Move Over Darling (12 page)

Penmorfa, thought Coralie, spotting the small gathering in the glasshouse, had been a safe haven, at least until Gethin Lewis showed up, but unless she wanted a very lonely life, there were risks she would have to take. It seemed to her, on her last visit, that Ned was dealing better with his situation. She was less afraid of what he might do. It would be a relief to send the occasional letter and maybe it would help her own compulsion to turn up in person every month.

Sullen clouds threatened rain and a stiff wind shook the life out of some of the display plants. As she quickened her pace, Adam came storming out of the glasshouse, looking as if he’d like to shake someone too and she just managed to jump out of the way as he flung a bucket of dirty water over one of the raised beds.

She was already feeling jittery about what she was facing, but no one could say that she hadn’t done her bit to save Penmorfa from going the way of so many small villages dying for lack of resources. Alys, sitting on one of the benches, looked up and scowled as she came in. It wasn’t quite the reaction she was hoping for. Looking at her expression, Coralie felt quite sorry for Kitty. If she’d been on the receiving end of that a few times no wonder she’d been a bit hesitant about telling her mother she was pregnant.

‘I thought we were friends,’ Alys said, wagging a finger at her. ‘You’ve been living here for the best part of a year now. We thought you were one of us.’

‘I am.’ Coralie blinked, feeling some of the wind leave her sails. ‘That’s why I need to talk to you.’

Kitty stopped pretending to fiddle around with a seed tray and scuttled over to sit next to her mother. Leaning back, she forgot to hide her stomach and Coralie could see that although the exceptionally cold weather meant that outside only a few buds were swelling, Kitty didn’t seem to have been affected.

Now two pairs of eyes blazed at her.

‘Does the Hall Management Committee still have access to the ACORN loan?’ she asked, quietly.

Alys folded her arms, and Kitty laid a protective hand on them.

‘I’ve been thinking it over and I can’t not help, can I? Not when this is the only way to pay off the loan quickly. So, I’ve told Gethin that if you can take care of Rock and Sweet Cleans for me, I’ll sit for a portrait.’

Alys rushed over and gave her a hug, then Kitty joined in, too.

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Alys, pinching her cheek. ‘That’s brilliant, I’m so glad you’ve agreed to help the village. Just think of all the people who’ll benefit from this, all the coffee mornings, cake sales and classes that can be restarted – you won’t regret it.’

No, thought Coralie, crossing her fingers. But they might.

‘Welcome to New York, Coralie,’ said Gethin, looking pleased with himself as he bent his head to kiss her lightly on the cheek. ‘I knew I could count on you to do the right thing.’

‘For Penmorfa,’ Coralie added, still trying to catch her breath. Hardly surprising then that her head was spinning. And if her legs felt unsteady, she told herself, it was nothing to do with the rough touch of his stubble setting her skin tingling, nor was it the low, delicious murmur of his voice as he said her name. Gethin’s cramped diary had meant squeezing the sittings in during the week leading up to his new exhibition. Alys might have been delighted with the speed of events, but it had meant a frantic three weeks for Coralie, who’d scrambled to leave the business in a state that someone else could manage whilst she was away.

‘That’s understood,’ he murmured, with a smile. ‘Why else would you come all this way?’

‘You didn’t leave me much choice,’ she pointed out. ‘Not if I wanted to carry on living in the village.’

‘Shape up or ship out.’ He laughed softly. ‘Why do you think I left the place?’

Stay calm
, she ordered herself, taking a deep breath. She had to keep a sense of purpose about this trip. All she had to do was sit in a studio, what was the worst that could happen?

Her sudden urge to flee became more urgent when she noticed what was going on over Gethin’s shoulder. Some half-a-dozen students – all attractive women, Coralie noted – a stunning naked female model and Gethin’s spiky assistant, Ruby, were all looking at her. The collective message seemed to be to wish her back to the other side of the Atlantic. It wasn’t a great starting point, but what really bothered Coralie was the naked model.

‘Didn’t anyone mention that you’d signed up to being painted in your birthday suit?’ teased Gethin, following her glance.

‘That “Calendar Girls” stuff is a fund-raising cliché,’ she replied, her nonchalant tone rather ruined by the blush she could feel creeping across her face.

‘It certainly is if the
Merched y Wawr
are involved. You’d want more than a few strategically placed buns to hide that lot,’ he grinned. ‘Let me finish up here and we’ll compare notes on what we’re going to do for this painting. Naked doesn’t have to be clichéd, you know.’

Coralie’s stomach growled at him. At least one part of her still had some sense left. She took a seat, trying to be inconspicuous whilst the lesson proceeded.

‘I love this here. The way you’ve captured the curve of the hip is really beautiful,’ Gethin was saying, sweeping his hands across one easel in a gesture that seemed to have the entire class holding their breath. ‘Good work.’

