Life Class (47 page)

‘I’ve made another mug of tea,’ Stefan said as he returned to the bedroom. ‘You let the first one go cold.’

Dory frowned. She’d suddenly realised that the simply framed life-drawing on the wall was familiar, but not because it had been there when she viewed the house. The male subject, seen from the back, was drawn in a black, spluttery ink line, the form indicated in a bright jade ink wash. Why did Stefan have one of her drawings on his wall amongst the other modernist abstracts?

‘Last night, remember?’ he continued. ‘And I’ve brought some toast this time. Breakfast.’

Dory pulled herself up into a sitting position, wondering whether to ask him about the drawing now, or wait. She noticed a large white envelope on the tray he put down beside the bed.

‘Wow, luxury! I can’t recall the last time I had breakfast in bed.’

He handed her a mug and the plate of buttered toast before settling himself cross-legged on the bed next to her.

‘Is Dom up?’

‘You
are
joking? It’s only half past seven. Left to his own devices I wouldn’t expect to see him till midday or later. As it is, I’ll have to winkle him out in the next half hour or so. We have to get to painting class. Leaving by nine at the latest, I’m afraid.’

‘I’d forgotten. Monday is one of my days off.’

‘I nearly forgot, too. It would have been …’ He breathed in. ‘Such a pleasure to stay here with you. But needs must. I’ve had enough time off this year. You have the morning to yourself. You can make your getaway later. Dom need never know who was here. Unless, of course, he recognises your car.’

Munching toast and drinking tea, which was – as he’d predicted the previous evening – a bit musty, they continued to chat about nothing significant. Neither of them suggested how they saw the future of the relationship. He seemed to assume she would want to hide the fact from Dom. Maybe that was a giveaway about what
he
wanted? Who else did he want to keep secrets from? He could be home from college by early afternoon but it apparently hadn’t occurred to him that she might want to stay. Her thoughts infected by countless misgivings, Dory kept glancing at the bulky A4 envelope on the bed. Whatever it was, he’d a made a point of bringing it upstairs. Why?

‘There’s something I want to discuss with you,’ Stefan said at length, handing her a tissue from the box by the bed. They both wiped butter and crumbs from their fingers in silence. Dory waited. He took her greasy tissue and threw it, with his, on the floor. ‘I was going to raise the subject last night. But …’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘Other things intervened. I’d only had a phone call about it, but this morning I had the confirmation.’ He tapped the envelope. ‘Are
you
still looking for a place to buy?’

‘Well … I’ve gone off the boil since you sensibly refused my mad offer,’ Dory replied cagily. ‘But I don’t want to rent forever.’

‘You may have to hang on for a bit longer if you’re interested in one of these?’ He was thrusting his hand into the envelope as he spoke and pulled out a wad of paper. Dory felt the tremor as she reached for the folder of documents. It was instantly clear what this was. The giveaway name was printed on the outside of the folder, promoting an exciting new development – Kitesnest Grove. The plans and architects’ drawings, which she withdrew and lay out on the duvet around her, took little deciphering. There was Bull’s Lane, leading up from the main London road to the common at the top. There were the few houses, now situated along the lower half of the lane, interspersed by fields and copses of trees. And there, over halfway up the hill, was the area of land where now, Kitesnest House and Kitesnest Cottage stood, with nothing between them and the common. But on these plans, those two houses had disappeared. Instead, the land was divided up into an irregular grid of little plots, dotted with houses. According to the bumph and the drawings which accompanied the plans, there were going to be starter homes, three-bed semis, and four- or five-bed detached family residences, crammed onto the site, with roads linking through, around, and back to the lane.

‘It’s only a proposal at the minute,’ Stefan said. ‘Grace’s property has made all the difference. When the probate is finalised, these people want first option.’

‘But how can they do this?’ she whispered, almost to herself. ‘This is an area of outstanding natural beauty. So much has been lost already. We can’t let them continue to destroy what makes this place so special. All those trees! There have to be regulations against cutting down an area of woodland like this.’

‘On the land registry, these woodlands are described simply as gardens.’

‘So what? I thought gardens were no longer designated as brown field sites.’

‘Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that building on a garden is prohibited.’

