Lamp Black, Wolf Grey (7 page)

“But why would you want to? I’m sorry, I know you think I’m just fussing, but I still worry you’ve rushed into this. Couldn’t you have at least waited until Dan had found a job out here? That way you wouldn’t have been here alone so much.”

“I’ll be fine. Please try to stop worrying about me.”

“I must say I’m a bit surprised at Dan. That he agreed to all this, I mean.”

“He wants me to be happy.”

“Of course he does, but still, being apart … it puts a strain on a marriage. Any marriage.”

Laura spotted the implication that theirs was a relationship already under plenty of stress, but she chose to ignore it. Part of her agreed with her mother. A small, nervous part.

“You had such a lovely house in Hackney,” Annabel went on. “And your studio was so convenient, Laura. And close to all the galleries.” She shook her head slowly, raised her hand and then let it fall again in a gesture of incomprehension. “I simply don’t understand why you’d give it all up to be stuck in the middle of nowhere. A very pretty nowhere, I grant you, but is that so important?”

Laura leaned over and took her mother’s hand in her own. “Listen to me, Mum. It’s going to be OK. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Really, I have. We both have. True, it’s not Dan’s idea of perfect. Yet. But it’s a decision we’ve made together. He’ll find a job in Cardiff or somewhere else within striking distance soon enough. In the meantime you’ll just have to keep visiting, won’t you? Then you can check up on me and stop me ruining the new garden single-handedly.”

“I have a life, too, you know.” Annabel was trying to sound unmoved, but she held on tightly to Laura’s hand as she spoke. “I can’t keep hopping on and off trains.”

Laura smiled at the picture in her head of her mother hitching rides on freight trains, like some American hobo. “Then you can come up with Dan on a Friday night sometimes. Won’t take you long to hunt down the cleanest loos on the A40 between here and London.”

Annabel took another sip of her wine. “I know you think I’m being a silly old woman. Of course you’re an adult—you can look after yourself, Laura, I know that. It’s just that I worry about you being on your own.”

“Mum…” Laura withdrew her hand a little more abruptly than she had intended. “This is Wales, not the Australian outback. Really, I’ll be just fine.”

*   *   *

L
ATER,
L
AURA FOUND
it difficult to sleep. The bedroom was uncomfortably hot and the air thick with the threat of a thunderstorm that refused to come. She looked forward to her first thunderstorm at Penlan and wished for it now more than ever. Outside, a barn owl screeched. Laura switched on her bedside light and picked up the book she had bought at the village shop. She flicked through it to the picture that had so caught her attention and studied the strange figure again. He was standing in dense woodland, and the boughs of the trees gave the impression they were being disturbed by a great wind. The man’s hair and robes seemed to be tangled with the branches. The man himself looked grim-faced, yet curiously handsome. She dipped into the chapter and began to read. The man shown was Merlin, who, so the local legend went, lived in the area in the time between his childhood and his going to serve at the court of King Arthur. Even at an early age, his powers as a seer were well developed, and he was both feared and revered in equal measure. The story told of how he fell in love with a local girl but also made an enemy of a powerful noble who set out to destroy the young couple. The legend said that Merlin kept as a companion not a dog, but a wolf. A wolf! No wonder it looked fierce. She turned back to the picture. Now she could see that the creature at Merlin’s side was indeed no tame, domesticated animal.

At last she began to grow drowsy. She turned out the light and rolled over, her mind filled with images of wild men and wild wolflike creatures. Somewhere over the distant hills, muted kettledrums played an overture to the storm that was soon to break over Penlan.

