One-man Woman

by Jessica Ayre

  The next few days passed in a welter of activity. They were up by six-thirty and never returned to the hotel before ten at night. Jennie felt drained, but grateful for the pressure which kept her mind occupied. She had taken to wearing her bikini under her clothes and every time there was a spare moment, she would slip away to some hidden nook and stretch out in the blazing sun, often with her sketchpad in hand. As she looked over her work at night, she felt quite pleased. Despite the lack of time, she had a good set of visual notes there. And on top of it, her skin had turned a rich nut brown. With her hair tossed by the sea wind thickly framing her fine-boned face, the whites of her eyes bright against her tanned skin, she looked in her mirror at night like some different creature, the child of some wild sunbaked mountain village, rather than a bleak northern town. She laughed at her own romanticism, but it didn't displease her.

  It was only on the following Thursday that she again saw Derek face to face. He strode into the make-up room late in the afternoon when she was lotioning Arno's face clean. The room's proportions were suddenly dwarfed by his presence and Jennie felt a tremor run through her. She tried to still her trembling hands.

  'How about taking off a little early and driving into Palermo with me? I've got some things to do there,' he said with no preliminary greeting.

  'I don't know if I can leave yet,' Jennie demurred, steeling herself against him.

  'It's all right. I've asked Paola if she'd stand in for you and she's agreed.'

  Jennie bridled at his presumption, feeling irritated at rather than grateful to the Italian make-up supervisor whom she had met in the course of the week. She was angry too at the fact that Derek had not yet said anything about the completed wall painting. She finished cleansing Arno's face slowly, biding her time. At last she gathered her brushes and jars into her bag. 'Right, I'm ready,' she said with no enthusiasm in her voice.

  He led her towards the car, and only when they were inside did he turn to face her. 'I never did thank you properly for your wonderful work. Matthew is quite prepared to keep the scene now. I'm enormously grateful, Jennie,' his eyes were warm on her face making her pulse race, 'enormously grateful,' he stressed, 'and I'm sorry I haven't had the time to thank you properly before.'

  She lowered her eyes away from him, finding herself unable to respond, now that he had said precisely what she wanted to hear.

  He drove the car skilfully along the bumpy road and then picked up speed. 'I thought we'd stop at the hotel for a wash and change of clothes, and then head off. I'll take you out for a splendid dinner, by way of thanks.'

  Jennie still could find nothing to say. Her voice seemed to be a barometer of her pulse, one vanishing as the other increased. And now that she was again alone with him in the car's small space and could see his rugged profile from beneath lowered lids, feel him but a few inches away from her, her heart raced more quickly than the car's engine. Determinedly she looked ahead of her, trying to think of conversational titbits. But her mind was blank. When they reached the less treacherous coastal road, Derek's hand strayed along the car seat in search of hers.

  'I seem to have seen nothing of you these days. Have you been hiding?'

  Jennie shook her head and roughly extricated her hand from his, afraid of the welter of emotions and sensations his touch induced in her. 'We've all been busy,' she managed to say, her voice cracking.

  He glanced at her and then said, 'It's been going well, don't you think?'

  'Very well. It promises to be a good film.' Jennie flushed as she noted the presumption her tone implied, but Derek only chuckled.

  They pulled up in front of the hotel. 'Come to my room when you're ready and we can have a quick drink before setting off. About twenty minutes?'

  Jennie nodded. Refusing now to let herself think, she went into her room, took off her clothes and took a brisk shower. Then she pulled out the frothy lace skirt and top Daniela had encouraged her to buy. She hadn't worn it yet, had been saving it for goodness knows what reason. As she put it on now she saw how the white accented the glow of her skin and the scalloped edges of the blouse set off the soft haze of her dark hair. She dabbed on some lipstick and eyeshadow and stood back from the mirror taking in the effect. Not bad, she thought, looking at herself critically. Perhaps she could now provide the competition Daniela had said she wanted what seemed like a decade ago in London. She caught herself contradicting her own resolve of just a few days before and could only shrug at her own inconsistency.

