Move Over Darling (13 page)

‘Coming face-to-face with yourself like that shows you all kinds of stuff about yourself.’

A shadow flickered across her face and some of her liveliness and energy abandoned her. Definitely a broken heart. No wonder she went around half the time looking so haunted, but he could take her mind off that.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He smiled, offering her his arm. ‘It’s going to be fun. First sitting tomorrow. Early.’

Coralie woke up in a tiny apartment in downtown Manhattan the next day, after a short night of not so much drifting as diving into sleep only to paddle around in the shallows from around three in the morning when her body started telling her it was time to get up. The springs of the sofa bed twanged as she wrenched herself upright, but the room remained disconcertingly black and silent.

She pushed up her eye-mask and winced as the light came flooding in. Ruby was mouthing something at her. Coralie pulled out her earplugs; there was no cure for New York City noise, especially when the apartment was situated on a busy street, but two wodges of pink foam did a lot to absorb it.

‘You want coffee?’ Ruby repeated.

‘Yes, please!’ Coralie said, with what she hoped was a grateful, thank-you-for-thinking-of-me smile.

‘Get to it then.’ Ruby cocked her head towards the tiny windowless kitchenette crammed into an alcove leading off the living room with a hint of sadistic pleasure. ‘Gethin doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Especially when he’s being so generous.’

If he was that generous why couldn’t he just put his hand in his pocket and buy Penmorfa a new community hall, thought Coralie, ignoring the distrust with which she was being regarded. She straightened up after digging out her wash bag from her suitcase stashed under the sofa and found Ruby raising her pierced eyebrows at her bargain stripy-cotton gents’ pyjamas.

‘You know, Gethin never has to ask a woman twice to sit for him, so I’m just wondering what your game is?’

Bunching her fingers into her towel, Coralie chose not to say something she might regret and marched over to Ruby’s narrow bathroom. It couldn’t have been more of a contrast to her hotel suite, where the vast bathroom was equipped with a gigantic white bath and a silver fountain of a shower. No free samples of bathroom goodies for her to compare with Sweet Cleans products, either. She frowned, temporarily distracted by thoughts that the packaging she’d picked for her range looked somewhat rustic and naïve compared to the sleek toiletries that had been on offer at the hotel. That was something to think about later. For now she had to deal with Ruby.

Coralie was pretty sure she hadn’t been doing anything antisocial in her sleep because she was certain she hadn’t been asleep for long enough. Maybe the reality of being lumbered with a complete stranger in such proximity was starting to hit home. Recharged by her shower, Coralie had just resolved to try to be extra nice to her hostess when she heard a voice outside the door.

‘Hey, I hope you didn’t help yourself to any of the hotel’s towels. Some of them come with hitchhikers,’ Ruby shouted. ‘There are no bedbugs in my life and I’d like it to stay that way.’

Strangely enough, there hadn’t been any mention in the hotel literature of the bedbugs that had invaded so many of the city’s biggest names. It wasn’t, apparently, something Manhattanites liked to boast about. Little wonder then that the hotel air, a notice on the wall explained, had been infused with calming, restorative aromas to revive the weary traveller. Pity she couldn’t have chucked some of that into her suitcase.

‘So why did you take the risk?’ Barging past in a cloud of steam, Coralie dragged on her clothes, shook out her curls and did some quick sums. ‘Listen, I appreciate you putting me up, but it’s obviously not convenient for me to stay so I’ll look for somewhere else.’

‘No can do. If you’re modelling for Gethin, I want to know where you are.’ Ruby scowled. ‘Gethin’s a great artist. He’s got a big exhibition coming up and he doesn’t need to chase round Manhattan looking for you. He’s really put himself out to fit this portrait into his schedule, you know, and it’s my job to see that you jump when he tells you to.’

‘No problem,’ said Coralie, reaching for her short turquoise jacket. ‘Believe me, I want to get this over with as much as you do.’

Ruby stuck a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘So why
did
you come all this way if you didn’t want your picture painted? Did you think you could get a bit closer to the artist?’

‘I’m doing this,’ said Coralie, with as much patience as she could muster given that her body was telling her it didn’t know which way was up, ‘for the sake of the village I love.’

‘Playing hard to get, eh?’ Ruby nodded. ‘Smart tactic. Just don’t kid yourself it’ll work.’

