'He must have sensed your disapproval even then,' Briony said diffidently.
The car slowed and pulled off the road, nosing up to the rail at the cliff edge. Teale switched off the engine and turned towards her, his arm sliding along the back of the seat behind her head. Needles of excitement pricked her skin, but he didn't attempt to touch her.
'Look, Briony, I know you think I'm hard on Rawlinson. But he's married to my sister. If he weren't, he could live how he liked. I knew the first time I clapped eyes on him that he wouldn't be able to support her. I also suspected he'd end up breaking her heart. And I was right. That's why I was so furious when I thought he was having an affair with you. It wouldn't have been the first time.'
'Doesn't he care for his wife and children?'
'God knows what Matthew cares for; I don't.'
'He cares about his painting,' Briony said thoughtfully. 'Perhaps, if he could make a success of that…'
'I don't think he wants to be a success. It's much less effort to be a failure. But that brings us into the realms of psychology, and it's much too nice a night for that.' He seemed to deliberately shake off his mood, his tone lightening. 'But don't let's waste any more of this evening on Matthew. Feel like a walk?'
'Yes.' Anything to prolong their time together, she thought.
There was a full moon hanging like an enormous lantern over the sea. Briony slipped off her high heels and, at Teale's urging, she also removed her tights.
'Otherwise you'll ruin them,' he said practically, 'and, besides, it's much more fun to paddle barefoot.'
The last thing she had expected was that Teale would find enjoyment in such an unsophisticated pursuit, that he would roll up the immaculate trouser legs of his suit. The way he'd been talking about Matthew, she would have expected this to be far too unconventional for him.
The tide was out and the moonlight was reflected in the long stretches of wet sand and shallow water. For a while, they strolled along in harmonious silence. Briony found herself wondering whimsically if there were nights when there was magic in the air. It seemed to her that she'd never felt a greater exaltation of spirits, a keener awareness of the beauty of her surroundings. She would have liked to share this thought with Teale. But she suspected her feelings were not unrelated to his presence here with her.
Their moods must have been closely attuned, however, for suddenly he said, 'It's an especially lovely night. I suppose we all have a particular fondness for the place where we were born and grew up, but for me this piece of coastline is unsurpassed. It has such infinite variety.'
'Yes,' Briony agreed. 'It can be fierce or gentle.' Like Teale himself, she thought yearningly.
'Mmmn, but the gentleness is deceptive.' For a startled moment, she thought he must have read her mind, but then he went on, 'Morte Point, just north of here, is notoriously dangerous to shipping. Did you know these sands are reputed to be haunted by the victims of wreckers? Apparently it used to be the local custom to tie lanterns to the tails of cows. Unsuspecting captains were lured into what seemed to be a harbour, with the lights of ships swinging at anchor. The human race can be very cruel to its own kind.' There was a trace of bitterness in the words, and Briony hastily sought to dispel the mood.
'I wish I did know more about Devonshire,' she said. 'But we always seem to be so busy. I've done a bit of sketching and painting in Gwinvercombe itself, but that's all.'
'A pity,' he agreed, 'when there are so many beauty spots to see. Have you never been to Clovelly, for instance?'
'No. I haven't even got that far.'
'Would you like to go?'
'With you?' she asked involuntarily, then felt herself blushing. He probably hadn't meant that.
'If you'll do me the honour? And if you can spare a day? Next week, perhaps?'
'I'd like that,' she admitted. 'But can you spare the time? You must be busy, too?'
As a hint, it had been a failure, she thought later. She had been hoping Teale would tell her what he did for a living. But he volunteered nothing beyond the remark that he expected to have some free time in the next week or so. Despite their evening together, she felt she'd learned very little about him. And she was no nearer to discovering exactly what it was about him that fascinated her. It was partly physical, of course. She had no doubt of his masculine potency. But she'd already known that. His dark looks, too, were attractive. Several times throughout the evening her pulses had stirred in response to a glance or a smile from him. But their knowledge of each other was all superficial. Their conversation had been based on generalities. All she could confidently assert was that Teale Munro was thirty-eight, intelligent and well spoken, with a sense of humour she had not expected. But then, she admitted ruefully, there were things she hadn't told him about herself. Things she was chary of telling him yet. Perhaps some day. If their friendship flourished.
