Love (8 page)

“Th
ank you, no,” said Adam. “I’m afraid I have already arranged a table in Porthleven at the fish restaurant for us, where I am sure the ‘grub’ will be quite adequate. In fact, we are running late and ought to be leaving. The owner of the restaurant can be quite nasty to late arrivals and I don’t want to find something unusual in my soup.”

Saved, thought Karen. Contrarily, she was rather annoyed that he should have made another arrangement in which she was clearly not included. But as they were leaving Adam came over and drew her aside,
“I tried to call you this morning. You didn’t answer.”

“
I was in the studio with the radio on for most of the morning, except when I was on the beach with Humphrey,” replied Karen stiffly.

“
I wanted to ask you to lunch tomorrow. David and Glenna are amongst my oldest friends and are very fond of your grandmother. They were looking forward to meeting you and perhaps seeing some of your work. Glenna is quite a collector in her own right. So mix business with pleasure and come.” He looked at her quizzically. “Would that be a pleasure for you, Karen?”

Karen felt herself colour. Lunch with Morgan was not a pleasant prospect, on the other hand, David and Glenna did look like nice people.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll come.” She felt like telling him to get lost. It felt like he was just using her when it suited. Tomorrow all he wanted was an artist to entertain Glenna and David. She did not know why she had accepted his silly invitation.

“
Good. See you at one-ish. Now, we really must go.” Adam gave Karen’s arm a squeeze and smiled ruefully. He turned to shake Nick’s hand and then they were gone.

“
What a great guy!” exclaimed Nick. “I’m not sure about that Morgan. Great body, but a bit of a cold fish. Not my type at all, Karen.”

Karen didn
’t suppose that Morgan would be even remotely interested in Nick but refrained from saying so. But was she Adam’s type? From the little she knew of Adam, Morgan seemed unlikely to appeal to him. She was obviously very attractive physically and possibly improved on getting to know her, but it wasn’t any skin off her nose if he went out with her. She felt annoyed with herself for feeling ashamed to be seen with Nick, he was a perfectly decent person, she just didn’t want Adam to think that she was interested in Nick at all. It astonished her how much it mattered to her. Adam’s opinion had suddenly become a little too important for comfort.

She
didn’t need to be on this kind of emotional roller coaster, especially now that she was working towards such an important show. Getting tied up with men was just a lot of hassle and a sure fire way of wasting her talent. Catch her spending her life cleaning ovens and changing nappies, no way! After what seemed like an eternity, it was finally eight o’clock and time to close the gallery. Nick had introduced Karen to all the artists and many of the guests but she had found it hard to concentrate on the chitchat, so distracted had she been by Adam’s appearance.

Karen wanted to go straight home and get into a hot bath and mull over her mixed up thoughts about Adam but there was no escaping the well-meant hospitality of Nick and his family. Indeed, she soon found herself responding to their cheerful friendliness. Martha Goodwin, the conceptual painter, turned out to be a thoroughly nice, unassuming dark-haired messily dressed woman of Karen’s own age. Karen chatted happily with her in the intimate bar of the Hussar about the problems of cold and draughty studios while they waited for Penny to arrive. They found, after some discussion of life on a diet of baked potatoes, that the problems of supporting oneself as an artist were the same in both the country and the city.

When Penny arrived, breathless and looking a little tired, they were seated at a long table overlooking the waterfront. Karen found herself sandwiched between Nick and
Geoffrey, which was rather a shame as she was enjoying commiserating with Martha. The menu had a small number of choices which Karen thought was a good sign as it probably meant the food was freshly cooked and not freshly unfrozen.

They all decided on
Hortebagy pancakes to start, followed by goulash and green salad. Bottles of red wine and sparkling water were brought round by the two young waiters who were clearly not Hungarian, but Polish seemed close enough. Nick informed Karen that the restaurant was owned by a Hungarian chef who had married a Penzance girl on holiday to Budapest. She realised he really did know everyone in West Cornwall and when he shed his work persona he was quite an amusing gossip.

Geoffrey
talked to the woman on his other side. Karen had met here briefly at the gallery and gathered she was a wealthy widow with financial interests in the gallery. Nick hinted that the woman might purchase a painting from Karen if she played her cards right, but Karen really didn’t like to force herself on strangers, wealthy art lovers or otherwise.

The tiny golden pancakes arrived, islands in a sea of tangy paprika sauce and they were delicious. Karen wished she was having double starters instead of goulash which was, after all, only a fancy name for stew.

“I’m glad to see you have a healthy appetite Karen,” said Nick slyly as Karen mopped up the last of the sauce on her plate with a crust of bread. She’d got used to his overuse of her name.

“
Mmm,” said Karen, “They were yummy. I’m not a shrinking violet when it comes to food. I had a friend at college who only ever ordered salad when she went out with men and then came home and stuffed herself on whatever was in the fridge. She was too embarrassed to eat in front of them. Besides, I often have to exist on a very simple diet as my budget doesn’t stretch to dinners out like this.”

“
I like a girl with healthy appetites,” smirked Nick. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism. I like uninhibited women.”

The goulash did not disappoint. It was rich with tiny caramelised onions and was served with slices of
dumplings browned in in butter. “Certainly not a meal for anyone watching their weight,” joked Karen.

Nick, himself, was a little on the chubby side and Karen could see he enjoyed his food. She declined more than one glass of wine as she was driving. Nick was quick to offer to drive her home but Karen refused as she did not fancy having to turn him away at the doorstep later. Just when Karen thought the meal was over, she and the other guests were surprised when the lights were dimmed and the chef carried in a large
sacher torte with a flickering sparkler sticking out of it.

“
A leetle something to celebrate your opening,” he announced proudly putting the cake down in front of Penny.

