Lamp Black, Wolf Grey (2 page)

“Laura? Laura, are you still there?”

“Yes, Mum, I’m here. Look, I’d better go. There’s still a bit to do. I’ll ring you before we leave, OK?”

Even after she had hung up, the sadness in her mother’s voice as she said good-bye lingered. Laura bit her lip and closed her eyes. Were they doing the right thing? Giving up everything they knew, everything comforting and familiar, to chase some flimsy notion that a more peaceful, rural environment might just convince her stubborn body that it was safe to make a baby? Non-Specific Infertility. With those few words the doctor had finally shrugged, sighed, apologized, and sent her away. It seemed a cruel trick of nature to condemn her to childlessness with something so vague. Of course, they had tried every possible remedy, from crackpot diets, through medication, meditation, homeopathy, and psychotherapy, to the emotional trauma of IVF. As wide and varied a course of treatments as it was possible to have, all with one thing in common: They hadn’t worked. Laura found a space in a box for the photo and was brushing away an infuriating tear when the doorbell rang. She had never been more pleased to see Steph. Steph, whom she had known since she was five years old. Steph, whom she had shared digs with at University. Steph, who had supported her so stoically over the past, long, barren eight years.

“Thought you might be in need of this by now.” Steph waved a bottle of champagne under Laura’s nose as she stepped into the hall.

“I always said you had a spooky talent for mind reading.” She led the way back into the sitting room and unpacked two of the wineglasses she had just wrapped. “Don’t ask me to find a champagne flute, unless you want to see a grown woman cry.”

“I can slum it, for a good cause.” Steph kicked off her sandals, ran a hand through her choppy magenta hair, and curled up on the leather sofa.

Laura popped the cork and poured the drinks, handing a glass to her friend.

“Most people would rush round and offer to help pack at a time like this, not come here and get me sozzled with the job half done.”

“As if you’d care about a bit of muddle, Laura Matthews. I’m surprised you’re here, actually. I felt certain you’d still be fiddling about in your studio—you never know what day it is.”

“I resent ‘fiddling about.’ Mmm, half decent bubbly. I’ll have you know the studio was packed up, done, and dusted ten days ago.”

“You mean to say you haven’t picked up a paintbrush in all that time? My God, this is the end of life as we know it. First you decide to take to the hills. Next you stop painting so that you can wrap up knickknacks. It’ll all end in Laura Ashley, you mark my words. Just as well I came to get one last look at the chic, city you before you go bush.”

Laura laughed, reassured to find that even now Steph could rid the room of tension in minutes. Many times her friend’s ability to get her to lighten up and not take herself too seriously had just about saved her sanity.

The two drank in companionable silence for a moment until Laura said with a small smile, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Now, before you go getting all slushy on me, I have to warn you this is not waterproof mascara. I don’t want to be frightening taxi drivers out of their socks on the way home.” She took another swig of champagne, then added, “Besides, you won’t get a chance to miss anybody. Me, Angus, and the Terrible Two will descend on you with alarming frequency. In fact, you’ll probably see more of us than you do now. It’s a win-win situation—Angus will be leaping out of bed early to drag the kids up some craggy rock or other, so yours truly can fester under the duvet until noon. Then your Dan can cook us up a full English, or full Welsh, whatever the hell that is.… I can’t wait. Come on, don’t hog the booze.”

Laura passed her the bottle. Steph topped up both their glasses then looked at her, frowning a little.

“So, you’re sure this is the right thing for you both, yes?”

“No. How can I be sure? But it does feel … worth doing. We need to change something.”

“You’ve had a rough trot these last couple of years, Laura. I only hope this isn’t going to prove more difficult than you expect. And you’ve worked so hard to get the recognition you deserve as an artist. Are you sure you’re going to be able to work properly, stay in touch and, in fashion, keep networking and whatever it is you do in your arty circles?”