At this praise, his student, a brunette wearing large silver hoop earrings and a small camisole top, despite the frigid temperature outside, ran the tip of her tongue over her wet lips, as if they were indulging in a spot of foreplay rather than discussing a picture. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, thought Coralie, although it was difficult not to be moved by a man who did such wonderful things for a dark pair of jeans and had a voice that could make the electoral register sound like
Under Milk Wood
.

‘Hey, lady! New York ain’t a postcard. You gotta do it, not look at it,’ the taxi driver had advised earlier as they arrived outside the historic art school. It was true that she
had
spent the entire journey gasping at the cityscape unfolding before her. Privately, she’d been convinced that there were few surprises in a city she thought she knew from so many films and television series, but the screen images were no preparation for the real thing.

Penmorfa was beautiful, but this was breathtaking in a way that she just hadn’t anticipated. The early spring sunshine gilded ten thousand windows of the modern skyscrapers, turning the glass to pale gold mosaics against a clear blue sky. Byzantine arches on the older buildings soared upwards to where the dark tracery of balconies, pinnacles and water towers stretched out into the distance. Yellow cabs buzzed through the streets and lights blazed in all kinds of bars and restaurants.

Yet all that exhilaration and energy couldn’t quite stop her feeling of nervous excitement whenever she thought about the reality of coming face-to-face with Gethin again. It wasn’t just the sight of the art school, with its imposing stone façade and splendidly ornate window arches, that had made her so reluctant to leave the cab.

Gethin had offered her the choice of meeting him during his morning class or later, for lunch. Coralie reasoned that seeing him at work would give her an idea of what it was she was letting herself in for. She hoped he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she’d only turned up so early because she was impatient to see him, as it clearly wasn’t true. She glanced up now to prove to herself that that really was the case and to demonstrate her interest in the lesson, but found her gaze straying to the teacher. Except that Gethin had beaten her to it and was studying her with amused interest.

Now she remembered that she wasn’t the only one with an agenda. What was he up to? Mentally mixing colours to match her skin tone? She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn again as the reality of being under such close scrutiny started to kick in. Then his face broke into a smile that made her heart skip with pleasure before she ordered it to calm down and behave.

‘Okay everyone, that’s it for today,’ he said, clapping his hands and ignoring the disappointed groans. ‘Ruby will take over and answer any questions whilst you pack up. Same time next week.’

He picked up his leather jacket and strode towards her. Her stomach rumbled another loud warning and he laughed. ‘Come on, there’s a diner on the corner of the block.’

Where hopefully the coffee was served in the bucket-sized cups she’d need to clear her head so she could talk sensibly to Gethin. A stack of fluffy pancakes and a lake of syrup wouldn’t hurt either; imagine how her depleted blood sugars and flagging metabolism would thank her for it.

Behind his back, Ruby, her head on one side and her startled white crop giving her the look of a small, fierce budgie, had been making Angry Bird faces at her since she’d met her in reception. She seemed to think that one of her duties was to defend Gethin from all-comers and had taken Coralie’s bag with a very suspicious look. Coralie ignored her. Anyway, she hadn’t come all this way to be liked, but to help seal the deal for Penmorfa’s Hall Management Committee, Alys in particular. If anyone had a right to be worried it was Alys. Securing a large loan was one thing, making the repayments quite another. What would Alys do if anything went wrong?

Coralie’s mouth went dry just thinking about the prospect. As a businesswoman it was in Alys’s interest to rebuild the community; how else could the garden centre expand and grow without local people to work and shop there? But Coralie sensed there was more to it than that, that somewhere Alys had a personal investment in this project. Coralie comforted herself with the thought that all she had to do was make sure that Alys ended up with a painting. She could do that, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if she’d been asked to bungee jump off the Empire State Building. Hey, the model today had managed to stand there stark naked without being the slightest bit self-conscious. Then she glanced at Gethin, who gave her a wolfish grin and she remembered that she didn’t have to take her clothes off to feel exposed.

Gethin couldn’t wait to get Coralie in his studio. Just looking at her closing her eyes whilst she sucked the last of the syrup off her spoon made him feel good to be alive.

‘Oh, that’s better!’ she said, offering him a quick, grateful smile across the table. ‘Looking at all those hot dog and pretzel vendors on the streets this morning from the taxi must have made me really hungry. I was starting to feel quite light-headed.’

Must have been something in the air affecting him too, thought Gethin. Why else would he have struggled to stay grounded when Coralie appeared in the doorway of his class, turning all the monochrome to colour with her dishevelled chestnut hair and short, flared turquoise jacket?

‘How was the hotel?’ he asked. ‘Did you get any sleep?’

‘I wondered if they were expecting any princesses when I saw the size of that room and that huge bed.’ She smiled, shooting him a mischievous glance that made him have all kinds of thought about the huge bed. ‘Are you sure you’re not about to be landed with a right royal bill?’

Gethin frowned, but only because Max, the manager, was finding every excuse in the book to hang round their table. ‘Call it a small thank you for agreeing to bunk at Ruby’s place for the rest of the week. Are you all right with that?’

