Black Valley

by Williams, Charlotte

  Jess took a sip of wine. ‘Perhaps they’re addicted to risk. Not just buying and selling shares, but art, too. Maybe they like the fact that when they buy a contemporary work, they might lose their money.’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it like that. Buying art as a form of neurosis. But I suppose it is.’

  They laughed. She was enjoying herself. Sometimes, after a day in the consulting room, she felt introverted, preoccupied; Dresler made her feel part of a bigger world, one that promised wider horizons.

  Dresler reached over for the bottle and refilled his glass. He was drinking faster than her.

  ‘Anyway, the whole thing drives me mad. People don’t listen to us critics any more. You’ve got all these people running round the scene now, telling the collectors what to buy. Take Blake Thomas, for instance. The guy who introduced me at the private view for Hefin Morris.’

  At the mention of Blake’s name, Jess pricked up her ears.

  ‘He knows his stuff,’ Dresler went on. ‘I’ll give him that. He’s got taste. And that’s what these bankers want. They’re not interested in conspicuous consumption any more; they want to show they’re cultured. But what does he actually do? He gets people with money to buy work, and takes a huge cut himself. How does he do that? By cosying up to everyone – the collectors, the dealers, the curators, the auction houses, the artists, you name it. So you get this crazy situation whereby mavericks like Blake are dictating the market. Telling the rich what to buy, because they don’t have the time or knowledge to judge for themselves. And everyone’s in on the game. It’s just so corrupt.’

  An angry note had crept into Dresler’s voice. Jess wondered whether he was simply impassioned by the situation, or perhaps harboured a personal animosity towards Blake.

  ‘How do you know Blake, then?’ Her question was innocent enough.

  ‘Oh, we go back a long way. He was a student of mine at the Courtauld. Very bright. Very able. He’s done extremely well for himself, as I knew he would.’ Dresler picked up his glass, and took a large swig. ‘Unfortunately, he has no moral scruples whatsoever. Which has helped his progress considerably.’

  Jess thought for a moment. She wanted to ask Dresler if he thought Blake could have had anything to do with the robbery of the Gwen John, or worse still, covering up the murder, but she decided against it. There would be an opportunity to find out more later on, when she’d got to know him better.

  ‘But surely Blake’s not all bad,’ she said. ‘I mean, he’s championed Hefin Morris, hasn’t he? And you admire Morris’s work.’

  ‘Well, that’s the exception that proves the rule.’ Dresler frowned. ‘I must say, I’m surprised Blake’s taken a punt on Morris. He’s a complete outsider, someone who didn’t go to art school, isn’t trained, won’t play the game. An artist with a true moral purpose.’ He drained his glass. ‘It’s not like Blake at all to support someone like that. But thank goodness he has.’

  ‘Have you ever met this Hefin Morris?’ Jess was curious.

  ‘No. Very few people have. He writes to me occasionally, though.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Mostly the paintings. What he’s working on. What he’s planning. That kind of thing.’

  Dresler didn’t seem inclined to say more, but Jess persisted.

  ‘How do you reply to him?’

  ‘Through a box number. He’s very secretive. He lives and works up in the valleys, but nobody knows where.’

  ‘Not even Blake?’

  ‘No.’ Jess thought she detected a tone of satisfaction in Dresler’s voice. ‘He detests Blake, as it happens. Can’t bear the idea that he’s trying to sell his work to what he calls those “motherfucking brokers” in the City.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he find another agent, then?’

  Dresler shrugged. ‘They’re all the same. It’s a case of better the devil you know. There’s no way round the system, at the moment, anyway. Though Morris wants to change that. Make an intervention, as he calls it.’

  Jess was intrigued. ‘What kind of intervention?’

  ‘Ah, that I’m not at liberty to discuss. My lips are sealed.’ Dresler was half in jest, half serious.

  He changed the subject, picking up the menu. ‘Now, what shall we finish with?’

