Move Over Darling (27 page)

‘
Gravell’s Gavel
? It’s great, isn’t it? I love Kingston Gravell! He comes across as such a nice man. How on earth did Alys manage that?’

‘It was due to Dad actually,’ Kitty said, proudly. ‘What’s more Kingston Gravell liked the location here so much that he phoned to say he’s bringing a TV crew with him in case they can use some footage from today in their show!’

Coralie gulped and reminded herself that the cameras would not be pointing at her, but at a portrait of her. One that had attracted remarkably little interest in the subject, fortunately, since it was a little more sober than all the razzmatazz of
Samba
and the sensational outing of the Vicar. Nevertheless, she was thankful that she no longer carried the burden of Hayley Butterfield’s death like a shameful secret or she would have felt sickened by the thought of so much publicity.

‘You’ve done masses, too,’ she added. ‘Look at all these people you’ve managed to get here.’

‘I spent hours sending out invitations, but it was worth it.’ Kitty nodded. ‘And I’m glad I added one day’s free styling from Flair on a Shoestring to the list of lots. Think of all the free publicity I’m going to get now!’

Coralie only hoped that it would be good publicity. The market was nervous about
Girl in a Coral Dress
because it was such a radical departure from anything Gethin had produced before. Putting a brave face on it, Alys and the Hall Management Committee had determined to raise what funds they could by extending the auction to include five lots in addition to the final lot, when the portrait would be auctioned. And whilst donations had been generous, it would still be dreadful, not to mention embarrassing, if a spa day at The Cabin at Abersaith went for more money than her portrait.

‘Oh look,’ she said, temporarily distracted. ‘There’s Derek Brockway – the weatherman!’

‘He’s a keen walker so I thought he’d be interested in the location.’ Kitty nodded. ‘I’m hoping Jamie Owen, the broadcaster, will be able to make it, too.’ Her eyes widened at the sight of a clean-cut couple walking hand-in-hand and she grabbed Coralie’s arm. ‘That’s not—’

Coralie nodded. ‘Willow and Wilfie. Yes! They’ve bought just about everything in the Sweet Cleans range since they started seeing each other.’

In a light linen jacket over a white shirt and almost clean jeans, Wilfie, who had shaved off his beard, had gone from Bill Oddie to Ben Fogle in a dramatic transformation. Willow too, had ditched the extreme henna, an overkill of kohl and a fug of patchouli oil and looked ten years younger for it. They were followed by a stream of people making their way along the path. Behind them in the car park a minibus roared to a halt and a group of jovial-looking men spilled out, grabbing their jackets.

‘Oh lord, the Abersaith Male Voice Choir again,’ said Kitty as they surged towards them. ‘Tell ’em you’ve got a partner or they’ll stop and chat you up all afternoon and we’ll never get on with the auction.’

It wasn’t a tactic that seemed to work, since none of the choir was put off by Kitty having Jamie, who was fast asleep in his buggy and missed all the attention his mother was attracting, although Adam, Coralie noticed, glared at one or two of the younger members as they entered the marquee.

‘Oh, look over there,’ Kitty said, pointing to a cluster of figures, just as Coralie’s knees went weak as she spotted the familiar figure, too. ‘Isn’t that Gethin?’

Gethin was delighted to have arrived in Penmorfa with sufficient time to spare so as not to have to use the short cut across the field to the garden centre, especially as it was full of cows. Paint hadn’t impressed, pheromones had failed, but Eau de Farmyard definitely wouldn’t clear the air between him and Coralie. Priming Huw to make bids up to the value of the ACORN loan on his behalf – the financial wrangles with the poster company administrators happily resolved – meant he had managed to get in one set of good books and ensured there’d be at least one taker for
Girl in a Coral Dress
. If he didn’t have the real thing, he’d always have the painting to remind him.

And, he thought, scanning the people in an array of finery, like the two women in front of him following the chipped-stone path towards the marquee, he wasn’t even the last to arrive. At the sound of footsteps crunching behind them, one of the women in front of him glanced over her shoulder, but the half-smile turned stone-cold when she saw who it was.

