Move Over Darling (15 page)

Gethin frowned at her. ‘Something bugging you, Coralie? Why can’t you just relax and enjoy me showing you round?’

‘I guess I’m just not very good at relaxing,’ she said, trying to smile.

‘Then I’m going to have to find a way to make you.’ He sighed. ‘These sittings are going nowhere. For a start you’re going to have to trust me.’

He took her arm as she raised it in protest, moving her along as a tall, pale-skinned Russian couple, exotic in their expensive designer sunglasses, came up to look out of the window beside them. ‘Stop trying to control everything, Coralie. Not everything’s neat and tidy or sweet and clean, but that’s what makes it exciting. Why don’t you let go and see what happens?’

He reached over and took both of her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over her short, neatly manicured nails. ‘What are you scared of?’

‘Nothing.’ Coralie took her hands back. ‘I just want to do my best for Penmorfa, that’s all,’ she said, stubbornly.

‘But that’s not why you’re afraid,’ he said, leading her towards the elevator. ‘Do you want to be like the kid on the beach who watches everyone else have fun? Put it behind you, whatever it is. Sometimes you’ve just got to accept that you can’t build sandcastles without getting your hands dirty.’

‘Going down,’ the operator announced as the elevator doors opened.

A bit like me, thought Coralie, feeling her spirits sinking along with her stock. Producing a range of cleaning products didn’t mean that everything about her was necessarily snow white.

‘Look, we’ll give it another shot tomorrow morning,’ he said, as they stopped again at the 86th floor. ‘Then I’ll have to put in an appearance at the gallery, before the reception for the new show.’

Coralie nodded, determined not to let her bruised ego spoil the opportunity to experience that amazing view of the city from the open-air observatory. Raw air rushing towards them and people jostling for the best views made conversation difficult, giving her a few moments for reflection whilst she waited. For all her protests, she had started to feel quite intrigued about her portrait. Surely, you’d need to be made of granite not to be a bit curious about what that deep-blue gaze would reveal? Except she’d been secretly hoping that the person he could see was more like the glamorous, free-spirited dancer in
Samba
than a prim, buttoned-up nobody, afraid of getting creases in her skirt.

By the time they were back in the street again, she’d managed to rally her flagging spirits. With his show about to open, Gethin really didn’t need a temperamental model on his hands, too – or any excuse to call off the final sitting.

‘I’m really looking forward to the reception, even though it will be my last night here,’ she admitted, dredging up a smile. ‘It’s coming round quickly, isn’t it?’

Too quickly. In a very short space of time, she’d got used to being by his side, enjoying the quiet thrill of listening to that wonderful voice, feeling the pride he took in the city he adored. Seeing his new works would be a real privilege – assuming she felt relaxed enough about the painting’s progress to enjoy it.

‘You’re booked for tomorrow evening, too,’ he said, rather formally.

‘Yes, I suppose we’ll need another sitting,’ she agreed with relief. Six, he’d told her at the beginning. She hoped that he could produce a finished work in fewer. Penmorfa’s future depended on it.

In Penmorfa, Alys, returning from another committee meeting, was just about to open the back door when she caught sight of movement in the kitchen and stopped, feeling terribly sad. The man she could see through the kitchen window, as she stood on the outside looking in, was still her own dear Huw – strong and solid, with warm, brown eyes and silver hair curling into the nape of his neck. But Huw, the man she had loved for all her adult life, no longer pulled her to him.

Their move to the farmhouse, with a bigger mortgage, all the legal costs, and the strain of the recession, had taken its toll on Huw’s health and sent his blood pressure soaring. As the one who’d pressed for them to make the change, Alys felt it was her responsibility to do whatever she could to ease their financial burden. But although she was optimistic about the future of the garden centre, especially now Kitty had come up with such an innovative idea to add to their family businesses, it all seemed a bit futile if she’d lost Huw along the way.

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 they 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?’