3

B
Y THE WEEKEND
the weather had still not changed, and the humidity levels had risen even further. Dan had arrived home tired and grumpy after a hectic week and a nightmare journey that had taken over four hours. He and Annabel had been on scratchy terms all the following day. In an attempt to build bridges Laura had persuaded everyone to go outside and do battle with the garden. This largely involved hacking back brambles, cutting down nettles, and pulling up rampant comfrey and wild mint. Even with gloves it was a prickly task, but Laura decided it was worth it, as she would rather Dan’s temper and her mother’s anxiety were focused on an unsuspecting plant instead of each other. By Sunday they had found some sort of rhythm, and small pockets of progress could be spotted here and there. With the roast in the oven they turned out for one more assault before Sunday lunch. Dan had found a rusting old scythe and was hacking through the jungle at the back of the house. Annabel took a fork to the mint outside the front door. Laura dug at the roots of the flattened nettles. She had never really done any gardening and had always been under the impression it was somehow soothing and therapeutic. Now, however, all she felt was tired, filthy, and covered in stings. The spade hit a rock with every second dig, causing a jarring clang, which reverberated through her already fuzzy head. After what seemed like hours of toil there was little to show for her efforts, save a mess of savaged plants and stony soil. She longed to be in her studio instead, preparing canvasses, sorting paints—anything other than what she was doing. She jabbed at the earth with all the determination she could muster, only to have her spade hit an old bottle, bending the handle shaft into a ludicrous angle.

“Shit!” she said. “In fact, shit and damn. Useless bloody thing.”

“Swearing at your garden won’t help it to grow.”

Laura jumped at the unexpected voice. She turned to find Rhys standing close behind her, though she had not heard him approach.

“Actually, I was swearing at the spade,” she told him, acutely aware of her grubby face, baggy shorts, and old, sweaty T-shirt. She had tied back her hair in a low ponytail, and most of it had wriggled free of its bonds, so that it hung in sticky clumps about her ears. Laura felt uncomfortable looking such a mess, though she knew she shouldn’t. What did it matter?

Rhys held out a cardboard box. “I’ve brought you some eggs and a few things from my garden, though I can see you will have produce of your own soon.”

“Oh, I think we might starve if we wait for that day. Thank you,” she said, taking the vegetables from him. “Thank you very much.” She noticed her mother stand up and peer at Rhys. “Mum, this is our neighbor, Rhys. Look, he’s brought us some homegrown veg. This is my mother, Annabel Frey.”

Annabel pulled off a glove and offered her hand, “Rhys? Is that a Welsh name?”

Rhys shook her hand and treated her to one of his smiles.

“That’s right,” he said.

“Ooh, look, Mum. How’s that for a fresh lettuce?” Laura waved it under her mother’s nose with some satisfaction. “And radishes and carrots, too. Lovely.”

Annabel’s expression did not soften. “I’m surprised any vegetables will grow all the way up here.”

“Some will, others will not. There is a short growing season.”

“And is that what you do for a living? Sell lettuces?”

“Mum!”

“What? It’s a harmless question.”

At that moment Dan appeared from behind the house, dragging his scythe.

“Good morning!” he said, sounding genuinely pleased to see their visitor. Laura knew he would have welcomed anyone to dilute the presence of his mother-in-law.

“This is my husband, Dan. This is Rhys. Look what he’s brought us.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Rhys insisted. “I can’t eat it all myself. Besides, it gives me an excuse to come and investigate my new neighbors.”

Dan laughed at this. “Wow, I bet those are good,” he said, helping himself to an oversized radish and crunching into it enthusiastically. “Mmm, takes me back to my grandfather’s allotment. Lord, they pack a punch, too.”

“Rhys was just about to tell us what he does for a living.” Annabel was determined to press her question.

“Mum, leave poor Rhys alone.”

“The man hasn’t even been offered a drink yet. That’s not very neighborly of us, is it?” Dan pointed out, clearly happy to have an excuse to stop working. “Now, what can I get you?”

“Well, if I’m not intruding … I wouldn’t want to hold up vital work on the garden.”

“Nonsense!” Dan let his scythe fall to the ground. “Got to keep the workforce happy, and these girls look like they need a break. I’ll admit I’m more than ready for a cold beer myself—what do you say?”

“Sounds good to me.”

At that moment the peace was rudely broken by the screeching of a fighter jet. Laura flinched, and her mother threw her hands to her ears as it screamed through the sky above them. In a second it was skimming the far hill, barely clearing the craggy summit, and then it was gone, leaving only a dyspeptic echo.

“You see, Mum,” Laura said. “We’re not completely out of reach of the modern world after all.”

“Afraid not,” said Rhys.