  She walked slowly on her high-heeled sandals towards Derek's room, feeling the swish of the skirt around her bare legs, and knocked at the door. He was holding the telephone in one hand as he opened it and gestured for Jennie to come in. She hesitated. He had obviously only had time to don his trousers before the telephone rang. His chest was bare, deeply golden against the creamy white of his trousers. He gestured to her again and Jennie crossed the threshold, her heart beating too quickly for comfort. She sat down, crossing one smooth leg over another, and flicked through a magazine she saw lying on the table. Anything to keep her eyes away from him.

  It was almost an unnecessary gesture, for she could feel him intensely as he towered behind her. He ran a finger along her back where her skin met her blouse and down the line of her bare arm. Jennie shivered and made to move, but his hand on her shoulder kept her in place. At last he put the phone down.

  'Sorry about that,' he came round to face her. 'It was the call from Palermo I'd been waiting for.' Gold flecks suddenly flickered in the blue of his eyes, giving him the look of some predatory animal, a tiger, Jennie thought. But he smiled at her warmly.

  'You look wonderful, like some nut-brown maiden about to dance round the maypole.' Jennie's tan hid the flush his gaze brought to her cheeks, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

  'I'll be ready in a minute,' he said, reaching for the silky shirt which lay on the bed. She watched his fingers quickly doing up buttons, his agile movements as he flung a matching jacket over his shoulder. 'Right, I'm ready,' he said, passing a hand through the rough tangle of burnished hair. 'But I'd promised you a drink… care for one now, or later?'

  'Later.' She rose and preceded him through the door he held open for her. She felt his eyes on her back with the same intensity she remembered from that day back in the London studios when she had first become aware of him it seemed an eternity ago.

  A silence developed between them as they drove to Palermo. For Jennie, it was a silence so full of unspoken thoughts that the air felt thick, so thick that her breath seemed to come with difficulty. As she flashed secret glances at Derek from beneath lowered lids, took in the shape of his hands on the wheel, the mobility of his profile, she realised that his movements gave her pleasure, almost the kind of pleasure she experienced in front of a favourite sculpting. Perhaps, she hastened to affirm to herself, that was all it was, just a visual delight.

  The car wove its way through Palermo's busy streets and pulled up short at a red light. Derek flashed a look at her, as if he had read her thoughts.

  'You're doing a little retreat into yourself away from me, aren't you?'

  'There isn't so very far to retreat,' Jennie retorted more coldly than she had intended.

  'So that's the kind of evening it's going to be,' he sighed impatiently. 'I thought we'd got beyond that childishness.'

  The set of his jaw was suddenly harsh as he jerked the car away from the light. 'Perhaps you'd like a little time on your own before we have dinner. I could drop you off at the cathedral while I tend to some business. It might put you in a better frame of mind.'

  'If that's what you'd prefer,' she replied, her voice cool.

  He set her down in front of the cathedral and she nodded stiffly to his brusque, 'Pick you up in about forty minutes.'

  It was only when the car had pulled away and she had taken a deep breath that Jennie looked around her. An audible gasp escaped her lips. Never had she seen a cathedral like this. Her eyes roamed over the many spires, the intricate decoratio
n, and rested on the august portals. Jennie laughed. The odd mixture of styles was somehow magnificently playful: lofty solemn Norman shapes set against riotous Moorish motifs. She strode through the doors swinging her bag as if she had suddenly been filled with fresh energy. Inside she was greeted by the sparkle of Byzanto-Moorish mosaics, each richer in colour than the last. She lost herself happily in their pattern of whorls, remembering to look at her watch only when these gave way to the more sombre tombs of Sicilian kings. She realised her time was up. Indeed, she was already late. She hurried out into the piazza, now dusky in the receding light, yet filled with the chatter of numerous strollers. She spotted Derek's car waiting for her in the arranged spot and ran towards it, almost bumping into a gaunt old man playing a Jew's harp. Its dull twang echoed round her.

  Suddenly she felt a staying hand on her shoulder, and a chill ran through her as she veered round. The face that confronted her made her mouth drop in amazement.

  'Hello, Jennie. Fancy bumping into you here!'

