Move Over Darling (14 page)

Gethin came out from behind his easel. His ruffled dark hair made her thoughts stray to wondering how it would feel to push her fingers through it. What would it be like, she tried to imagine as he lifted his chin and ran his hand across his stubbled jaw, to feel the hard, rough touch of his skin against hers? Now, if she was more like Kitty, she wouldn’t be wasting time thinking about it, she’d be grabbing some excitement whilst she could. Coralie came to and found him glowering at her with passionate intensity. Had the sight of her, wobbling on a stool, with her bra straps pulled down beneath some orange sheet thing Ruby had wrapped round her, pushed him over the edge?

‘Your shoulders are drooping and you’re fidgeting around all over the place,’ he complained, throwing his brush down. ‘No wonder I can’t get this right. Okay, everyone, we’ll have to leave it there.’

‘Not going so well, eh?’ said Ruby, once Gethin had sent Coralie off to explore the stores, because he couldn’t stand the frustration of looking at her and not being able to paint her any longer. ‘Why’s that?’

Gethin scratched his head to see if it would stimulate his brain into coming up with an answer he liked better. ‘Post success stress?’

Ruby laughed. ‘That’s a new name for it.’

He pointed to the brushes in the sink, indicating that she should get on with it. ‘I’m serious. Everything’s ready for the exhibition, but there’ll be the usual merry-go-round with the press to deal with afterwards.’

‘The press come with the joy of being the people’s painter,’ Ruby said above the noise of the running tap. ‘Remember that when you get your next print royalties.’

Make that ‘if’, he nearly admitted. According to his solicitor, the administrators who’d taken over the firm that had handled all the reprints were still doing their best to avoid settling up with him. ‘Of course,’ he acknowledged airily, ‘but it makes it hard to concentrate on a new work.’

‘Something’s hard,’ Ruby muttered.

Gethin strolled over, leaned against the sink so he could glare at her more easily and folded his arms. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Making a decision,’ she said, shaking out a wet brush so that it sprayed over his shoulder. ‘You see, I’ve spent many hours watching you in this studio. You flirt, charm, pay compliments so the sitter relaxes, but all the time, you’re watching and working. A brush stroke here, a retouch of colour there – you’re fast, perceptive, you flatter them with a sheen of glamour so they’ll tell their friends, who’ll want the same. But this time,’ she looked at him with an amused grin, ‘you don’t even know where to begin.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ He snorted. ‘I’ll just have to study her more closely.’

He turned his back on Ruby whose penetrating gaze had all the innocence of an Exocet. Yep, that’s what he’d do. The more opportunities he had to study his subject, the better her portrait would be. And once he’d painted out his current obsession, he could get back to his normal, untroubled life and stop thinking crazy thoughts about Coralie Casey.

‘This sitting’s cancelled,’ he told Coralie when she turned up at the studio the next morning, ignoring Ruby who was smirking at him knowingly.

‘We’ll run out of time if we don’t get on with it,’ said Coralie, not looking best pleased.

‘Not all guys can perform on demand,’ Ruby butted in, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her gum round her cheeks.

He fixed her with a death-ray glare. ‘If you’d just let me explain,’ he went on, ‘I’m cancelling the sitting because we’re going out for the day instead. It’s just as valid a way of building up a picture of you as studying you in my studio.’

Better, in fact, he thought, ignoring Coralie’s doubtful expression, because he wouldn’t have Ruby psychoanalysing him or sniggering at him behind his back.

Battery Park was one of his favourite places. As much as he enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the city, he liked the breezy walk along the waterfront, enjoying all the contrasts like the juxtaposition between the upscale condos and the monuments to the past. Once upon a time important visitors arriving by sea were heralded by enormous jets of water pumped into the sky by fireboats from Pier A. If, like him, those crews could see Coralie’s hair making such a vibrant splash of colour against the shimmering blues of the Hudson River, the big sky and the glass towers of New Jersey glinting on the opposite bank, he was sure they’d be out there again today, queuing up to pay tribute.

He’d taken her to the National September 11 Memorial first; the water, like so many tears, cascading down into the pools where the Twin Towers once stood. So many lost and fractured lives. In a palpably sad and sombre atmosphere, they’d stood to pay their respects before moving on. Now, drawn by the bright sunshine on another freezing cold day, they joined the couples strolling along the Esplanade, the joggers and dog-walkers proof that ordinary life and simple pleasures could and should resume after tragedy.

He turned to her, hoping to see her big smile widening with pleasure and was taken aback by her glum expression.

‘Oughtn’t we be getting back to the studio now?’ she asked, an anxious frown creasing her brow. ‘Six sittings, you said. This is my third day here – how are we going to fit them all in?’

‘You know, your haste to get away from me is a little indecent,’ he told her, slightly miffed that he wasn’t making half the impression on her as she was on him. ‘Especially since you kept me waiting so long in the first place.’

‘Why draw this thing out any longer than is necessary?’ She shrugged, with another frown. ‘Shouldn’t you get it out of the way so that you can concentrate on your exhibition?’

