Move Over Darling (21 page)

Good, thought Gethin. If Alys had laced the food with laxatives, he wouldn’t be the only one suffering.

‘Pinky-winky,’ announced Alys, looking over her reading glasses as the glass doors of the garden centre shop slid open. Coralie, who had wandered into the revamped former shed for company, wondered if she’d been spending too much time with her grandson.

‘The names they come up with now!’ she went on, with a smile, coming out from behind the counter.

‘What, Kitty and Adam?’ New parents sometimes got a bit carried away, but the new baby would have to grow up tough if he got lumbered with that.

‘Oh no, he’s definitely James, after Adam’s late father.’ A shadow flitted briefly across Alys’s face. ‘I’m relieved one of them came to a decision, and since Adam’s only got his brother and sister now it seemed a lovely gesture. Do you know I had visions of that poor child starting school still being called The Baby if it was left to Kitty. No, it’s one of our catalogue range of new plants. Lovely ornamental hydrangea, though.’

Coralie hoped that Alys, who could get very passionate about plant trends, wasn’t going to nag her about the dominant trend in her own garden, which was mainly to let it look after itself.

‘Bird Poo Remover.’

Coralie looked up.

‘I must order some,’ Alys reminded herself. ‘Everyone’ll be wanting to clean up their garden furniture soon. Have you seen how much mess the house martins have made over Willow’s unit? She’s having to dash for it every time she crosses the threshold. Wilfie got stuck in there with her for ages recently. Came out looking quite dishevelled. Still, nothing you can do about it once they’ve established their nests, of course.’

Willow and Wilfie? Coralie shook her head; she still couldn’t quite believe the evidence of her own eyes.

‘Poor man,’ Alys went on. Although as far as Coralie could tell, whatever was going on in Willow’s unit was doing Wilfie the world of good. Even his beard looked clean and tidy these days.

‘Imagine how much it must have hurt Gethin to be described as an indifferent painter who’d got away with pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for far too long? It just goes to prove how little those New York critics know,’ Alys continued, as she slowly paced one side of the shop, checking her stock. ‘I’m confident that none of this nonsense about the current exhibition closing hurriedly will make a blind bit of difference over here. The publicity might even help. I daresay even Delyth and Mair will be on his side, now that the Big Apple’s spat out one of Penmorfa’s own. They all love a loser round here.’

‘He certainly doesn’t need to face any more criticism,’ Coralie had to agree. ‘Getting that from the city he loves must have come as a terrible shock.’

‘Anyway, we’ll make sure we put on a good show of strength at the presentation ceremony and give him the reception he deserves,’ Alys called over. ‘Have you managed to catch up with him yet?’

In fact, when Coralie heard he was back in the village, she
had
decided that she ought to talk to him sooner rather than later, just to dissipate some of the potential awkwardness between them. But somehow she hadn’t screwed up enough courage to do it. She looked down at her feet.

‘No? Well, never mind – here he comes now!’

Oh no! Coralie’s stomach lurched. He was just as gorgeous as she remembered. So much for telling herself that when she saw him it would be like digging out an old picture of a pop idol she’d once had a crush on. Part of her hoped to discover that her libido had tricked her into falling for someone who, in hindsight, she might be embarrassed by.

She remembered vividly her shame as a teenager after she’d got carried away at a Christmas party for the staff of the local supermarket where she worked on Saturdays. Snogging the manager of the meat counter, who’d looked almost attractive under fairy lights after a glass of Lambrusco, seemed like a particularly poor idea when he turned up at her house and offered her mum free sausages hoping to ingratiate himself with her.

But seeing Gethin again, all she could do was congratulate herself on her impeccable taste. Even in the height of summer it was never scorching in Penmorfa, due to its proximity to the sea, but today it was pleasantly warm and it was great to see Gethin without his leather jacket. She could admire his fine forearms, with their dusting of dark hair, and the curve of strong biceps disappearing under his short-sleeved black tee shirt. His thick dark hair was unruly, his jaw was set off by at a least a day’s worth of stubble – though she’d have to run her fingers across it to be sure – and his dark eyes looked just as sexy in broad daylight as they did across a pillow. In fact, he looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

‘Who died?’ he said, looking from her to Alys and frowning. Coralie winced.

‘Oh, we are all in black, aren’t we?’ Alys beamed.

It was true that Alys and Gethin were both wearing black tee shirts and jeans, and both wearing them very well in their own ways, but Coralie had resurrected another of her management consultancy outfits.

‘Coralie looks well, doesn’t she?’ Alys nodded at the black silk vest top and straight linen skirt.

‘What happened to all the colour?’ Gethin asked, his scowl deepening.

‘It’s lovely to see you again too, Gethin,’ Coralie said, miffed. ‘I told you in New York, if you remember, that I was going to start looking forward. The retro clothes didn’t feel right anymore.’

‘So you’ve shrugged them off, along with the past, have you?’ he growled.

Coralie went over to pick up a packet of seeds that had fallen off one of the shelves as an excuse to hide her face. Giant Red carrot seeds, renowned for their size and vigour. Gethin looked big and vigorous too, although the carrots, she hoped, were less prickly.

