Summer in Provence Page 27

‘No.’

  He strolls down to his end of the studio, pulling his plaid shirt over his head and grabbing his work T-shirt. I don’t look away and he seems oblivious to the fact that I’m watching him. Physically, he’s a strong man and I’ve seen him coming out of the gym early in the morning. You don’t maintain a physique like that unless you work out. He’s also a man who is very disciplined. The type of person who probably does a hundred sit-ups before breakfast. He replaces what’s missing from his life with regime and that’s what keeps him together. I can’t help feeling it’s a little sad.

  He looks up and I look away.

  ‘Can I read it?’

  Is he checking on Pierce? I hope he doesn’t think I’m being negative in any way.

  ‘If you want. It’s just not my thing, that’s all.’

  I place it on the shelf behind me, next to some of Nico’s art books, then pull my working shirt over my head. In that few seconds, Nico has crossed the room and is staring at the unfolded sheet held aloft in his hands.

  I watch his expression.

  ‘It’s very you. Except the two words in the middle. I’m assuming those were your words?’

  I nod.

  ‘You need to look at this, Fern.’

  He holds the sheet out to me and when I don’t take it, he gently lowers it, face up, onto the floor.

  ‘You’re good at giving me advice. My advice to you is that you need to read this and take it on board.’

  He walks off and disappears into the workroom.

  The paper is upside down, but it’s covered in clouds – more clouds than there were people, so most have written more than one word. And in between the clouds are lots and lots of little messages written in much smaller print.

  Inspirational. Kind. Thoughtful. Caring. Compassionate. Genuine. Determined. Positive. Motivational. Gracious. Gentle. Warm. Sympathetic. Empathetic. Kind-hearted. Fit! Engaging. Affectionate. Sociable. Cheerful. Approachable. Supportive. Welcoming. Talented. Outgoing. Trusting. Loving. Encouraging. Understanding. Sunny. Forgiving. Attractive. Cool. Selfless. Enthusiastic. Reassuring. Hopeful. Role model.

  The two words in the centre, my words, are Worrier and Sensitive.

  The wave of positivity that floods over me is undeniable. I begin to read the personal little messages until tears obscure my vision.

  Thank you for listening to me, it meant a lot.

  * * *

  I will most certainly be taking your advice, lovely lady!

  * * *

  No one knows about our little late-night feast, right? Heh! Heh! J x

  * * *

  I will always miss Spook, but when I get home, I’ll head to the pet shop, I promise, Fern.

  * * *

  So glad I gave pottery a go, as you suggested. Dirty nails, or not lol.

  May 2019

  31

  What Price a Muse?

  It’s unsettling when your gut instinct is trying to grab your attention but you keep pushing it away. The warning is hard to ignore, but I don’t quite know what to do about it, and that’s the dilemma. All day, Nico and I have been avoiding each other after I managed to upset him again without uttering a word.

  Since the Marquesa’s visit, the rift between us has never really closed, maybe because Nico knows I saw the connection between them. The one he constantly tries to ignore.

  Isabel rang earlier and, unfortunately, I was in the room when he took the call. I couldn’t really catch any of what was said as it was all spoken in Spanish, but his body language told me they were arguing. When he turned, he caught me looking at him and I could see the anger in his eyes.

  ‘What have I done wrong now? She wants what she can’t have. There’s no more to say.’

  ‘Except the things you are keeping back, Nico. Why are you so afraid to admit that you are in love with her?’

  He spins around on his heels, his back taut. Then he remembers something and his voice softens. ‘Isabel says you have sold your first painting and another one has been reserved. She will be in touch.’

  Now my mind is whirling. There are only eight weeks left before I head for home, and Nico and I are becoming increasingly subdued in each other’s company.

  I should be happy, my heart soaring because the Marquesa was so complimentary about my work and it’s going so well. This is truly wonderful news. I can sense that Nico is angry with himself because he realises how important this moment is to me, but his anger has overcome him.