He hadn't attempted to kiss her at parting, and she had experienced strong disappointment. She was disappointed, too, that he hadn't asked to see her at the weekend.
'The Munros would have stopped me marrying their daughter if they could,' Matthew volunteered suddenly the following Tuesday. 'They didn't like the fact that I hadn't got a "proper job".' He and Briony had been working on opposite sides of the studio, and Matthew had stopped to ease his cramped muscles. She was careful not to interrupt his unexpected burst of confidentiality and he went on, 'But Rhoda, bless her, stuck to her guns and finally old Munro offered me a job at his office in Exeter. I suppose he thought he was doing me a favour,' Matthew conceded. And, with a slight shudder, 'He was a solicitor. Tied to a desk from nine till five, working over dry-as-dust books, even dustier papers. Wills, lawsuits. Depressing. I stuck it as long as I could. But it was too stultifying. I jacked it in.' He returned to his painting, and Briony assumed that was all he intended to say.
She returned to the outline she was working on. It was a painting of a man set against a background of Devonshire coastline. She tried to tell herself it was entirely a product of her imagination but, as the details grew beneath her skilful brush, the man's lean, swarthy face took on more and more of the likeness of Teale Munro. She was so absorbed that she was unaware Matthew had broken off work again.
'He doesn't need women, you know.' He had moved to stand behind her. 'Oh, I'm sure he's got the normal healthy male appetites. But he doesn't understand women. He couldn't understand Rhoda wanting to marry me. He didn't understand Charley. And he won't understand you, either, Briony. The strange thing is that all three of you have a lot in common. If you're wise, you won't let him hurt you.'
'Charley? Who's Charley?' For a moment, Briony ignored the rest.
'Charlene, his wife.'
'You said he wasn't married!' Briony accused. For the life of her, she couldn't repress the note of shock and Matthew looked at her significantly.
'His ex-wife,' he said with emphasis. 'They've been divorced some time now.'
Briony breathed again.
'Were there any children?'
'One—a boy. Charley got custody. Munro didn't contest it. Most of the time, he didn't seem to realise Charley and the boy existed. And he had the temerity to call me a selfish swine!'
'Doesn't Teale ever see his son, then?' It was more than idle curiosity that made Briony ask.
'When he's in London, I believe. He's got a flat there that he uses for part of the year.'
That evening, Briony repeated the conversation—the longest she'd ever had with Matthew—to Promilla.
'Perhaps Matthew's right. Perhaps I should steer clear of Teale Munro. I don't want to get hurt again. It's taken me two years to get over…'
Promilla paused in her sewing. She always had some work in hand.
'You can't spend the rest of your life in a vacuum,' she told Briony. 'You're too young to cut men out of your life altogether. I rather like what I've seen of Teale Munro. I think you owe it to him to give him a chance— and not to take him at anyone else's assessment.'
'Including
yours?' Briony asked drily.
'I know you won't believe me but, just because one marriage failed, it doesn't mean another will.'
'Slow down, Prom! I hadn't got as far as thinking about marrying the man.'
Promilla looked disbelieving, but she let the comment pass.
'Did Matthew tell you any more about himself? What did he do after he left his father-in-law's business?' she asked instead.
'A variety of things. None of them lasted very long. He didn't like the discipline of regular hours or office life. He still had the urge to make some kind of career from his art. But his in-laws pooh-poohed it. Finally, he gave up conventional work and he and his wife went in for self-sufficiency. You know, growing their own food, keeping livestock.'
'Not the action of a lazy man,' Promilla said.
'No. And it couldn't have been very profitable. His wife must be a real brick. She went along with him every step of the way. He obviously thinks the world of her. So what I can't understand is why he should suddenly leave her and disappear for years.'