‘I’m surprised you’ve got the nerve to show your face round here,’ said Delyth.

The lime green feathers quivering on her head looked like a parrot had just used it as a launch pad. If that was a fascinator, it wasn’t working for him.

‘Lovely to see you, too.’ Gethin smiled.

‘Come to ruin another occasion?’ said Mair, from beneath a large purple ostrich feather.

Gethin overtook and blocked their path. ‘I’m here to see that plenty of money’s raised for a good cause, but if you ladies came looking for a scrap, let’s do it now, so as not to spoil everyone’s fun. Now just
what
is your problem?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know!’ Delyth’s shiny satin green chest swelled massively. ‘I lost my daughter because of you. I never had the pleasure of seeing her married.’

‘Delyth,’ said Gethin, calmly, ‘unless you know differently, the last I heard, Cerys was alive and well in New Zealand with three kids and a rugged sheep shearer in tow.’

‘Oh!’ Delyth said, dramatically, clutching hold of Mair. ‘But she wouldn’t have looked at that man if you hadn’t spurned her! If you’d done the right thing by her, she would still be here and I wouldn’t be a lonely woman.’

Gethin sighed. ‘I’m sure your son and his family at Abersaith will be sorry to hear you seem to have forgotten them. Cerys wasn’t running away from me; she was running away from you! That poor girl was the only kid in the village who couldn’t do a damn thing without you poking your nose in. You didn’t even let her join the rest of us on the beach in the evenings.’

‘She was a good girl. I wanted her to stay that way!’

‘I wish it had been as exciting as you seem to think. We’d listen to some music, sharing a tin of beer between us, if we were lucky. I think someone might have got hold of a spliff once, except we were all too afraid to inhale in case we became drug-crazed lunatics. Oh, and there might have been the odd outbreak of low-level snogging.’

‘My Cerys was too good for any of that,’ Delyth said, defiantly.

‘If you hadn’t set such strict rules for her, she might not have been so hell-bent on tasting forbidden fruit. She was a lovely girl, Delyth, but she was a menace, always trying to seduce one of the lads.’

‘You and your filthy mouth!’ said Delyth. ‘She never went out after dark.’

‘I hate to shock you, Delyth, but making love without the lights out is possible. She must have been in her element when you encouraged her to watch the sheep-shearing competition. All those macho Kiwi guys, flexing their muscles in public. Lucky for her, it was love at first sight when Shane set eyes on her, wasn’t it? He was a smashing bloke, if you’d care to find out, but you never gave them a chance. So, if you didn’t see Cerys get married, that was your choice. She’s still out there, Delyth, and so are the rest of your grandchildren. Isn’t it about time you got to know them – before it’s too late?’

‘You’re a fine one to talk about it being too late,’ sneered Mair. ‘Did you think about the burden you placed on your poor parents, swanning off with your new art college friends? Far too good for the rest of us, you thought you were. All that extra work for your mother – you sent her to an early grave.’

‘I don’t think anyone sends anyone else to an early grave, Mair. My mother had breast cancer, but she ignored all the warning signs because she didn’t want, as she put it, to be mutilated. She was afraid of my father’s reaction. Afraid of being rejected.’ He had to swallow hard to keep his voice calm. ‘If anyone had a hand in her death it was you, Mair, because you never forgave my father for marrying her and not you, and even after they were married, you couldn’t leave him alone, could you?’

Mair’s hand flew to her mouth.

‘Don’t deny it, because I saw you with him once. I may only have been a child but I knew what was happening.’

‘He should have married me. But what could I offer? She was a farmer’s only daughter with land and I had nothing but myself.’

That part sounded like his father, anyway. Careful with money from the start.

‘He paid for his decision in the end. Your father was a clever man, frustrated by the limitations of his life. We could have achieved great things together, but instead he was stuck here doing a job he hated. And, of course, once you came along, there was no escape.’

