Promilla's head was bent over the new design she was working on, of fat quilted pansies on a silver background.
'Mr Munro certainly seems to have made an impression on you.' She looked up speculatively at Briony. 'I only had a brief glimpse of him, but he looked rather dishy. Didn't you think he was handsome?'
'Not handsome, exactly,' Briony said consideringly, unaware of her friend's amused smile. 'I'd call it an interesting face. Intelligent.' Then, indignantly, 'Anyway, handsome is as handsome does, and his appearance is of no concern to me.'
Strange, though, how in bed that night, even with her eyes closed, she could clearly see Teale Munro's dark, lively face with its irregular features, the piercing grey eyes, cold in anger. His nose, she'd noted, had been broken at some time, and she wondered how it had happened. Somehow it did not mar his appearance, but added rather to its interest. She could even recall exactly how the thick, dark hair lay at the nape of his strong neck. Irritated by this persistent image, Briony flicked on the light and tried to banish it by reading, until finally she fell asleep with the book still clutched in her hand.
'Four or five letters for you this morning,' Promilla was sorting through the post when Briony emerged from her room, yawning and heavy-eyed. 'One from France. Iseult, I expect? And one for me from my great-aunt in Karachi.'
'Is she still pressing you to go and visit her?' Briony flicked through her own mail. Two orders, two cheques in payment for some paintings she'd sold during a recent exhibition in London and the letter from Iseult. This treat she put on one side to read later.
'Yes. Since my grandparents died, she's my only living relative back there. I suppose I ought to go one of these days, while she's still alive.' Promilla had never visited her parents' country of origin. 'Aren't you going to read your letter?'
'Not yet. Have you seen the time? We're neither of us washed and dressed yet, and Wednesday's market day. Gwinvercombe will be humming.'
'True, and we need to do some food shopping. One of us had better pop out when there's an opportunity.'
It was Briony who eventually slipped away, while Promilla was dealing with a regular customer for her wares.
The August day was hot but invigorating, hazy without the glare. The pavements thronged with dawdling holiday-makers. Briony, making the most of her legitimate freedom, strolled down the narrow street towards the market stalls ranged alongside the car park. She sniffed appreciatively at the ozone-scented air. The sea was peaceful today, glittering silver beneath a clear blue sky, the surf subsiding on stones with a gentle surge, slap and a sigh.
She recognised one or two residents mingling with the tourists, and enjoyed a few moments' repartee with some of the regular stallholders. Briony and Promilla were, in general, popular with the Devonshire people. Only their neighbour, Mrs Moss, continued to resent them.
Buying vegetables made her think of Matthew. He hadn't turned up at the studio this morning and she felt a renewed spurt of anger against Teale Munro which threatened to spoil the idyllic summer day. But she was only annoyed on Matthew's behalf, she reminded herself firmly. She couldn't care less about Teale Munro, or his opinion of her.
With a heavily laden basket on her arm, she toiled back up the hill. But fatigue was forgotten and she hastened her steps as she saw a familiar figure hesitating outside the shop.
'Matthew!' she panted. 'I'm so glad to see you. I thought you weren't coming any more.'
He turned to look at her, his eyes dull in his pale face.
'I nearly didn't. I wasn't planning to go in—' he nodded his head at the doorway '—but somehow I found myself walking this way.'
'Why on earth shouldn't you go in?' Briony set her basket down and put her hand on his arm.
'I didn't think you'd want me here any more after all that trouble yesterday.'
'Matthew,' she said firmly, 'if you want to come here and paint, that's OK by me. You know how I feel about your work. I'd have been very disappointed in you if you hadn't come back.'
His expression lightened and he made no further demur as she opened the door and ushered him in. In fact, once inside, he lost no time in mounting the stairs to the studio.
'Did you ask him for an explanation?' Promilla followed her friend through to the kitchen where she was unloading her purchases.
'No.'
'Don't you think you should?'
Briony paused in her task and looked at her partner.
'Obviously you think I should. I can ask him, but he may clam up on me as usual.'
