I remember thinking how sad that was and yet it was another thing that endeared Nico to me. We both understood what it was like to have a compulsion. No one chooses to become a worrier and having that acute sensitivity is a burden. How can you not worry when you look at someone and see what many don’t?
‘There. I’m dry. You’re not cold, are you?’ Nico’s face is full of concern.
I hand him the soggy towel, shaking my head. ‘My hair’s a bit damp now, that’s all. Nico, I’m here because of your letter. When I sat for you, I thought I was… I thought it was in order for you to finish the portrait of the unknown woman by the lake. In your letter you referred to the portrait of me. That wasn’t our understanding, Nico, and you know that.’
He looks away. Suddenly he begins to wring his hands, nervously.
‘I’m sorry, Fern. I shouldn’t have sent that letter. There were things buried deep inside of me that needed to come out and that was the only way I was ever going to let you go. As for the portrait… I no longer dream about the woman at the lake and that canvas has been reused.’
‘So you decided to paint me without even considering you should have asked my permission, first? And you hung it on the wall and showed it to someone else.’ I’m finding it hard to suppress my annoyance, not least because what I’m feeling should be disgust for his betrayal, not love. Instead, I want to throw my arms around him and bury my head on his chest. I want to hear the beat of his heart and feel the warmth of his body next to mine. And now he’s telling me he has moved on.
‘I’m sorry. I never meant to offend you,’ he looks at me, dismayed by my reaction. ‘Your presence in my life opened my eyes to so many things. It was tough knowing that you had a loving family to go back to and I had nothing to remind me of you. My intention was never to alienate, or use you, Fern, please believe that.’
‘But you said in your letter that you loved me. But I think you’re confused, because you don’t love someone simply because they inspire you. And what about Isabel?’
He shakes his head and I hear a sigh escape from his lips.
‘Can I speak freely? Or have you simply come to vent that obvious anger. Anger I don’t think I deserve, by the way.’
I stare at him, unblinking.
‘I came here to confront you. You were my mentor and I trusted you. All I want is the truth.’
‘And that’s what you’ll get.’ Now I’ve angered him. ‘I never hid the fact that I was close with Isabel, but she knows I can’t return her love. You didn’t want to believe that because it eased your conscience when you walked away. But you and I, we hadn’t done anything wrong, Fern. It’s not a crime to fall in love with someone.
‘Isabel and I have history stretching way back; we argue and we do business together, but that’s it and I’ve always been honest with her. There’s a side to Isabel with which I simply can’t connect. And now I know what true love means, I could never settle for less. You saved me from being talked into something for all the wrong reasons, Fern.’
Is he right? When I left, was I running away from my own emotional turmoil? Were there feelings I didn’t want to acknowledge because that would have meant I was giving up on my marriage. And now it’s too late, the moment has passed.
‘It’s irrelevant, Nico. The damage has been done and I just want to see the painting you dared to share with Isabel, without my knowledge, or consent.’ I’m tired and confused and I just want this to be over before I say something I’ll regret.
‘It’s hanging in the attic.’
* * *
Isabel is right. It’s beautiful. I’m standing in front of an easel, wearing my favourite T-shirt that ended up being a homage to at least three of my canvases. Almost as colourful as the paintings themselves. My arm is extended and the look on my face is one of pure concentration.
‘You approve?’
‘It’s wonderful.’ I gulp down the most enormous lump that has risen in my throat. ‘I look like an artist,’ I whisper, more to myself than to Nico.
‘You are,’ he enforces.
‘This wasn’t what I was expecting at all.’
He frowns, crossing his arms as he surveys every inch of the canvas.
‘I thought it was perfect. A modern take on a classic portrait. I wouldn’t change a thing; it brings me such happiness every time I stand in front of it. Maybe a flaw isn’t the worst thing in the world, after all. And I say that with pride.’
As I turn to look at Nico I can see the love he has for me reflected in his eyes. How could I have fought the truth? Shame, maybe? Horror of realising that I could love another man in a way I was supposed to love my husband? I thought what I felt for Aiden was an all-consuming love, but how does anyone really know if they have nothing against which to compare it?
The love I feel for Nico touched my soul, before it touched my heart. With Aiden, it had been lusty, young love. All hormones and long spells apart to fuel those wonderful and passionate weekends together in between studying. The thought of love was exciting and everything we experienced together was new. Getting married, buying a house, putting down roots.
With Nico, the passion that connected us was on another plane. If it had been purely physical, it would have meant little to me. I would have seen it for what it was and dismissed it lightly. But the intensity of what was sparking between us was scary and I had to be strong to fight it. That’s why I left. And now I can see that’s why I came back.
‘You aren’t wearing a wedding ring,’ Nico says, softly.
‘No.’
‘I want to be truthful, Fern. When I brought Isabel up here last summer, I needed to know if I had done you justice. She stood here gazing at the painting and do you know what she said? She accused me of being in love with you. I wasn’t expecting that; I simply wanted her to cast her expert eye over it; to confirm that the muse lives on, not simply because my heart melts every time I look at it. And I was shocked to the core by her reaction. Was it that obvious? Well, it was to her. I admitted that I had never spoken to you about love; how could I, given the circumstances? Isabel called me a fool.’