‘The more I concentrate on you,’ he reminded her, ‘the quicker we’ll be done. Just relax, will you, or you’ll risk missing what’s so fantastic about this city. Take a look at that, for example.’ He pointed to the waterfront.

‘Oh! It
is
beautiful,’ she said, and he could see some of the tension leave her shoulders. ‘It’s a vast stretch of water, so much bigger than I expected! And it’s wonderful to smell sea air again!’

She pushed her hair back as the spring breeze lifted it in a ripple of copper waves.

Nope, he thought, trying to frame the image to keep in his mind’s eye, he definitely wouldn’t have been able to catch that joyous expression in his studio. The idea of simply walking round with her was a stroke of genius, except that everywhere they went would always be indelibly stained by the memory of her, which didn’t seem quite so clever. He was willing to bet there was nothing in the Sweet Cleans range strong enough to wipe away anything like that.

‘Anyone would think you’d been away from it for weeks,’ he told her. ‘You’re not feeling that cooped up already, are you?’

A pair of cute girls in running vests jogged towards them, but he was too busy watching Coralie, waiting for her to wrinkle her nose, or tilt her head on one side whilst she thought about it. All the funny little expressions he was learning about.

‘This city’s amazing, but I wouldn’t want to move away from the sea,’ she said, with a quick, shy smile that made him catch his breath. ‘Not now I can walk to the beach every day.’

And he wouldn’t go back to Penmorfa, not once he’d discharged his duties there. He’d made his mind up about that a long time ago, only now when he thought about it, it made him feel depressed. He shot a quick glance at Coralie just to prove to himself that it was nothing to do with her and saw that she was rapt at the sight of a Chihuahua dressed in a pink frock and sitting in a buggy being pushed by an elderly Japanese woman. Another dumb mutt had beaten him to her affection.

Not that he was looking for her affection, he reminded himself. She wasn’t even his type, he thought, taking a quick mental note of the way her eyes crinkled with amusement. His preference was for women who knew how to play the game. Who wouldn’t bug him in the morning, or nag him for an engagement ring. Coralie was just a lovely, uncomplicated woman trying to live the good life in the countryside – although once she woke up to the reality, she’d find, like all the rest of the incomers in search of the dream, that you couldn’t spin gold out of straw. It still peeved him that she didn’t even seem to notice he was there.

Still, it wasn’t all bad if he experienced the odd frisson. In the studio it would add something extra to the painting and Ruby would have to eat her words and praise his dedication to his work. But something was upside-down when he was starting to take account of what Ruby thought, he frowned to himself. Who was the master and who was the pupil here? Besides, he had the rest of his life to think about work, but less than a week to think about Coralie. It was plain good manners to see that she got the most out of her visit.

She suddenly grabbed his arm. ‘Look!’ she said, as if he’d never noticed it before, ‘the Statue of Liberty! And I was so determined not to be impressed,’ she said, darting in front of another jogger for a better look. ‘I’ve seen it so many times on screen – but it just takes your breath away, doesn’t it?’

‘You think it would survive as such an enduring symbol if you could pin it down so easily?’ he asked, trying to ignore the voice that was asking him if he wasn’t trying to do just that with the real live woman in front of him. ‘Everyone thinks they know New York from the movies, but you have to be here to know how it really feels.’

‘No wonder so many immigrants have been so inspired by the sight!’ She leaned out across the rails, trying to get a better view of Ellis Island, where the ships bringing new arrivals had once docked.

‘Nearly twelve million people have passed through the gates there,’ he told her. ‘Some of them probably came from Penmorfa. When the railways came in the nineteenth century, it put the old cargo ships that used to dock at Abersaith out of business. The industries that served them declined, meaning hard times for the surrounding villages, too. The next wave of ships to dock at Abersaith came to carry Welsh emigrants away to New York. The architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s family was amongst those who made the long Atlantic crossing.’

Leaving the life blood of the little towns to drain away ever since, as men like him turned their backs on the old ways. ‘You’ve got to ask yourself why they all left,’ he added, more for his own benefit.

‘Looking at this, they must have believed they really were on the brink of a brave new world.’ Coralie turned to face him so that the vivid seascape glistened behind her.

‘Yep,’ he said, drawing her back from the rail to sit on one of the benches. ‘Once they were off that boat, they could be whoever they liked.’

‘Is that what you did?’ she asked. ‘Left the boy behind in Penmorfa and became a famous artist here?’

‘Coralie,’ he said, ‘I came by plane. It’s not quite the same.’

‘But you’ve made your name here,’ she insisted. ‘I can see how anyone could fall for all this, but surely there must be part of you that still belongs in Penmorfa?’

He took a long, hard look at her and shook his head. ‘Not one little bit. Not now. Not ever.’

Coralie was deeply concerned about how little there was to show for what felt like hours spent sitting on a stool, wrapped in an orange sheet.

