Move Over Darling (24 page)

He shook his head and, although Alys could tell he wished he could say more to reassure her, she could see from the expression in his eyes that he wasn’t confident. ‘I’ll take some soundings and see what I can do, of course, but this is a considerable departure from Lewis’s usual oeuvre and I don’t need to tell you that we’re now in a whole new financial climate. With so many needy causes, all charity functions struggle to reach their targets; the money’s just not there.’

Sensing Alys’s fears, Huw had been wonderfully reassuring, telling her that if Kingston approved of the painting, buyers would, too. Alys closed her eyes against the tears that sprang to them whenever she thought about how close she’d come to losing Huw. She was luckier than she deserved that he was still by her side. The only person who completely refused to engage with her was Kitty. Her daughter had stopped short of severing all contact but treated her with all the formality of a stranger. Alys didn’t need Willow to read her stars to see that it would be a very long time before she was forgiven.

Now the room went quiet as Marianne Parry beamed her lovely smile at everyone and started to speak.

‘When I was a little girl,’ Marianne began, ‘I would probably have burst into tears if someone had told me I was going to be a vicar when I grew up. Our vicar was an old man, with bushy eyebrows and a beard.’

A few thin smiles broke the tension in the room.

‘I dreamt of being a dancer and for many years it seemed that my dream would come true,’ she explained. ‘I started when I was six and took several rosettes. Then, when I was twelve, I began entering competitions. I was working hard, doing something I loved, leading what on the surface at least seemed a very glamorous life, except that I was empty inside.’

She smiled at the people gathered in the room and even Mair didn’t purse her lips in disapproval. Anyone less like a floozy than their calm, elegant Vicar would be hard to imagine. ‘At about the same time, I became aware that someone was trying to speak to me, but I tried not to listen. I wanted to find fulfilment in dance, not in doing God’s work. God was very patient with me, even when I kept finding reasons not to listen to Him. When I was in my early twenties even I realised that my glamorous life was leaving me overdrawn spiritually. I found time in my schedule to rent a cottage here, and when I looked into my heart, God was waiting for me!’

There were a couple of murmurs of approval, but the Vicar held up her hand and continued.

‘I used to come down to the cove in the evening when it was quiet and dance, not to entertain others, but to celebrate the joy of finding my vocation. Sometimes I would see a young man there, with a sketch book. The young man and I got talking and I learned that he had ambitions of being a professional artist, but was being put under great pressure to carry on the family farm. I gave him the only advice I knew. I told him to look into his heart and trust where it led him.

‘Gethin Lewis, for of course it was him, asked if he could make a few sketches of me. Later, he asked my permission to use them for a larger work. And to ask if I would mind very much if he took the liberty of adding himself to the painting as my shadowy partner to turn my little dance into a love story.

‘I was very happy to agree – although I think we both might have had second thoughts had either of us known that those small sketches would take us on such an extraordinary journey – but just to set the record absolutely straight they did not lead to Gethin Lewis’s bed. He was a troubled young man not yet twenty and I was already engaged to the marvellous man who was to become my dear husband.’

There was silence and then someone started to clap and soon everyone was united in their whole-hearted support for the Vicar. Alys even noticed one of the reporters dabbing at his eye, as they obediently packed up and left the meeting to continue.

Then it was Alys’s turn to speak. ‘I know that the work Gethin Lewis submitted was nothing like the work we were expecting or were promised. However, if we return the loan we’ve been granted by ACORN, we can say goodbye to our hopes of restoring the church hall and Penmorfa will wait a very long time for the community space it so badly needs. Or, we can take a calculated risk and go ahead with the charity auction …’

‘We won’t get a garden shed for that now!’ someone said angrily. ‘His stuff’s not worth a candle!’

‘It’s possible that demand for his previous oeuvre may have dropped,’ Alys agreed, trying not to think about the possible fallout from the closure of his New York exhibition. ‘But before we rush to any conclusions and reach a decision that may jeopardise something that might be of benefit to us all, I think you should listen to what the leading London art critics have to say about this latest work.’

She gave silent thanks to Kingston, who’d emailed her with the news that the tide was beginning to turn back in their favour. ‘“Welsh artist Gethin Lewis’s true potential has been released at last. This often controversial artist is in a philosophical mood with his latest work.
Girl in a Coral Dress
– a reminder, of course, of the vivid scarlet dress that draws the eye in his earlier piece – is a poignant and inspired painting which hails a new maturity and direction for Lewis and reinvigorates the market for his work.”