“Of course. In fact, I expect to be able to raise my prices once I’m a bona fide harum-scarum artist living in the wilds! And besides, Penny is not known as the bossiest artists’ agent in Chelsea for nothing. She’s invested too much time in me to stop nagging now. She won’t let things slide. She’s determined I’m going to have a show before Christmas.” Laura wished she felt as confident as she sounded. That the move might have an adverse effect on her career was a secret fear she was loath to admit even to herself. She was already missing the thrill of starting a new painting. That suspended moment before beginning, where the image lived in limbo, somewhere between the reality of the subject and the realms of imagination. It was a moment of perfection, which no artwork could ever hope to live up to. All that could be done was to strive to get as near to that early vision as possible, and feel blessed if the result came within a hundred miles of it. How long would it be before she could settle enough to produce worthwhile work again? And would being out of the loop of the London art scene cause problems? She refused to be cast down by the thought. She waved her glass at Steph. “And before you ask, I’m already resigned to the fact I won’t be able to get a decent latte or watch a good movie or find any clothes I’d want to buy.” She smiled. “I’m ready to give it all up for…”

“For? What, exactly?”

Laura raised her eyebrows and shrugged, not quite able to meet her friend’s questioning gaze. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

*   *   *

B
Y THREE O’CLOCK
the following afternoon Laura was weary from driving and on the point of losing her temper with Dan. The loading of the van had taken an age, and Dan had been working at half speed, nursing his inevitable hangover. As she negotiated another roundabout, Laura squinted into the strong summer sun, reminded that they were most definitely heading west. She thanked God and Audi for the car’s efficient air-conditioning system. Beside her Dan flapped and crumpled the map as he tried to fold it.

“Dan, if you’re not going to be any use at reading that thing for pity’s sake put it away. You’re driving me mad with it,” she told him. “I thought women were supposed to be the ones who couldn’t navigate.”

“You’re the one who wanted to do the driving.”

“Because you’re the one probably still over the limit, judging by the amount of aspirin you’ve had to take so far today.”

“All right, don’t go on. We must be nearly there by now, anyway.”

“Nearly
where
?”

“
Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Look, we’ve been through Abergavenny…”

“Yes, thanks for that. Always wanted to sit in a traffic jam beside an abattoir when there’s a cattle market on. Who wants to just sail round the bypass?”

“… and we’ve done another twenty miles or so. I reckon that puts us about …
here.
” He stabbed decisively at the map. “Very close to a pub, as it happens.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Just my little joke.”

“Very little.”

Laura changed gear pointedly and overtook a smoking Land Rover. Dan reached out and put a hand on her knee. She took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to be more tolerant. They were doing this because of her, a fact Dan was not above reminding her of with irritating frequency. She wanted him to want it, too, but that would take time. And patience. She was so bewitched by Penlan, so excited at the prospect of settling there, it was hard for her to deal with Dan’s lack of enthusiasm. But it was up to her to win him over.

“Never mind,” she said with a smile. “We’ll soon be in our lovely new home, starting our lovely new life, on this lovely sunny day.”

Dan forced a thin smile back.

“How…”

“Lovely?” Laura suggested. She grinned at him now and felt his hand work its way up her leg. She must not let him see how daunted she was beginning to feel. However much she wanted to start afresh in this wonderful place, she still harbored doubts and questions of her own. Suddenly, everything seemed very real and irreversible and daunting. She was tired and hot and fed up with driving, and completely flattened by the thought of all the unpacking and sorting that lay ahead of them. And under it all was the nagging dread that neither of them dared talk about. The continued longing. The rekindled hope. The aching wish for a child that might, just might, by some bucolic miracle, be granted. Or might not. She wouldn’t let herself think about it. That was a tactic she had become pretty good at lately. There were plenty of other things to keep her occupied right now. Keeping busy was just about the only strategy for coping she knew of that actually worked.

“Turn left here,” Dan told her.

“You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Left fork, up steep hill, over small bridge. This is it. I recognize it. A few more miles and we’re there.”

For once Dan’s directions were accurate. They drove through the village and pulled up the hill, following a narrowing lane which seemed to twist back on itself every few yards. At last Penlan came into view. Laura and Dan fell silent as the place cast its spell over them once more. The low, white house nestled at the top of the meadows, its back against the hill that rose behind it, protecting it from the north winds. The slate roof shimmered under the late August sun. Honeysuckle twisted up over the front door, knitting its way across the wall, heavy with butter-yellow blooms. A barn and a short run of stables formed a farmyard, which had mostly been put down to grass. Foxgloves grew at will. Dog roses spilled from the hedges and tumbled over the Payne’s grey of the stone walls.