'Didn't Teale say something about Matthew having an affair? A man can still be tempted even if he does love his wife. Perhaps he went off with the other woman?' Promilla put down her sewing with a tired sigh. 'I'll be glad to get some extra help. It will give you a bit more time for your painting, too. I've put an advertisement in the local paper and in Devon Life. Let's hope we get a quick response.'
'Clovelly hasn't changed much over the years.' Teale said it with satisfaction.
Briony had spent several days in a fever of impatience, waiting for his call.
'Friday was the earliest I could make it,' he'd told her apologetically when finally he'd telephoned. 'I had a job which had to be finished by a certain date. I've been working all day and half the night as it is to see it through.'
She would have enjoyed going anywhere in Teale's company, Briony thought, but she had to admit that Clovelly was especially delightful on that mid-September morning. Gift shops and car parks, which so often spoilt the atmosphere of beauty spots, were kept well out of sight above the little village. No cars drove up and down the steep cobbled street with its white cascade of houses, simply because it was impossible to do so.
'They use sleds to carry provisions throughout the year,' Teale told her. 'The donkeys are brought out in the summer, but largely for the benefit of visitors. Clovelly gets half a million tourists in summer.'
'Are most of them here today?' she asked wryly, and was rewarded by seeing his lean face break into the attractive smile which always made her heart perform incredible gymnastics.
'Come again in winter,' he advised. 'It comes into its own again then, as tranquil as it must have been in the days before tourism.'
He hadn't said 'come again with me', she thought, then rebuked herself for presumptuousness. Why should he?
'There's some disagreement over the name Clovelly,' he told her as they descended the hill. 'Some say it comes from the Latin clausa vallis—a closed glen. Others think that as cleave was the Saxon for cliff, cleave-valley might be another derivation. Again, it could be a corruption of cleave-leigh, the cliff place, as its manor was called in the Domesday Book.'
Briony was delighted to find that Teale shared her interest in folklore and legend. Among other legends about the village, he related for her that of the Gregg family who had inhabited a cave near Mouth Mill and made a living by robbing lonely travellers.
'Their food came from the same source,' he told her. 'The limbs of the people they murdered and pickled. They were cannibals. Incredibly, this went on for twenty-five years, until one of their victims escaped and gave the alarm.'
This tale elicited the shudder that was intended, but such gruesome histories were quickly forgotten in the natural beauty of Clovelly.
'I must come here to paint,' Briony exclaimed as they reached the harbour, where a row of houses leant over the pebbled beach. On the jutting jetty were bollards reputed to be Spanish cannon salvaged after the Armada. Modern town-planners should come to Clovelly, Briony thought. Not one house was the same as the other. Yet there was a symmetry as they overlapped and tumbled down the cliff. To say she must paint a place was the highest accolade Briony could give. Now she was at a loss for superlatives.
'Pretty, isn't it?' Teale agreed.
But pretty was an inadequate word with which to describe Clovelly, Briony thought. It was a rarer quality than that. It had an atmosphere that was singularly Mediterranean, and yet at the same time completely English.
'Talking of painting, have you thought any more about showing Matthew's work to an expert?' Teale asked. She was surprised by his interest.
'I've thought about it a lot. But Matthew won't hear of it.'
'Suppose you were to send one up to London without saying anything. Would he notice one was missing?'
'Probably not,' Briony admitted. 'He's done so many. And he never looks at them again anyway once they're finished.'
Teale had brought a picnic lunch which they ate on the front overlooking the sea. Wheeling gulls swooped and complained above their heads, while smaller birds such as sparrows reaped the harvest of crumbs.
'There would have been a very different atmosphere at the beginning of the last century,' Teale mused as they watched the meandering tourists with their cameras. 'Once, this was a thriving fishing village. Local cod was alleged to be the best in the world. But the most plentiful catch was the famous Clovelly herring. It's said that sometimes the nets were so full there was no time to remove the fish as they were hauled on board. Instead they had to be towed into harbour with the fish still enmeshed. But then suddenly the herring moved elsewhere.'
