She had tried to be understanding when, increasingly, he’d been unable or unwilling to make love, but sometimes she despaired of ever hearing the rise and fall of his breathing beside her in bed again, or of feeling the fortress of his arms wrapping round her.
‘Just leave it, will you?’ was all he would say when she’d begged him to talk about the problem. But the most hurtful moment had been when he’d taken himself off to the spare room the previous summer, when Alys’s hot flushes were keeping them both awake, and just when she was feeling especially insecure. It had been a painful and difficult time. A dark chasm had opened before them, yet somehow they had both, separately, looked over the precipice and had decided to step back from the edge. But even their most casual moments of intimacy were still forced and unnatural.
Nevertheless, Huw smiled as she padded into the room in her socks, having kicked off her boots at the door. ‘Your fingers are cold,’ he told her, catching her hand just briefly, before turning to pour her a glass of wine. ‘Go and sit by the stove and warm up. Kitty’s turned in for an early night so we didn’t wait for you to eat.’
‘Is she unwell?’ Alys worried.
Huw pulled a face. ‘She’s just tired, you know, thinking about this wedding styling scheme of hers. I’ve saved you some lasagne.’
When Huw placed it before her, she chewed a forkful and forced herself to swallow.
‘The meeting went on a bit, didn’t it?’ he said, wiping his hands on the red check tea towel.
‘Mair took a bit of convincing before she signed the paperwork. She still can’t believe that Gethin’s work is worth good money. She’s obsessed with how we’re going to make the repayments on the loan. What she refuses to see is that it’s little more than a paper exercise with the sum we’re about to raise from the sale of the painting.
‘And then I stayed on to talk to the Vicar. I think she’s finding looking after five churches a bit of a struggle. It doesn’t help that her husband’s academic research has taken him away from home so much lately, of course. I know she misses him when he’s not there. Oh, and we’ve confirmed the date for the official handover of Gethin’s painting and the date for the charity auction.’
‘Alys, you don’t need to account for every minute,’ he said lightly.
He ran some hot water and began scraping at the empty lasagne dish. Alys gritted her teeth as the noise went through her and fought the urge to tell him just to leave it to soak. How many more times would she have to remind him that he’d waste less water dumping everything in the dishwasher? Thirty years of marriage and he still made a ritual out of hand washing dishes at the sink. She stopped pushing pasta round her plate and put her fork down.
‘Finished?’
She watched his back as he worked at the sink, wiping her plate and rinsing it under the tap. More waste. ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ she begged, ‘why don’t you stop doing that and sit down with me?’ He dried his hands again, screwing up the tea towel and leaving it in a damp heap beside the sink. Alys resisted the urge to march over, shake it out and hang it neatly on the stove. Or maybe it was Huw who needed a good shake. Finally, he lowered himself into the Windsor chair at the other side of the long pine table. One of the cats jumped into his lap and Alys watched as his strong fingers burrowed into the soft fur behind its ear as Edith looked on jealously.
‘All right, let’s talk.’
Alys waited, suddenly nervous.
‘When are you going to get round to telling me that our daughter’s expecting our first grandchild?’
Alys breathed again. This was not the conversation she would have chosen to have, but it was one they needed to have. Soon she would have to face up to Huw and talk to him about the other problem on her mind. Delyth and Mair might only be stabbing in the dark, but some of their comments were keeping her awake at night. For now, this was a more immediate issue. One thing at a time.
‘I haven’t discussed it with you, Huw, because so far Kitty hasn’t even been able to tell me.’ She laid her hand on the table, hoping that he would take it. ‘I wanted to give her the opportunity to discuss it with us in her own time. We have to let her come to terms with the changes she’s facing in her own way, Huw. She’s always worked her problems out by herself, ever since she was a little girl. I’d rather give her some space here, where I can keep an eye on her, than press her and have her take flight. Just try to be patient …’
‘Don’t you think, Alys,’ he said, standing up suddenly and sending the cat flying, ‘that my patience has been tried enough?’