  Jess didn’t feel hungry. She’d begun to worry about Elinor. Up to now, she’d believed that Elinor’s suspicions about Blake were coloured by her emotional state; but Dresler, who seemed perfectly rational, had confirmed that he was a man without moral scruples. What if Blake really had masterminded the stealing of the Gwen John? And covered up Ursula’s murder in the course of the bungled operation? What if he was pressurizing Elinor to leave the therapy for fear that she might incriminate him? If that were the case, wouldn’t he try to find Elinor, wherever she might be hiding out, and try to silence her? She thought of their body language, Elinor’s and Blake’s, at the party. Perhaps their intimacy had been one of abuser and victim. Perhaps Elinor had gone on the run because she was secretly in thrall to him, trying to escape . . .

  ‘Just coffee for me.’

  Dresler decided against a pudding, ordered coffees for both of them, and they went on talking, this time about their families. He was divorced with a teenage son, and lived in Soho. He’d married young, to a medic who was now a busy consultant in a London hospital. She’d since remarried, but he’d remained single, despite a long-term relationship that had recently come to an end, and about which he understandably said little. Jess spoke of the girls, where she lived, and, in the briefest of terms, her recent separation. When the coffees came, they drank them and carried on talking, until the pub emptied and they were left on their own.

  ‘They’re going to close in a minute. We’d better go.’

  Dresler paid the bill, Jess promising to treat him next time, and they left. Outside the pub, they stood in the cold air for a moment, facing each other.

  ‘Thanks so much. We must do this again.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  The nerves had come back, along with the forced small talk.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘Just down the road from here. White’s.’

  Jess knew the place, though she’d never been there. It was a boutique hotel, formerly a B&B, opposite her consulting rooms.

  His eyes met hers. ‘Did you drive in?’

  She nodded, indicating her car on the other side of the road.

  ‘You OK to drive?’

  She nodded again.

  He grinned. ‘I think I must have had most of that bottle of wine.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘When are you down next?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. But I’d like to see you again.’

  Silence fell between them. Neither of them seemed to know how to leave.

  ‘Well, let’s keep in touch, anyway.’

  ‘Let’s.’

  ‘Bye then.’

  ‘Bye.’

  He leaned forward and kissed her on each cheek, ceremoniously.

  There was a moment when he could have pulled her towards him and kissed her. She was hoping that he would, but he didn’t.

  Part of her wanted to leave it at that, to walk over to the car, get in, and drive home, congratulating herself on how sensible she’d been. The other part asked her what she was waiting for. She was forty-three years old, no longer a teenager. Did she still have to stand there, hoping that a man would take the initiative? Calculating how best to feign modesty, while drawing him into the game of courtship? Of course not. She had nothing to lose by making the first move, except perhaps a bit of dignity, if she’d misread his signals that evening.

  She reached up and touched his cheek, looking straight into the pupils of his eyes, which seemed to widen and darken in the half-light. Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

  His mouth was warm, his lips soft and welcoming. She knew, as they touched, that she’d done the right thing. This was what he’d wanted. And
what she’d wanted, too.

  He put his arms around her and hugged her to him tightly. She could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin and hair.

  ‘Let’s go back to my hotel,’ he said. ‘We could have a nightcap in the bar.’

  Jess hesitated for a moment. This was their first date. It had been so long since she’d been out with a man, she had no idea what the rules were these days. But had there ever been any rules? In her younger days, there’d been lovers that she’d jumped into bed with immediately; others that had taken weeks, months, years even, to get to that stage. She’d followed her instincts then, just as she was doing now.

  ‘OK’.

  They turned and walked down the road towards the hotel, arm in arm. Jess was making some calculations in her head. She’d have to text Mari, who was with the girls, and let her know she was going to be home late, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Mari always stayed overnight when she babysat; she liked ‘playing mam’, as she called it, and she also liked the freedom to down a few glasses of wine during the evening without worrying about driving home.