Teale reverted to the subject of Matthew's paintings once more as they repacked the picnic basket.
'Would you permit me to take one of his pictures, next time I go up to London?'
'Why on earth would you bother to do that?' Briony asked with more frankness than tact. 'I thought you had no time for Matthew?'
'But I do have a lot of time for my sister,' Teale pointed out gently, apparently unoffended. 'And, if there's a chance Matthew is finally going to make something of himself, it would be to her benefit, wouldn't it?'
'They're back together again?' Briony had wondered.
'As if they'd never been apart. And, as far as I can make out, she's never even asked him where he'd been or why.' Teale sounded incredulous.
'I couldn't do that,' Briony said positively.
'Nor I, but Rhoda is rather unique.'
'She sounds very nice,' Briony agreed wistfully. She wondered if Teale would ever invite her to meet his sister.
They made the climb back to the car, with Briony protesting laughingly at the steepness. Teale held out his hand, offering to pull her up the incline, and at his touch a sweet glow flowed through her breast. It seemed to run throughout the whole of her body from head to foot. If his merest touch could affect her this way, what on earth would it be like if he were ever to make love to her? Briony was glad her disordered breathing could be attributed to the stiffness of the ascent.
'When are you seeing Teale again?' Promilla served her friend with a generous helping of curry, a once-a-week meal in their establishment. Fortunately, Briony enjoyed it as much as her friend.
'I don't know, Prom,' she said regretfully. 'He didn't make any arrangements. He just dropped me off at the door, thanked me for a nice day and that was it.'
'Has he kissed you yet?'
'No. I wish…Oh!' Impatiently, she brushed aside the longings that beset her every time she saw or thought of Teale Munro. 'For heaven's sake, let's talk about something else. Prom,' she looked doubtfully at her friend, 'since you said you didn't mind, I've written to Iseult and asked her to come over for Christmas. Is that OK?'
'Of course. It'll be nice for you.' Promilla pulled a chair up to the table. 'Christmas is a family time, after all.' She spoke a little absently and Briony looked sharply at her, wondering if her friend did have some objection after
all, or if she was thinking of her own lack of family. But then Promilla went on, 'I had a phone call in answer to my advertisement while you were out. It sounds very promising. I took a note of the address and said I'd go over on Monday and look at specimens of this woman's work. It's easier than for her to bring it all here. The only thing is, I've double-booked myself. Sukie Wareing is coming over on Monday with a couple of clients.'
'Well, that's no problem surely? You could ring the woman back and say you'll interview her another day.'
'She was ringing from a call-box, and I can't remember her name.' That was unlike the meticulous Promilla. 'I was wondering if you'd go and see her for me.'
'But I don't know anything about sewing,' Briony objected.
'You know enough to be able to judge the quality. Do say you'll go. The sooner we get someone, the better for both of us. Especially,' teasingly, 'if you're going to be taking your day off in future.' Until latterly, both girls had worked a six-day week. Briony's weekday outing with Teale had been an unprecedented event.
'I might not be having any more days off,' Briony said pessimistically. 'But all right, I'll go and see this woman. You sure you can't remember her name? It'll be a bit awkward.'
The Monday appointment had been made for three o'clock. Briony drove inland, glad of the opportunity to get away from the shop. As usual, it had been a quiet morning and, though Matthew was working harder than ever, he still did not appear on Mondays.
Leaving Gwinvercombe, the winding secretive lanes were green tunnels where boughs met overhead. In spring, the lanes around the old town glittered with wild flowers. And summer had brought its own colourful crop—daisies, purple globe thistles and yellow-horned poppies. At first, the road climbed away from the seaside town, through wild-blossoming valleys and old hill-perched villages. But soon, as though drawn by some irresistible force, the road returned to the coastline, flanked by windswept downs on one side and marshy meadows on the other. Briony had not been in this direction before and she gave a little gasp of pleasure as the road opened out on to a magnificent prospect of sea and sky.
Colour the Sky Red Page 5