‘Now,’ said Alys, ‘I would urge everyone to remember that whatever the minority say about him, Gethin Lewis did return to his birthplace to unveil what is being heralded as an important new work and I think it’s only proper that we should acknowledge a true son of Penmorfa. Let’s put it to the vote.’

Kitty’s eyes welled up with angry tears every time she thought about her mother. Although she was determined to keep her mind occupied, it seemed that wherever she went something was guaranteed to remind her of Delyth and Mair’s smug innuendos. Even the hedgerows around Penmorfa were ripe with the heady, dirty-sexy smell of May blossom, she thought, as a few white petals rained down on her.

The hawthorn tree had a complicated mythology too – symbol of abandonment and fertility or chastity and cleansing, depending on your point of view. As a hedging plant its dense growth was thick and impenetrable and was supposed to offer a psychic shield, but nothing could expunge all thoughts of Alys and Jerzy from her mind.

She shot past the farmhouse as quickly as she could, the vibrations from the cobbled courtyard making Jamie’s gurgle wobble, and found Adam filling hanging baskets in one of the glasshouses. A sunbeam was playing with his untidy blond hair, brushing the planes of his tanned cheeks with gold and lovingly gilding his muscular arms. A tray of petunias blew purple trumpet-faces at him as if he were a hero straight from a Greek myth, except of course that she knew all about his Achilles heel. As much as she wanted to believe that the smile that lit up his eyes as he saw them approaching was just for her, Kitty was sure that every woman he came across that day would get the same treatment. It was better to be realistic about these things; and if you couldn’t even trust your own mother, who could you trust?

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘who’d have believed it of Rev Marianne, eh? I hope she doesn’t regret that particular confession. She’s all over the papers again today.’

Typical Adam; he’d probably have a crack at her now, she thought murderously. ‘Here,’ she said, shaking off her backpack. ‘I haven’t got time to worry about that. Everything he needs is in there. I’ve put in plenty of nappies, there’s wipes – this milk’ll need to go in the fridge.’

‘Kitty!’ Adam rubbed her back, gently. ‘Jeez! Remind me to work on those knots in your shoulders later. You’re a mass of tension. Just chillax; you know I can handle whatever the little guy slings at me.’

He crouched down and made silly faces at Jamie, setting off a frenzy of little limbs waggling.

She exhaled, letting go of some of the pressure before it brought on a thundering headache. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Adam, when it was her mother who was the lying cheat. ‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘If I get to do the styling for this engagement party, the money’ll be really handy.’

He sighed and stood up, eyeing her doubtfully. ‘I still think you’re taking on too much too soon. Your body needs a chance to recover before you start dashing off all over the place.’

‘Been reading the baby books again?’ she teased, touched by his thoughtfulness all the same. He really could be kind. She went to brush a smudge of soil off his cheek and he caught hold of her hand and kissed her fingers. If only he knew how much she longed to spend more time with him instead of rushing off on business.

‘I don’t like seeing you worrying about money,’ he said softly, giving her a nice, cosy, cared-for feeling. ‘I mean, if you do too much,’ he added, breaking away, ‘your milk might dry up and then you might have trouble feeding this little fellow.’

Kitty swallowed hard, desperate not to let the tears pricking her eyes spill over, furious for allowing herself to believe that any of that tenderness was meant for her. ‘Yeah and if I don’t go to work, the cash’ll dry up, too,’ she said, snatching her hand away, ‘which will have pretty much the same effect. Listen, I’m grateful to you for looking after him. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Kitty, I’m his dad.’ He frowned at her then swatted away a fly that was hovering in front of the buggy. ‘Anyway, we’ve always got
Mamgu
at hand if we get into trouble, haven’t we, eh?’

Oh, yes, good old Gran. She snorted, pursing her lips before an ugly comment tainted the sweetly-fragrant air.

‘Do you want the paper?’ he offered, grabbing it from the table and opening up the centre pages. ‘I’ve caught up with the Vicar’s secret past now.’

‘I really don’t have the time,’ she said. Or the inclination, she nearly added, unable to stop herself looking. Besides a large shot of the Vicar in her younger days looking very minxy, there was a much smaller reproduction of
Girl in a Coral Dress
.

Adam noticed what she’d seen and winked. ‘Loads of speculation about Coralie too, and how she might have inspired Gethin’s work to take such an unexpected direction.’