I move closer to the painting, in awe of the subtlety of the brushstrokes.
‘That was harsh, but it must have been tough for her, given how she feels about you.’
He nods. ‘She’ll find someone when the time is right, of that I’m sure. She doesn’t trust many people and I’m her comfort zone in many ways, as few know the truth about her first husband. There’s a thin line between an unhealthy obsession and cruelty. He straddled that line. So, Isabel and I are well used to talking openly and I wasn’t offended. I told her that before I met you, I hadn’t realised how much loving someone could hurt. Then I came to appreciate that it was a form of divine ecstasy. The real pain would be in never knowing that truth.’
Nico is a man who feels things deeply and this is what makes him an inspiring artist, but that sort of sensitivity doesn’t come without its drawbacks.
‘She made you write the letter?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice on an even keel.
‘Yes. Reluctantly. What right had I to unsettle you? But the more I laboured over what to say, the more I came to understand that it isn’t wrong to tell someone you love them, even if they can’t love you back. After all, that’s true for Isabel and me. We’re not speaking at the moment as I’m spending more time teaching than painting. That annoys her, but she will forgive me as our friendship has endured much worse.’
I was expecting to stand here, demanding the painting be destroyed. Instead, what I’m feeling is an overwhelming sense of longing. And belonging.
‘And you are happy?’ I ask, tentatively.
‘As happy as I can be. I am no longer tormented by my dreams. Occasionally, just occasionally, I allow myself the indulgence of glancing through those sketches and it’s clear to me my dreams were a vision. You were the woman I saw, but our paths hadn’t yet crossed. You were meant to save me and you did. You gave yourself to me in the only way you
could. And that meant everything to me.’
When I throw my arms around Nico’s neck, he holds me to him so gently that my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
‘I’m not an angel, Nico,’ I whisper into his shoulder. ‘I’m just a woman who thought she knew what love was, only to discover that I knew nothing.’
December 2020
35
Two People, One Life
It’s been a busy day and as I head for Nico’s studio, a canvas is calling me. Tonight I hope to put the finishing touches to one that Isabel has been pressing me to complete ready for her next exhibition.
But when I swing open the door, to my utter surprise the room is dotted with the tiny flickering flames of a myriad of tea lights. Nico is seated in amongst a pile of cushions scattered over a rug. Next to him is a wine cooler holding what looks like a rather interesting bottle of wine and a hand-tied posy of electric blue, winter-flowering irises. I raise one eyebrow as I look at him, a tad disapprovingly.
‘What’s going on?’ I demand, as I walk towards him.
The teasing look in his eyes is enigmatic. The Mona Lisa’s sardonic smile has nothing on him when he’s up to something.
Nico jumps up and as I lean forward to kiss his lips very briefly, I have no intention of getting sidetracked. He slides his arms around me and one kiss turns into two, then three. The trouble is that he’s irresistible and he knows it.
‘Hmm. You taste good. Sweet, even. Have you been eating cake?’
I laugh as he pulls back, accusingly. ‘I might have been tempted by something Margot wafted under my nose. Unfortunately, she left the plate next to me as I helped unload the dishwasher.’
‘Well, that explains why you’re late. Okay, you need to sit here. In the middle of the rug.’
I screw up my face. ‘On the floor?’
‘On the floor.’
‘But I need to work.’
‘Work can wait.’
The flickering light is soft and relaxing. He grasps my hand as I lower myself down and begin to make myself comfortable.
I glance up as he towers over me. ‘Will you please sit down. You’re making me nervous. Am I going to get a glass of that non-alcoholic bubbly, or is it only for show and you’re going to whip out a sketch pad?’
Suddenly he drops down on one knee. ‘Fern Emilia Slater, will you marry me?’
I start laughing as he pulls a little box from his pocket. The look on his face is priceless.
‘No. But this is a vast improvement on your first proposal. The packed day room wasn’t the best idea, was it?’ I chide him.
His face drops a little. ‘Ah. Well, no, I guess it wasn’t. But I rather hoped I was upping the bar a little.’
‘Good try,’ I admit.
Nico hauls the champagne bottle out of the cooler and reaches out to grab two glasses. ‘That’s a definite no, then?’
‘It is. And is that stuff going to taste anything at all like the real thing?’
He sits down next to me, popping the cork, and we laugh as it flies across the studio, as impressively as if it’s the finest champagnes. Holding out the glasses in front of him, he begins pouring.
‘Probably not. The alternative was orange juice. How’s the bump doing?’
‘She’s fine. Although we’ll struggle a bit when it’s time to get me back up off the floor again.’
‘Sorry. I thought it might be romantic, you know, reminding you of the night you posed for me. Naked. With no clothes on. And I resisted the temptation to take you in my arms and show you how much I was in love with you.’
‘Now that’s sort of romantic. But being seven months pregnant, all I want is to paint for an hour or two and then get my feet rubbed, after a long soak in a warm bath.’
Nico looks disappointed.
‘The upside is that when you ask me again, we can have real champagne to toast as I turn you down.’