  The pressure is on now, as I need to finish as many canvases as I can while I’m here. I have no idea how long it will be once I get home until I can paint again. Isabel is a woman who thinks with her head first, her heart second. She’s all about the business and that’s what makes it all so incredible for me, and significant.

  It’s important that I arrive home feeling confident in my abilities and determined to somehow incorporate this into my daily routine. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for Nico. But he’s in no mood to be thanked tonight.

  With no one around me at home who will understand that I need to express my artistic side, I fear I’ll become disillusioned. Or, worse, pine for my place here.

  There have been moments when I’d wondered how honest Nico’s appraisal of my work had been. One’s mentor is bound to nod enthusiastically and gaze appreciatively at the brushstrokes you lay so lovingly upon the canvas. But I wondered, even doubted him, in the beginning. And that’s unfair of me. He’s never given me any reason to disbelieve his intentions. Our feelings, well, that’s another thing entirely. You can control what you choose to do, but not what your heart dictates.

  My heart tells me I will always care for Nico. Always. And there is nothing I can do about that. But what if it’s something more than that? What if when I arrive home, I yearn to come back because this is now where I belong? I can’t even contemplate that, because my heart would shatter if this wasn’t simply about the passion for expression.

  Tonight, the mood in the studio is tense. We’ve kept well away from each other, almost as if we’re in the middle of a row – which is ridiculous. Eventually, I realise I’m just faffing around, not really achieving anything much, but I can’t just begin my clean-up and walk out. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Nico when, eventually, I head out the door, such is the unspoken tension between us. Throwing down my rag, I put the cover on my palette and turn, thinking it’s probably best to say nothing at all.

  ‘Don’t go.’ His voice breaks the awful silence.

  Reluctantly, I spin back around.

  Nico eases himself up from his stool and walks over to partially dim the overhead lights. I gaze at his every move.

  ‘Sit for me, Fern. Please.’

  Fear grips me. But fear of what? I wonder. I watch as he walks past me to the cupboard, opens the door and pulls out a rolled-up rug. When he unfurls it in the centre of the studio, I want to turn and run, but my feet feel as if they are attached to the floor. He disappears into the workroom and returns with a folded, silky black robe which he places in the middle of the rug. Then he turns, heading back into the workroom, softly closing the door behind him.

  I glance at the window, the moonlight streaming in like a shaft of light illuminating just that one spot and it draws me to it. Surrounded by inky blackness, which is like a cover blotting out the whole world, nothing seems to exist beyond this inner sanctum. I’m safe. I know that. So, without thinking, I gradually begin to peel off my clothes and drape the soft, flowing robe around me.

  Nico’s painting is etched on my brain, so I sit in the same pose, one leg tucked up beneath me, the other bent in front of me. Her hand lingered on her knee, her chin resting on her hand.

  When he returns, he shows no emotion; no surprise. Instead, he’s looking at me with appraising eyes as one would any model. He dims the overhead lights even further, then approaches to slip the gown off my shoulders, exposing my breasts. Nico then adjusts the angle of my leg just the slightest fraction. The touch of his fing
ers on my skin is strangely comforting. I’m no longer Fern, I’m the form he needs so desperately to capture. I can see the intensity of his desire to do just that, as he grabs his sketch pad and pencils, and I know I made the right decision.

  Then he begins to work. His eyes flicker over me constantly and it’s a gaze that I’ve never seen before. He’s in the zone and every little nuance matters. My fear that I would feel awkward is unfounded. The only fear I have is making sure I don’t move and become a distraction. Every little detail is dear to him and his brow is furrowed as he works, such is the level of concentration required. Each stroke of the pencil is crucial, as if it’s indelible and cannot be redone. He knows this sitting is my gift to him. It’s a night of intimacy I never expected to share with any man other than my husband.

