'It must have been a hard decision for you to make— to give up all the fame and a safe career for the uncertainty of being self-employed, to become an anonymous figure again.'
He shook his head and leant back, crossing his legs. The movement brought him closer, but Briony dared not edge away. Instead, she had to suffer the brush of his arm against hers as he gestured to emphasise his words.
'The only consideration was the financial one. All fame is transitory anyway, and being a television personality is unreal. Let's face it, if you appear on the small screen often enough you're bound to be well known, whether it's deserved or not. But if you disappear for a few months you're forgotten. Books at least endure.'
'And do you write all the time?' Briony had always thought it would be marvellous to be able to paint without interruption, until she'd experienced the reality. Lonely for the first time in her life, she'd found ideas did not breed in a vacuum. She needed the stimulation of life, found that it was necessary to have people around her some of the time.
'Pretty well. It's a strange phenomenon. When I'm in the middle of a book, I think I'll be glad to get the darned thing finished. But as soon as it is I can't wait to start another.'
'Painting's a bit like that,' Briony agreed. 'That can be a lonely pastime, too. I don't like anyone talking to me when I'm actually working.'
'In that case, you'll probably understand when I say I would never have got married if I'd known what I know now.'
Briony experienced an acute depression of spirits. It was foolish. Teale Munro had given her no excuse at all to expect any deepening of their acquaintance. But she had hoped. And, although she knew it was probably unwise, she wasn't quite ready to give up that faint hope.
'But don't you ever get… lonely?' That was as close as Briony dared to go in asking about his personal needs, but Teale had fewer inhibitions.
'What you mean is, do I ever need a woman, physically?' His bluntness made her blush. 'Yes, I do.'
'Matthew said you didn't,' she blurted out, then cursed her own frankness.
'Possibly my needs and Matthew's are rather different,' he said drily. 'But I don't think he was referring to the physical. I have the same needs and desires as any man. And the same temptations to break my own rules,' he said thoughtfully. For a long time, he held her eyes with his own and Briony quivered under their assessment, wishing that, just once, he might find himself tempted to kiss her. 'But, if he meant that I don't need a constant stream of women to bolster up my ego, then he's right. Perhaps if Matthew could overcome his sense of his own unworthiness he might be less dependent on women and their emotional support.'
'In my book, that doesn't make him weak,' Briony argued. 'It makes him rather admirable. The relationship between men and women shouldn't be purely sexual. There should be emotional and spiritual ties.'
'Then I confess I've never experienced them. I suppose that lowers me in your estimation?'
'Actually, it makes me feel rather sorry for you.' In a low, husky voice, Briony added, 'I think it must be rather dreadful not to know how it feels to be in love.'
'Ah, love!' Teale said cynically. 'A typically female description of the sensation. I prefer to call it "need". But it's surprising how you can sublimate such "needs" in work. And it isn't fair to ask any woman to share the kind of life I lead. I realised that long ago. Charlene used to complain that even when I was with her my mind was elsewhere. It was true. I'd be smitten by an idea and have to get it down there and then. And if she spoke to me in the middle of a sentence and destroyed my train of thought I knew I'd never recapture it in exactly the same form. And I'd be furious. A writer is impossible to live with.'
Briony wondered if she was imagining it, or whether he was deliberately making such a strong case, warning her off, in effect. Perhaps it was time to steer the conversation into less personal channels. She stood up and moved to the window which overlooked the barren coastline.
'You certainly have the isolation here that you need for your work.'
It was a bad move, for he came to stand beside her, closer than if she'd remained seated.
'Yes. And because of it I've also succeeded in retaining my anonymity. I'd be obliged if you didn't let it be known in Gwinvercombe who I am. I've no wish to be lionised. That's why I never invite anyone to visit me here.' At his words, Briony flushed painfully.
'I'm sorry,' she said stiffly. 'Why didn't you tell me straight away that I was intruding?'
'Good heavens!' he exclaimed. 'That was clumsy of me.' He put a hand on her arm. 'My dear Briony, I wasn't implying… It was very good of you to remedy my forgetfulness. What I meant was that I had my fill of opening church fetes and being pursued by predatory women in my TV days.' His tone became cynical. 'There's no other aphrodisiac quite as potent as fame.'
Briony wasn't so sure. It certainly wasn't the knowledge of who he was that was affecting her in this way, so that her body clamoured to be nearer to him. She half wished he would remove his hand, half hoped he wouldn't. She tried to pass the moment off lightly.
'You mean, they didn't fancy you just for yourself?' Had she allowed a note of incredulity to enter her voice? He was certainly looking down at her rather strangely.
'You find that surprising?'
'Frankly, yes.' She tried to make it sound purely academic. 'I've met one or two famous men who were also extremely unattractive. I certainly didn't find their notoriety prompted me to overlook their total lack of charisma.'