The Foundered Ship was in full swing. Or it was if you stared at the vicious swirls of the greasy red carpet for too long, thought Kitty. Dark panelled walls and fake beams were enough to give you cabin fever if there were more than five people in the saloon, and a stingy little fire burnt the leg off anyone sitting right next to it, leaving everyone else freezing. According to the calendar it was almost spring, but in Penmorfa the icy winds still gusting across the west Wales coast were keeping tourists away from the Craft Courtyard.

As bored as she was feeling, the novelty of trying out Coralie’s products having completely worn off, it was easy to act casually when Adam had put his head round the door of Sweet Cleans to propose knocking off for a quiet lunchtime drink. The Foundered Ship had all the pizzazz of a weak shandy, but the atmosphere was marginally warmer there than at home. With her mother embracing the whole community hall fundraising thing almost to the point of obsession she’d initially felt a bit sorry for her father. Now, she was proud of what her mother had achieved and thought she deserved better than her father’s curmudgeonly comments whenever she left the house to attend a committee meeting.

Hefin, behind the bar, looked meaningfully across to the corner where Kitty was trying to hide and winked lasciviously at Adam who was getting the drinks. ‘Some pork scratchings for the lady?’ he suggested. What a charmer, thought Kitty, shaking her head as Adam turned and raised his eyebrows at her.

Adam hitched his shirt up to dig his wallet out of his back pocket and Kitty stared sorrowfully at his backside and thought how lovely and taut it was, what with all the gardening and surfing. Not that she would be seeing it any time soon. She managed a smile as Adam came towards her and placed a diet cola on the beer mat in front of her. Something, she supposed, that had been put there so that the punters didn’t have to chip their glasses off the sticky table. ‘Cheers,’ said Adam, raising his glass of Brains Dark beer. ‘Your very good health and—’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ she said quickly, conscious that Hefin, leaning over the counter, was making no attempt to hide his shameless eavesdropping. She turned her attention back to Adam, giving him another smile so he wouldn’t think she was being grouchy. She’d had time to nip into the loo and had managed to make a passable stab at looking glamorous without seeming to have tried too hard. Just the two coats of mascara, foundation, blusher and a slick of pink lip gloss.

Adam was fussing round, asking if she was warm enough and if her chair was comfortable. ‘You know, that diet cola stuff has a lot of rubbish in it, artificial sweeteners and all that. I don’t think you should be drinking it anymore. Let me get you some fruit juice instead. You ought to be thinking about the—’

‘I am!’ she hissed, nodding at Hefin who was still hanging on their every word. ‘Flip, I’ve barely drunk anything but water for months now.’

‘I think you’ve been cheating on that diet,’ Hefin called over. ‘Looks to me like you’ve put on a few pounds.’

Kitty was about to tell him what he could go do with himself, but she knew that part of her anger was sheer disappointment that there was no chance of Adam even making a token gesture to get her into bed. She was heartily sick of being treated like a pregnant Mother Teresa. The door creaked open, and Wilfie shuffled in, both hands deep in his trouser pockets, jangling his change. He wasn’t a pretty sight, but Kitty was delighted to see him because whilst he was droning on about real ale to Hefin, she could concentrate on trying to show Adam she was still a woman.

‘Will you let me have a feel?’ Adam asked, his eyes shining.

Not perhaps the most romantic approach she’d ever had but a good sign nevertheless. ‘What, in front of all these people?’ She laughed, looking round the almost empty saloon.

‘Well you don’t have to take anything off, do you?’ Adam smiled.

‘Depends what you’re trying to feel.’ She giggled.

‘You know.’ He eyed her stomach. ‘I just want to feel the baby kicking. That would be wicked.’

Kitty looked round in alarm, but one of the beer pumps running dry was causing a diversion over at the bar.

‘Can we not talk about this here?’ she begged.

‘Sorry,’ he said, with a sheepish smile that revealed his chipped front tooth. ‘You’re the first girl I’ve felt I could ask. Couldn’t exactly go up to any of my mates’ wives or girlfriends and put my hands on their stomachs, could I?’

‘Why not? You’re not usually afraid to cop a feel, are you?’ The hurt flared up in his eyes and her pithy comment felt plain mean.

