Artistic Licence (9 page)

‘Trust me to pick a woman who’s more interested in my etchings than in me.’

Thea smiled, glad to feel back in control. ‘You don’t do etchings, do you?’

‘Go and look at my daubs, and don’t blame me if you don’t like them.’

The paintings were all stacked up along one wall. They were huge and there were no windows or electricity in the shed, so she opened the door to let in some light. She suspected that Rory had only let her see the paintings because he was fairly confident that she would see little or nothing of them.

However, when a shaft of silvery sunshine hit the first picture, Thea knew she would have to drag each one outside to have a proper look. They were stunning: beautiful, painterly works. They were landscapes, enormous rectangular views of the sea, the islands and the mountains. The quality of the light was superb; it glittered, making Thea believe that if she walked into the picture she would feel the brightness of the sun contrasting with the coldness of the air. He had done with paint what she could never quite have managed with a camera.

There were also still lifes and nudes, old-fashioned, discreet. Thea inspected the women’s faces, to see if one of them was Susan, but she realised that these were naked women and Susan was still a girl.

The painting was masterly, with hardly a brush stroke visible, the colours so intense they seemed liquid. She felt that if she stepped into their viscous depths she would emerge icy with sea water, or bloodstained.

Thea was enraptured. She hadn’t seen new work which so moved her for years and nothing so exciting.
She felt she was looking at the work of a new Granet. This was not the work of an Impressionist, or a conceptual artist, but a real, old-fashioned painter.

One by one she took each canvas out of the shed to inspect it in the light. There were ten in all and each one was different, each breathtakingly beautiful. In the right hands, they would fetch thousands and thousands of pounds.

‘It’s one o’clock, haven’t you seen enough yet?’ Rory, coming up behind her, made her jump out of her skin. She’d been so lost in his work that she’d completely forgotten about him.

‘I don’t think I can ever see enough of these paintings,’ she said, aware that if she weren’t very careful she would start to cry.

Rory took her in his arms and held her tight. They stood together at the top of a windy hill overlooking Clew Bay, wrapped in each other’s arms, overcome with an emotion neither of them recognised.

‘I think you’re probably a genius,’ she said.

This time he kissed her properly, passionately, deeply, bringing her already alerted senses to a peak of sensation. Her head whirled and swam, and when he drew her down on to the damp grass she let him kiss her more. It was only when his fingers started to fiddle with the toggles on her borrowed duffel coat that she pushed away his hand and sat up. ‘Not yet, Rory. You have to take it slower.’

Rory pushed his hand through his dark hair and shook his head. ‘No one has seen my work for a long time. I got a bit carried away.’

‘So did I. It’s wonderful, fantastic work. You’re an incredible painter and you could be rich. If you
showed those paintings in the right place you’d make your fortune.’

‘Are you sure? I tried it once, remember.’

‘You wouldn’t blow it like that again. And no, I’m not at all sure. I don’t know about markets or anything, but I know good work when I see it. You’ve got to show it, Rory. It’s selfish just to keep it here, hidden away.’

They were both dazed, drunk with their discovery. They sat on the hill in silence, he shaking his head, she recognising the view from one of the paintings, knowing she had to make him show his work if it was all she ever did in her life.

‘You really think it’s that good?’

‘You must know how good it is. You’re a trained artist, for God’s sake!’

‘But no one has ever wanted anything from me except a painting of their damned horses.’

‘That’s because no one knew you could do anything else.’

‘It’s only you who’ve liked them, though. You may be wrong. You may just have fallen in love with me and so with my work.’

‘Rory, I haven’t fallen in love with you, not yet. But I have definitely fallen in love with your work. Let me tell someone about them. Let me take some photographs and send them to someone.’

‘But who?’

‘I don’t know. I know people at the art college where I live. They’ll know who might be able to tell you how good they are. This is important. If you don’t show them, you’ll die without ever selling a painting, like Van Gogh.’

Rory drew himself up. ‘You’re forgetting my animal paintings, woman. I have sold those.’

She hugged him again. ‘I’m going back down to the house. Can I use your phone? You have got a phone?’

Chapter Five

It was rather a shame that, after all her proud boasting about knowing people, eventually Thea had to call on Molly. Molly really did know everyone, who either knew, or would find out, who Thea needed to get in touch with. But Thea and Molly had parted on rather odd terms: Molly on the defensive – presumably about Gerald – and Thea … well, Thea had just upped and run away. If she hadn’t felt so strongly about Rory’s paintings, she would never have dared pick up the phone.

‘Molly? It’s Thea.’

‘Thea! Are you all right? That man hasn’t done anything dreadful to you, has he?’

Thea could tell that part of Molly wanted Rory to have loved and left her (even though he’d hardly had time). Molly liked people to get their just desserts – not ‘Death by Chocolate’ when they deserved cold semolina.

‘No, I’m fine. How are things your end?’ Thea wouldn’t have said this if she could have avoided it, but if she’d gone right in and asked for Molly’s help, Molly would have assumed the worst.

Thea held the phone a little away from her ear while Molly went on and on about the state of Thea’s house, the washing machine repair man and a thousand other
irritations for which Thea should have taken responsibility. When the recriminations had slowed down she cut in. ‘Molly, darling, I know I did a bad thing, but it’s all right so far and I’m sure the kids are fine. Petal will sort them out.’

‘Petal! Don’t talk to me about her.’

As this was the last thing Thea wanted to discuss she complied. ‘All right. Now, Molly, I need your help. I can’t think of who else to turn to.’ Molly loved to be helpful and a little flattery would do no harm either.

‘Well?’

‘I think Rory may well be an artistic genius. I need someone to look at his work, but I don’t know who. If I took some slides, could you think of whom I should send them to?’