‘And you’ve been trying to get rid of me ever since.’ Gethin glowered at her. ‘Well, here’s the really good news, Mair. No amount of your poison’s going to shift me, because I’m back for oh, let’s say at least five years …’

Mair’s face was a sight to behold as she registered what he was telling her. ‘That’s right.’ He nodded. ‘We both know the terms of my father’s Will, don’t we? And, maybe, if you’d been a bit more subtle about conducting your affair with him, I might have felt inclined to just give up my interest in the cottage and hand it all over to you. Unluckily for you, though, I’ve decided I like it here, so don’t go choosing new curtains for the place, will you? You might have been my father’s mistress, but you’ll never be mistress of his house.’

‘And that, ladies,’ said the Vicar, who’d been standing behind them and had heard it all, ‘means that from now on I shall expect no stone throwing or mud flinging from either of you.’

Part of Gethin almost felt sorry for the two old women as, looking ashen and subdued, they retreated towards the marquee. The long shadows of the past still stained the present no matter what you tried to do to wipe it away. Then Marianne Parry laid her hand gently on his arm.

‘Gethin, I visited your father at the end of his life. He was very frail by then, as you know, both in mind and body, but in his lucid moments, he was full of remorse about your mother’s death.’

‘He never said that to me,’ Gethin said, shaking his head.

‘I think he was too ashamed. He was a very troubled soul, scarred by the deprivations of his own upbringing, unable to express his feelings, who didn’t realise quite how much he’d lost until it was too late. That’s why he was so desperate for you to stay here, to raise children here, so that your mother’s spirit would live on in some small way. I know that will never make up for his behaviour when she was alive, but I hope that makes it a little more understandable.’

He could see her kind face through his blurred vision and felt the gentle squeeze of her hand. ‘Now,’ she added, ‘shall we raise money for a good cause?’

Inside the marquee, Alys sipped appreciatively at her Welsh sparkling Brut, supplied on such generous terms by the Glyndwr vineyard. Kingston Gravell’s chocolaty tones had sweet-talked his audience and got them waving their programmes wildly; some, Alys suspected, purely for the benefit of his twinkling smile and warm gaze. But now things were getting serious. All around her handkerchiefs were being surreptitiously dabbed at moist eyes as the Abersaith Male Voice Choir concluded their set with ‘The Ash Grove’.

Alys hoped that the references in the lyrics to kind faces and childhood friends would tug at some heartstrings and make the audience more receptive than a few of them had appeared when they’d taken their seats. Eyebrows had been raised at the presence of some dignitaries, like the Bishop and their Assembly Member, who, people were muttering, were only there to bask in the reflected glory. Many of those gathered had made conspicuous efforts to dress up for the television cameras with some very fixed hair-dos and a couple of dazzling home dye jobs on display, although Delyth and Mair had made predictably barbed comments about what they regarded as an unnecessary intrusion into village life.

One couple who seemed to have shed an awful lot of hair between them were Willow and Wilfie. Alys did a double take seeing them sitting in the front row. It almost looked as if a makeover programme had visited the Craft Courtyard with everyone so shiny and scrubbed up. Huw, at her side, she thought smiling to herself, had escaped, though, and looked as delightfully crumpled as ever. He reached for her hand, sensing her sudden nerves, and gave it a reassuring squeeze as Kingston Gravell took the podium once more.

She flashed a grateful smile at Huw then led the applause. Kingston’s enthusiasm for
Girl in a Coral Dress
had gone a long way towards a change of heart about Gethin’s work in Penmorfa, as well as some kind comments and real appreciation for what she’d achieved, too.

Kingston’s beguiling manner was winning everyone over, but this was the real test. Looking round to see how his warm-up patter was being received by the audience, she caught sight of the man Kingston had pointed out to her as the art critic and newspaper columnist Jay Jewell, his arms folded and face impassive. A passing cloud sent a shadow slanting across the rows of seats and a cool breeze rippled the lining of the marquee. Alys twisted her hands together, anxious that nothing would spoil the big moment.

‘Relax,’ Huw said softly to her, instantly making her feel better.