‘Yeah, thanks, Kitty. Nice to know how little you think of me, like I’m some kind of low-life.’ He put down his glass and started to move away, but she managed to get a hand across the table in time.

‘Please don’t go,’ she said quickly. ‘I was out of order.’ She took a deep breath and wished she could explain just how depressing it was that she only had his attention because he was interested in the baby, not because he’d changed his mind about her. She stared down at his hand beneath hers, waiting for her vision to stop swimming with tears.

‘Hey,’ he said, touching his other hand to her chin and lifting it so he could look at her. ‘What’s all this?’

‘Hormones,’ she whispered, because she knew that’s what he’d want to hear.

‘Got to be.’ He pressed his knuckles very gently into her cheek. ‘You’re not usually so sensitive about calling me names.’

‘Yeah, well. You’re not usually so sensitive when I do. You are allowed to say stuff back, you know. I’m still the same person I was last summer.’

He dragged his green gaze away from her and when he turned back his expression was bleak. They both knew it wasn’t true. Kitty did a quick check – Hefin and Wilfie were still farting around trying to restore the flow of Old Blue Tongue, or whatever the guest beer happened to be, so she sidled closer to Adam and grabbed hold of his free hand.

‘There,’ she said, placing his palm over her stomach just in time to catch the ripple of limbs moving inside.

‘Whoa!’ said Adam, his delight infectious, making them both break into giggles.

‘What’s going on over there?’ Hefin called over sharply. ‘We don’t want any petting in this pub, thank you.’ Another flaccid, frothy sound from the recalcitrant pump spared Kitty having to tell him that chance would be a fine thing. Even so, Adam moved away again, putting some distance between them and ruining their moment of intimacy.

‘You’re not serious about this Flair on a Shoestring stuff, are you?’ he asked, looking worried. ‘I mean, it’s not just a question of arranging a few bits and pieces, is it? You’ve got to lift boxes and climb ladders, too.’

Anyone would think he was the one carrying the baby, she thought mutinously. ‘So? Look, I’m not going to take any risks, am I? I can’t afford to put myself out of business before I’ve got started.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about the business.’ He glared at her.

‘It’s a good job that I am then,’ she said, glaring back. ‘How do you think I’m going to provide for – what you’re thinking about – if I don’t start planning for the future? I can’t live on thin air. Besides, you’re the one who’s always accusing me of sitting around on my backside, sponging off Mam and Dad. I thought you’d be pleased for me!’

Adam looked beaten. ‘What about the father?’ he asked, flatly. ‘Whatever you think about him, he’s involved. Surely he ought to face up to his financial responsibilities?’

‘Ha!’ she said, nastily. ‘He wouldn’t know what a responsibility was if it hit him in the face. Trust me, Adam, it’s better that I do this on my own.’

‘Sitting comfortably?’ Ruby asked over Gethin’s shoulder.

Coralie harrumphed at her and concentrated on the morning sun rosily reflected in the tall buildings she could see from Gethin’s rented Upper West Side studio. Having overcome her initial nerves, she wondered what she’d been so worried about. So long as she sat there and did as she was told, no one really took any notice of her. No wonder portraiture was peopled by so many serious subjects; Whistler’s mother, probably bored out of her mind, Ophelia turning blue in a cold bath unnoticed by Millais, Lucien Freud’s benefits supervisor, not exactly having a laugh a minute. Kitty said Gethin was known as a fast worker. Coralie hoped she was right.

Leaning back a little, Coralie could just see a roof garden in miniature below, with tall grasses and shrubs and a palette of flowers from white through to pale pink. Whilst she was looking, a doll-sized woman appeared, apparently in her dressing gown, and arranged herself on a cushioned lounger. She looked far more comfortable than Coralie, who was sitting on a rag-covered stool. Especially since the stool was balanced on a plank placed across two crates.

‘Eyes to me,’ Gethin ordered. ‘Or you’ll fall over.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t expect your sitters to assume difficult positions,’ she grumbled.

‘What’s difficult about sitting down?’ If he was hoping to sound innocent, he’d blown it with a flash of those wicked blue eyes. ‘You’re the right height for the light, that’s all. Just do as you’re told and it’ll all be over with before you know it.’

