife makes the best chocolate cake in the country,” said Hilary Andrews’ devoted husband of twenty-five years.
There was something in this remark that made me feel guilty because I was almost willing this happily married man to fall in love with me. I knew it was wrong, but how can you stop biology coming to the boil once it’s started to simmer?
I wanted to tell him that he was a very lucky man to have Hilary for his wife. I couldn’t. I would find his agreement too cutting because I was selfish and envious enough to want to hear him say how unhappy he was in his marriage.
“What’s wrong?”
I thought he had been immersed in his work and not taking any notice of me. It was the middle of the afternoon and I had flexed my shoulders, grimaced at the stiffness between them and rubbed at the dull pain between my eyes.
“Nothing,” I assured him with a veiled smile and glared miserably at the failed sketch before me. “I’m probably trying too hard. This one refuses to go right.”
He gave me a wise look and a twisted smile that made me feel that he could see right through me, read every word in my head. He threw his pencil down and I heard his sigh from across the room.
“Perhaps we’ve both been working a little too intensely. Pack up and I’ll take you home.”
“Oh, no.” I had a sudden rush of panic running haywire up and down my extremities, making me clumsy as I gathered up my belongings and stuffed them haphazardly into portfolio and bag. “No, Mr…I mean…Callum. It’s quite all right. You don’t have to do that. But I would like to get away reasonably early today and I think you’re quite right…I mean, about us both working too hard.”
I was rabbiting on like some neurotic female with a bad case of verbal diarrhoea. He was watching me, silently, curiously. He got up and walked over to me, that little frown I was getting to know so well, creasing his forehead.
“It’s no trouble…while you haven’t got your car…”
“No.” My negative response was a little too quick and abrupt. I saw a shadow pass over his eyes and smiled up at him apologetically. “It’s very kind of you, but really…I’d rather you didn’t and…anyway, I have one or two things to do in town today and…and…Greg will be home this evening and….”
I got hurriedly into my jacket, picked up my bag and portfolio and held the latter before me like a shield. Then I kind of side-stepped towards the door. I knew I was behaving irrationally and the humiliation of having Callum see me like this was making things doubly worse.
“Megan?”
He had reached out as I passed him and now his hand was touching my shoulder with a light pressure that made my knees threaten to give way beneath me.
“Yes?”
/> “Do I frighten you, or something?”
“Good heavens, no.” I laughed weakly. “What a silly thought.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” he said rhetorically, then bent his head in order to look me more directly in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, of course I am.”
“Good.” The hand resting on my shoulder rested a little while longer, then, realising it was there, he took it away and shoved both his hands deep into his pockets.
“Do you…do you want me to come back tomorrow?” I asked hesitantly from the doorway.
He scratched around his chin for a few moments, then shook his head. “No, Megan. I need some time alone…” He broke off and stared at me while he chewed on the side of his mouth. “The new concerto’s almost finished. I’d like to work on it undisturbed. Perhaps a couple of days. I’ll ring you. Okay?”
“Yes. All right.”
I didn’t know whether I should feel disappointed or relieved. In fact, I felt a little of both, which is what I admitted to Ros the minute I got home.
“He’s really got to you, our Mister Piano Player, hasn’t he?” Ros pouted her lips at me and nodded her head sagely.
“Something’s got to me, Ros,” I told her miserably. “Oh, I feel so stupid and frustrated and guilty and angry with myself. I mean, just what am I thinking of, allowing myself to get all worked up over a man like that? I had a crush on a male schoolteacher once. I was fourteen and for a while it was wonderful, but there was never any…well, danger! If the man was even aware of my existence I never knew it. The crush was all in my silly head.”
Ros gave a derisive and unladylike snort. “And are you telling me that this time it’s different? Honey, you’re no longer fourteen and innocent.”
“That’s the problem,” I groaned and put my head in my hands.
“And Callum Andrews has already noticed you?”
“Uh-huh. I think so, but how can you tell? Oh, I’m not sure, really.”
“Well, looking the way you do I’d say it would take an abnormal man not to notice you. Look, sweetie, you’re damned attractive and just because you’re married it doesn’t mean that men will stop looking at you. And seen from the other side, the fact that you have a husband, doesn’t mean you’re suddenly blind for other men. Hell, Megan, we’re all human after all. It’s just morals and principles that make us different. There’s no harm in looking. Neither is there any harm in dreaming a little. It’s the touching that does the harm. Has he?”
“Has he what?”
“Touched you?”
“Not in that way, but…Oh, Ros, he just has to look at me from fifty paces and…well, I feel touched, if you know what I mean?”
“In that case, honey, you’d better use the next few days to cool off. If it was anyone else but Callum Andrews, I’d say go for it baby! But with him, gal, you don’t stand a chance.”
I heaved another sigh and knew she was right. I was just going to have to steel myself against my wayward emotions. I was a professional artist and I would just have to relate in a more professional manner to my Mister Wonderful.
Chapter Fifteen
Ironically, it was my own husband who helped me stave off the idiotic, schoolgirl cravings for love and romance in the arms of Callum Andrews. Greg turned over a new leaf. Yes, yet another.