‘Goodness me,’ said Alys, ‘someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I hope you’ll be in a better mood this evening at the presentation ceremony. Come here and give me a kiss, you great brute!’

‘The things I do for you, Alys,’ he said, shaking his head. A smile spread across his face at last, lighting up the dark corner where they were standing as he held her, then kissed her on both cheeks.

‘And don’t forget Coralie,’ Alys reminded him. ‘She was the one who went all the way out to America to get you on board.’

‘As if.’

Even that brief contact was enough to make her want to burst into tears because every pulse in her body was beating a little ‘touch me’ tattoo at having him so close.

‘I apologise, but I’m still trying to figure out where everything is up at the cottage. Like hot water,’ he added, running a hand across his stubble. ‘I was so travel weary when I set the timer switch that I punched in the wrong programme.’

That explained why he looked as if he’d slept in his clothes then. And that mildly musky, wildly attractive masculine scent of him.

‘Not quite what you needed after a long journey, you must be worn out,’ Alys agreed. ‘And although Huw and I don’t usually hire out our bath, I’m prepared to make an exception if you’d like your back scrubbed. Unless Coralie wants to do it …’

Coralie glared at her.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Gethin said, with the ghost of a smile. He took the seeds from her and slotted them back into place. ‘I reckon a cold shower will do me good.’

‘Well,’ Alys said, clearly choking back a laugh, ‘it looks as if we’ve got a really good crowd coming this evening. I’m so looking forward to seeing what you’ve got to offer us. Which reminds me, I need to check how many chairs we’ve got. Coralie, can you mind the counter for me?’

‘I came back to try to make amends,’ Gethin said.

‘How?’ Coralie wandered away and leaned back against the counter. He followed and stood in front of her, longing to touch her but afraid. The brief flare of heat of her body as he’d leaned in to greet her was the only warmth he’d felt. It wasn’t just her bright clothes that had cooled.

‘You made it obvious the way you felt about Penmorfa and, by extension, me, in New York. That’s one bridge burning.’

‘I can start by fixing it for Alys,’ he said, trying not to lose hope.

‘Really? I hope so because Delyth and Mair will have a field day laying all the blame at her feet if anything goes wrong.’ She shook her head and he longed for just one recalcitrant curl to escape from the sleek chignon that made her seem so frosty and remote.

Gethin folded his arms. He’d given up caring about what a few small-minded people with nothing else on their minds thought of him years ago. It seemed to have escaped her notice that there was only one person he was trying to impress. ‘Not in front of me, they won’t,’ he told her, aching for her to drop her guard. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I’ve smoothed everything over here.’

‘So you can lie low until all the fuss about your latest exhibition dies down over there, I suppose,’ she said, tightly.

‘I’m not lying low or running away from anything, Coralie. There are far more pleasant places where I could cool my heels if I wanted to. I’m running to something. I came back because of you. And I don’t have any plans for the immediate future that don’t include you.’

He waited for her to say something, but the silence was only broken by the sound of Edith dancing around outside the glass doors, barking her head off and trying to see off anyone thinking about going into the shop. Good work, Edith.

‘Think about it. I could introduce you to some great contacts in New York,’ he pointed out and got the faintest of smiles in return.

‘You already did,’ she said, surprising him. ‘I gave Laura Schiffman a sample of my Happy Hands cream. Not only did she like it, but she bought more of it for her girlfriends, one of whom, it turns out, was rather well-connected.’

‘Go on,’ he said, smiling back.

‘She’s a buyer with one of the big cosmetic houses, though our discussions are only at a very early stage.’ She shrugged. ‘The thing is I’ve been searching for growth opportunities for the business. Involvement with a large organisation would provide marketing and research and develop opportunities I could only dream of, but I do have some concerns for Sweet Cleans.’

He nodded. ‘You think it could threaten Sweet Cleans’ natural, wholesome image?’

A shadow crossed her face and she bit her lip. ‘No, it’s back to lifestyle choices; whether to stay small in the country, or get involved with big business.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘Right now, I’m happy with the life I’ve got here.’

Gethin pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘Those kinds of opportunities don’t come round every day and you must know the risk you’re taking if you stay here.’

‘I’ve done my sums,’ she told him, firmly.

‘Yes, you’re the accountant,’ he said. ‘But you don’t know how hard it is to live here.’

‘I know it didn’t suit you,’ she began, when he rolled his eyes. ‘But there are compensations: it’s a close-knit community, there’s almost no crime, everyone talks—’

‘Oh, they do that all right,’ he shot back.

‘How can you say that? How long is it since you actually lived here? Those are outdated prejudices. You think you have moved on since you left Penmorfa, but Penmorfa’s changed, too.’

‘Not as far as I can tell.’ He grimaced.

‘You haven’t exactly given yourself a chance to find out, have you?’ Coralie tugged fretfully at the hem of the depressing black vest. ‘Anyway, surely it’s easier to ignore a bit of ignorant tittle-tattle than having the New York press trash your exhibition?’

Gethin grimaced. ‘Critics are entitled to their opinion. I’ll get over that, but I can’t live in this goldfish bowl.’