'I think we're entitled to know just what kind of trouble Matthew is in. Besides,' a glimmer of a smile lit Promilla's round face, 'you know you're dying to find out more about Teale Munro.'
'I'm not!' Briony denied.
'Briony, you haven't shown that much reaction to a man in two or three years. Maybe you're coming back to life again?'
'If I ever let any man get in my hair again, it certainly won't be Teale Munro,' Briony retorted, but when she re-entered the shop she headed for the upstairs studio.
'Need any help?' she asked as her excuse. It was a long time since they'd pretended Matthew came here for formal lessons. There was nothing more she could teach him. She didn't even charge him for the use of the studio. Then when he merely grunted a negative, she went on 'Matthew, I'm not prying, but who is Teale Munro? What does he want?'
With reluctance, Matthew tore his gaze away from his painting.
'He's my brother-in-law.'
'Oh!' Whatever Briony had expected, it hadn't been that.
'He's never had much time for me,' Matthew said. 'But you gathered that. He only bothers with me because Rhoda does.' And that was the most she was going to get out of Matthew, Briony realised as he took up his palette once more.
'So Teale Munro was only sorting out his wife's brother?' Promilla was relieved. 'Just a domestic spat. Nothing criminal.'
'No, nothing criminal,' but Briony said it almost wearily. She should be relieved, too, but she felt unaccountably depressed.
'It's always disappointing,' Promilla said to nobody in particular, 'when you find an attractive man's already spoken for.'
'Is that what you think?' Briony laughed with unconvincing incredulity. 'I just feel sorry for any woman married to Teale Munro. I wonder what sort of inferiority complex he gives her?'
'But you know now why Matthew comes here!' Across the counter, Briony faced the angry man who had erupted into the shop that Friday morning. Why did he always choose a moment when she was alone? She could have done with Promilla's moral support. But her friend was out on a delivery.
'I think I know why he comes here,' Teale Munro corrected her. His lean countenance was taut and austere. 'And I thought the fact that I'd caught him at it would be sufficient deterrent. It seems I was wrong. Either he's developed a more determined nature than I gave him credit for, or you have a more potent effect on him than I suspected.' His eyes raked her from head to toe, unwilling appreciation of her appearance in their grey depths.
'Mr Munro, I've already told you, twice, that I'm not having an affair with your brother-in-law. I had hoped you'd taken my word for it. And after you'd spoken to Matthew on Tuesday…'
'Miss Kent, I would like to believe you, perhaps more than you imagine. But when I spoke to Matthew he told me absolutely nothing! Matthew Rawlinson can be a slippery, close-mouthed bastard when he likes.'
Briony had to agree with the sentiment, though she wouldn't have put it in those words. And she was a little annoyed with Matthew herself now. He and his brother-in-law might not hit it off, but that was no reason why he shouldn't exonerate her from Teale Munro's unpleasant suspicions. She didn't want gratitude for all the help she'd given him, but she wouldn't have minded that much consideration. She came to a reluctant decision.
'I think you'd better come upstairs with me, Mr Munro.'
'Why? Isn't Matthew around today? Sorry, but I've never fancied sharing his mistresses.'
Afterwards, Briony wondered wha
t had got into her. She'd never believed before that people actually saw red when they got mad. But maybe it was just the colour of his sweatshirt, against which she was pounding small, clenched fists. She had flown at him, dashed around the counter and launched her attack without any thought for the consequences.
Taken by surprise, it was a second or two before he succeeded in restraining her flailing hands. The sensation of his fingers clasped around her wrists firmly but not hurtfully, his closeness, made her shiver.
'Why, you little hell-cat!' There was a strange note in his voice that could have been mistaken for admiration as he looked down into her set, angry face.
Briony's rage evaporated as quickly as it had come. She was trembling violently—with the aftermath of her sudden passion, she told herself.
'Let go of me!' she demanded.
