‘So,’ roared the guy, standing up and sending his chair flying, ‘when did you think would be the right time to tell me what you’ve been up to!’
Alys quickly signalled for the music to start again, grabbing her husband to lead the next dance only, as Huw gave an exaggerated shake of his hips as he got up to join her, a jolt of pain creased his face and then he was clutching his back in agony. With all eyes on Huw – insisting that he didn’t need medical help – and Alys enlisting the help of a couple of burly bystanders to get him over to the farmhouse, he just caught sight of Coralie sidling towards the coat lobby and pushed through the crowd after her.
Chapter Nine
‘Not so fast,’ said a familiar voice behind her, just as Coralie thought she was safely outside. ‘I’m coming with you.’
She looked up at the bright constellations and congratulated herself for not being the type to be easily dazzled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You stay here and find someone else to paint.’
He gave a short laugh and stayed by her side anyway. ‘Have you any idea how much women pay me to immortalise them on canvas?’
‘I pay men for things that are useful to me. Like fixing my septic tank or re-pointing my chimney,’ she insisted. ‘Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but whatever issues you’ve got with this village, it’s not fair to involve me.’ She started to walk down the lane, picking her way carefully because it was slippery and her shoes didn’t feel as clever as when she had first put them on. He muttered something under his breath, then took hold of her arm, steering her away from a frozen pothole.
‘You asked me to be a little more philanthropic and I’ve obliged,’ he pointed out, still keeping her close. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to help with the fund-raising effort.’
She shook her head, trying to make sense of the swirling, contradictory thoughts that were so confusing. Part of her was beguiled by how far Penmorfa’s very own bad boy was prepared to put himself out for her, but the suspicious part questioned his motives. ‘You cheated!’ she accused, still relying on his support to stop her sliding on the thin ice. ‘I don’t know how or why you did it, but that prize belongs to the person who won it!’
Even in the dark, she knew he was smiling. ‘I just know what the paying public wants, that’s all. A portrait of Mair or Delyth won’t get you more than a tin shack for the village. Don’t worry about it,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘It’s just a raffle prize.’
But it wasn’t just any old raffle prize, was it? Only one of Gethin Lewis’s models had ever managed to remain anonymous. Despite intense speculation, no one had discovered the identity of the girl in Last Samba, but she couldn’t afford to take that risk. Being in the spotlight was something she’d much rather avoid.
‘You know,’ he went on, ‘I don’t usually have this trouble persuading someone to sit for me.’
She could believe it. That voice would make a lot of women do far more than just sit for him. A sudden shiver ran through her body at the thought.
‘You’re not scared of letting me paint your portrait, are you?’ he said, softly.
‘I’m cold,’ she said, which was a lot better than admitting she was shivering because she was out in the dark with the tall, dark, dangerous wolf who could gobble her up at any moment.
He unlinked his arm from hers and wrapped it firmly round her waist instead. ‘Better? I believe in making my potential models comfortable,’ he explained when she shot a surprised look at him. ‘I’m considerate, unlike some artists who bend their sitters into difficult positions and expect them to stay there for hours. My demands are entirely reasonable.’
For a moment, her libido got interested in his demands. What would it be like to listen to the soft caress of his voice as he told her how he wanted her? To have those midnight-blue eyes roam over every inch of her body? To be passive, helpless, whilst he did whatever he pleased? Just then a barn owl skimmed past them towards the silver fields, looking for small prey to seize. Coralie was reminded that if she didn’t take care, she’d be in the grip of something difficult to escape, too.
‘I promise you’ll be in good hands. I like to spend time with my model and get to know her, so I present a true picture.’
Just what she was afraid of. To become, once again, the object of pity, or curiosity, or even worse, blame – why risk putting herself through all that again? It was a good thing they were nearly back at the cottages where the window in her front door was casting a welcome square of light across the lane.
‘And how long does it take you to get to know your model?’ she asked, thinking, with some regret, of all the things she wasn’t going to let him do.
‘Six sittings; six sessions over six days.’
Six, six, six. The devil’s number. Which was only to be expected, since he was doing his best to tempt her. Go away, she told him silently. Was this how it would be for the rest of her life? Being crippled by guilt? Living in an emotional void, a bystander whilst Kitty had her baby, Alys and Huw celebrated their lives together and green shoots marked the passing seasons in the garden centre.
‘It’s not too late to go back to the dance and tell Alys there’s been a mistake,’ she said. They were outside her front door now and the light was just glancing off his cheekbones and the curve of his lips as he caressed her with the lovely lilt of his voice, which still betrayed his Welsh roots however hard he’d tried to escape them. It crossed her mind that she must have been a teenager the last time she’d stood on a doorstep whilst someone tried to tell her about all the good things he could do for her if only she would let him.
‘Finding the right winner doesn’t mean you’ll necessarily end up with Delyth or Mair. Find someone who’ll be pleased with the prize. Even in Penmorfa there are beautiful women who’ll fall over themselves to lie on your couch. What’s the problem?’
He laughed quietly and stretched one arm across the doorway before bending his head to hers. ‘The problem,’ he said, softly, ‘is that I don’t want any of those other women. I want you.’