I don’t quite know what got into him, but, after his initial jealousy at my taking on the artwork for Callum’s biography and CD album cover, his mood changed completely. He came back from London a new and refreshed man. Almost the Greg Peters I had fallen in love with as a girl and married in a blaze of hearts and stars.
Almost, but not quite. There was something missing somewhere. It didn’t take me too long, this time, to work out that the something missing was me. Or at least that part of me that dwelled in my heart. But, I kept repeating over and over again, as if saying it would make it so, that if I really gave him another chance and persevered with the relationship, everything would work out fine in the end.
“Well, what do you think?”
I was half way into my new, ‘little black dress’ and slightly caught up in the concealed zip. Greg was standing self-consciously in his black evening suit. He looked stiff and awkward and I knew it had taken some doing to get into the outfit which he hadn’t worn for at least a couple of years.
“Your tie’s all crooked,” I said, grinning. “You look like you’re about to take off, like one of Don Quixote’s windmills.”
“Damn the thing! He fumbled with the black satin bow, his thick fingers plucking at it in irritation.
“Here, let me do it.” I clutched at my unfastened dress and padded over to him in my stocking feet. As I did remedial work to the offending bow tie, Greg smiled down at me and his eyes softened.
“Hey, have I ever told you how sexy you look in black lace underwear,” he grunted and bent to nibble my ear.
“Stop it!” I hissed and, finishing my task, pushed hard on his broad chest. “Now it’s your turn to rescue me. The zip’s caught somewhere.”
But he wasn’t in the mood to be helpful. Typically, he was feeling romantic at the wrong time. We had had one or two nice times in the last few weeks, when he seemed to be doing his best to win me over. It was impossible not to respond, yet I did it all with a kind of flatness inside me that invariably brought on bouts of guilt. I was his wife. I should be able to give myself to him completely and enjoy doing so. I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t bring back that spark of desire that was needed. So, most of the time, I faked it.
Once, and only once, had I felt anything at all. And that was even worse than feeling nothing, because I had closed my eyes and saw before me Callum Andrews and, that night, it was Callum Andrews who made love to me. A fantasised Callum Andrews admittedly. I hadn’t done it on purpose. He was just there in my mind the minute Greg started getting physical. Afterwards, I felt as guilty as if it had actually happened and I made sure that I blocked him out from that moment on.
“Come on, Megan.” Greg was mewing plaintively in my ear, his breath hot against my neck, his thick fingers probing down inside my bra. “We’ve got time.”
“No we haven’t. We’ll be late,” I pulled his hands away. “Greg, please.”
“Oh, dammit! Who wants to go to this bloody concert, anyway?”
“I do and so should you,” I backed away from him and struggled afresh with the jammed zip which thankfully worked free and I could pull it up without it getting caught again. “Greg, this is a very important night for both of us. You and I. Not just Callum.”
“Aw, bloody hell, Megan.” Greg fairly spat the words out. “You talk about him as if he’s a member of the family. The guy hardly looks at you and most of the time, you manage to ignore him. Okay, so I wrote the book and you did the illustrations. That’s fine. But he’s the one who’s going to reap all the rewards and bask in all the glory. After tonight he won’t want anything more to do with us. It’s like that in show business. The big stars at the top use us little stars to further their own career, then they spend the rest of their lives looking down on us.”
“Callum’s not like that. He didn’t have to invite us along tonight, but he did. You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to, but he’ll probably think it a little odd if you stay away.”
“And you’re going anyway, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“And I can go to hell?”
“I didn’t say that, Greg.”
“No, but you meant it. I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Megan. You’ve changed. You’re not the same timid little mouse I married. I never know where I am with you anymore. Before…well, I could rely on you being there…where I wanted you to be, when I wanted you…”
“Then it’s high-time you realised I’m not some puppet on a chain. I have a life too. I have dreams and desires. And what’s more, I have every right to do what I can to make those dreams come
true, just the same as you have.”
He was standing staring at me, nonplussed, his mouth gaping open, astonishment brightening his dull eyes. The proverbial worm was turning and he couldn’t believe it. No doubt he didn’t like it either, but he was going to have to get accustomed to the new-image Megan.
The concert in question was to launch both Callum’s new album collection in unison with the biography, which the publishers had rushed through especially for the occasion. My artwork had been completed some time ago, but I was still struggling with the hollow space in my life created by my no longer being needed to be a part of Callum’s life.
Of course, I had known it would come and, in many respects, I was relieved that I no longer had to sit there a few feet from him, just the two of us alone, except on those few occasions when Hilary Andrews had brought us a tray of something and quickly disappeared after a few friendly words.
Greg’s improved behaviour and the fact that I no longer saw Callum on a regular basis, helped me to be more resolute in my thinking. I was never able to eradicate him completely from my mind, but the separation allowed me to see things more in perspective. My senses were pulling themselves back into order, though I still had some way to go. I had to concentrate, I kept telling myself, on trying to make my present marriage work. Perhaps Greg had been going through a dark, mid-life crisis and was now coming out of it, despite his irritable behaviour tonight.
“I’ve had Andrews up to here,” Greg spat out suddenly and paced the room as he hurriedly finished dressing.