'With pleasure.' He released her, but her flesh still scorched where he had held her. 'But it was you who threw yourself into my arms,' he reminded her. Strangely, he wasn't sneering at her now. The words were not insulting as the others had been. Instead, he was smiling. The one-sided, crooked grimace lit up his face to a startling degree, accentuating the impact of his male attraction.
'When I said upstairs,' Briony told him through teeth that were clenched to stop them chattering, 'I meant to the studio. Over there.' She nodded towards the flight of open-tread stairs. 'If you want to know why Matthew comes here, I'll show you.' She went ahead, taking care not to brush against him in passing. But she wished she had let him precede her when she remembered that the skirt she wore today was a skimpy one, and that the angle of the stairs gave him an unrestricted view of her slender, shapely legs. She was inordinately glad to reach the studio door.
'Matthew, you've got a visitor.' And, at the look on the painter's face, she added, 'I'm sorry, but, if it's the only way to stop Mr Munro making his unfounded allegations, he's got to know what you're doing here.' A little reproachfully, she continued, 'You should have told him yourself. It would have saved a lot of trouble.'
At first sight of Teale Munro, Matthew had made an instinctive move to hide his work. But he seemed to realise the impossibility of doing so and, with a gesture of resignation, he got up and walked to the far end of the studio. Briony watched him anxiously. Matthew was such a sensitive plant.
'Rawlinson painted this?' There was a note of incredulity in Teale Munro's voice and Briony glanced sharply at him, unsure whether it was praise or censure.
'And this one, and this one.' She led him around the large room. He might as well know the whole of it.
There was a long, tense silence as Teale moved from painting to painting and back again. He knew something about art, Briony guessed from the way he conducted his appraisal. At last he looked up, first at Matthew's uncompromisingly turned back and then at Briony's expectant heart-shaped face.
'He seems to have a strong predilection for red, especially red skies,' was his initial comment. Then, 'What do you think of his work?' he asked abruptly. 'You're the Royal Academician.'
'I think it's excellent,' she told him quietly. 'And I keep telling him so. But Matthew finds it hard to accept my opinion. And I can see why now: a man who is constantly being knocked down is bound to have a feeling of inferiority.'
A faint colour ran up Teale's tanned face, but he made no immediate reply. Instead, he returned to the paintings.
'Which was done first?' And, as she showed him, he asked, 'And the next?' And so on, until he came back to the current work.
'The progression is amazing, isn't it?' she asked him, unable to contain her eager enthusiasm. Wide, bright eyes fringed with thick, dark lashes looked frankly into his. For a moment, she had forgotten her resentment of him in their shared moment of appreciation.
'Amazing,' he agreed, but only he knew he referred to something else besides the painting. 'So, what next?'
'I'd like a London expert to see his work, but Matthew won't hear of it.'
'Same old Matthew,' Teale said obscurely. He looked down at Briony from his considerable height. 'It seems I owe you an apology, Miss Kent.' But then his tone changed to one of outright mischief. 'In view of all this industry, I agree it would seem Matthew hasn't had much time or energy for any other pursuits.'
For a moment, she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then, she exploded, 'If that's your idea of an apology…'
'It isn't!' At once, he was suitably grave, the grey eyes serious. 'I have your word that there's nothing between you and Matthew—nothing at all?' He was actually waiting for an answer, she realised incredulously—and after all her assurances!
'You've had my word on that—twice already. Nothing has changed.'
'No? Except perhaps my respect and admiration for you,' he conceded. He held out a long lean hand. 'I apologise, Miss Kent, most humbly and sincerely. Can we shake on it?'
Briony felt an odd reluctance to put her hand into his, but when she had she felt as reluctant to withdraw it. His long fingers were pleasantly warm and dry, and his touch gave her an odd feeling of breathlessness. As she met his gaze, something about his expression was in-tensely disturbing, and her voice was a little unsteady as she accepted his apology.
'And you'll leave Matthew in peace now, to go on with his painting?' she asked to cover the momentary confusion she felt.
'On one condition. That he himself puts Rhoda's mind at rest. I won't have her worried and upset.' The concern in his voice reminded Briony that Teale Munro was a married man and she quickly withdrew her hand, which unaccountably still lingered in his.
