Move Over Darling (10 page)

‘Oh, fuck!’ She groaned, waiting to see what was hurting most. And then she thought of something worse and braced herself for the sweating and nausea and the abdominal cramps to begin. Staring up into the wide azure sky she watched a seagull’s lonely flight as it soared away from her and listened to the roar of the waves before they crashed against the cliffs. Cradling her stomach, she wondered if that was the closest she would get to holding the shadow child waiting in the wings. The baby seemed to feel her anxiety and reassured her with a lazy stretch, as if waking from sleep, little limbs pushing against her stomach. It wasn’t going anywhere, the baby, she thought, with an unexpected twinge of relief, which made her laugh.

‘What are you grinning at, you fuckwit?’ said Adam, his face like a worried sun appearing in the sky above her.

‘The baby’s all right, Adam!’ She reached up as he knelt down to her and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘I didn’t think I cared, but I do!’

‘Of course you do, you silly mare.’ He smiled gently at her, making her feel that everything might work out after all. On impulse she nuzzled in and kissed his neck only to feel him stiffen and pull away. ‘Come on,’ he said, sounding strained. ‘Let’s make sure you’re in one piece and get you home.’

Maybe he did care about her? Perhaps a glimpse of what could have happened had shaken him, too? He helped her up the stone steps with more tenderness than she’d have thought possible, so she made the most of it, holding tight to him for as long as she could.

‘So, are you going to tell Alys now?’ he asked as he turned her hand to inspect a graze on her palm.

Looking down at his fingernails, broken by all the outdoor work he did, she got distracted by the thought of how nice it would be to see them every day, before she realised he was waiting for an answer. ‘Not just yet, eh?’ she murmured. ‘I can’t stand the thought of all the fuss.’

‘Up to you.’ He shrugged. ‘But don’t leave it too long or it’ll be too late.’

The track leading towards the garden centre lay before them. ‘Your surfboard,’ she reminded him. ‘Go on, I’ll be fine now.’

Adam stopped and took hold of her hands again. That had to be a good sign. ‘You need a friend,’ he said, with a small smile that revealed his chipped front tooth and made her feel all warm inside. ‘I’m here for you, if you need me.’

Kitty nodded and tried not to cry. Friend. That would have to do.

In the workshop a few weeks later, Coralie pressed a button and Doris started singing ‘Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered’. Bittersweet remembrances soared around her, making Coralie tut-tut at some of the more ludicrous lyrics. She had no intention of worshipping any man’s trousers, she told herself, quickly dismissing a fleeting mental glimpse of Gethin’s dark denims hugging thighs that were lean and hard and pressed firmly against hers. She had far more self-control and her pressing concerns ought not to be about a man she was never going to meet again.

For a moment the tantalising possibility of being Gethin Lewis’s latest muse floated up in front of her, before she dismissed it. The prize had been a PR stunt, something to do away with that residual ill-will that dogged him in his home village. With distance, she hoped that he would realise that he could make an equally grand gesture by simply presenting them with a work that didn’t involve anyone from Penmorfa. Especially not her.

‘Do we have to listen to this?’ asked Kitty, tossing her head in a way that made Coralie fret about future customers unravelling long dark hairs from the mixture she was stirring.

‘It’s happy music,’ said Coralie, pointing her wooden spoon in a warning gesture to silence her. ‘Doris Day is wise and good, so leave her alone.’

Kitty frowned and picked at a loose thread on her top. ‘Wasn’t she a bit of a goer?’

Coralie huffed but managed to hold her tongue. Kitty had been tetchy and miserable since the Valentine’s
Twmpath
. Coralie couldn’t decide if it was Adam’s kiss or the subsequent spat that was getting to her most, but Adam’s happy-go-lucky attitude was bound to have made Kitty even more aware of the responsibilities she couldn’t escape.

The loose thread dealt with, Kitty was now apparently all set for work. ‘So what are we on today, then?’

‘Goats’ milk and ylang-ylang – very good for dry skin.’

‘Do you drink it or bathe in it?’ Kitty said, peering into the pan.

‘Neither,’ said Coralie, nudging her out of the way and making a mental note to dig out a spare scarf from the growing collection she used to tuck up hair whilst working. Today hers was silk with a jaunty nautical design of which she was particularly fond. ‘It’s soap. It’ll need to cure for about a month and then it’ll be ready to go.’

‘Oh, I’m disappointed now.’ Kitty took the hint and moved back to settle herself in the armchair by the stove. ‘I was hoping it was some sort of essential nutrient. I’m that hungry. What have you got out here that I can eat?’

‘Well, you can make us a pot of tea if you’d like and if you’re very good I’ll tell you where the cakes are hidden.’

‘Nah!’ said Kitty, pulling off her biker boots and wiggling her feet in their striped socks at the wood burner. ‘I can’t be arsed.’

Lowering the heat under the saucepan, Coralie watched Kitty getting comfortable and wondered if she’d come to work or talk. Sweet Cleans was ticking over at a rate she could cope with in her workshop, she had a roof over her head and she could pay the bills. However, she was gradually realising that drawing anything like a salary was some way off. Taking her little cottage industry to the next level would mean more than just sharing her recipes. Making it worthwhile would take her away from the very aspects of the business she relished and perilously close to the world of commercial cut and thrust she’d left behind.