‘Will there be any value in a blank canvas if I persuade you to sign it?’ she asked, chewing her lip. After a second and then a third session during which Gethin freely distributed his scowls between her, the canvas and Ruby, whose mission seemed to be to wind Gethin up, the portrait had barely progressed. With only two full days of her trip left to go, she wondered if they could hoodwink the art world into believing it was a bold step in a new direction.

Even Ruby’s pierced eyebrows raised when he called yet another halt to the sitting and proposed a further sightseeing tour instead. ‘It’s too good a day to miss the view,’ he’d insisted, when she’d been half-hearted about seeing the Empire State Building. ‘And look, there’s not even too much of a queue.’

Coralie followed him in to the marble-lined entrance lobby with its towering relief image of the skyscraper superimposed on a map of New York State. All that glitz only made her suspicious that it was designed to soften the blow that the view probably wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

‘All this trailing round the tourist traps,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘You’re not trying to tell me something, are you? You haven’t changed your mind about donating a painting to Penmorfa, have you?’

‘Indulge me, Coralie.’ He shook his head as he handed her her ticket. ‘Pander to my artistic ego. If I have a yearning to show you the view, that’s what we’ll do.’

A small observation deck right up in the sky couldn’t possibly offer many places to hide. If he thought he could wriggle out of answering her question, she decided, smiling to herself as they piled into one of the first set of elevators, he’d have no choice but to hear her out once they were up there.

‘We can go outside on the 86th floor observation deck, but I wanted you to see this first,’ he said, leading her over to more elevators.

The highest observation deck was closed in, wasn’t it? That was good; he couldn’t even pretend that the wind was carrying her words away.

‘All the way up to the tippy-top!’ the operator announced, shutting the doors behind them.

The only problem was that standing beside Gethin, as the old-fashioned lift cage climbed steadily to the 102
nd
floor, she was beginning to lose sight of her goal. It was getting harder and harder to keep her feet firmly on the ground. Gethin had spent an awful lot of time with her; was it only because he was serious about his work? And when he grinned down at her like that, exuding excitement and danger, was it simply because he needed to get a better look at her? The Empire State Building’s Art Deco spire was once intended as a mooring mast for airships, but if she wasn’t very careful, she’d also be floating on air. The operator pulled open the doors and Gethin led her outside to the observatory.

‘The view here’s even more spectacular and it’s less crowded. Three hundred and sixty degrees of the Big Apple.’

Coralie sucked in her breath, all her preconceived ideas about hype blown away by the reality of seeing the city spread out before her.

‘Now tell me you’re not impressed,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘You think you’ve got views in Penmorfa, but they’re nothing like this.’

‘You may have a point,’ she admitted, giving in. The Chrysler spire looked fabulous glittering against the Manhattan skyline and the backdrop of the East River. And from here, she thought, turning and looking down, she could see how the distinctively shaped Flatiron building got its name, too.

‘There’s the Great Lady again,’ said Gethin, leaning over her shoulder and pointing to the Statue of Liberty rising from New York Bay. ‘I bet you’re glad you let me take you all the way now.’

Kitty would have said they hadn’t even got off first base. It was a difficult thought to ignore, especially when he was close like that. A young American woman, her rich brown hair tied up in a ponytail, waiting by the elevator with a couple who could have been her parents, caught her eye and smiled.

‘Hey, you guys look happy,’ she said, pointing at Coralie’s camera. ‘Want me to take a picture of you, before we go?’

Judging that it was less embarrassing to simply submit rather than explain, Coralie handed her camera over. The worst that could happen was that she might have been suckered by a camera snatcher, but since it was an entirely average piece of kit, this seemed unlikely.

Vertigo, she decided when Gethin pulled her nearer, forcing her to meet his twinkling blue eyes. That must be why her stomach had given a little lurch.

‘Aw! That’s great!’ cooed their new ponytailed fan. ‘You guys make such a cute couple!’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Gethin told her as she handed the camera back. ‘Now we’ll always have something to remind us of today, won’t we, sweetheart?’

She gave him a look and he grinned back at her, deep blue eyes full of mischief. Definitely vertigo, she told herself. What else would explain that giddy feeling when he leaned close to her? Or the tingle of excitement when he rested his fingers lightly on her shoulder? In case of a sudden fit of light-headedness, she decided it was wise to hang on to him whilst he pointed out all the famous landmarks. There was Brooklyn Bridge, 800 acres of Central Park, iconic buildings like the New York Times everywhere she looked and beyond, in the distance, Connecticut, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. All the places which had just been names to her but which she’d forever associate with one day in New York when she felt as if she was on top of the world.

A lick of black glass nagged at the corner of her vision for attention. Kitty’s voice told her to ignore it and concentrate on the good feelings, but curiosity got the better of her. Leaning forward for a better look, she recognised it as the hotel where she had spent her first night in the city and she came back down to earth. Playing the tourist was all very well, but imagine what would have happened at the consultancy if she’d allowed herself to be so distracted from the task in hand? What would Alys do if she returned to Penmorfa empty-handed?