  Something deep within me, from my soul, connects with Nico in a way I cannot deny. It’s a feeling that I have never experienced before. I love Aiden and I’m loyal, but my feelings for Nico are confusing. I feel sorry for him, for what he’s been through, and I’m grateful for the way he’s inspired me as a mentor. But somehow in my head it’s all getting mixed up and I know it’s time to walk away.

  Slowly buttoning up my shirt, the words begins to flow.

  ‘I can’t stay, Nico… it’s—’ I falter as my voice trembles. ‘My future isn’t here, and I think we both know that. The Marquesa is in love with you, but she senses that you’ve been holding back, misunderstanding the reason for that because you won’t tell her the truth. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: that’s not fair and it’s not right.’

  His face is ashen and his look pained as his eyes search mine. We’re standing several feet apart now, but the pull between us is still electric. Two paces and this time I might not be able to walk out that door. I can see by the look in his eyes that he’s fighting the same battle.

  ‘You are my muse, Fern. Your presence changes everything for me and that goes way beyond love. With you here, my brush flies across the canvas, because you make my spirits soar.’

  A solitary tear trickles down my cheek and I swipe at it with my sleeve as Nico watches, unable to move. The one thing I have to remind myself is that, without him I doubt I would have had the resolve to take myself seriously as a painter; let alone think of myself as an artist. Whether that makes him my mentor, or my inspiration, I don’t know, but this man touches my soul.

  ‘It’s not enough, Nico. I’m not some sort of angel, I’m just a woman with flaws and anxieties.’

  ‘And a big heart.’

  I shake my head, sadly, as I look away. That haunted look of desperation on his face is too much to bear.

  ‘A heart that belongs to someone else,’ he acknowledges. The words hang heavily in the silence between us before I walk away for the last time.

  32

  A New Dawn, A New Beginning

  Turning the key in the door, I bend to lift my suitcases and step inside. Instantly, the familiar seems to wrap itself around me like an old blanket. Comforting. Reassuring.

  Finally, I’m home. Nearly eight weeks early, but at least it will give me time to readjust. After my journey of self-discovery, I need to emotionally detach myself from a world in which I was merely a visitor passing through. Now it’s time to begin embracing the things I want to take forward and be grateful for this new lease of life it seems to have given me. I feel more alive than I have done in a long time. But there’s a lot to process and it’s a relief to know I don’t need to rush myself.

  Kicking the door shut behind me with my heel, I walk through the hallway, gazing around as if I’m seeing it for the first time. It’s smaller than I remembered, I smile, but it feels so good to be home again. Placing the cases gently down on the floor, I wander into the sitting room, my eyes eagerly taking in every little detail. Nothing has changed, I’m relieved to see.

  Mum’s been in regularly and the framed photos capturing those most treasured of moments – our wedding day, anniversaries, Christmas and birthday parties – are dust-free. I pick up the most recent one; the party we had here in the house before Aiden and I set off on our adventures. Steve from next door stood on a chair and marshalled us all into a tight group so we didn’t spill out of the shot. So many smiling faces, so many people with their arms wrapped around each other as he kept shouting ‘closer, closer’. This is my life, I reflect, feeling more like a voyeur picking up someone else’s photograph.

  Mum’s taken care of this house in the way that I do, keeping it ready for our return in the belief that we’d get through it. I will admit, though, that for one moment there even I began to have my doubts.

  My favourite photo stares back at me from the bookcase, making my heart constrict. I caught Aiden sitting out on the patio, reading a report he’d brought home from work. He’s in side profile and had no idea I was watching him.

  It’s not the same when you’re not here, my inner voice speaks to him. I’m scared that I’m not the same any more and I won’t know for sure until you come back to me.

  A loud click makes me turn around, anxiously staring into the doorway. Suddenly, Owen appears, and I wonder if I’m daydreaming.

  ‘F… Fern?’ he stutters.

  ‘Owen. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’

  My heart starts to thud in my chest as I notice he’s wearing a sling.