‘Unless one of us is arsed,’ Coralie pointed out, ‘there won’t be anything to sell so I suggest
we
get on with some work then.’

‘Oh look, here comes Mam,’ observed Kitty, staying put. ‘Probably needs cheering up. What with Dad’s back playing up and him not being too thrilled with her getting so involved with this Hall Management Committee thing. You could cut the air with a knife at home lately.’

Who’d have believed it, thought Coralie wiping her hands and opening the door.

‘Busy?’ said Alys, giving Kitty a bit of Beady Eye Factor.

‘Depends,’ said Kitty, stretching contentedly.

‘I’ve just had some good news,’ Alys said, wringing her hands and waving away Coralie’s offer of a seat. ‘I’ve just had a call from ACORN, a charity that helps rural communities in need. They’ve approved our plans!’

‘Fair play, Mam,’ said Kitty, not sounding especially interested. ‘What does that mean then?’

‘It means we’re eligible for a sizeable loan from them which means we can get on with the work until the bulk of the money from the grant is approved,’ said Alys, still looking, to Coralie, very tense.

‘The revamp of the church hall, you mean?’ she chipped in, applauding Alys’s dedication. Coralie was more than happy to support any fundraising efforts that didn’t involve her, although she always found that she was particularly busy whenever Alys mentioned anything about her joining the
Merched y Wawr
.

‘So, how will you pay back the loan?’ she asked. Perhaps there was a similar pot of gold for rural businesses, too?

‘It seems that hall management committees are generally very conscientious about repayments,’ Alys replied, her uneasy body language belying her nonchalant tone. ‘Once the grant money arrives it won’t be a problem – we can pay it back then. Thanks to Gethin, we have a painting to sell which will guarantee that even if the grant takes time to go through the system we won’t default on the bridging loan.’

‘Oh, that’s great!’ Coralie was delighted that her faith in Gethin to do the right thing hadn’t been misplaced, even if a very small part of her lamented the lost opportunity for further contact with him. ‘What’s the painting like?’

Everyone listened to the gas hob hissing until Doris Day moved on to ‘High Hopes’ and Alys cleared her throat. ‘Well, we know what its subject is, don’t we?’ she said, giving Coralie a worried look. ‘I understand that Gethin’s so keen to do this to support the village’s cause that he’s even prepared to pay to fly you out there. I must say that’s one in the eye to everyone here who’s ever written him off as a totally selfish man. And given how busy he is with his current exhibition, it’s very good of him to spare us his time.’

‘Oh, no!’ Coralie banged her wooden spoon against the pan as two eager faces turned to her. ‘You must see that it’s totally impractical for me. I can’t just drop everything here.’ Gethin Lewis might have made her feel as if she could fly again, but that didn’t mean she was having her portrait painted for anyone.

‘We’d take care of Sweet Cleans for you,’ Alys insisted.

‘And keep an eye on Rock,’ Kitty joined in.

‘Penmorfa’s whole future depends on you!’

Now that
was
being melodramatic, thought Coralie, opening her mouth to protest. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Why can’t we just redraw the prize? I don’t see why it has to be my portrait when the painting’s being sold anyway. It could have been anybody in that room that night. ’

‘Not really,’ said Kitty, getting up and prowling round the soap mixture. Coralie shushed her away. Was this the moment when Kitty had to admit why it couldn’t have been her, why jumping on a plane would have been out of the question? She stared at her pan rather than at Kitty, afraid of doing anything which might make the younger woman think twice about her confession.

‘I don’t know if I should tell you this. I kind of promised to keep it to myself,’ Kitty said, eventually.

Too late, already, thought Coralie. But she was sure Kitty would feel so much better once she’d unburdened herself about the pregnancy.

‘The thing is, the other half of your strip of tickets was never included with the rest of the draw that night. Gethin asked me to give them to him. He told me he’d been thinking about something you’d said to him about giving everyone a stake in his work, so when I saw he’d donated a painting to the raffle, I just assumed …’

‘He must really want to paint you,’ Alys finished.

‘Or something,’ Kitty mumbled, before breaking into giggles and setting Alys off, too. ‘Oh come on, Coralie!’ said Kitty. ‘Don’t look so disapproving. He is lush and he’s obviously dead keen on you. Don’t tell me you’re not tempted. I so would if it was me he’d invited to lie on his couch!’

‘It’s not you, though, is it?’ Coralie protested, a sudden constriction of her throat making it quite hard to speak. Not that Alys and Kitty were listening. They were too busy cackling and leaning on each other for support, all differences between them apparently forgotten, leaving Coralie feeling even more isolated.

‘Sorry, Coralie,’ said Alys, straightening up and wiping her eyes, ‘we’re just jealous that we didn’t get a free holiday in America and the devoted attention of a red-hot man. You’d need to sell an awful lot of soap to buy that much excitement.’