‘So you still have to get planning permission?’

‘Not my problem. The developers are very keen, Dory. They seem confident of gaining the required permissions.’

‘But surely not for a development like this … with no bus route, no school, no shops. And what about the wildlife? The birds, the bats?’ She spoke as if the matter was out of his hands, as if he had no influence over the final decision. Stefan shrugged.

‘But the money …’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘I don’t see how I can turn it down.’

‘But you don’t agree with this, do you? It’s not what you
want?
Tell me you’re not going to sell to this company. Please. It’s the
worst
possible outcome!’ Her hand was over her mouth and she could feel the tears pricking to her eyes. She gripped his arm. ‘It would be so wrong to go along with this.

No amount is worth this desecration!’

His expression became taut and shut down. She realised, with a plunge of disappointment, that he was unable to see beyond the money.

Chapter Forty-eight - Dominic

At first, Dom wasn’t sure what had woken him. Then he heard the raised voices. He shook his head and lifted his mobile from the floor beside him to squint at the time. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock. There was a text flashing at him. He fell back yawning, trying to remember what day it was. Shit! The memory that it was Monday morning came with an unpleasant jolt. As he’d swum up out of sleep it had still felt weekend-ish. He had to get up for class – but not yet. He could eat and dress and be out of the house in fifteen minutes.

Hard to make out what was being said from the bedroom across the landing, it was a novel experience hearing any voice in the house other than Stefan’s. He didn’t mind if the old guy had a woman in. It was about time. But he wondered where he’d found her and hoped that what sounded like anger was really ecstasy. It would be bad luck to get off with a woman on Sunday only to start arguing with her first thing Monday morning. Unless it was deliberate. Stefan had needed to get his rocks off but now wanted rid of her. Dom had no trouble understanding that impulse.

He’d already guessed who’d texted him – it would be another message from Mel. He’d look at it in a minute, when his brain was in gear with his eyes. Sunday had been unusual for him too. Assuming that Stefan was working in the barn, and fed up with the raised eyebrows, Dom had deliberately avoided seeking him out. First, stuffing his inside pocket with a handful of condoms from the bathroom cabinet that Stefan kept him supplied with, he’d set off down the hill and caught the lunchtime bus into Painchester.

It had been a while since he’d been to the city on his own. On arrival, he was at a loss to know what to do. He could visit old haunts and look for old friends, but these days he was no longer sure if they
were
his friends. They were just people he knew; people he’d been in the home with or people who’d shared his lifestyle. But he didn’t have that lifestyle any more, did he? He didn’t want it. It’d had its attractions. He’d had sex, made money, and got high whenever he fancied, but there was a down side. He knew about the down side better than Stefan or any of the other mealy-mouthed do-gooders. He didn’t need their warnings. Today could be, like, a test, to prove to himself that he could spend time on his own but not give in to temptation. He wouldn’t need the condoms in his pocket. He’d prove it to them all.

Suddenly he realised who it must be in the bedroom with Stefan. Dory was all right, he decided. She was better than her sister, anyway, and she’d been kind to him. But he still wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea of Stefan having a girlfriend. The idea of
anyone
having a girlfriend had always been an alien concept. Just making friends with a girl – that was something else, something he thought he could understand now.

Yesterday had been weird – he wasn’t used to fit girls just walking up to him and starting to chat. The one with dark hair, Jax, was the bolder of the two. But the blonde one, the one he liked, Mel, was quieter and somehow more mature. He’d liked the way she was dressed – a bit Eastern looking, with cool jewellery. They’d all gone for a coffee – well, he’d had a Coke – and he and Mel had talked about everything. During the conversation, though she hadn’t been explicit, he’d realised Mel had a lot more to her. She’d lived in Thailand – that’s why she was dressed like that – and she knew stuff. At first she’d just talked about the exotic beauty of the place, describing the temples and floating markets. But later, she’d talked about the Bangkok nightlife and it was plain that as well as the sunny touristy stuff, she’d seen the dark side. The bar she’d worked in had been bad enough, she said, but better than many of the sleazy clubs and nightspots in the red-light district. She hadn’t needed to spell it out. Easy to imagine the live sex acts performed in those clubs; the ladyboys and prostitutes cruising for business, the girls and boys – often hardly into their teens – sold to slimy sex tourists by pimps. The thought of it made him feel sick.