At least Ruby appreciated the joke, grinning and shaking her head as she handed him a new brush. If doing what she was told meant the painting would be finished quickly, then fine. So, if Gethin wanted her to look at him then, dammit, she’d do just that. It wasn’t so hard to do. He was wearing old jeans that had seen much better days, but hugged his hips attractively, and a loose-fitting shirt that had once been navy blue. If she knew more about paint colours she might have been able to name some of those decorating it, but she was more interested in the fact that a couple of the top buttons were undone. When he leaned forward her lofty position afforded her the odd tantalising glimpse of his chest, which was entertaining even if it did remind her of their first meeting.

‘I do hope Rock’s all right,’ she said out loud. He’d been a bit cool with her since the mouse incident and she hadn’t really had time to make it up to him.

‘Hudson?’ said Ruby, wringing out a rag at the surgical-looking steel sink. ‘Didn’t you know he left the building with Elvis?’

‘This Rock was reborn as an alley cat.’ Gethin stood back and frowned at her when she moaned in protest. ‘Coralie, he’s almost feral. He foraged for himself before you came along, and he’s smart enough to know a soft touch when he sees one.’

‘He was in a very sorry state when he first started hanging around,’ she remonstrated. ‘His eyes were runny, he wasn’t keeping himself clean and he was practically starving.’

Gethin shook his head. ‘And now you think you’ve got him eating out of your hand – except he knows it’s the other way round.’

Good teeth too, thought Coralie, sighing as he gave her a wry smile before returning to his work. Kitty had joked that the real reason Gethin had left Penmorfa was because he’d run out of women. ‘Likes his freedom too much, see. Plenty of farmers round here, desperate for a wife, but not Gethin Lewis. Well, not one of his own, anyway.’

It was true that the iron bedstead with its crumpled sheets standing at one end of the studio looked as if it had seen plenty of action, although with no blinds at the long windows it was very public, even this high up. Gethin, seeing her giving it a wild look, like a frightened horse, when they’d first entered the long, stripped-back room, had raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Relax,’ he’d told her. ‘It’s a prop. Now go behind the screen and take your top off. Ruby will make sure you’re decent. Oh, and I’d like you to wear your hair down, please.’

So much for all that stuff about the erotic tension between artist and model, the voyeur-painter with his sexualised gaze reducing his sitter to an object of lust. Anything less erotic than her hard perch was hard to imagine and, for all the tension when he studied her, she was beginning to wonder if he’d even noticed she was a woman.

Also, whilst he was undeniably decorative, Gethin wasn’t stopping her bottom from going to sleep. She shifted a buttock and the plank wobbled.

‘To me!’ Gethin growled. So much for all the fun he’d suggested it might be. Outside, the sunlight had turned pale lemon, but the studio remained cool. The white walls and white-tiled splashback behind the sink were made more clinical by the metal tables which looked as if they’d originally been intended for use in an operating theatre. Even though they were laid out with brushes and paints rather than forceps and retractors, the effect was equally daunting; both sets of tools could open you up in strange and unexpected ways.

She caught his eye and he smiled at her lazily and almost sent her flying
.

‘You look as if you’re on a throne,’ he explained. ‘Penmorfa’s Queen of Clean.’

Why did he make it sound as if she was repressed? Ruby guffawed.

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Coralie complained. ‘It keeps a lot of local suppliers busy. I source wax from a beekeeper near Cardigan, lavender flower heads from a grower on the Pembrokeshire borders and herbs from the garden centre.’

‘Everything you ever needed right on your doorstep, then?’ he said, dabbing at the canvas.

Coralie bit her lip. Why did it sound so unadventurous when he said it? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t taken any risks; doing her accounts often made her pulse race. And she had plans – just looking at some of the window displays in the huge department stores on 5
th
Avenue had given her fresh ideas for the business. Having her own doorstep was a good thing; most of her single friends were still renting, but because she’d been prepared to move to an undiscovered area, she’d been able to stretch to buying. And what a beautiful area it was too, with a breathtaking coastline and stupendous view from the cliffs of dramatic churning surf. Of course she was happy!

It was just occasionally, when one of her friends announced her engagement or if she received another excited call about a new baby, that the evenings in Penmorfa seemed especially quiet. And once in a while, when she scattered confetti over another happy couple, she felt a lump in her throat and wondered if there was a man out there who could love her for who she was. There was always Wilfie, she supposed, if she needed some male company, although thinking it over, she didn’t need male company
that
much.