His smile grows, as we chink glasses. A quick sip confirms it doesn’t taste quite as bad as I thought it was going to, but it’s an acquired taste, for sure.
‘I really thought you’d humour me and say yes this time around.’
‘You keep asking and maybe one day I might. Anyway, are we decided then – we’re going to call our daughter Olivia when she puts in an appearance?’
Nico nods as we glance at each other and my heart begins to pound in my chest. Every single time he looks at me that way, I feel as if I’m drowning. The look in his eyes takes my breath away. I don’t want to formalise what we have and I know Nico doesn’t, either. He’s just making sure I haven’t changed my mind with the baby on the way. Our love is deeper and so much more than a marriage certificate. Instead of joining hands and having a blessing in front of a gathering, we stood by the lake one sunny afternoon and declared our love for each other.
I’d learnt that a piece of paper means nothing and Nico understood that, and I loved him all the more for it. I never wanted him to be the second husband because our union isn’t just a marriage, it’s two souls coming together as one.
As we begin each new day together, we pledge that it will be a renewal of our continuing love and commitment. And every time he asks me to marry him, we both know that I’ll say no because it reminds us that we colour outside the lines, as well as inside of them. Being different sums up who and what we are. Two people brought together against the odds. A match made in heaven.
When the time comes and our daughter is old enough for other people to ask her why we never got married, we know we’ll have done a brilliant job if she simply shrugs her shoulders and smiles. ‘Because they’d been blessed already.’
Does ‘The End’ ever leave you wanting more?
I always feel that the ending of a story merely signals the beginning of the next chapter in each of the character’s lives. But even as I type those words, my mind is asking me, But what happened next? Because I’m always curious and always reluctant to let them go.
By now you know them every bit as well as I do and probably have your own ideas about what the future held. But if you can’t resist the temptation to see where my imagination led them, then read on.
Life is a mixed bag, and there isn’t always a nice, neat little happy ending, but sometimes there is…
Nico and Fern
Nico did, eventually, paint Fern sitting in the long grass, gazing out across the lake. It sold, many years later, to a London art gallery for well in excess of one hundred thousand pounds. Entitled: The Angel of Love, the beauty Nico Gallegos had succeeded in capturing enthralled the eye of the beholder. It was his tribute to the woman he had fallen in love with from the very first moment he saw her.
Fern once confided in her daughter that when she eventually admitted to herself that she was in love with Nico, she felt she was seeing everything for the first time. Suddenly the world was bigger, brighter and exciting. And it was, every single day they spent together. Many thought her happiness was due to the success she achieved as a prolific and very popular artist, but looking back on her life her words put everything into perspective: ‘It was only ever the icing on the cake. Nico and my beautiful daughter, Olivia, were the twinkling stars that lit up my little heaven on earth.’
Isabel, the Marquesa de Aytona
The gallery in Seville brought the Marquesa continuing success and elevated the careers of many artists, including Nico and Fern, to whom she was not simply a business acquaintance, but a good friend.
But imprinted forever on Isabel’s mind, was always that eight-year-old boy, Nico, chasing her around the orchard of her family home, as she shrieked at the top of her lungs. They were children, as yet untouched by some of the harsh lessons life had to teach them.
For Nico, his father was about to go into decline and the effect would scar his life for many years to come. Until he finally met his muse.
For Isabel, her scheming mother and then a controlling husband would influence the way she looked at everything. Everything except Nico, the first rea
l love of her life and one never forgets that feeling.
Would Isabel have swapped her success and her fortune to have Nico by her side and be the one to heal his wounds? Yes, of course. But she could see that Fern was his true soulmate. To accept that someone isn’t destined to be yours is painful; however, that little flame of selfless love deep inside of Isabel’s heart softened her as the years passed. It made her a better person. It inspired her not to give up on love and, eventually, she met and married a very successful businessman, some fifteen years her junior.
People who knew her saw only a strong, independent woman whose fabulous lifestyle was often in the tabloids. No one really knew of her sacrifice in loving someone so completely that she was prepared to let him go. Encouraging Nico to write that letter to Fern had been the first step in sealing the destiny of two kindred souls.
Everything happens for a reason.
Aiden and Joss
After several years of backpacking, mainly visiting various dive sites as Aiden and Joss trained to become scuba diving instructors, they finally made the Cayman Islands their home. Thanks to Aiden’s share of the lottery win, they bought a small diving business run from Aiden’s pride and joy, his boat, The Sea Spirit.
They lived a simple life together on the west side of the Grand Cayman and were often found strolling Seven Mile Beach early each morning, or late at night. Their modest bungalow was far away from the bustle and luxuries of George Town, and to them it was paradise.
Joss knew that Aiden followed the rise of Fern’s career online, but she tried her best not to let that make her feel second-best. After all, she was the one who was able to give Aiden the life he’d longed for but hadn’t had the courage to grab. She convinced him that life was too short not to follow one’s dream. Aiden told her once, that when he was swimming with the stingrays in the crystal clear waters, it felt like heaven on earth. It made her heart feel full.
Summer in Provence Page 30