'It would be interesting to know,' he murmured reflectively, 'just where I come on your scale of values.' If that was meant flirtatiously, he'd left it a little late. His message had come through strong and clear: no involvement for Teale Munro.
'I've never really thought about it.' It was a good excuse to step a little away from him, and escape the warm hand whose touch seemed to penetrate the flimsy material of her blouse as though it were non-existent. But now she had to carry it through and pretend to appraise him, a task which made it difficult to retain her assumed poise and air of detachment.
She already knew every detail of his appearance by heart. The face, long, lean and hawkish with its clean-cut jawline. Unwisely, perhaps, she found herself concentrating on the mouth. Its full bottom lip had more than a hint of passion, the narrow upper spoke of impatience. As she looked, it twisted into that one-sided, half-sardonic, half-humorous smile. Grey eyes, gleaming like molten silver, met hers stare for stare.
'Well?' he invited.
'Well enough.' She nodded casual approval. 'Not my type of course, but…'
'Not your type, eh?' He seemed disproportionately amused. 'Is that the truth, I wonder, or some kind of challenge?'
'It's certainly not a challenge,' she retorted promptly. She congratulated herself on having evaded the issue rather neatly. 'I'm not in the market for a flirtation, any more than you are. Like you, I'm very busy, too busy for involvements even if I felt any inclination that way.' Until recently, that had been the truth. She looked at her watch and affected astonishment. 'Goodness! I really mustn't take up any more of your time.'
'Oh, but surely you can spare a little longer?' His regret sounded genuine. 'I thought you might like to see the rest of the house. It's very old and absolutely unique in these parts. In fact,' he seemed quite struck by the thought, 'perhaps you might like to paint it? Do you accept commissions?'
'If the subject interests me.' Right now, she'd like to paint his portrait, she thought. It would give her an excuse for more open study of his dark, lean, vital face.
'And would this house interest you?'
'It might.' It would be an excuse to come here again, perhaps several times.
'Then let me show you over it,' he coaxed, his hand on her arm once more.
'I don't need to see the interior to paint the exterior view,' she pointed out.
'You paint portraits, full-length figures?' And, as she nodded, a little bewildered by this apparent change of tack, Teale asked, 'For that, you had to study
anatomy, right?' Again she nodded. 'Then I don't see the difference. I want you to know about the anatomy of my house before you paint it. I want you to absorb the atmosphere.'
It made a kind of sense. The only trouble, Briony thought, was that she was particularly sensitive to atmosphere. She already liked what she'd seen of this gracious old house. Suppose she were to fall in love with it irrevocably as she'd… Oh, God! The trend of her own thoughts, the realisation they brought, appalled her…as irrevocably as she'd fallen in love with its owner, and with less encouragement. In fact, no encouragement at all. Her sense of shock must have shown in her face.
'What on earth have I said to make you look like that?'
'Nothing,' she denied hastily. 'It's just that I don't see how I can find time to accept a commission just now. It would mean being away from the shop. And soon I'll have students to consider, too.'
'The shop isn't open on Sundays. Do you take students on Sundays?'
'No, but,' indignantly, 'I have to rest some time.'
'What could be more relaxing,' he coaxed, 'than doing something you enjoy? And I'm not a slave-driver. You could work as many or as few hours as you liked, with lunch and an evening meal thrown in, if you like. And,' he added as though this were the clinching incentive, 'I'd keep right out of your way. You need not see me at all if you don't want to. Though I hope you will give me your company now and again.'
He seemed to have completely changed his tune, Briony thought, not without suspicion. From total discouragement, he now seemed to be positively encouraging her to visit his home. And she was tempted. But she was also doubtful about his motives. He wasn't in love with her. Why else should he crave her society?
'I'll think about it,' she temporised.
'Then you'll let me show you round before you go?'
The old house held many secrets. No two rooms were on the same level. Passages led here and there, coming to sudden dead ends. The gleaming floors and stair-treads groaned their age.
'It's enormous,' Briony exclaimed when finally they reached the top floor. She couldn't help reflecting what a marvellous studio the attics would make. And the things that could be done with the house's many rooms! All her creative instincts were stimulated.
'It was meant to be a family home, of course,' Teale said. 'And that's why I bought it in the first place. My parents were still alive then. They lived here for a short while. And then, of course, I'd hoped for children, several of them.'
'You like children?' Briony asked him.
'Very much. I'm extremely fond of Rhoda's children. Since I'm unlikely to have any family of my own now, this house and everything else I own will be theirs some day.' He was thoughtful for a moment, then mused aloud, 'I enjoy writing for its own sake. But the wealth it brings is a responsibility. Do you think it corrupts the young to have money left to them which they haven't earned?'
'I've no idea. But it's a consideration that's not likely to worry me,' Briony said drily. 'I suppose it's due to the increasing amount of leisure time, but artists seem to be a glut on the market nowadays. You'd have to be really exceptional to make a living solely by painting. I make only a modest income, hence the shop. But, Teale, you do have a child,' she remembered.