‘What makes you think I want that?’ said Coralie, stung. ‘I came to Penmorfa to live quietly and to do something creative and fulfilling. It’s not about how much I earn, but that I’m enjoying what I do. That’s all the excitement I need.’

‘And we respect that, of course.’ Alys nodded, pulling a straight face, even though the amusement still danced in her eyes. ‘You’ve settled seamlessly into the village. Everyone admires the way you’ve joined in and made a real effort to be part of the community. No one’s ever had a bad word to say against you – even Delyth and Mair think you’re a quiet, hard-working girl. Thirty thousand pounds is a lot to repay through cake sales and coffee mornings alone, but thanks to you we can be relaxed about the loan. I promise you that we won’t let the business suffer whilst you’re away.’

‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Coralie said, slowly lifting her eyes to face Alys. ‘Aren’t you forgetting that I’m not a bowl of fruit or a flower arrangement? You can’t just push me around for this painting as if I were some inanimate object. You might be happy for me to drop everything, but what if you’d been in my shoes? Would you be quite so keen to jet off to the other side of the world if it meant leaving everything in the garden centre to Huw and Kitty?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m very sorry, Alys, but I can’t help.’

Gethin was sitting in his favourite diner trying to convince himself he was pleased to be back. Today, New Yorkers were wrapped up to beat a wind chill factor so cold that, anywhere else in the world, it would have cleared the streets of its citizens. The lovely brunette passing the window clearly didn’t have far to go; she was bare-headed, her glossy hair just bouncing gently on her shoulders as she walked. As if sensing his interest, she turned her face towards him. Beautiful grey eyes under perfectly groomed brows met his. Her rosy lips parted in a flawless smile and then she winked and sashayed away.

Normally that would have been enough to remind him how he loved this city.

‘Only takes one dumb animal,’ reminded his apprentice, nodding at the woman’s fur-clad back.

‘Good morning, Ruby Arnold!’ he said loudly, making her wince. ‘Good of you to drop in. Caffeine kicked in at last?’

Ruby mumbled something inaudible before returning to her pancakes. Gethin shook his head. So the kid partied hard, but some internal switch flipped to ‘on’ as soon as they were working. ‘Is that the thanks I get for making sure you were registered for the Brave New Artists’ Prize?’

‘You did what?’ Her head jerked up. ‘I wasn’t going to bother. You know, with the fee and all.’

‘All taken care of.’

He caught a glimpse of the part of her she kept hidden, the softer, vulnerable Ruby, before the guard went up again.

‘Thanks, but you should have saved your money. They won’t pick a nobody like me.’

‘Speculate to accumulate, Rubes,’ he said, fondly. ‘If you can’t even be bothered to enter then you definitely won’t make the cut.’ He’d never imagined himself permitting anyone to share his studio – God knows, plenty of people had tried to flatter their way in – but dogged little Ruby had chipped away at his stone heart. He’d been quietly impressed with her raw talent, but it was the wounded look in her eyes that had really got to him.

Once upon a time … well, those early days had gone. And, if anything, the lean times had made him more determined to prove himself. He’d had his lucky break and Ruby had more than repaid hers, proving herself an able assistant with an almost intuitive knack of giving him what he needed before he realised he needed it and always putting her hand up to a mistake. No nasty surprises with Ruby; she was a quick learner.

‘Hey, Mr Jones? Can I get you a refill?’

Gethin put his cup down, ‘I’m good for coffee, thanks, Max,’ he said to the manager. ‘Come on, Rubes, I think we’ve let Pamala wait long enough.’

The art dealer’s exacting standards were well-known. Some people survived the ordeal of working with Pamala Gray and came out the other side with enhanced reputations; others slunk away wounded, barely able to exhibit again.

‘You might have shaved,’ Ruby reproached him, looking up at his jaw as he got to his feet. ‘You ought to at least try to keep up the good impression, for my sake if not for yours. I might need her when I win that big prize.’

Gethin laughed. ‘So now you’re not just in the competition, you’re going to win it. I like your thinking. Listen, if Pamala Gray gets close enough to inspect my stubble, she’s close enough not to care,’ he said, running his hand across his chin. ‘We’re fine-tuning my exhibition, not going on a date. Besides,’ he added with a grin, ‘she’s the one chasing me.’ More people than ever were clamouring for his flattering portrayals of sophisticated couples and strong, beautiful women. If one or two of the stuffier art critics lifted their eyebrows at the mention of his name, what did he care? Everything was going his way, so why was he feeling so miserable?

‘Here, I’ll take that for you.’ The manager leant over and took his tray. ‘You have a nice day now, Mr Jones.’

Gethin flung his bags across his shoulder and turned up his collar, before gently shoving Ruby into the cold.

‘Shouldn’t he know your name by now?’ Ruby tugged a beanie over her peroxide crop and fumbled in the pockets of her faux-leather jacket for gloves. Gethin handed her the lightest of the bags.

‘Jones as in Tom – Max’s little joke when he found out I was from Wales.’

‘Whatever.’ Ruby shrugged. ‘But talking of the old home town, what’s happening about that portrait you asked me to fit into the schedule?’