Laura slowed the car as they skirted the oak woods before the final stretch of bumpy lane. Fractured light fell through the high canopy of leaves, picking out lemon yellow celandines and glowing violets on the dry forest floor. She felt tension and doubt melting away as she stopped the car in front of the house. She turned to Dan, beaming.

“We’re going to be happy here, Mr. Matthews. I feel it in my bones.”

Stepping out of the car she felt the strength of the sun on her bare arms. They could not have chosen more glorious weather for their first day at Penlan, and she knew this moment would be imprinted on her memory forever. The thought of painting this magical place excited her.

Dan fumbled with the chunky key in the old lock. At last it worked, with a satisfying clunk, and the weathered door swung open.

Laura squeezed past him, barely able to contain her excitement at crossing the threshold of their new home. Inside the house was a blissful temperature, the dense walls successfully keeping out the heat. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low level of light, so that the room revealed itself to her slowly, as if in a dream. The front door opened directly into the living room, which looked even bigger now without any furniture. She walked over to the cavernous inglenook and ran her fingers along the gnarled beam above it. There was still a smell of wood smoke, so distinctive she could almost taste it. Kicking off her sandals, she let the smooth flagstones refresh her tired feet. She wondered about the person who had laid those stones, and the man who had built the fireplace, and the one who had found the oak for the lintel, all those hundreds of years ago. The house had been dated as being built in the thirteenth century, and Laura found endless fascination at the thought of all the people who had lived there before her. So much time, so much history. So many lives, and loves, and losses. So many secrets, all stored in the fabric of the house, in the two-foot-thick stone walls, in the worn flags, in the charred fireplace. How many women had stood as she was, gazing into the hearth, wondering what life at Penlan held in store for her?

Behind her, Dan was flicking a light switch repeatedly.

“Ah,” he said. “Seems we do not, as yet, have power.” He went to the telephone on the floor in the corner of the room. “No, nothing here either. I thought this was all supposed to be working.”

“I was told it would be.”

“Did you check?” Dan wanted to know. “I mean, did you chase after them? You can’t just expect people to do this sort of stuff. You have to keep on top of them.”

“Like I said, I was told everything would be connected. If it was so important to you, why didn’t you chase them?” Laura folded her arms defensively. Here he was, Mr. Organized, with a hangover, about to pick holes in everything she’d done.

“You were dealing with this sort of thing,” Dan pointed out. “We agreed. You know it was impossible for me, being in the office.”

“Oh yes, of course. Your job had you in an office, sitting right next to a telephone, but you couldn’t possibly pick it up and call the estate agent, or the electric company. My work, on the other hand, could be interrupted anytime. It was the sales from my last two exhibitions that made this move possible. Wouldn’t hurt you to admit that, you know.”

“Seems only fair,” he snapped. “As you were the one who wanted this so much.”

Laura opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.

Dan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“OK, OK, let’s not bicker. Let’s just sort it out, shall we?” He looked at his watch, “Four thirty. I suppose someone might still be working, even on a Saturday.” He took his mobile from his pocket and switched it on. “Great. No signal.” He frowned at Laura, who stared back levelly. “Right,” Dan said. “I’ll drive back to the village and call from there. OK?”

“Fine. You do that.”

She watched him go, biting her lip, cross with herself for getting short-tempered over nothing. She didn’t want anything to spoil this special day. Taking a steadying breath, she decided to explore. She climbed the stone spiral stairs, which led up out of the sitting room. Upstairs was warmer, being in the roof, the windows set low. She had to walk slowly, ducking to avoid beams, not yet accustomed to the layout of the house. The main bedroom was light and roomy, with two south-facing windows and a small, working fireplace. Plenty of space for her beloved four-poster bed, so long as they positioned it in the center of the room, where the ceiling was highest. Laura wandered around, arranging furniture in her mind. As she reached the far side of the room, she sensed rather than saw a movement near the door. She turned, half expecting to see Dan standing behind her, but there was no one. No sound, no shadow, nothing, save for the persisting feeling that she was not alone. She found herself contemplating the strange experience with some detachment. She didn’t feel scared, or even spooked, just quietly curious. She held her breath, standing as still as the house itself, waiting. Though for what she did not know.