Move Over Darling (26 page)

Gethin was delighted by all the goodwill and support for his protégée. Satisfied that Ruby’s career was off to a flying start, he caught her eye, gave her a quick thumbs up and left her to it. Although the stirrings of excitement about
Girl in a Coral Dress
were beginning to reach New York, the fallout from his previous exhibition was too fresh, so he’d deliberately kept a low profile. Even so it didn’t stop someone stopping him as he tried to push through the crowd to leave.

‘Hey, buddy, you’re not that Welsh guy, are you?’

‘No,’ said Gethin walking on.

‘So you’re not the “Green Green Grass of Home” dude, then?’

Hell, thought Gethin, gritting his teeth and carrying on. He knew he had one or two grey hairs, but if someone really had confused him with the septuagenarian singer, it was time he got a decent night’s sleep.

He stomped down the steps of the library, acknowledging the stone lions guarding the building. Patience and Fortitude, they’d been nicknamed, for the qualities New Yorkers would need to possess to get through The Great Depression. Right now, he didn’t feel too cheerful and he’d pretty much run out of patience and fortitude. That probably meant he wasn’t much of a New Yorker.

Deciding that a walk across the city would reconnect him, his black mood wasn’t helped by a ticket tout pushing a leaflet under his nose inviting him to take a sightseeing tour. Now he didn’t even look as if he belonged here. The trouble was, he thought, dropping his head and picking up his pace, he wasn’t sure where he belonged anymore. The Big Apple had blown a big fat raspberry at him and, although he sometimes imagined he did hear the call of the Welsh mountains and valleys, he guessed that his longing was for the lush curves and dips of one woman who drew him back there.

‘Will ya do us all a favour and call her,’ Ruby had said to him only that morning, after she’d apparently spoken to him for ten minutes without him hearing a word.

At this rate he’d have to get the glove puppets out to explain to Ruby, since she insisted on being deliberately obtuse, that he and Coralie were finished. Part of him still clung on to the hope that New York might be the very place she might turn up, especially if she was exploring new options for Sweet Cleans.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you,’ Laura Schiffman had said, shaking her head when he’d pressed her for information about her friend in the cosmetic industry. ‘But when you do see Coralie next, I’d love you to get hold of some of her Rose Works body lotion, for me,’ she’d added, brightening up.

How he longed to phone Coralie and tell her, just so he could hear her voice and imagine her smile. Sometimes he even started to dial the number so he could listen to her answerphone message, but he never pressed ‘call’ for fear of making the ache worse.

If anything, his thinking was muddier by the time he got to his apartment, where the mailman was trying to negotiate his satchel-cart past a doggie-do. Gethin knew how he felt. ‘How you doing today? Your wife on the mend now?’ he called out.

‘Not so bad. Something she ate apparently. I guess that means I’m excused cooking duties now. These are for you. Two letters
and
a parcel.’

Gethin took the steps two at time and, once inside, poured himself some iced water before opening his mail. The first envelope looked like something his solicitor might send him. Formal confirmation that the royalties owed to him were coming at last? But by the time he’d finished reading it through, he’d had to take another long drink of iced water. He needed it to cool down. A thirty-day notice to quit? How was this even frigging possible? He stared at the shoji screen room divider for a full minute because it took him that long to believe what he’d just read.

Somehow his landlord was trying to suggest that in contravention of his tenancy agreement, he was using the apartment as a second home. That his main residence was in Penmorfa, west Wales. His only proof, which would be a joke if it wasn’t so frigging serious, appeared to be an article in the
New York Times
, quoting an art critic suggesting the reason his work had become so lacklustre was because of the time he was devoting to renovating his desirable country residence!

Well, that was pure garbage and he could dispute it – probably, although he resented the time and money he would waste chasing round. However, it wasn’t so easy to defend himself against the second, and more concrete claim, that one of his guests made violent threats to another occupant of the building and created a public nuisance.

‘Oh, Rubes.’ He rubbed his jaw. She’d certainly given him a wake-up call that day. Unfortunately she’d woken half the building, too – the complaining half.

He picked up the next letter, still chewing over his predicament. Unless he took action fast, in thirty days he could be homeless. That was the reality. Out on the streets with the crazy dude who occasionally showed up on the corner of his block, rocking and swearing. Not a great place to be in New York, especially when it snowed. Jesus! Those guys had always seemed so other, nothing to do with his life, but now he was discovering just how quickly the ground beneath your feet could turn to sand. Next time he saw the crazy dude, he’d slip him more than a couple of singles, just so he’d remember him in future. In a couple of weeks they could be new best friends.

He tore open the second envelope. Might as well get all the bad news out of the way at once. A photograph dropped out, landing face down on the floor. It looked as if the landlord had set a private investigator on him, too. Photographic evidence of his ‘desirable country residence’, perhaps? Why would anyone bother to get photographs printed these days, unless there was something they particularly wanted to rub your face in?

He turned the print over and his breath caught at the sight.

