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The room heaved and buzzed. I hadn’t wanted to be there, but hadn’t had the heart to refuse Tristan. He’d been like an excited child, and his enthusiasm had been catching. Now it came to it, as I stood in the corner and tried to blend in with the wallpaper while curious faces peered at me over programs, I was feeling decidedly less enthusiastic.
The painting, at least six feet wide and almost twice as tall, dominated one of the large walls, even though it was still shrouded in moss green curtains. The salon could have been redecorated to suit the painting – might have, if the volume of rich people in the room was anything to go by. The walls were hung with a two-tone, striped forest green silk, and the occasional tables were dark, stained wood with oak leaf and acorn detailing. Tristan had opined that his painting couldn’t be shown in a more natural setting – perhaps a garden or, still more aptly, in a woodland glade.
I hadn’t realised how successful Tristan was. His work, I was told, graced the walls of several of the highest drawing rooms in the land. This though, his patron assured him, was his best work to date. He was certainly in demand, surrounded by a tight knot of admirers that moved as one with him as he made his way around the room, meeting and greeting prospective buyers. Anticipation fizzed and sizzled as the – not great and good, but rather the wealthy and prosperous hummed and gossiped over wine and sandwiches.
As word spread that I was, in Tristan’s words, not mine, the muse, heads kept turning in my direction, and more than once I was approached by older gentlemen with wandering eyes and younger men with unpleasant leers. They didn’t concern me though. I was watching the door, for word had it that Damien would be making an appearance.
I saw him as soon as he entered, pausing briefly in the doorway to cast an eye over the crowd. He looked older than I had remembered him, but it had been over a year. He was still lean, and the dark, fitted jacket he wore suited his broad, muscular figure a lot better than a billowing shirt. My mouth went a little dry at the sight of him and my stomach crawled with nerves, but I held my head up high and met his gaze, when he spotted me, with what I felt was a confident and friendly look.
He made his way in my direction, nodding to an acquaintance here and there, and raising a hand in salute to Tristan when he spotted him.
‘Good afternoon,’ I said when he stopped beside me, surprising me by taking my hand and kissing it with a bow. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing gloves. He was an anomaly in such a formal setting, and it startled me.
‘Good afternoon.’ He smiled, and he looked healthier than he had at the house, where darkness had drained the colour from his skin. ‘You look very well. I like your hair.’
I felt myself flush at the compliment. My hair was still short, but had grown long enough to begin to curl. At Edwina’s suggestion I had woven it with ribbons and artificial flowers, and was quite pleased with the result.
‘The same to you,’ I said, mirroring his smile. ‘Daylight and space clearly agree with you.’
Damien laughed.
‘Where have you been, anyway?’ I tried to keep my tone light and not sound accusatory, but he watched me thoughtfully as he answered.
‘I thought I should stay away.’
‘Away? From me?’
‘From everyone. But mostly you. Was I right to?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Damien turned from me slightly and looked out into the room.
‘Tristan’s in love with you, I think.’
I chose not to respond to that.
‘He keeps glaring at me, which is strange behaviour for a close childhood friend, wouldn’t you say?’
‘He’s probably just nervous about the painting being unveiled. I’m sure he’s very glad to see you.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He didn’t sound convinced, but he dropped the topic. I was feeling decidedly out of humour with him, which I hadn’t expected. ‘How have you been then? Tell me – if you like.’
I felt myself soften at his solicitude.
‘A lot better, thank you. You were right – of course you were right. I accepted the money in the end, you know.’
‘Mother wrote and told me. What made you change your mind? You seemed set against it before.’
‘Mrs Raynor visited. She shook me out of the rut I was in.’
Damien looked shocked.
‘Do you see her? Have you forgiven her?’
I laughed.
‘Certainly not. I told her never to contact me again. She writes now and then, but I ignore her. Perhaps one day I’ll reply.’
‘And what are you doing with your new wealth. Living the high life?’
‘No, although I have moved to Lincoln. I couldn’t stay in the house.’
Damien raised a brow as he lifted two glasses of wine from a waiter passing with a tray, and handed one to me.
‘I can see why you’d want to leave. I imagine it’s done you good to start plotting the course of your own life for once.’
‘Well, yes. I suppose. Although I still feel like I’m drifting about somewhat. There are the charities – but my input is minimal at best.’
‘Ah yes, your charities – Mother mentioned them. For women who are fallen upon hard times?’
‘In the vaguest possible way, yes. We also have a refuge – for women who want to escape from their families and so on. It doubles as a school, so they can look after themselves in the end.’
‘And how’s it going?’
I shrugged, feeling a flush spread over my cheeks from the embarrassment of talking about myself, and my concern over his opinion of my schemes. I ached for his approval. How foolish I was!