The sun came out again, making the white interior glow and there was a hushed silence as Kingston paused theatrically. ‘So now,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m going to open the bidding …’

‘Six thousand pounds!’ roared Huw, making everyone jump. Alys turned her head slowly and blinked at him. They barely had six thousand pennies. What the hell was he doing?

In the back row, Gethin released the breath he’d been holding as the gavel came down;
Girl in a Coral Dress
had just changed his life.

‘Sold!’ Kingston Gravell announced, smiling.

One hundred and seventy-four thousand pounds.

The marquee flaps opened and the sea mist swirled in, hanging in the air like smoke over a battlefield as a stampede of reporters charged off in search of phone signals. Gethin sat in shock whilst the Bishop and an Assembly Member argued loudly over a cab and the minibus driver made a fruitless search for the Abersaith Male Voice Choir who’d been swift to decamp to the Foundered Ship. In the cacophony of squeals and yelling, tears and congratulations, he dimly heard a couple of soft explosions.

One night with Coralie and his life had turned into a scene from the Apocalypse. Heck, he should have been forewarned the minute she looked over the fence at him.

Coralie stood in the middle of a little group, holding a champagne flute in each hand. Alys and Huw stood on one side of her, Adam, holding Jamie, and Kitty were on the other. Together they formed a small semi-circle to shield Gethin, who was slumped forward in his chair, his head in his hands.

‘Well go on, girl,’ said Adam, giving her a nudge. ‘Don’t take all day about it.’

‘Gethin?’

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes taking the long route up as they first rested on Coralie’s red peep-toe shoes before lingering on her bare legs and travelling over the pale green crêpe de Chine tea dress with its scattering of roses. By the time the dark midnight eyes arrived at hers, she was blushing.

‘You can put the glasses down, Coralie,’ he said, with that rich Welsh lilt that had her legs turning to jelly, ‘the bubbles are going to my head just drinking in the sight of you.’

‘Smooth talking,’ Adam said admiringly. ‘No wonder you’ve got yourself such a reputation.’

‘Just take the glasses, will you, Adam?’ Gethin growled at him.

Since Adam already had his hands full, Kitty took the glasses and put them out of the way.

Gethin stood up and came towards her, never taking his eyes off her. ‘I’ve been waiting to do this for so long,’ he said, his voice breaking as he reached to stroke her cheek. Then he bent his head and brushed her lips so gently that it was all she could do not to grab at his shirt and pull him towards her.

‘Well, get on with it, man,’ Adam said impatiently. ‘You two have got some time to make up!’

Gethin flashed them a big grin, his teeth white against the dark stubble, then planted his lips firmly on hers to a spontaneous round of applause and cheering.

A flash of light made them all turn round and everyone glared at the photographer.

‘Excuse me,’ the photographer said, carrying on regardless. ‘You’re the girl in the coral dress, aren’t you? What’s your name?’

‘It’s Doris bloody Day,’ Huw snarled at him. ‘Now piss off!’

‘Huw!’ Alys laughed.

‘Well,’ said Huw looking sheepish.

‘Oh, Gethin!’ said Alys, clearly unable to contain herself any longer. ‘What a result! What recognition of your talent! One hundred and seventy-four thousand pounds. Thank you! Now we can create a community hall to do Penmorfa proud!’ The delight turned to bemusement as she turned back to her husband. ‘But Huw, what did you think you were doing? I thought
we
were going to have to sell everything to pay for Coralie’s portrait for a while there.’

‘Yes, what were you doing, Huw?’ Coralie asked, still trying not to burst with happiness because Gethin’s arm was wrapped firmly round her waist. She was so close she could feel the rumble of protest as he started to speak.

‘Huw …’ he warned.

‘Coralie,
bach
,’ Huw insisted. ‘Let’s just say that one way or another, your young man was determined to win the girl in the coral dress, even though someone else won her portrait. Now get yourselves a glass each will you, so we can drink a toast. Now then,’ he continued, resting his gaze on everyone in turn, ‘here’s to love and happiness and the
Girl in a Coral Dress
!’