Alys heard the cut of his breath as he sat in the back lobby and changed his slippers for gardening boots. Edith scampered after him. There was a rasp as he zipped up a fleece, the rustle of waxed cotton as an outdoor coat was shrugged on, then the slamming of the door.
Gethin glanced down at Coralie, who was subdued, at his side. When he’d taken her by surprise that morning and invited her out for an evening date, he’d been secretly hoping for a warmer response, but instead she’d been rather fretful about the lack of progress on the portrait. He had to admit to some mild feelings of concern himself. Great apes had produced superior artwork to his clumsy daubs. Nothing he applied to the canvas came close to capturing Coralie. How tough could it be when those colours and curves just invited themselves to be traced in sensuous strokes?
‘So now you’ve got it so bad you can’t even be in the same room as her when you paint,’ Ruby had commented that morning, when she’d found him alone in the studio staring impotently at his failed portrait. But Ruby talked a load of rubbish; all he needed was to get a proper look at Coralie. Some talent would help, too.
‘I’m taking her to the opera. I think it’ll help to catch her off-guard, when she’s not so aware of being watched. I can always finish the work later.’
‘You’re going to have to. There’s a lot of setting up to do before the reception. It’ll take both of us to keep Pamala Gray happy,’ she’d scolded, shaking her head. ‘Opera? You said those Puccini arias all sound the same.’
‘It’s Bizet,’ he informed her, trying to gain the upper hand. ‘Carmen, acclaimed for the brilliancy of its melody and harmony.’
‘“Love is a rebellious bird”’, said Ruby, mysteriously, adding in response to his raised eyebrows, ‘It’s a line from one of the show’s big numbers.’
‘All right, you proved you know more about opera than me,’ he admitted. ‘I just want to show her the Met.’
‘Just the Met?’
Ruby was always ready to speak her mind, but Coralie was probably too kind to wonder out loud if his skills really were as limited as some critics had suggested. He realised how much her good opinion mattered to him and he was fast running out of time to earn it.
‘Now, that’s what the tourist guides would recommend you do for a romantic date,’ he pointed out as they skirted the corner of Central Park and saw the lines of horse-drawn carriages waiting to take couples on a tour.
She looked at him warily, but at least it was nice to see her face rather than her cold shoulder.
‘And it’ll part you with your cash pretty smartish,’ he added as an aside, before they turned into West 63rd Street, the constant pulse of yellow cabs just slowing for the lights at Columbus. ‘But I think a ride in the park is overrated,’ he felt her stiffen beside him, ‘compared to this.’
Coralie slowed to a halt and her hand flew up to her mouth as the Lincoln Center and the white façade of the Metropolitan Opera House, with its five distinctive arched windows lit up, appeared in front of them. Gethin wasn’t a great believer in guardian angels, but he offered up some silent thanks to his, just in case. If his artistic powers had deserted him, his observant eye served him well. He’d run an inquisitive eye over Coralie’s music and film collection, the evening he’d nearly run her into a ditch in Penmorfa. One film in particular had attracted his attention because it wasn’t anything to do with Doris Day.
‘Thank you,’ she said, stopping him as t
hey reached the top of the steps before crossing the plaza. ‘This is very special. I know this is going to sound silly, but I’ve always wanted to do this ever since I saw that film, Moonstruck. One of my favourite scenes is when Cher, as Loretta Castorini, and Nicolas Cage, as Ronny Cammareri, all dressed up in their evening clothes, are searching the crowds for each other in vain, then catch that first sight of each other by the fountain here.’
‘What a coincidence.’ He grinned. ‘Shame it wasn’t a premiere or the season’s opener, or we could have done the whole black tie thing.’ He thought of her in a strapless evening gown and a waterfall necklace of diamonds and pearls warm in her cleavage.
‘That would have been fun, but I’m glad I didn’t wear my ball gown tonight, I might have felt a little overdressed,’ Coralie admitted, looking at the people swarming towards the doors and the predominantly smart but casual vibe.