  She looked up into Max's bespectacled eyes and shuddered away from the hand on her shoulder.

  'What an extraordinary coincidence!' He examined her with evident curiosity. 'I've been watching you in the cathedral and only now decided it couldn't be anyone else. You look wonderful—quite a new woman.'

  He seemed to be leering at her from beneath his lank brown hair, and Jennie moved a few steps back as she uttered a low, 'Hello, Max.'

  'Yes, quite a new woman,' his eyes roved over her. 'I gather someone has made you into one.' He muttered the words almost inaudibly.

  Jennie stopped herself from raising a hand to slap him hard. He reached forward to take her arm and she drew abruptly away from him. His touch filled her with the nightmarish memory of the revulsion and then the pain he had once aroused in her.

  Max seemed not to notice. 'Come on, let me buy you a drink and we can catch up on each other's lives.'

  'Not now, Max, I'm meeting someone,' Jennie blurted out, a note of uncontrollable fear in her voice.

  He seemed about to protest when a tall bronzed figure strode between them.

  'Made a new friend, Jennie?' Derek's tone carried a veiled challenge. Jennie wasn't quite sure whether it was directed at her or at Max.

  Max chuckled, 'Hardly a new friend, am I, Jennie?' The intimacy his words implied made her squirm.

  'Hardly an old one either,' she darted back at him, and without thinking, took hold of Derek's arm.

  'I wouldn't agree to that.' Max tried to catch her eye, then he turned to Derek. 'I was just suggesting to Jennie that we have a drink together. It's such a strange coincidence meeting here after all this time.'

  Derek looked at Jennie expectantly, but she said nothing.

  'You might introduce me to your friend, Jennie, then perhaps we can all have a drink together.'

  Jennie made perfunctory introductions, wishing all the time that Max would vanish. She watched the two men shaking hands. Max seemed altogether dwarfed into in-significance by Derek's presence, somehow shrunken.

  And yet the proportions he had taken on in her mind had been so great! Derek ushered them towards a nearby cafe, while Max explained that he was in Palermo for the Easter term break with a group of art students.

  'And what are you doing here, Jennie? Holidaying with Derek?' he queried.

  'Working on a film,' she answered tersely as they sat down at an outdoor table.

  Derek gave her a quick glance. Her tone, obviously too hostile, had surprised him. But Jennie felt she could do nothing about it. She knew she was barely under control, could feel her skin growing clammy at the sheer proximity of Max. All the anxieties she thought she had put aside were taking over, again. And what if Derek should find out about her and Max? She huddled into her chair, trying to make herself small.

  Max's voice took on a patronising note. 'I knew you wouldn't stick the course, Jennie. It's a hard life being a painter. Much nicer working in films.' His voice carried a sneer.

  Derek laughed throatily, somehow obliterating Max altogether. 'I can see you've never worked anywhere close to film. And as for Jennie's painting, I can assure you, it goes on, despite all her other work. Derek smiled warmly at her.

  'I guess Jennie hasn't told you she was once a student of mine.' Max seemed to be taking a different tack now, as if his association with Jennie was a mark of success.

  'Only very briefly,' Jennie intervened. She thought she saw Derek wink at her almost imperceptibly, and looked into his strong face with relief. If only he could read her mind now and get them away from Max as soon as possible! But before she knew it, Max had engaged Derek in what seemed an interminable discussion of mosaics. It was evident that Max was striving to score intellectual points. As the stream of words poured from his thin lips, he kept glancing at Jennie to gauge the success of his performance. She shivered again at the sight of those lips and felt the whole ordeal of the past rising in her like nausea, stopping her breath.

  Derek's eyes caught hers. His words had been fewer than Max's, but through the haze of her emotions Jennie had read on Max's face the impact Derek's statements carried. He effortlessly demanded respect, engendered confidence. Max, she suddenly realised, seemed childishly vain by comparison.

  Now Derek pulled his chair back from the table and signalled to the waiter. 'I'm afraid we'll really have to go if we're not to be late.'

  Max seemed to recognise that he had been dismissed. He turned to Jennie. 'I'll give you a ring at your hotel, shall I, Jennie? It really is time we got to know each other again.'

