Artistic Licence (8 page)

‘You stay by the fire while I get that, then I’ll give you the grand tour.’ She looked about her. The grand tour wouldn’t take very long, she decided. The kitchen she could already see, with its huge picture window facing towards the islands and, beyond them, distant mountains. There were three other doors off the main room and she hoped one of them concealed a bathroom.

‘Sit down, take off your coat if you feel warm enough.’

She sat on a saggy old sofa, which was so soft that
she seemed to sink to Australia in it. It was also covered with dog hairs and was obviously where the dog slept. Sofa and dog did look as if they were related. Thea wondered idly if the puppies would come out half-puppy, half-cuddly toy, with bits of stuffing emerging from them, an endearing combination of baby dog and worn-out upholstery.

After regarding her balefully for a few moments, with more than a hint of reproach, Lara sighed hugely, and heaved herself up beside Thea, squashing herself into the space that remained. She put her head on Thea’s lap, an extremely heavy hint that if Thea sat on her sofa she would have to take the consequences.

Thea quite enjoyed the physical contact. The weight was tremendous, but it was a pleasant feeling, warm, almost comfortable and it made it quite impossible for her to offer to help with the tea.

Rory produced a tray bearing a chipped brown teapot, a couple of mugs, two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. A packet of sugar, crumpled and tea-stained, and a carton of milk were fitted on somehow. He set this down on the little table in front of the sofa. ‘When you’ve a cup of tea in your hand I’ll show you the bathroom and you can choose a bedroom. Do you have milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please. Do you live here alone?’ she went on, when he’d handed her a mug.

‘Yup. There’s a wee girl who comes in and keeps the house in as much order as she can. Otherwise it’s just me. I live in the house and my studio’s up the hill. She doesn’t go in there, so it’s in a pretty desperate state.’

‘Will you let me see your work, or do you want to keep it private from me too?’

He opened the bottle of whiskey, poured generous measures into the tumblers and handed one to Thea. ‘I haven’t shown anyone my work for so long that perhaps it’s time I did. Slancha.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Slancha – it’s spelt s-l-a-i-n-t-e, believe it or not.’

‘Slancha.’ She shuddered as the neat spirit went down.

‘Oh, God, did you want water in that? I haven’t anything else except some red lemonade.’

‘Red lemonade?’

‘In Ireland it comes in two colours, red or white. You don’t want any in your whiskey?’ The idea seemed to horrify him.

She shook her head. ‘No, this is fine just as it is.’ She took a sip. ‘More than fine, actually.’

The whiskey began to relax her almost immediately and she realised it had been a long time since she’d last eaten. At this rate, what with the fire, the dog and the drink, she’d fall asleep where she sat. She thought she’d better make conversation in an attempt to keep herself awake. ‘Are there shops nearby?’

‘Westport is about five miles away, but there’s a little shop in the village which sells everything. Can you drive?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure about the Land Rover. Why do you ask?’

‘Well, it’s just that I’m pretty unsociable during the day. It will be better if you can entertain yourself a bit. The Land Rover’s easy enough when you get used to it and there’s no traffic here to speak of.’

‘Do I have to drive to the shop?’

‘It’s three miles away. It would be your choice, but
you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

She felt a sudden surge of warmth towards him, probably induced by hot tea and neat whiskey. ‘It was so kind of you to let me come at such short notice, when I said I wouldn’t.’

‘I like girls who can change their minds.’

‘I’m hardly a girl. I’m thirty-five.’

She felt she had to tell him. While he could probably guess, she liked to be open about these things. Unlike Molly, who would die before letting anyone know how old she was.

‘Thirty-five is the perfect age for girls.’

‘Is that so?’

‘It is indeed so. I’m an expert on these matters.’

‘So how old are you? It’s only fair that you should tell me.’

‘I’m twenty-eight, which is the perfect age for boys.’

‘But too young for girls of thirty-five.’

‘Would you like me to prove you wrong about that?’

Thea woke up enough to see the glint in his eye, which told her not to push the point. ‘I think I’ll take your word for it.’ Then, because she didn’t want to close the door for ever on something which might be very pleasant, she added, ‘For now, at least.’

‘Good things are worth waiting for,’ he said.