  When they reached the hotel in Cathedral Road, the front door was locked. Dresler produced a key, opened it, and ushered her into the lobby. The lights were on, but when they went into the bar, there was no one there.

  ‘There’s a fridge in my room,’ he said. ‘We’ll get something from there.’

  Once again, Jess had an opportunity to demur, but she didn’t.

  As they went up in the tiny lift, they began to kiss again. Dresler slid his hands under her coat, running them up the back of her dress, and her heart began to beat faster. The lift stopped with a sudden judder, followed by a pause. For a moment, they thought they might have got stuck, but then the doors opened and they walked out, both trying to muffle their giggles. Jess had only had two small glasses of wine, but they seemed to have gone to her head.

  As he put his card into the door of the room, she felt a mounting sense of excitement, mixed with dread. It had been years, decades, since she’d been in this situation. She was scared, she had to admit. But she was exhilarated, too.

  The door opened, and all the lights came blazing on at once. They walked in, and he shut the door, fiddling with the lights.

  The lights went dead.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said. He fiddled again, and the room lit up like a Christmas tree.

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  Jess reached over and turned them off.

  They stood there for a moment, looking at the big bed in the middle of the room, lit only by the lamp in the street outside the window.

  ‘Did you want a drink? I can get you one . . .’

  She shook her head. Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

  They didn’t stop to take off their clothes. Instead, they launched themselves onto the bed, pulling and fumbling at belts and buttons and zips. She kicked off a boot and one leg of her tights and pants; her dress came up, and they began to roll over and over, clinging to each other. He unbuckled his belt and extricated himself from his trousers and then, quite suddenly, he was inside her. There was a moment of surprise, as the relief of arriving so quickly, so easily, at the start of their journey overcame them, and then a frenzy of activity, of pushing, and pressing, and gripping and sweating, until Jess cried out, and he cried out, and both of them lay still.

  When she came to, Jess found herself on top of Dresler. She still had one of her boots on, one leg of her tights, and one half of her knickers dangling down from her waist. Her dress had ridden up over her breasts, and her bra was twisted round underneath them.

  ‘God, that was a bit desperate.’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  She let out a laugh, and he laughed too. Then he reached out, stroked her cheek, and planted an affectionate kiss on her lips.

  She rolled off him, unzipped her remaining boot, took off her dress, and disentangled her underwear.

  ‘You’re gorgeous, you know.’ He was watching her in admiration.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. She was thankful for the half-light of the street lamp. Her body did look lovely in it, full and rounded, the curve of her hips and breasts outlined in the sodium. So did his. His shirt was unbuttoned and she could see the dark hair across the middle of his chest, around his nipples, a slim line of it reaching down to his navel. He was altogether different from Bob – slighter, more boyish, even though he couldn’t be more than a few years younger.

  She looked down and saw his penis lying between his legs, shadowed to a delicate bluish grey in the lamplight. It was flaccid, the tip of it just visible under his foreskin. It was crumpled now, but thick and weighty, resting against the wrinkled walnut skin behind. How very strange it looked, she thought. Tender and gelatinous, almost like a deep-sea creature. Yet to her surprise, as she scrutinized it, she felt a subdued urge, almost like a challenge, to raise it up once more.

  He moved away from her, pulling off his clothes, until he was only wearing the shirt. As he bent down, she saw the shape of his buttocks, square and hard, jutting out from the top of his thighs. The urge became more clamorous.

  ‘Can you stay? I’d like you to sleep here, for the night.’ He leaned forward and kissed her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he did.

  ‘OK. But I’ll need to leave really early in the morning. I’ll have to get home and get my kids off to school.’

  ‘Whatever you like.’ He seemed pleased. ‘Can I get you that drink now?’

  ‘Just water for me.’

  He got off the bed, went to the fridge, and poured two glasses of water. Jess found her handbag, took out her mobile, set her alarm, and sent Mari a text, telling her she’d be home early in the morning, and that she’d keep the phone on during the night so she could call any time if she needed to.