Apart from someone who valued what other people disdained. Who didn’t mind that some of her things were pre-loved. Who wanted to scoop up all the unwanted animals. Maybe she’d feel sorry for him if he lost his apartment – except she’d probably decide that the crazy dude was in greater need. There she was smiling self-consciously beside him, he with his arm round her waist, at the top of the Empire State, and he couldn’t help smiling back even though the sight of her filled him with longing.

His fingers were trembling as he took out the letter inside. When he’d read it all the way through he felt like hell for not giving her the chance to explain the situation to him. Ned Wallace had turned to her because he had nowhere else to go and because of the kind-hearted person she was, she’d been unable to turn him away.

You told me once that having a portrait painted could be therapeutic,
she’d written,
but coming face to face with myself in your beautiful painting just made me more aware of how bad I felt inside. I’m so sorry for hurting you.

Why was she apologising when he was the one who was afraid of getting tangled up with messy emotions? Perhaps if he’d given her more time that morning in his apartment instead of letting her go, he might have spared them both a lot of heartache.

Ned Wallace had been imprisoned, but it was Coralie who’d been locked up. Blaming herself for what she saw as her part in a young girl’s death. Putting her own life on hold out of a sense of duty to put right all the wrongs. Well, as far as he was concerned, Ned Wallace should still be rotting in prison. And yet it was because the murdering, drunken, deceitful bastard had been released that Coralie had been set free.

The parcel contained a box – Pandora’s he hoped, after all the bad and sad news. He fingered it, trying to guess its contents, afraid that the expectations he was beginning to feel were about to be crushed. Opening it at last, he drew back the tissue paper and light gleamed on a glass dome. He lifted it in front of his face, shook it gently and watched silvery flakes of fake snow shimmer round the Empire State. Not quite a crystal ball, but he didn’t need to look into the future to see that things were looking up.

He turned the key and the tinny notes tinkled out. Not ‘New York, New York’, like nearly every snow-globe he’d ever come across, but ‘Que Sera Sera’. Doris Day was trying to tell him the future wasn’t his to see, but she was wrong. He may have been blind but he wasn’t stupid. And he knew exactly what was coming next.

Kitty was trying to do as her father had suggested and put her whole self in. Earlier in the day she’d prepared a chilli, put some beers in the fridge and put on the dark floral hitch-skirt dress that she knew was one of Adam’s favourites.

‘I thought you might like to bath Jamie,’ she suggested, trying not to mind that he barely flicked a glance at her before rolling up his sleeves and filling up the baby bath. Leaning against the door frame, she admired the deft way Adam managed to wash Jamie’s hair without the usual trauma. Must be those strong arms making the baby feel secure, because the minute she attempted the manoeuvre it was a toss-up to see which of them ended up with a wobbly bottom lip first. Seeing how much father and son were enjoying the experience, she felt guilty for ever thinking she could keep them apart.

When Jamie was dry and sweet-smelling again and they were back downstairs, she passed Adam a beer and he sat back on one of the dining chairs, watching her on the sofa slowly unbutton the front of her dress to give Jamie his evening feed.

‘You make a beautiful mummy,’ he said, with a husky break in his voice.

‘You don’t make such a bad daddy.’ It was true, she realised, smiling at how awkward and unsure of himself he looked. Just because he was never going to make great partner material, didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of being a brilliant dad. No one could criticise the way he doted on Jamie. Having a baby with the shaggy-haired, sexy beach-bum who struggled to turn up for work at the garden centre when the surf was right, hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of her mind when she had first seen him stripped to the waist riding a quad bike on a baking hot day in late July.

Nope, the only thing she’d been thinking about from that first moment was sex. Fortunately, she soon found out, after a couple of days trailing round after him pretending to learn how to prune the spring-flowering shrubs and helping him spread nets over the soft fruits bushes before the birds stripped them, that he was a like-minded spirit. The pair of them had become quite adept at spreading and stripping activities as July rolled into August; most of them outside, working up a sweat in the steamy summer fields. Kitty let her gaze drop to the curve of his biceps beneath the rolled-up sleeves and shivered at the memory. It was when the passion had turned into something deeper and her emotions got in the way that she had started to panic.

Adam set the bottle down on the table beside him, wiped his lips and sat down next to her. Her breath slowed as he put one arm round her shoulders and leaned closer to stroke Jamie’s cheek. She watched as his finger moved slowly from the baby and gently traced the blue veins of her breast, as if she was not just beautiful but desirable, too. She looked back at him and the frost that seemed to have been surrounding her heart melted.

Don’t hold back, that’s what her dad had said.

‘You don’t have to say anything back,’ she said whilst she still felt brave. ‘But I think I love you.’

Think? That didn’t sound very whole-hearted, did it? What about the way her heart lifted at the thought of him and everything seemed better, brighter, safer because he was there?

‘What I mean is, I do, love you, that is.’

‘What you mean,’ said Adam, grinning, ‘is that you’ve only just realised.’

Kitty scowled at him. Later she’d have words with her father. So much for putting your whole self in; all she had done was dug a bloody great hole for herself and now Adam was laughing down at her.