‘It’s a little early to tell yet. It’s a lot more work than I imagined, setting something like that in motion. We’ve only been up and running for two months.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ he said, and I felt myself glow. ‘I’m glad you picked yourself up. I wondered what you were really like, under all that.’
‘Because my life was a lie?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, the girl who wasn’t Alice. I liked her, though.’
‘Hmm, yes. Anyway, I wondered about that too,’ I said. ‘What I was really like. But it’s strange – I felt most myself once I’d arrived at Edwina’s house. Before... before Gabriel died. Once I’d found you, too.’
‘And we were better strangers?’
‘I hoped you’d forgotten that.’ I sipped my drink as a screen to avoid looking at him. ‘Although,’ I added with spirit, ‘you can’t say we’ve ever been better strangers than this past year!’
He looked at me as though I was mad, and I knocked back the rest of the glass in my hand before choking on it slightly.
‘Well, that was the idea,’ he drawled, raising a supercilious brow and looking down at me with an expression of supreme arrogance. I looked at him with surprise and he laughed. ‘I like irritating you,’ he said. ‘I think it’s one of my new favourite things.’
I snorted with derision.
‘Where have you been then? And what have you been doing that’s made you so puffed up with your own importance?’
He smiled at that as well, and all at once we were comfortable.
‘Travelling. All in this country. I strapped a knapsack on my back and made my way to Scotland and back. Very pleasant it was too. As you say, air and space agree with me. I think I needed as much air and space as possible after all that had gone on.
‘Once I’d done that, I dropped in to see Mother, heard about you moving and the money, and Tristan’s painting, of course, and thought I’d bob down to take a look.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ I said wistfully, imagining tramping across fields and over rivers beneath an endless sky.
Damien smiled, I mean really smiled at me, with his eyes as well, and I had to look away. I couldn’t meet his eyes with the same enthusiasm – I dared not.
‘You’re living in Lincoln, did you say?’
‘Yes, just outside of the city. It’s quiet, and I’ve quite a garden. We do well there, I think.’
‘We?’
‘Oh yes,’ I tossed my hair slightly and stared out into the room. ‘I can hardly live on my own, can I?’
I was still pointedly avoiding looking at Damien but out of the corner of my eye I could see him slouching against the wall and looking sullen.
‘You could if you wanted to.’
‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’ I replied archly, and he gave a gusty sigh.
‘I hear you’re the subject of this painting.’
‘You heard correctly.’
‘Hmm.’ Damien cracked his neck and I winced at the sound. ‘That must have taken a lot of posing. Tristan does like to spend time with his models.’
He sounded so bitter I could hardly suppress a laugh.
‘It took a little while, yes.’
Now Damien was avoiding looking at me and I knew, somehow, that he was dying to ask if I’d posed nude. I decided to bait him a little.
‘But when you’re close with someone, it’s not a hardship.’
‘Will you just tell me what’s happening with you and Tristan?’ he snapped. ‘I know he’s in love with you. Are you getting married?’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please!’
A voice rose over the hum in the room as Tristan’s benefactor, a towering hulk of a man with a hefty moustache and a wandering eye tapped a tiny spoon against his wineglass. I shot a coy smile in Damien’s direction, perversely enjoying his discomfort.
‘Please – we need to talk.’ He whispered in my ear, and I started, slopping wine over my glove.
‘I can’t miss this,’ I hissed back.
‘Meet me then.’ He sounded desperate so I looked at him, finally.
‘That’s terribly improper.’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ he said, almost too loudly. ‘Fine, I’ll call on you. Tomorrow. Will you receive me?’
I glared at him.
‘Please,’ he added.
I heard the scrape of metal, a hushed gasp, then the patter of clapping hands. I whipped my head round to face the front and saw the painting, revealed for the first time in all its glory.
I thought I heard Damien gasp beside me, but it could have been me. It was marvellous, which sounds awful considering it was a picture of me, but I don’t think it really was me – not really. Nature, draped in forest green Grecian style robes stepped over forked tree boughs and almost out of the painting. She gently parted branches and gazed, serenely, questioningly, directly at the viewer. I could see my features in those of the painting, but it wasn’t me. I struggled to stifle a giggle. It was almost ridiculous to see myself as nature. I, who was so unnatural myself.
I was swept away then, by a sea of people who pulled me away from Damien and towards Tristan, to the front of the room to stand below the picture and receive congratulations for standing still. Tristan was beaming though, and I was so pleased for him. He had worked on this painting for more than a year, and now was his moment to be applauded. He linked his arm through mine, and I craned my neck to see over the people who surrounded us to where Damien remained, leaning by the wall, unreadable.
I kept my eye on him all the while as I did the pretty for Tristan. He watched me around the room, chatting to the odd person now and then, but always only a moment away from a glance in my direction. Then he was gone, and I wondered if I would see him again.