Molly was silent for a few moments, a rare state of affairs Thea would normally have appreciated. Now it just made her nervous. ‘I’ll have to ring you back,’ she said eventually. ‘Have you got the number there? And the address? I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, take some good photographs. Have you got a decent camera?’ Molly had been on holiday with Thea’s Leica M4, but because it was a quiet, discreet camera, that didn’t have a phallic symbol which went in and out, or any other obvious bells and whistles and automatic focusing, Molly didn’t think much of it.

‘Yes. My Leica’s fine. I’ll have to buy some colour reversal film to take slides, but I should be able to find that locally.’

‘I’ll get on to David Knox, you know, Head of Fine Art at the college? He’ll tell me the right person.’

‘Fabulous. Thank you so much, Molly, I knew I could rely on you.’

‘Relying on me is one thing, but Thea, you can’t just run off…’

‘Actually, Molly, I already have. Do you think you could be sweet and collect my rent for me, and pay it into my bank? It’s the one on the corner. The account’s in my name. You’re a doll.’ Thea rang off, thanking Petal for her unconscious lessons on how to manipulate people.

Susan came into the room just as Thea got off the phone. She was about twenty, with clear, freckled skin, curly eyelashes and hair which formed tight little ringlets round her hairline, above her high forehead. Thea thought she would have been divinely pretty, had she not looked at her with such suspicion. ‘I hope you don’t mind me staying.’ She wanted to soften Susan’s brittle surface. ‘I’ll try not to get in your way.’

‘It’s Rory I’m worried about. He doesn’t usually take time away from his work to pick people up from the airport,’ she said, her head thrown back. ‘He doesn’t often have people staying in the house, either. He likes to work undisturbed. Usually.’

This break in routine was clearly all Thea’s fault. She tried to look like someone who would never disturb Rory, not even if there was a fire.

‘So, what do they call you, then?’ said Susan. The ‘and why are you here’ was unspoken, but just as clear.

‘I’m Thea. I came to stay with Rory last night. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He didn’t know I was coming. And I didn’t know he was behind with a commission, or I wouldn’t have come.’ Thea wasn’t quite sure this was true. ‘I’ll look after myself. I won’t expect him to take me sightseeing or anything. And I’ll try not to make more work for you.’

‘I don’t mind
work
.’ Susan gave the word emphasis to make clear it was Thea she objected to, not a bit of extra washing up.

‘I did do the dishes from last night.’ Thea sounded like Petal trying to placate her landlady.

‘I saw. And cooked a meal, I suppose.’ She gave Thea a look as near to a frown as she could manage without being too obviously rude. ‘I usually cook something and leave it for Rory to heat up. It was my day off yesterday.’

‘Oh, well, he said he was planning to go to the pub, but as I was tired I decided to make a meal instead. You know how it is, it’s sometimes easier to peel a few spuds than it is to put your make-up on and go out.’

‘I don’t wear make-up,’ said Susan.

Thea half smiled, half shrugged and, feeling condemned as a scarlet woman bent on preventing Rory from so much as picking up a paintbrush, went into her bedroom. Perhaps if she put on all her clothes at once she would be warm enough. She huddled up to Lara and received an affectionate lick.

Before she could start photographing the pictures Thea had to get her film, which would either mean disturbing Rory, thus earning herself a stake through the heart from Susan, or struggling with the Land Rover.

Susan’s pretty mouth tightened as Thea came into the kitchen, where she was drying the china Thea had washed last night.

‘I’m going into town to get some film. Rory told me I could borrow the Land Rover. Do you want anything?’

‘You’re going to drive the Land Rover?’

‘I was. Is it difficult?’

Susan considered, deciding whether just to let Thea loose with the beast, or give her some pointers. ‘It’s a bit of bastard to drive,’ she said at last.

Thea bit her lip. ‘I really need the film. I want to take slides of Rory’s paintings. I think he’s really, really good.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘If I’m right, he may never have to paint a horse again.’

‘Honestly? And what do you know about art?’ This was a genuine question, not the sarcastic sneer it might have been.

‘I haven’t been formally trained, but I’m reckoned to have a good eye. I think Rory might be a genius.’

‘And you say he could give up painting the dogs and horses?’

‘If the right person sees the slides.’

Susan nodded. ‘I’ve got to go in and do some shopping myself. I can take you in my car. When do you want to go?’

‘Whenever it’s convenient to you. I’d like to take photos of Rory’s pictures in daylight, when it’s not raining, if possible.’

‘I finish here at two. I’ll take you in then.’

The town was small but pretty, with a river in the middle lined with trees. It bustled, with a good combination of tourist outlets and proper shops for natives, selling hardware, haberdashery and fishing tackle. One of its chemists also had the film Thea needed.

She didn’t get to know Susan a lot better during the outing, but she did feel she was slightly less hostile.
She smiled wryly to herself as she looked out of the window on the journey home. So much for getting away from a house full of students so she could have a torrid affair – she would have to be up at the crack of dawn, changing sheets and ruffling her own bedclothes, to avoid offending her. At least the students kept out of her bedroom. Susan, bustling around with her hoover, would be exposed to anything and everything they got up to.

Clouds scudded across the sky, darkening the landscape and making the possibility of taking good photographs slight. Thea decided to get up early – earlier than Rory – to try to get a start on the day. Morning light would be best for the photographs anyway.

‘So, how did you get on today?’ Rory asked her, as he came down from his studio, paint-spattered but happy.

‘I’ve got the film, but I won’t start doing them until tomorrow. The light’s not good now, and if I get an early start I might get them done and off by the afternoon. What about you? Did you finish your horse?’

He made a face. ‘I tell you what, the thought that I might never have to paint another one lent wings to my brush. Whiskey?’

‘Yes, please.’ Thea watched him pour the drinks. ‘I’m cold.’