Coralie played with her empty cup. ‘It was very hospitable of her to have me to stay whilst her roommate’s out of town, and besides, you’ve been more than generous.’

Max, leaning over the table making a show of collecting plates, turned his head so Coralie couldn’t see and winked at him.

‘More coffee, ma’am?’ he asked, returning seconds later with a refill and placing a neatly wrapped package on the table in front of her. ‘Chocolate muffin, ma’am. On the house, from the best diner in town. Just so’s you’ll come back and see us again,’ the older man added, looking dazed when Coralie rewarded him with a smile that lit the room. What did he have to do to make her beam at him like that?

‘I’ll get the bill,’ she said, reaching for her purse.

‘You making a profit on that business yet?’ he asked. ‘Because unless you can look me in the eye and tell me you’ve got money to burn, I’m getting this.’

She opened her mouth to protest and then shrugged.

‘Better,’ he told her. ‘Don’t struggle, just give in.’

She threw him a startled look and he had to agree he could have phrased it more subtly. On the other hand, wasn’t that exactly what he was thinking? It was all he could do not to reach out for her as she ducked under his arm when he opened the door for her. He couldn’t quite believe she’d crossed an ocean to see him, come all the way from Penmorfa. He’d have to be made of stone not to have wanted to pull her to him and kiss her. Steady, boy, he reminded himself, just because she was standing there didn’t mean she’d come to see him and certainly not of her own free will. Given half a chance, she’d be off like a shot.

Nevertheless he couldn’t help noticing the glow of her cheeks still pink from the crowded diner, where the red vinyl bench seats never had a chance to grow cold. Nor could he miss that small contented sigh as she lifted her face to the fresh air in a way that made him smile and gave him a nice warm feeling.

‘Eating is not a problem in this city, but there aren’t too many of the true diners like that left,’ he said, trying not to think too much about the nice warm feeling. ‘Not those comfortable, lived-in kind of places where the food’s good, the service is fast and every table’s set with Frank’s Hot Sauce and Aunt Jemima’s. Not in Manhattan. They’ve torn most of them down and put up fake ones instead. They look the same, but all the heart and soul’s been knocked out of them.’

He pointed to a restaurant on the corner. ‘Think that’s a genuine Italian restaurant? All the Italians have made their money and moved on, so it’s somebody else’s turn. They’re all run by Mexicans now. All is not what it seems here.’

‘If that’s true, why do you love it here so much?’ Coralie asked.

Realising he was in danger of leaving her behind if he walked at his usual pace he slowed down to give her a chance to keep up.

‘Why not stay in Penmorfa if you’re looking for something down-to-earth and authentic?’

‘What? So everyone can tell me how easy I’ve got it, playing with paints instead of fighting a losing battle running a farm? That’s never going to happen.’

Penmorfa had to be really important to her because why else would she fly all this way? All
he
cared about was having an excuse to study her in detail. He allowed himself a good look at her, appreciating the way her rolled bronze curls gleamed and bounced as she tripped along beside him, the concerned compassion creasing her brow. Wait a minute! He followed her line of vision and spotted one of the city’s ‘Adopt me’ dogs, a skinny little hound in its distinctive orange vest, looking up gratefully at its elderly carer.

‘Fosterers slip those on the dogs that need a home before walking them,’ he explained, as Coralie cooed over what looked to him like an overgrown bony rat showing off with an extra spring in its spindly legs as it passed them. ‘It tells potential adopters that the dog’s available.’

‘Poor little fellow,’ she said, looking stricken.

It was almost worth offering the dumb mutt a home so that her eyes would follow him with the same interest.

‘I hope there’s a happy ending for him,’ she went on, still watching the dog sadly. ‘He’s very cute.’

‘But not your type,’ he told her, rolling his eyes. ‘You can’t take him back on the plane with you. The world is full of dumb creatures, Coralie, not all of them have happy endings.’

And not every home was loving.

‘You said you’d escaped to the country,’ he mentioned, giving in to his curiosity about what she’d left behind. ‘But you never said why. What did you escape from?’

‘Why does anyone choose to live in the country?’ She smiled, a little too brightly. ‘For a better quality of life, of course.’

Bullshit. There was a bust-up behind her, he’d bet on it. ‘Having your portrait painted can be very therapeutic,’ he told her. Next time Ruby wisecracked about his interest in Coralie, he could confidently reply that she was barking up the wrong tree. The last thing he needed was someone crying on his shoulder over some clown who didn’t appreciate her.

One of many advantages of being single was that he didn’t have to bother himself with anyone else’s concerns, like who did the floral arrangements for that elegant wedding at the Plaza Athénée, or whose fortieth birthday went from wake to baby shower when, at the eleventh hour, she’d found a straight man and got pregnant. Hell, if he’d wanted to listen to emotional problems, he’d have become a hairdresser. At least he could tell his clients to shut their mouths.