“
Oh, this is lovely!” she exclaimed clapping her hands. The other guests gave the chef a round of applause.

Large slices of the dark chocolate cake were served with local clotted cream. An unusual
but successful cultural fusion thought Karen. They chatted desultorily over coffee and people began to make leaving noises. Karen thanked Penny and Geoffrey for the superb dinner and Nick walked her round the corner to the mini.

“
Now promise me Karen,” said Nick leaning on the car, “That you will come with me to the Psychic Fair next week in Penzance.”

“Th
e Psychic what?” asked Karen.

“Th
e Psychic Fair. It’s all the New Age people and a few more besides, mystics, tarot readers, all that sort of thing. They have it once a year, it’s a good laugh. Everybody goes. You can have your palm read.”

“
I don’t like that sort of thing,” said Karen. “I don’t believe in it. It just frightens people unnecessarily and makes them superstitious. But it might be interesting to take some photos, I can use them in my paintings. If you think they won’t mind.”

“Th
ey won’t, they’ll be flattered. I’ll pick you up on Tuesday at five. Drive carefully,” he said leaning forward and kissing her quickly on the cheek.

“
Good bye!” called Karen, revving the engine into life with relief.

As she drove up the hill towards the cottage she saw that Adam’s house was ablaze with lights. There were two cars in the driveway, a large green Jaguar and a four-wheel drive - a Range Rover probably. Karen stopped to open the gate of the driveway, they were obviously all up as she could hear music playing. She drove the car into the garage and hurried into the cottage. Poor Humphrey had been alone far longer than she had intended. She let him out into the garden and waited while he trotted around happily.

Karen hung Adam
’s coat up in the hall, thinking that she would have to give it back tomorrow at lunch. Thankfully, he hadn’t seen that she had worn it to the opening, that would have been too embarrassing. With Humphrey safely in, Karen locked the door and gave him his bedtime biscuit.

After a nice hot bath, Karen climbed wearily into bed. It had been a much longer evening than she had anticipated. She lay in bed staring out of the window at the starry sky. Now she was in bed she did not feel at all sleepy. She did not feel like reading either. She had quite enjoyed the evening despite Adam
’s dramatic arrival, or perhaps that had added to it. Nick was an amiable sort of guy and not bad company for an evening since she did not feel in any danger of becoming emotionally involved with him. Probably he was quite confident in bed, but not the sort of man she would ever ever feel any kind of love for. On that level it was quite restful to be with him. Besides, he could be very funny about all the houses and people that he had met through work. Adam was another kettle of fish.

Karen found she couldn
’t sleep despite feeling tired. She did not know what to think about Adam. She knew that deep down that old infatuation that she thought was over was as strong as ever. There were times when she felt an answering response from him but then, in his elusive way, he slipped away again.

She tried deep breathing exercises. She tried muscle relaxation techniques. She tried counting sheep in desperation. All that kept floating through her head were images of Adam and that infernal Morgan leaping hand in hand over fences.

The sun was streaming through the leaded window panes when Karen finally woke after a fitful night’s sleep. She had had strange dreams: she was the waitress at a very posh restaurant dressed in short black frock and frilly white apron complete with little white cap. The diners were Adam and Morgan: she had just spilled a plate of soup in Morgan’s lap when the chef, Nick, came rushing out and started shouting at her. Soon Adam and Nick came to blows and then a bloodied Adam made passionate love to her with the sea crashing around. What an obvious dream but so sexy!

It was a warm and windless morning; unseasonably so for January. According to Radio Cornwall, which Karen listened to as she ate her breakfast, their corner of the country was the warmest in the United Kingdom. London, on the other hand, was caught in the grip of icy fog. There were times when Karen was glad to be in Cornwall despite missing the feeling that she was in the centre of the art world back in London.

It was sheer heaven to run along the soft smooth sand dodging the curling white waves as they rippled in. She and Humphrey collected a small but significant assortment of beach artefacts with which she filled her pockets: several silky grey pieces of driftwood, a handful of pale shells, some pebbles which looked like boiled sweets and a bright orange fisherman’s float. Karen thought that it would make a nice mobile if she hung some of the stones and shells from one of the bits of driftwood. She had always enjoyed beachcombing as a child and competing with the rest of the family to make the first footprints on the beach in the morning.

On the path back up to the house Karen stopped to pick some of the early violets she had noticed on the way down to the beach. The tiny plants were hidden under the fronds of dead bracken which lined the sandy path. By dint of much hunting Karen was able to gather a bunch of quite a respectable size. She would tak
e them to Adam’s as she had no gift of wine or chocolates to bring.

The vexed question of what to wear remained to be solved. Would they all be as smartly dressed as yesterday evening? Probably not she answered herself, it was not cool to get all dressed up for lunch in the country. Wasn’t it? But their casual clothes would still be infinitely smarter than anything she had brought with her. She finally settled, after much trying on and abandoning of garments in an untidy heap on her bed, for a pair of snug-fitting black Levi’s and a black polo neck. She could wear her silver necklace again and even if she looked a little 1960s bohemian the effect was, she thought looking at herself in Gran’s full-length mirror, quite dramatic. Let Morgan dress like this, mutton dressed as lamb, hah.

The run on the beach and her growing excitement
gave Karen a high colour and as she checked herself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving she thought she looked much healthier than when she’d arrived. At quarter to one precisely she was on the way up to Adam’s house armed with his coat, the bunch of violets wrapped in pink tissue and an exuberant Humphrey.

As she passed the garage Adam appeared from the wood shed carrying a big basket of logs. He was wearing close-fitting camel coloured moleskin trousers, a white linen shirt, and a blue wool
V-neck sweater. The blue of the sweater exactly matched his eyes.