Gethin rather wished she had. Somehow it made him think about undressing her; peeling back that cashmere wrap would be a start so that he could see what it was that was silky and sleeveless and floated from her shoulders and swung just above her knees. As it was her distinctive perfume was giving him ideas about nuzzling her neck and burying his face in the feminine, floral scent of her.
‘What is that perfume you’re wearing?’ he asked, lightly, glad that she was too busy soaking up the sights to pay too much attention to his question.
She gave him a quick, wry smile, ‘Je Reviens.’
Yep, he ought to be able to see the funny side of that, too. She wouldn’t be returning, would she? A couple of days and she’d be out of his life for good. No complications. Just the way he liked it. Since they were just by the fountain, radiant with white light and sparkling in the middle of the plaza, he stopped and stepped back to look at her.
‘Coralie, you look beautiful. Thank you for coming with me tonight.’ Then he took one of her hands and kissed it. ‘How’s that, Loretta?’ He winked, and felt ridiculously pleased that he’d mugged up on the film when she raised her eyebrows and gave him a delighted smile. The next thing he knew he’d wrapped a hand round her waist, pulling her towards him so he could feel the sweet warmth of her body close against his.
In the maelstrom of voices and footsteps surrounding them, there was a moment of stillness as her smile faded and her soft tawny eyes held his.
‘So,’ she said, slipping out of his arms, ‘are we going inside or is this as far as we get?’
He wanted to tell her he’d like to go much further, only the show was about to begin and her eager glance towards the arched windows showed him how keen she was not to miss it. If the only way he could get her to look at him for any length of time was in the studio, he was certainly losing his touch.
Coralie shuffled forward with the surge of people squeezing through the door behind a silver-haired Japanese man, who was keeping a protective hold of his petite, beautiful wife. At least she could pretend that her burning face was due to the crush of bodies all around her. She must have imagined that seductive message in Gethin’s dark eyes.
What would a man like him see in her anyway? She’d overheard one or two cruel comments, back in the days of the management consultancy, from men who’d stereotyped her because of her job and the serious dress code that went with it. And Gethin had already decided that her idea of a good night was the ten o’clock news and a mug of Horlicks, making sure, of course that she’d removed her makeup and brushed her teeth first. The really depressing thing was that he was right.
Once inside the opera house, the sight of the huge Chagall murals each side of a stunning starburst crystal chandelier made it impossible for her to dwell on wistful thoughts about Gethin Lewis. Instead, she quietly enjoyed the feel of his hand on the small of her back as he gently guided her through the crowds, up the curving white marble staircase carpeted in plush red, to the front row balcony. As she sat there, feeling the strong, comforting pressure of his arm against hers, under the golden glow of the auditorium’s gilded ceiling, she made up her mind to forget about the disastrous sittings, to forget about Penmorfa and the church hall fund and simply enjoy every moment of the evening.
‘It’s about to begin,’ Gethin said, leaning closer and pointing at the elaborate crystal chandeliers gracefully rising upwards to open the view of the stage. The excited murmurs and last-minute coughs from the audience reached a crescendo then abruptly died away. Fizzing with pleasurable anticipation, Coralie smiled up at Gethin, who surprised her by reaching across and laying his warm hand over hers. Before she could decide what to do about it, the curtains opened to reveal two figures under an intensely vivid gash of crimson. And as the dancers moved across the stage in a thrilling and tempestuous pas de deux, anticipating the love affair between Carmen and Don José, she simply sat back and surrendered herself to the whole experience.
‘Oh, that was amazing!’ she said, fighting to be heard above the sustained applause which split the dramatic silence at the end of the performance. ‘What a production! So professional and such wonderful voices. Mind you, the story’s depressing. Poor Don José, he paid a heavy price for falling in love with the wrong girl, didn’t he?’
‘Yep, they should have listened to Doris. Their lips certainly shouldn’t have touched!’ He laughed. ‘Now, would you like a drink, since you didn’t have one in the interval? We can get one here?’