Laura led the way toward the wooden chairs. “Come on, let’s sit down. You must be as tired of battling with this garden as I am, Mum.” She chose a seat opposite Rhys but behind the small table in an attempt to hide herself a little. She was surprised to find that her appearance bothered her. She remembered the last time she had seen Rhys. She had been freshly showered and wearing a pretty dress. Now she felt at a disadvantage, though she wasn’t sure why. She chatted away about nothing, keeping the conversation going if only to stop her mother from asking embarrassing questions. All the time she was conscious of the fact that Rhys was looking at her. Watching her. Intently. And although she felt uncomfortable beneath his gaze she realized that she also liked the way he looked at her. She wanted him to look, even in her disheveled state. She wanted to return his gaze, but was inhibited by her mother’s presence.

Dan emerged from the house with bottles of beer and a glass of white wine for Annabel.

“Here we are.” He handed out the drinks and settled himself next to Laura. Soon he was chatting easily, enjoying being a host, apparently at ease with their mysterious neighbor. Even Annabel relaxed by the time she was halfway through her glass. Much to Laura’s relief she gave up asking awkward questions, subdued by fatigue and alcohol. Laura found herself strangely on the outside, watching and listening as the other three talked of gardens and Wales and mountains and nothing in particular. In this way she was able to observe Rhys quite closely. His eyes were still the same unfathomable blue. His face stern, but relaxed now. His body lean. His hands long-fingered. His skin brown from days spent outside, but not from sunbathing, Laura was sure of that. Suddenly he looked directly at her. The others were talking, but between Rhys and Laura passed a shared moment of stillness. A connection. And a silent acknowledgment of something powerful in that connection. Through it all came Dan’s voice.

“Laura? I was saying, Rhys should stay for lunch. Don’t you think? It’s the least we can do.”

“No.” Laura surprised herself with the sharpness of her own response. Suddenly she could bear the strength of his presence no longer. Not here, like this, with her mother and Dan. “I mean, I’m sure Rhys has plans of his own,” she said, trying to explain herself. ’We’ve taken up enough of his time.”

Dan looked puzzled. Rhys stood up.

“Actually, I was on my way to the village. But thank you for the offer.”

“Another time, then,” Dan said.

After they had waved him off Dan went to the kitchen to see to the meal. Annabel put away the gardening tools. As she walked toward the barn she called back over her shoulder, “A strange sort of fellow. Quite unusual.”

“Oh, really, Mum, a minute ago you were worrying about me being here with no one for miles around. Now you don’t like it when the neighbors drop by. You can’t have it both ways.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I’m just saying you don’t know anything about him,” Annabel said without turning around. She came to the barn door and stopped. Now she pivoted on her heel to face her daughter, her tone serious. “Take care, darling,” she said. “Take care.”

Laura shook her head and gave a little laugh, but secretly she was in turmoil. Why had this man affected her so? Yes, he was good looking, but they had only exchanged a few words. And for once her mother was right, she knew absolutely nothing about him. Only that he invaded her thoughts. And that his presence disturbed her. And that now he had gone she felt something missing. She finished her beer and went into the house to help Dan.

*   *   *

I
T WAS WITH
some relief that Laura waved off her mother on Monday morning. Dan had talked her into staying the extra night so that she could travel back with him instead. It was an olive branch, and one Annabel had the good grace to accept. They had survived the weekend without major upsets, but the air was thick with things not said, and the effort of being upbeat about everything had been wearying for Laura. She knew she would feel guilty the moment her mother left, thinking of her going back to London to carry on her life alone. She promised herself to be gentler when Annabel next visited, to try harder, and to make her feel welcome whenever she wanted to come and stay. Perhaps, slowly, her mother would grow used to the idea of Penlan and come to see that the move was a positive thing for her daughter. For all of them. She was about to go to her studio when the telephone rang.

“Laura, Hi!” Penny’s relentless enthusiasm bounced down the telephone line. “Got you at last! Beginning to think I’d lost you to the wilderness.”

“I’ve only been here five minutes, give me a chance.” She didn’t feel like being nagged by her agent.

“Enough time to get things set up? I know how you can’t stand to be without a painting on the go for more than a day or so.”

“I was just on my way to the studio.”

“A proper studio already? I’m impressed.”

“You might not be if you saw it.” She smiled at the thought of what her agent’s reaction would be to the unfinished, dusty space that she had to work in.