  Jennie shrugged, 'I'm very busy.'

  'I'm sure the powers that be will give you a break to see an old friend.' Max's tone was insinuating as he looked from Derek to Jennie. 'Where did you say you were staying?'

  'I don't believe I did,' Jennie said coldly.

  There was an uncomfortable pause.

  Derek intervened. 'We're all,' he emphasised the word, 'staying in Cefalu.' He shook Max's proffered hand with remote politeness and led Jennie off towards the car.

  He only spoke again when they were well away from the cafe. 'What was all that about?' he drawled. 'The air was so thick, I could have cut it with a knife.'

  Jennie felt too drained to reply.

  'An old beau of yours, I gather,' Derek persisted. 'Or perhaps not so old, given the effect he seems to have on you.' He stopped the car at the side of a tree-lined street and placing a finger under her chin urged her to face him. 'Is he the one who hurt you, Jennie?' He stroked her hair and waited for her to answer.

  Jennie drew away. Derek's touch seared her, served to confuse her even further. She was shocked by the pain Max's presence had woken in her. In the last few weeks she had felt that somehow he was well in the past, his memory put to rest, that she could begin to live a little more openly. And now the hurt of it all engulfed her again. She could feel the defensive wall forming once more.

  'He obviously still has a hold on you.' Derek sounded irritated now, impatient, as he waited for her to speak.

  'And why should it matter to you?' The words tumbled out, before Jennie realised.

  Derek met her eyes for a long moment. He seemed to be reflecting. 'Obviously it does,' he said softly. Then he flashed her a half-humorous look and his face took on a defiant expression. 'You might at least pretend that you're a little pleased to be with me. I've worked hard to arrange some time to take you out for this thank-you dinner— very hard. So not one further thought about this wretched past of yours.' He fixed her with a mockingly hypnotic glare. 'Just concentrate on me, oh, mysterious and haunted lady.'

  Jennie took in Derek's concentrated stare and the invisible watch he swung in front of her eyes like some silent-movie hypnotist. He was so melodramatically comical that she burst out laughing, knowing full well that it was a choice between that or tears.

  'That's better,' he said, touching her mouth with light lips. 'And now, Miss Lewis, you must focus all your attention on me and be pleasant. That is an order.'
>
  Jennie moved her hands to her mouth and in mime painted a wide smile on her face. 'There, I think my pleasant mask is firmly in place. If you're very nice, it may just hold for a few hours.'

  'Good,' he grinned, his eyes playful, 'because I've something special in store for you.' He gave her a large mocking wink as he opened the car door for her and led her out to the edge of a little square where a row of extravagantly-painted carts, each with its own well-groomed horse, waited. He helped her up into one and climbed in beside her, giving the driver instructions. The horse ambled off, pulling the cart lightly behind him.

  'Not quite ideal in traffic fumes, these carrozzi, but we can pretend,' Derek smiled at her warmly. 'Imagine a moonlit night in nineteenth century Palermo. Ladies lift their long dresses above seductive ankles to protect themselves from muddy streets, while stiffly honourable gentlemen keep their eyes focussed on mud to catch an occasional glimpse of ankle.'

  Jennie laughed. 'All we need is a darkly clad chaperone keeping guard over us.'

  'And while we're pretending,' he wound his arm around her bare shoulders and drew her close, 'two young lovers have escaped the steely eyes of the duenna and are off on a nocturnal tryst. They can't keep their hands off each other,' he wound his arm more firmly round her waist, 'or their lips.' He lifted her face to his and pressed his mouth mellowly to hers.

  Jennie felt a warm flame leap inside her, and her lips melted to his.

  'As long as we're just pretending,' she emphasised, her eyes bright when he released her at last.

  'Yes, just pretending.' He drew her to him again, the pressure of his lips more urgent now.

  Only when the horse's trot seemed to have died away completely, to be replaced by the raucous voice of the driver, did Jennie surface from his embrace, reluctant to leave a warmth which seemed to have burnt away all memory. Derek's smouldering eyes searched hers briefly before he turned to pay the driver.