The roar of the sea from the other side of the headland made her feel reckless. No one was guaranteed a happy ever after, but what was wrong with a happy for now? Tomorrow she’d be standing there alone, watching the jet stream of every plane that disappeared over the wide blue bay. Thinking about it crossing the ocean to where the long beaches and coves were sliced open by another waterway. Dipping down towards a city of glass towers shimmering into the air, buildings humming with thousands of people sleeping, eating, making love, laughing. And one of them would be Gethin Lewis, getting on with his life.
‘Someone’s going to find out that you deliberately called out the wrong number,’ she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth, naked and sexy against the black shadow of incipient stubble, filling her with thoughts of what it would it would be like to taste the tang of salt spray on his lips whilst the dark waves crashed on the night beach.
‘But I didn’t,’ he murmured, reaching into his pocket. He took out the square of folded blue paper and pressed it into her palm.
‘Number eleven. Just like yours.’
Coralie exhaled slowly. There it was; temptation in the palm of her hand. She stared down at the ticket, letting her imagination run riot for a few seconds, daring her to claim the prize that was rightfully hers.
But that would be a terrible idea,
‘There’s one detail you’ve overlooked,’ she said, ducking underneath his arm and putting her key in the lock. ‘You’ll be leaving soon, to return to America, and I’m staying in Penmorfa. We’ll never be in the same place again.’
She stepped away from him and from thoughts of what might have been, crossing the threshold to reality and her brightly lit hall. Then she turned to face him for the last time. ‘Since it’s clearly impossible for me to collect my prize, would it be too much to ask you to donate a different painting? Please don’t let your memories of the village get in the way of doing something good for the place. It
may even help you come to terms with the past?’
His soft laughter made a mockery of her stiff little speech. How uptight did that sound? And who was she to give him advice?
‘Coralie,’ he said, straightening up and shaking his head at her. ‘You make it sound as if I’ve got spare paintings lying around. All my available work is tied up in the current exhibition, and I can assure you that there’s no shortage of interest. You’ll just have to come to my studio in New York.’
‘Very funny,’ she said, dryly. ‘I have a business to run, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘A week away won’t make any difference.’ He shrugged.
‘Oh?’ Coralie folded her arms. ‘Because it’s only a hobby, I suppose?’
‘An interest in art,’ he said, quietly, ‘was not exactly something my father encouraged. I’m not belittling your work; in fact, by doing my bit for Penmorfa, I’m helping your business, too. The air fare and board are included in the prize, so if you really want to do something for the village, you’ll do as I say. No portrait means no painting. Think about it.’
The next day Kitty woke up to a sky that was as blue as she felt and a crisp cold morning that was almost as brittle. The winter sunshine beamed onto the floral duvet warming the exact spot below which her baby somersaulted in its secret, watery world. At the beginning she’d almost convinced herself that nothing was happening; so what if her periods had stopped – she was busy at work, wasn’t she? And if her breasts were tender, that was because her period was due, wasn’t it? And with all that to worry about, well, no wonder she was off her food. Yes, it had been so easy to carry on as normal; even her body seemed to be colluding, her young, tight stomach muscles hugging the baby close. The neat bump and heavier breasts could, with careful clothing, be explained away as a bit of a weight gain.
But beneath it all the baby had bloomed from a blob with a heartbeat on an ultrasound scan, to someone who rolled and kicked inside her, making her back ache and her lungs feel cramped as it pushed for more space. And now she was scared: scared of giving birth, scared of the responsibility and scared of having to face the future on her own. Realising that her tears had soaked the pillow, Kitty levered herself up and groped around for a tissue. She gave her nose a good no-nonsense blow and went over to the window where, she noticed, the birds were having a fit of spring fever outside. The birds were right, of course; it was far too beautiful a morning to be moping around – especially when her days of freedom were numbered – so she had a quick shower and wrapped up to go down to Penmorfa Cove.
The inlet was enclosed by steep shale cliffs and accessed by narrow stone steps which deterred most couples lugging toddlers in buggies or grannies on scooters. Kitty was aware of her extra burden and felt as if she’d aged several decades as she picked her way down. In summer, especially on the rare hot days, the fine sandy beach could be bustling with holidaymakers, although most of them didn’t arrive until late morning and had cleared off again by early evening, pretty much guaranteeing you could always find some time to yourself there.
Except that this morning she wasn’t alone. She watched the solitary surfer in his winter wetsuit snake along the silver barrel of a wave before spilling into a crest of foam and considered slipping away before he noticed he had company. But, as Adam righted himself, he spotted her on the shore and started wading towards her, creamy water lapping at his thighs.
‘Hi, Mummy,’ he said, his tone matching the icy chill from his body.
She winced, but found herself huddling a bit closer anyway, longing for a glimpse of the old, easy-going Adam. ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it. All right?’
‘You should have thought about that last night, before you let me kiss you,’ he said, casting off his Neoprene gloves and striding towards his rucksack which was tucked into a rocky niche. ‘Did you think you could fool me like everyone else?’ He pulled at the collar of his wetsuit and reached round for the ripcord, tugging at it impatiently.