Thea, in an attempt to change the mood and get herself out of her recumbent position, pushed at the dog’s head. ‘I really should visit the bathroom.’ The dog’s head moved with a huge groan and Thea fought her way to the front of the sofa. ‘If you could tell me where it is.’

‘Go through that door.’ He pointed, but did not get up himself. ‘And it’s on the left.’

Thea took a couple more gulps of tea and hauled herself upright.

‘While you’re there, you could take a look at the little bedroom. You might fancy it. It’s got two single beds in it, one on each side of the room. Very chaste.’

Thea ignored this remark but did inspect the room, which was much as he described. It was pretty, but felt a bit chilly. It was obviously part of a later extension and the walls didn’t have the thickness of those in the main part of the house.

When she got back she found that Rory had refilled the glasses. She sat back down next to Lara, wondering if it was wise to drink so much on an empty stomach.

‘I dare say you’ll be wanting something to eat,’ said Rory. ‘Which presents a bit of a problem. I was going to eat at the pub.’

The thought of getting up, making herself look presentable and going out made her feel suddenly exhausted, but she moved her features about as if this were what she wanted to do most.

‘On the other hand, you may not fancy a longish drive at this time of night when you’ve only just arrived.’ He grinned. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have baked a cake …’

‘I really am being a dreadful nuisance.’

‘Not at all. I wouldn’t have invited you if I hadn’t wanted you to come. I’m just not that much of a cook.’

Here was a situation she felt at home in. ‘On the other hand, I’m an expert in making meals out of nothing.’

‘I couldn’t ask you to do that,’ said Rory, obviously quite keen on the idea.

‘Why don’t I have a poke around and see what I can
come up with?’ Thea got to her feet again, determined that Rory shouldn’t regret her arrival. If she couldn’t promise him a night of hot, imaginative sex, hot, imaginative cooking might be some compensation.

‘Excellent plan. I’ll make up the fire. Did you want to sleep in the back bedroom?’

‘What are the alternatives?’

‘Come and I’ll show you.’ He opened the door to the right of the front door and showed Thea a glimpse inside a large room with a wonderful view of the sea. ‘This is mine. It has a double bed, a goose down duvet and goose feather pillows, but I come as part of the package. I don’t mind sharing, but I’m not giving it up entirely.’

‘Right,’ said Thea cautiously. ‘And what about the other bedroom?’

It was across the way from his, on the left of the entrance. It had the same high, wood-lined ceiling as the sitting room, two single beds and a couple of wardrobes in it.

‘The house belonged to my uncle. He didn’t have children of his own, but he used it as a holiday cottage for his nieces and nephews. He left it to me when I told him I’d live in it if he did. He was an artist.’

‘Did he do these?’ Thea indicated a pair of small seascapes in oil which hung over the beds. ‘Or is that your work?’

‘His. It’s good, though, don’t you think?’

‘Mm. Did he do them here?’

‘I should think so. I tend to work on a slightly larger scale.’

‘Will you show me your work tomorrow?’

‘Maybe. But now I’m going to show you the kitchen
and all that it has to offer in the way of spaghetti, tinned custard and tomato ketchup. If you can find a meal in it I’ll show you all the wonders of my kingdom.’ He smiled into her eyes and she felt her libido stir again. ‘There’s also a sack of potatoes and a hunk of cheese.’

They ate at the table in front of the fire. The dining table was entirely taken up with books and junk mail, a selection of dirty crockery and a large coil of rope. Obviously no one had eaten at it for a long time.

‘You’re a grand cook!’ said Rory. ‘I’m glad I invited you.’

‘I’m glad you think so, because I pretty much invited myself.’

‘Not at all. I gave you my address, didn’t I?’

‘You did. Have some more pie.’ She had boiled sliced potatoes and made them into a pie with tinned tomatoes, fried onions, eggs and milk, and covered it all with grated cheese.

‘I will. I wouldn’t have got anything half as nice down at the pub.’

‘You’re very flattering. Shall I make some tea?’

‘Or a drop more of the “crater”?’

Thea was willing to bet he meant whiskey. ‘I’d rather have tea. I am quite tired.’

‘Tea it is, then. And don’t worry about the washing up. Susan will do it in the morning.’