‘Must be quite tough for a Cardiff career girl and thrusting entrepreneur to discover she’s fallen for a lowly labouring gardener,’ he breathed into her hair.

‘Oh, don’t sound so bloody pleased with yourself,’ she said, trying to keep her voice down so as not to wake Jamie. ‘I forgot you get women falling for you so often you must be sick of hearing it.’

‘Yeah, it’s hard being me.’ He sighed, making her squirm with embarrassment. ‘Especially when the only girl for me is the one woman who’s been holding back.’

‘Anyone I know?’ she muttered, doing her best to control her rising excitement.

He swallowed. ‘I was beginning to lose hope. Kept telling myself that I was punching above my weight to think a woman as clever and talented as you would be interested in someone who works with their hands, like me.’

‘I like what you do with your hands,’ she couldn’t resist telling him.

‘And that’s one of the many reasons why I love you.’

He leaned over and kissed her then and she grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him even closer, almost forgetting Jamie, who grunted in his sleep. Adam lifted him out of her arms and gently laid him in the carrycot beside the sofa. When he turned back, his face was serious.

‘There’s just one thing,’ he said, looking completely defenceless. ‘If you want to be with me, let’s do it properly. Take my name. Marry me, Kitty.’

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes whilst she found the strength to reply. ‘You’re not just asking because of him. Because of Jamie? I don’t want you to ever look back and say I trapped you into a proposal.’

‘Kitty,’ he said, taking her face gently in his palms, ‘I love
you
and I don’t mind how many times I have to tell you, I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. I love you with all my heart and nothing would make me happier than the honour of becoming your husband. So, what do you say?’

On the last Saturday of June, Coralie looked around her at the sunlit fields of Penmorfa rolling down to a sparkling sea beneath a perfect Pembrokeshire blue sky and hoped that the outlook would seem as bright at the end of the day. There had been a difficult moment, that morning, during the erection of the marquee for the day’s gala auction, when a strong sea breeze almost sabotaged the event before it began. Thankfully, the forecast was for the wind to ease during the afternoon, staying just bracing enough to keep everyone awake rather than tearing their hats off or turning the marquee, where Adam was directing people to their seats, into a Zeppelin.

‘At least if it was raining,’ said Kitty joining her with Jamie flat-out in his buggy, snoozing peacefully under a parasol, ‘the VIPs could see how badly we need a community hall. If they think it’s like this all the time, they might think we can manage without it and only make stingy bids.’

‘I’m sure they won’t,’ said Coralie, thinking how pretty Kitty looked in a white, floaty top that contrasted with her dark hair. Everyone had really dressed up for the occasion, all the bright colours making it a truly gala occasion. ‘It’s going to be fine, you’ll see. Hold still a minute.’ She leaned across and gently rubbed at an unblended blob of concealer where Kitty had tried to hide faint shadows under her eyes from all the broken nights. But there was no hiding Kitty’s new-found happiness. Or the diamond-and-sapphire cluster on her finger that caught the light to become a rainbow of shimmering shooting stars as Kitty lifted her hand.

‘Getting used to that yet?’ She laughed.

‘Isn’t it lush?’ Kitty grinned, flexing her fingers to admire all the twinkling gems. ‘That’s babies for you! They change everything. They can even make someone like Adam behave like good husband material. He’s only proposed to me because he can’t bear to be parted from this little fellow. Do you know I even drew up a list of reasons for and against marrying him: two columns, “yes” and “no”?’

Coralie shook her head, not fooled in the slightest by Kitty’s feeble effort to play her excitement down. ‘Rubbish, Kitty. The only one who couldn’t see how besotted Adam was with you was
you!
’

For all her and Alys’s fears that Adam wouldn’t be good with commitment, he’d surprised everyone. Although maybe that was being unfair to him. When she thought about it, he’d only ever teased and flirted with other women right under Kitty’s nose and with the sole purpose of making her jealous. His behaviour, when Kitty wasn’t around, had always been entirely chivalrous.

‘I wish I’d trusted him sooner,’ Kitty admitted, her voice shaking a little. ‘I never thought someone as sexy as Adam would pick me. I was so afraid of being hurt that I was mean to everyone.’

‘Now you’re being mean to yourself,’ Coralie said gently, rubbing her shoulder. ‘He’s a good man, a great dad and this is the start of your bright future together.’

‘And what about you?’ Kitty asked, eyeing her from a strand of hair that had blown across her face. ‘Isn’t it about time you stopped being hard on yourself and grabbed hold of your bright future?’

Coralie’s throat tightened. She’d written, laying her feelings bare to Gethin, asking him to come. Now it was up to him. ‘I’m taking it one day at a time,’ she said, reaching up to massage the back of her neck, ‘so let’s see what we can do to make this a good one for Alys.’

‘Yes, let’s.’ A protest from the buggy set Kitty jiggling it frantically. ‘I’m that nervous for Mam. She’s worked so hard for this. You know she’s got that black guy off that art and antiques programme to be the auctioneer?’