There’d been a click between him and Mel. Not sex or anything, just fellow feeling. He could imagine making a friend of her. And when he got home, they’d texted each other. He told her about the noises coming out of Stefan’s bedroom. That’d been a laugh. But now …? The voices were even louder and crosser. And he was beginning to tune in to what was being said. Now he’d guessed the identity of the woman, it was less of a laugh, and the anger bothered him.

‘I can’t believe this! I’m in my own home, being told by a woman I hardly know that I can’t do what I want with it! Who do you think you are? Shit! You told me your sister is controlling! Have you ever looked in a mirror?’

‘I’m
not
trying to tell you what to do!’ she screeched back. ‘I’m just trying to make you think! For an artist you’re surprisingly blinkered to the beauty around you! You’re
so
lucky yet you want to destroy this wonderful place, and for what? Money? Christ! You’re not the man I thought you were!’

‘Probably not. We’ve both had misconceptions. If I can’t afford to work, there is no point in living at all, let alone somewhere beautiful.’

‘You’re being melodramatic.’

‘I’ve told you how much it costs. I can’t carry on trying to work without an injection of cash. This property is useless to me unless I can raise some money on it. The simplest way is to sell.’

‘And then where will you work? You’ve already told me that the Wyvern Mill studio doesn’t inspire you. But hey, why work at all if you’ve a million or so tucked away?’

‘Do you really believe that once I’ve got my hands on some money I’d swap my work for a playboy lifestyle?’

‘I don’t know what to think. What I see is that you’ve no appreciation of this house and the countryside it’s set in. And you do not seem to accept that it’s a part of
everyone’s
landscape … it might belong to you in the legal sense, but it doesn’t belong to you morally. You only hold it in trust for future generations.’

‘Future generations with a nice view but nowhere to live. Do you not believe there’s a housing shortage? How the hell can first-time buyers get their foot on the housing ladder? Someone like Dom? The stock of social housing is shrinking. Can you imagine him ever being able to live somewhere half-decent unless new homes are being built?’

‘So you’re just being altruistic? Like a first-time buyer would ever be able to raise a mortgage on one of these. Have you seen the projected prices? Ha ha!’

It was uncomfortable hearing his own name dragged into the row. Even more unsettling was the context. He’d known for a long time that Stefan eventually planned to sell this place. But that was when he’d been an occasional visitor. Things had changed since then; he’d come to regard Kitesnest as his home. It was ages since Stefan had mentioned selling up. If he thought about it at all, he assumed Stefan had changed his mind. But was that just wishful thinking? What would happen to him if …?

‘I won’t let you do it!’ Dom heard. ‘I’ll put preservation orders on all the trees. And there’s got to be wildlife that needs protecting. You told me there’s a colony of bats. Isn’t there a regulation that forbids interfering with bat roosts? If there’s a way of stopping this …’

Chapter Forty-nine - Stefan

Late afternoon sun reflected off her white shirt as Dory paused, one hand resting on the ancient wood of the wide-flung door. Momentarily dazzled – was it the sight of her or the sudden flare of light? – he saw her hesitation as a reproach. Even though he’d asked her here, she was guarded with him now.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said with an unsmiling nod. Using a decorator’s paintbrush, Stefan had been applying the final coat of the white silicone rubber, the one containing the thixotropic mixture, onto the bust. He painted the gloopy material onto the previous layer, turning the revolving stand every few minutes. He usually liked the background murmur of speech radio as he worked. He could tune his brain out to ignore, or tune it in to actively listen. But at this time in the early evening, the endless round of news, more news, and repeated news sometimes got through to him whether he wanted it to or not. It wasn’t as if any of the news was ever good.

In the cool silence of the barn, all he heard was his own breathing, the intermittent drip of the tap, and the soft scrape of his feet as he shuffled from side to side. The noise of a car pulling up outside had been as disturbing as an alarm going off. From his vantage point, even though the doors stood open, he could neither see the car nor its driver. His instinct was to fling down the brush and check it was her, but he gritted his teeth and stayed where he was, painting on the viscous mixture.