A flicker of sympathy for Coralie was extinguished as she belatedly realised what her reticence on the subject of Gethin had been about. Yet another example of the destructive power of sex, she decided wearily. What really hurt was that she’d always looked up to Alys and hated her for proving to be so fallible at a time when she really needed that strength and support.

‘Say bye-bye to Mummy,’ Adam said, bending down to shake one of Jamie’s hands at her.

I already have, Kitty decided.

Coralie found her parents sitting in the conservatory. Her mother, in a pair of animal-print reading glasses, alternated between tapping at the iPad in front of her and frowning at the results. Her father, stretched out on his leather recliner with Rock curled up in his lap, was examining the back of his eyelids. Catching sight of her, her mother gave a small cry of relief, waking Rock who dug his claws in and almost castrated her father.

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Coralie smiled, sitting beside her on the rattan sofa.

‘I wish you’d let one of us come with you, darling,’ said her mother, laying down her iPad. ‘It was awful to think of you all on your own visiting the spot where that poor young woman died.’

Coralie took her hand. ‘I’m sorry you were upset, Mum. But it was something I needed to do.’

She’d gone to lay a small posy of flowers beneath the memorial plaque erected by Hayley’s family, inscribed with her name and the dates of her poignantly brief life. As she had stood to pay her respects a shaft of sunlight had stroked the pale petals and she had felt a sudden sense of release.

Her mother searched her face, with a shimmer of tears in her eyes. Coralie took a deep breath and forced herself to speak, trying to keep her voice from breaking. ‘I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you and Dad through. All the worry. You were both right to question my motives when I gave up the consultancy and moved away. I wasn’t really in the right frame of mind, was I?’

She took a tissue from the box her mother was offering her and wiped her eyes.

‘We wanted you to be happy, that’s why we were so concerned. We wanted to be sure you were doing the right thing for you and not simply taking yourself off into some self-imposed exile. What we should have been telling you, darling, is how proud we are of you.’

Coralie looked up and saw the love in her mother’s expression.

‘Many people would have given up under the stress you’ve endured, but you found a way to cope with the terrible ordeal you suffered. Some people would say that Ned Wallace didn’t deserve your kindness – a life for a life – but he’s the one who has to live with the results of his actions and the consequences for the rest of his life.

‘Your grandmother would have been proud, too, to think that you’d built a new life for yourself in the place where she found a loving home as an evacuee. She would have been over the moon to know that you’d created a business from her old recipes.’

They paused to remember the woman who’d meant so much to both of them.

‘Mum,’ said Coralie, as an idea came to her. ‘Can I borrow your iPad for a moment?’

She quickly found the organ donor register online and entered her details. It wouldn’t bring Hayley back, but it was a small recognition of her life.

‘Oh, good idea,’ Susan Casey said. ‘Brian? You’re next.’

Coralie leaned back exhausted, but happier than she’d been in many months.

‘Just looking at the calendar,’ her mother said, poring over her iPad again. ‘Now, when would be a good idea for us to come up and meet your new man?’

Coralie laughed. ‘There’s no one to meet, Mum.’

She watched as her mother clicked on a new tab and turned her portrait towards her. ‘Coralie,’ she said, ‘you can’t hide anything from me, I’m your mother. I can see the look in your eyes in this beautiful portrait and so can the artist. Now, why are you still here when there’s a business and a man waiting for you in Penmorfa?’

Coralie leaned in and kissed her so that her parents couldn’t read her expression. She loved them very much, but sadly, there would be no changes to make to their little branch of the family tree any time soon.

By the time Kitty got back she was wilting after a hugely busy day. The sound of laughter from the direction of the raised beds where the shrubs were displayed made her hesitate. Treading softly, she drew closer and saw Alys and Adam having a wonderful time playing with the baby. Anyone who didn’t know better might take it for a lovely family scene. Except that everyone in Penmorfa knew that Alys was an adulteress and Adam couldn’t be trusted to keep it in his pants. Resenting them both for making her life even harder, she was especially snappy as she marched over and snatched Jamie from Alys’s arms.

‘I’ll take him now, thank you,’ she said, ignoring the way her mother recoiled as if she’d been struck.

‘Oh, no you don’t.’ Adam took hold of the buggy. ‘I’m sure you’re tired, but that’s no way to speak to us, especially not your mother. A thank you wouldn’t go amiss.’

‘As far as I can see you’ve both been enjoying yourselves whilst I’ve been working,’ she said, knowing she was being unreasonable. ‘What’s there to say thank you for?’