Thea was dead on her feet but she resolved to get up early and sort out the kitchen. She had a feeling that her lodgers didn’t bother about clearing up their late-night snacks because they said, ‘Thea will do it in the morning.’ How were they managing now,
she wondered? Tomorrow, if she felt like it, she would ring them and tell them where she was. But only if she felt like it.

Rory and Thea said good night amicably, with just enough teasing flirtation on Rory’s part to make it clear how he felt about Thea. Thea went to bed half wishing she were the sort of girl who could just jump under his goose feather duvet and let Rory seduce her. But as much as she would have liked to, she couldn’t, somehow. Although, after a couple of nights at this temperature, she might well feel she wanted to snuggle up to someone.

She fumbled in her washbag for her toothbrush, imagining Petal’s horrified surprise if she found out what was going on – Thea with a toyboy, and such a good-looking one. Thea had overheard Petal discussing her recent dumping of her nice-but-dull man friend with one of her mates. ‘I know he wasn’t much,’ she had said. ‘But who else would she get at her age?’

‘Thirty-five is the perfect age for girls,’ Thea whispered to herself smugly, as she snuggled down for the night. ‘So there, Petal!’

Wee Susan, from down the road, found the house surprisingly tidy when she appeared the next morning at about eleven. She was not overly delighted to see Thea, however, and not, Thea deduced, because the washing up had been done. Susan had a crush on Rory the size of Croagh Patrick.

Rory gave Susan a friendly, easy smile, which confirmed he was not an over-exacting employer. ‘Hello,
Susan. Thea’s come to stay for a bit. She’s in the front bedroom, if you’d care to give it a bit of a once-over. Come on, Thea,’ said Rory, who was not an early riser. ‘I’ll show you the studio while Susan gets on with the cleaning. You’d better borrow a coat.’

Thea tried to give Susan a sisterly smile, to show they were united by the oppression of lazy men, but Susan didn’t respond.
Perhaps later I’ll get her talking
, thought Thea, as she followed Rory up the hill.

The studio was a huge shed with windows from ceiling to floor. In April it was decidedly chilly and must have been really freezing in winter. A wood-burning stove stood in the corner, looking too small to make much impression on the place.

‘You can see why I took the opportunity to do some painting in Provence. Lucky old Cézanne, with his early spring and baking-hot summers. Although the stove is surprisingly efficient. I’ll light it in a minute.’

Thea moved towards a vast easel with a cloth over it. The painting beneath must have been the size of one of the walls in the cottage. Rory stepped in front of her.

‘That’s work in progress. No one sees that until it’s finished. Over there are what keep me in bread and butter. And whiskey.’ He indicated a medium-sized painting of a horse.

It was an old-fashioned picture, representing someone’s huge wealth, but it was beautifully painted. ‘And is it a good likeness?’ she asked, teasing him.

‘Indeed it is. I could spend my life and earn a very good living painting racehorses.’ He made a face. ‘My aunt, the widow of the uncle who left me the house, often asks me why I don’t. The money’s certain and after all, painting is painting, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ she said for him. ‘One is a job and the other is your life.’

The look he gave her was more than reward for her understanding. She picked up a battered pewter mug and changed the subject, not wanting to have Rory make love to her there and then. ‘And so, do you surround yourself with the things in your paintings, like Cézanne? Or was this just lying around?’

He sighed, accepting her decision. ‘Women are all the same. Never satisfied until they have poked their pretty noses into every corner of a man’s heart. Hell, Thea, you’ve come a long way to see me. You can see the paintings too. They’re in the shed next door. Just don’t ask me to show them to you, or to tell you what the hell they mean.’

‘I don’t suppose my nose is that pretty, just nosy.’

He took her chin and moved her head so the light shone on her fully. ‘You do have a very fine nose, but it’s your eyes which first caught my attention.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s their colour, pale, yellowy green with a dark circle round them.’

‘Oh.’ No one had ever commented on her eyes before, which was probably why she had run away to Ireland with an artist. Possibly only an artist, an Irish one at that, could pay compliments so eloquently.

He kissed her lips, briefly, but firmly. Pleasantly.

‘You probably want to get on and do some work,’ she said, clearing her throat and glancing at her watch. ‘Lara and I will toddle to the beach, but then – would it be all right if I had a look at what’s in the shed?’