Back to reality. She’d been too busy people-watching, laughing and chatting with Gethin and simply absorbing the atmosphere of the occasion to want to leave her seat during the intermission, but the evening was rapidly drawing to a close. She shook her head, gaining herself some time to squash down the sudden lump in her throat that was making it hard to talk.
‘No, you’re right.’ He reached for her hand as they stood up to squeeze along the row of seats. ‘We’ll go somewhere quieter.’ He started to edge his way forward. ‘Isn’t that what always happens in opera?’ he asked, over his shoulder, as they waited for a gap. ‘They were two people from different sides of the tracks. They were never going to settle down in a cottage with roses round the door and have babies together.’
He could have been speaking about them, thought Coralie, a sudden sense of anti-climax making her feel glum. ‘Just because you can see it coming doesn’t mean you have to like it,’ she mumbled.
He stood back to allow her to thread her way into the queue of people squeezing towards the stairs and fell into step behind her. Imagine if she’d fallen for Gethin Lewis, she thought, trying to ignore the warmth of his body against hers as he ushered her through the throng.
Two people from different sides of the ocean. What chance could there be for them when the place of her dreams was the place of his nightmares? Move over darling? Not a hope; of course it would never work.
‘Thank you for tonight, Gethin,’ she said, making a determined attempt to compose herself once they were outside. ‘I’ll always remember it.’
‘And so will I, Coralie.’ He smiled. ‘You may be a lousy model but your face was a picture there. You lived every moment of that story, didn’t you?’
Not the opera, she wanted to tell him, the evening. To put all her problems to one side for a few hours and to sit there, daring to dream that the attractive man holding her hand was someone who cared for her, had given her a glimpse of how life could be. She closed her eyes before the shimmer of tears she could feel welling up were caught by the sparkle of the strings of white lights in the trees and betrayed her.
‘Hey.’ He lifted her chin. ‘I was joking about the model bit. It’s not you. It’s me.’ His hand was warm against her cheek and it took all she had not to lean into him when she was so aware of how very lonely her life had become.
‘Coralie?’
The lilt of his accent almost made her knees buckle. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes to find his dark gaze on hers, full of yearning. In her head, she could hear Doris Day singing out a warning, telling her that their lips shouldn’t touch, but Coralie ignored her. Who care
d about the rest of the world? Who cared about tomorrow? Then her arms went up and she lifted her face to meet his lips as his mouth came down on hers. All that mattered was the heat of his hands through the silk of her dress and his hot, hard body pressing against hers.
Oh, the relief of giving into what every fibre of her being had been crying out to do was all the sweeter for the agony of waiting. This was Gethin. Gethin Lewis, who’d branded himself on her imagination ever since that first unforgettable glimpse of him on the other side of her fence. She pressed her hands to the hard planes of his face, breathing in his citrus cologne blended with the warm, clean male smell of him, the rough brush of his stubble against her fingertips confirming he was real. Just for a fraction of a second, she almost laughed at the novelty of what she was doing – kissing Gethin Lewis, the man she’d almost maimed in her garden – but then his mouth moved against hers, demanding her attention, sweeping her away on a raft of delicious sensations and dark promise of what might come.
‘Coralie?’
She pulled away reluctantly. That he’d even been capable of breaking off in the middle of a kiss to her was a bit depressing. Maybe she wasn’t getting it right. Just the way his tongue teased her lips made her gasp with pleasurable anticipation and set her skin tingling. If she’d been having half the effect on him, he wouldn’t have been able to come up for air. But then he thought she was prim and proper, neat and tidy. She’d have to try harder to banish any lingering impressions he might have had about her preferring a cup of tea to making love.
‘We’re becoming a sideshow here,’ he said, gently, when she looked up to meet his eyes. ‘Would you like to go somewhere a bit less public?’
Still wrapped in his arms, she peered round him. Yup, they were still in the Lincoln Center, weren’t they? No wonder people were grinning at them or walking away shaking their heads. She buried her face in his chest before looking up at him and nodding.
Move Over Darling Page 15