‘Well, that’s that then,’ she said, except that made it sound as if they might have had a future, when, unless he acted fast, they didn’t even have a relationship.

What if Gethin’s work
had
plummeted in value? Later, in the Summerhouse Café which had once more been pressed into service for the evening, Coralie wiped her damp palms together and hoped that the ordinary buyers, the ones who knew what they liked and didn’t care about critical opinion, were still out there. A good Gethin Lewis would surely still sell well? As for the artist himself? Feeling tears prick her eyes, she took a deep steadying breath and concentrated on practical matters. Coralie could feel her heart pounding as she waited to see Gethin’s painting at last. At first she’d been afraid that no one would turn up to the presentation ceremony, but Alys and the Hall Management Committee had, it seemed, been quietly drumming up interest. Kitty, and a couple of young mums hoping to resume the mother-and-toddler group again, appeared pushing buggies; the woman with the jet black hair who ran flower arranging classes took a chair at the end of a row next to her husband; and some elderly residents shuffled to the front row. All the people who would benefit when the refurbished hall reopened.

The thudding in Coralie’s chest moved up a gear when a local TV reporter and camera crew started setting up. If the piece was aired, news of the charity auction would reach a far wider audience than the notice on the Hall Management Committee’s website. It might even ignite some competitive bidding on the day. On the other hand, if anything went wrong, there was every chance that Delyth would make sure her grandson would post the footage on YouTube so that they could enjoy the sight of Alys’s humiliation over and over again.

Whatever had happened between them, Gethin had come through for the village where he grew up. Not only had he fulfilled his promise, but he’d even cared enough to arrive in person to unveil the work. For that alone, he deserved her support. She glanced up at him at last, sitting next to Alys on the raised platform, and realised with a pang how tired and drawn he was. Everyone fell silent as he stood up abruptly to make some last-minute checks, scrutinising the lighting and adjusting the level of the easel. Alys’s hand fluttered to her chest and she reached for a glass of water to wet her lips. Gethin, reseating himself next to her, gave her a small nod and Alys stood up to speak. Coralie pressed her lips together, willing herself to stay calm for a few agonising seconds more. Despite everything that was left unsaid between them, she was proud of Gethin and the very small part she had played in delivering the project. And even if she detested everything she saw when the covers came off the painting, she’d be the first one cheering and singing its praise.

Gethin felt everyone’s attention turning to him, as Alys concluded her short speech, but he was only aware of one face. Coralie looked amazing in a tasteful, slim-fitting taupe dress and a swept-back hairdo that made her look serious, sophisticated and even more like a stranger to him. The dress depressed the hell out of him and he longed for her to loosen her copper waves and become the woman he knew. Just when he thought he’d caught hold of her, she’d slipped out of reach again.

‘I hope you can all see properly,’ he said, sounding more confident than he felt. ‘I have to admit that things have changed since the night when I rashly offered to donate a painting to help raise funds for this village. I was, perhaps, guilty of believing my own myth, of thinking I was better than I was. Sometimes we all need a reality check to see where we’ve gone wrong.’

There was some nervous laughter in the room.

‘So,’ he went on, ‘I promised the Hall Management Committee a painting that would have resonance for everyone who looked at it, yet at the same time, I wanted to stay true to myself. Well, this is it …’

There was yet more nervous laughter from the audience and some shuffling from the seats beside him where the Hall Management Committee were assembled. He took a long look round the room and reached for the cloth covering the canvas.

Alys could see how anxiously Coralie was watching Gethin, although he almost seemed to be avoiding looking in her direction. Maybe, like her, he missed the old Coralie and all her vintage glad rags. This new, cool Coralie, looking very chic in a Roland Mouret rip-off, was a bit of a stranger. Alys was deeply indebted to her for going so far to get Gethin on board, but whether it had put some of her inner ghosts to rest was hard to tell. She looked from Coralie to Gethin and frowned; a palpable tension in the room had put paid to the festive atmosphere as everyone grew quiet. And then Gethin pulled away the white sheet covering the canvas.

There were shocked gasps and splutters of outrage, but when Alys dared look she saw a portrait that was so infused with raw emotions, it almost hurt. If anyone had any doubts about Gethin’s artistic ability, that he had somehow stretched remarkably little talent a very long way – which Alys didn’t believe for one moment –
Girl in a Coral Dress
, as he had entitled it, was proof of how gifted he was.

‘I thought you promised me I was going to see something a bit saucy?’ she heard one of the parish council members complaining to his wife, a woman with fiercely dyed black hair who was responsible for some of the more inspired flower arrangements in Penmorfa’s tiny church.

‘And this so-called work of art is the thanks we get,’ said Delyth, folding her arms, ‘from the boy who owes everything he is today to this village.’

The one consolation was that Delyth had earned herself a reproachful look from the Vicar, who was staring at her with great sadness.

‘Mrs Bowen,’ said a reporter she recognised from the county newspaper, frantically opening a notebook. The young woman had to raise her voice to be heard in the rising noise. ‘You’re Chair of the Hall Management Committee. Had you seen the new Gethin Lewis before today?’