'I'll talk to Matthew,' she promised.
'No need!' The harsh voice came from the other end of the studio, totally unlike Matthew's normally quiet, diffident tones. Incredibly, she'd forgotten he was there. 'I do have the use of my hearing, you know, when you've finished discussing me. And I'm not half-witted, either. I'll go up and see her today.' He strode towards the stairs.
'You will be back, Matthew?' Briony asked anxiously, before he could disappear.
'Yes.' His voice was still firm. 'For the first time in my life I've discovered something worth while. I'm not going to let go of that.'
'He means his painting,' Briony said hastily as she saw what seemed to be the return of doubt on Teale's hawklike features.
'Yes, of course,' he muttered abstractly. 'Well, I suppose I'd better go. I've trespassed enough on your time today.' Yet he made no move to go. 'May I come to see you again some time, on a different footing?' His deep voice was unusually husky. 'I'd like to…to make reparation for my behaviour.'
Briony felt a strange thrill of sensation run through her, even though she knew he only meant that any future visit to the shop would be on a civil, friendly basis. But he had no real reason for coming here. He didn't strike her as the arty-crafty type. And she could admit to herself, now he was no longer the villain of the piece, that she found him too attractive for her peace of mind. And he was married.
'I don't think there's much point,' she said, careful to keep her voice level and matter of fact.
'I see.' Teale sounded unreasonably disappointed, more so than the circumstances warranted. 'I suppose I've blotted my copy-book too irrevocably. Ah, well! Perhaps it's for the best.' He gave her a half-salute and turned on his heel.
The next day was Saturday. Matthew didn't use the studio at weekends. Briony suspected he would have done if invited to do so. But, not unreasonably, Promilla had suggested they were entitled to have the place to themselves. The shop was open on Saturday, of course. But on Sunday they liked to catch up on their own work. On this particular Sunday, a long silence reigned in the studio. The normally talkative Briony was engrossed in her thoughts.
'I'm seriously thinking of taking on an assistant to do some of the making up,' Promilla said at last. She was plying her needle while Briony painted. Briony was working on a portrait of Promilla, something she'd wanted to do for a long time. 'The demand is exceeding my output,' Promilla went on.
'Hmm?' Briony said vaguely.
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Promilla repeated her remark.
'Why not?' Briony agreed. 'The business can easily stand another wage.'
'We shan't be seeing Mr Munro any more, then?'
'No.' Then, her attention fully secured, Briony looked at her friend in surprise. 'But what's that got to do with anything?' she demanded.
'Not much,' Promilla admitted. 'Except that you've obviously been elsewhere all afternoon. You're not usually so quiet when you're painting.'
'That doesn't mean I'm thinking about Teale Munro,' Briony said mendaciously. 'I could be thinking about anyone. Iseult, for instance.'
'Yes, that reminds me. What did she have to say in her letter?'
'Not much. But she didn't sound any happier than in the last one.'
'D'you think Jean-Luc is playing up?'
'Very likely. Iseult's pretty shrewd. If you don't mind, Prom, I think I'll write and invite her over for an extra visit. I know she doesn't normally come this time of year, but… Well, I've been a bit worried about her lately, and…'
'Of course I don't mind. You know I always like to see her.'
Matthew arrived mid-morning on the following Tuesday, as usual, and would have gone straight to work if Promilla hadn't urged Briony to intercept him.
'You'd better find out if he's done what his brother-in-law wanted.'
'Matthew!' Briony duly called, and he paused, one foot already on the bottom stair. 'Did you see your sister on Friday?'
'My sister?' He sounded puzzled rather than evasive.
'Rhoda, isn't it?'
'Rhoda's my wife, not my sister. And yes, I did see her!'
Briony was too speechless to detain and question him further, and he made good his opportunity to escape. Still looking slightly dazed, she went through into the kitchen where Promilla was making coffee. Ever frank, her partner spoke her mind.
'You look as if someone just pole-axed you. More trouble with Matthew?'
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