  Dresler came back over and handed her a glass, putting his own down on the bedside table next to him. Then he pulled back the covers, and got in under the duvet.

  Jess took off what remained of her underwear and got in beside him.

  He gave a sigh of satisfaction as she snuggled into the crook of his arm.

  There was a cheerful whistling noise. Jess reached over and picked up the mobile, which was glowing in the dark.

  It was a text from Mari.

  Holy cow! See you in the morning.

  Jess chuckled, and laid the mobile down on the bedside table.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  She nodded and resumed her position, cradled in his arms.

  They lay there side by side for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. A car drove by and they watched the headlights make patterns on it. Then silence fell.

  After a few seconds, another came past. They could hear from the swish of tyres on the road that it had begun to rain.

  ‘I love that sound, don’t you?’ Jess said. ‘It makes me feel secure.’

  Dresler chuckled. ‘I know what you mean. It’s so cosy in here together, isn’t it? Safe and warm in bed.’

  He leaned down and gave her a long, slow kiss. She looked up at the wall and saw his shadow on it, magnified in the headlights. She pressed her torso against his, and felt his penis flutter. His hands found her breasts, and he sighed happily. She touched his chest, moving her hand along the line of hair on his stomach.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s take it more slowly this time, shall we?’

  Jess was by the sea, the sun in her eyes, watching from the jetty as Rose sailed away, her hair sparkling in the sunshine. She was holding a hand-knitted jumper that she wanted to give to her, to keep her warm. The boat was strange, a raft with a flapping tent attached to it. Not seaworthy at all, yet it was speeding along.

  On the horizon, she could see the great hulk of the barrage, and she knew that when Rose reached it, she would be swept out to sea. She kept calling to her, telling her to turn the boat round, but Rose couldn’t hear her. Then she turned and saw a man standing next to her, a dark-haired
man. He was naked and he had a gun in his hand. She tried to run away, but her feet wouldn’t carry her. Her whole body was numb, outside her control. He raised the gun and aimed it at her head.

  She looked down at his body and saw his penis, nestled against his testicles. He smiled at her. Then she felt the cold muzzle of the gun against her temple.

  She looked down again, and saw the penis begin to thicken and rise.

  He cocked the trigger . . .

  She woke up.

  She reached for her mobile, and saw that it was four a.m. Quietly, so as not to wake Dresler, she got up, went to the bathroom, then headed back to bed. The dream had unnerved her. She was obviously more anxious about Rose going to stay with Bob and Tegan than she’d realized. And about this new affair with Dresler.

  As she passed the window, she glanced out. It was still dark, except for the glow of the street lamps. On the other side of the street, she noticed a light on in the window of her consulting room. She wondered if she’d left it on before she went home, or whether perhaps one of the cleaners who came in at night had done so.

  As she got back into bed Dresler stirred.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She lay down next to him, and stared up at the ceiling. She turned to him, put her arms around him, and warmed her body against his back. It was good to have a man in bed beside her once again. His slow, regular breathing recommenced, and with a profound sense of satisfaction, she felt herself drifting off to sleep.

  10

  When the light came filtering through the window at dawn, Jess woke up. She switched off her alarm before it rang, got up and dressed quietly, leaving Dresler – Jacob – to sleep on. When she was about to leave, he half woke, and kissed her a sleepy goodbye.

  She walked quickly down the road, her steps echoing on the silent pavement, got into her car, and drove home down the deserted streets and out on to the country roads. As she neared home, she saw that the sky was turning pink. She pictured ‘rosy-fingered Dawn’, as the Greek poets had called her, rising from the sea in her chariot, leaving a trail of gold behind her as it scudded through the sky. An early morning mist hung in the air, and when the road dipped down under the trees, she saw that the leaves had unfurled into a pale, translucent green, and that there were tiny, sparkling drops of dew clinging to their crinkled, newborn faces. Watching the dawn break in front of her eyes, she was overcome with wonder. The world was a miracle, and she hadn’t noticed the fact for a very long time.