  ‘What have you done to your arm?’ I demand, attempting to hug him while trying to avoid the plaster cast.

  ‘A war wound,’ he declares, as he flashes an annoyingly cheesy grin. I burst out laughing, despite my concern. Then I scowl at him, wondering when exactly he was going to tell me about his accident.

  ‘So, how did this happen?’ I indicate to the cast poking out of Owen’s sleeve.

  ‘I tripped over my own feet, but it’s only a broken wrist. The embarrassment and heckling I got from my mates was way worse than the injury. Another week and the cast will be coming off.’

  ‘But why are you staying here and not with Mum and Dad?’

  ‘It’s a long story and I’m not sure what to tell you first. The thing is, you can’t get mad. Promise me that, because this was a family decision.’

  ‘A family decision? Without involving me? I want to know exactly what’s been happening, now.’

  He nods in the direction of the kitchen and I let him walk on ahead, following behind in a daze. Pulling out a chair, I sit down heavily, berating myself for not pursuing my concerns that something wasn’t right at home.

  ‘Okay. I’ll tell you everything and then we’ll get everyone together. Hopefully by then you will have calmed down.’ I can see he’s still in a state of shock at seeing me here. ‘Where should I start?’ he tips his head back and a little sigh escapes from between his lips. ‘First off, our little sister is pregnant.’

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Calm down. It’s all going to be fine,’ he looks mortified by my reaction.

  My hands fly up to my head as if it’s about to explode and I jump up, pacing back and forth.

  ‘Hannah didn’t want you rushing back, but she really needs her sister right now. She’s had to drop out of university. Mum will tell you all about it. Hannah has this hyper gravida something or other, which means she’s sick most of the day.’

  I stop pacing and stare at him.

  ‘And no one told me? The decision to come back was mine, Owen, and you shouldn’t have hidden this from me. Poor, poor, Hannah.’

  My head is buzzing.

  ‘Fern, stop right there. If we all pull together it’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Really?’ He avoids my steely gaze and continues.

  ‘The plan is that Liam will sell his flat and they’re looking for a modest three-bed home they can buy reasonably cheaply and fix up. I thought we could all give them a hand once you and Aiden got back, and my wrist has healed. I have leave I can take before I head off again.’

  He sounds so blasé about it. ‘I can’t
believe this.’

  ‘Well, I will admit that I had to fight the urge to turn and run the moment I saw you,’ he replies with a grimace. ‘We thought we had more time to get things… sorted.’

  I realise I was the last person he was expecting to see when he opened that door. But I still don’t understand why he’s staying here. Slumping back down onto the chair, I turn to stare at him while in a daze.

  ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’

  He nods, and I feel myself sag.

  ‘Dad set their kitchen alight when he left a frying pan on the ring while he went to answer the phone. They spent the best part of two and a half months living here while their kitchen was gutted and refitted.’

  My heart sinks in my chest. I should have been here and not… what? Having fun in Provence?

  Owen frowns, and I hold my breath. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s been total chaos since the day I arrived back. But we all pulled together, trying our best to hide what was going on so you didn’t just jump in the car and head for home.’

  ‘But that’s my role, Owen. If I can’t be there for you all, then who am I?’

  ‘Someone who deserves to take a little time for themselves, that’s who. We’re all so proud of you, Fern, and for once we all wanted to put you first.’

  ‘Proud?’

  He lets out a deep sigh. ‘You’ve carried us all in one way or another, Fern. Guess we wanted to make up for that. Aiden told us that you’d sold some paintings.’

  ‘Aiden told you?’ My question goes over his head.

  ‘I did tell them you’d be upset, but Mum, Dad and Hannah were adamant. When I arrived home, the timing was unfortunate, as Mum wasn’t talking to Dad because the kitchen fitters had messed up and he didn’t notice. Sorry, Fern, but you just seem to sense things and it’s too hard talking to you and… trying to keep things back. So, it was easier to say nothing at all. Why did you come home early, though?’