‘You’ll tear that if you’re not careful,’ she said, taking over so that she could watch his toned, tanned back appear as she released him. ‘I just—’ She took a deep breath because her throat was so tight it was difficult to get the words out. ‘I just needed a bit of time to get my head round it. Once I start telling people they’ll all be wanting to knit bootees, or buy little outfits, or they’ll be asking me if I know what I’m having and if I’ve thought of any names. I’m just not ready to deal with all that. I can’t believe that this,’ she waved her hand at her stomach, ‘is a real person waiting to happen.’
‘And what about the daddy?’ He turned to her at last, his green eyes glittering in a sudden shaft of sunlight. ‘Is he ready to deal with it?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I … The thing is …’ She shook her head at the damp sand whilst he unpeeled himself from the wet rubber. ‘We’re not together.’
‘That’s not what I asked,’ he snapped. ‘He does know, doesn’t he?’
Kitty folded her arms across herself. ‘Yes,’ she said, cringing, ‘he knows, but he’s not exactly the settling down type. Now can we just talk about something else?’
‘Sure,’ he said, draping a towel across his shoulders and rounding on her. ‘Let’s talk about what a busy time you’ve had in Cardiff. You know, there was a time last year when I thought that you and me might have something going for us. The way you followed me round the garden centre, pretending to be interested in what I was doing.’
‘I was interested!’ Kitty protested, turning her back as his hands moved to his trunks. ‘I was weighing up my mind wondering if I should stay here and help Mam and Dad with the business or if I should strike out on my own. I needed to find out more about what happened here and if it was for me.’
‘Yeah, well it’s quite apparent you found the big city a touch more exciting.’ He buckled up his jeans and pulled on his hoodie, before pushing his fingers through his sun-bleached hair. She followed him as he bent to pick up a pebble, throwing it viciously into the soaring spray.
‘Yes I did, in fact,’ she said, feeling the anger rise. ‘I worked in a great office, and I learned new skills and I had a great social life. And I met a wide range of interesting and exciting people who had more to talk about than the neighbours’ business and whether or not the weather was right for planting.’
‘Well, you don’t need to worry about the weather when you’re planting indoors, do you?’ he said, with a soft laugh. ‘You didn’t waste any time replacing me with Mr Casual Fling, did you? Was it because you were in such a hurry that you forgot all about contraception?’
Kitty spun away from him, stomping through the wet sand that made the going tough. Sheer anger took her up the first steps, even though she was finding it hard to catch her breath, but somehow she misplaced her foot and found herself falling heavily.
‘Oh, fuck!’ She groaned, waiting to see what was hurting most. And then she thought of something worse and braced herself for the sweating and nausea and the abdominal cramps to begin. Staring up into the wide azure sky she watched a seagull’s lonely flight as it soared away from her and listened to the roar of the waves before they crashed against the cliffs. Cradling her stomach, she wondered if that was the closest she would get to holding the shadow child waiting in the wings. The baby seemed to feel her anxiety and reassured her with a lazy stretch, as if waking from sleep, little limbs pushing against her stomach. It wasn’t going anywhere, the baby, she thought, with an unexpected twinge of relief, which made her laugh.
‘What are you grinning at, you fuckwit?’ said Adam, his face like a worried sun appearing in the sky above her.
‘The baby’s all right, Adam!’ She reached up as he knelt down to her and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t think I cared, but I do!’
‘Of course you do, you silly mare.’ He smiled gently at her, making her feel that everything might work out after all. On impulse she nuzzled in and kissed his neck only to feel him stiffen and pull away.
‘Come on,’ he said, sounding strained. ‘Let’s make sure you’re in one piece and get you home.’
Maybe he did care about her? Perhaps a glimpse of what could have happened had shaken him, too? He helped her up the stone steps with more tenderness than she’d have thought possible, so she made the most of it, holding tight to him for as long as she could.
‘So, are you going to tell Alys now?’ he asked as he turned her hand to inspect a graze on her palm.
Looking down at his fingernails, broken by all the outdoor work he did, she got distracted by the thought of how nice it would be to see them every day, before she realised he was waiting for an answer. ‘Not just yet, eh?’ she murmured. ‘I can’t stand the thought of all the fuss.’
‘Up to you.’ He shrugged. ‘But don’t leave it too long or it’ll be too late.’
The track leading towards the garden centre lay before them. ‘Your surfboard,’ she reminded him. ‘Go on, I’ll be fine now.’
Adam stopped and took hold of her hands again. That had to be a good sign. ‘You need a friend,’ he said, with a small smile that revealed his chipped front tooth and made her feel all warm inside. ‘I’m here for you, if you need me.’
Kitty nodded and tried not to cry. Friend. That would have to do.
Chapter Ten
In the workshop a few weeks later, Coralie pressed a button and Doris started singing ‘Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered’. Bittersweet remembrances soared around her, making Coralie tut-tut at some of the more ludicrous lyrics. She had no intention of worshipping any man’s trousers, she told herself, quickly dismissing a fleeting mental glimpse of Gethin’s dark denims hugging thighs that were lean and hard and pressed firmly against hers. She had far more self-control and her pressing concerns ought not to be about a man she was never going to meet again.
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