'That,' he was grim again, 'is a debatable point. At least I'm certain Rhoda's children have some Munro blood. I can't speak with any certainty about Scott.'
'But that's not the kiddie's fault!'
'No,' he agreed. 'And I know it may seem peculiarly old-fashioned of me in this day and age, but our parents brought Rhoda and me up to have certain values. I was faithful to my marriage vows and I expected total fidelity from my wife. I have strong views on any kind of promiscuity.'
In principle, she agreed with him. But was he totally intolerant, making no allowances even for youthful ignorance and folly? She was glad she'd remained fixed in her determination not to tell Teale about the one lapse in her life.
CHAPTER FIVE
'You should have told him there and then,' Promilla said sagely. 'If he is as inflexible as that, at least you'd know now where you stand. Though somehow I can't believe he'd be so totally lacking in compassion as to condemn you for a teenage peccadillo. But, if he is, then you're better off without him.'
'I'm not even with him,' Briony retorted with feeling. 'That's why it would seem presumptuous to start telling him my life history, as if it could be of any possible interest to him.' Briony sighed, then went on, 'It's probably stupid of me to go on hoping there'll ever be anything between us. But I didn't want to completely burn my boats where he's concerned. And if I'd told him…' She shrugged and smiled a little wryly. 'At least he paid me a compliment—a rather back-handed one. He said that, apart from his sister, it wasn't often he met a woman with whom he could hold an intelligent conversation. That, perhaps because in our different ways we were both exponents of the arts, we had a lot in common.'
'Well, that's something! Keep working on that side of your relationship and maybe the rest will follow naturally,' Promilla encouraged.
Briony hugged her friend.
'What would I do without you, Prom? You're such a comfort to me.'
Thank God she'd always been able to confide in Promilla, Briony thought that night as she got ready for bed. She didn't know where she'd be now without the other woman's friendship and advice. Promilla was the only person now who knew about Briony's 'teenage peccadillo', as she'd called it.
His name was Jean-Luc. He'd been an art student in the same year as Briony. With his blond good looks and attractive accent, he had a glamour none of the other young men of her age possessed. Briony swiftly became infatuated, and she knew her girlfriends envied her the young Frenchman's assiduous attentions.
She took Jean-Luc home during the holidays. But, despite the doubts expressed by her widower father about the young man's suitability, his warnings went unheeded. Fathers, she knew, were often stuffy about their daughters' boyfriends.
Educated at a convent a few miles away from her home, Briony had had a strict upbringing and she'd revelled in the free and easy life of art college, of London, and her social life, the unending stream of parties.
Though he hadn't been keen on her becoming an art student, Briony's father had made her a generous allowance, and most of the friends with whom she associated were similarly situated. Thus drink flowed freely at the parties she attended. Some students, she knew, also experimented with drugs. She wasn't that foolish, but she had got tipsy once or twice. It was on one of these occasions that she and Jean-Luc made love and she conceived.
Of all her friends, Jean-Luc was the least affluent, but reluctantly he agreed to marry her. His parents, he'd admitted, would be shocked by any other course of action. By this, she assumed he meant abortion; but the idea of such a thing never even crossed her mind.
They went together to see her father. Briony had known John Kent would be distressed by her irresponsible behaviour, but it had never occurred to her not to confide in him. Her mother had died when Briony was a baby, and though she and her father had never been very close he was the only person to whom she could go in her extremity. John Kent had had long conversations, with her and with Jean-Luc. And Briony was bitterly hurt and incredulous when she discovered what her father had done. He'd offered Jean-Luc money not to marry her. Worse, Jean-Luc had accepted. He hadn't loved her as she loved him. This realisation tempered her reproaches to her father, and John Kent indicated his willingness to support both her and the baby.
'It's folly to rush into things just because a baby's on the way,' her father had told her. 'It's the worst possible basis for marriage. You're both far too young. I don't want to see my only daughter ruin her whole life.'
John kept his word and he welcomed the little girl, so like Briony in appearance. He grew very fond of his granddaughter, and in this mutual affection Briony felt closer to him than ever before.
When Iseult was six, Briony met Bob Daish, younger son of a family who had just moved into the neighbouring
farm, and thought herself in love again. Bob asked her to marry him and declared himself willing to accept Iseult.
They were within a few weeks of their wedding when disaster struck. John Kent suffered a sudden massive heart attack, from which he never recovered. After the funeral, there was another blow. Unwise investments had left Briony's father almost penniless, his home heavily mortgaged. Everything had to be sold up to pay off his debts. Despite John's assurances to her, there was nothing left over for Briony and her daughter.
It was a week or two before it struck Briony that Bob's manner towards her had altered. But when, finally, she taxed him with it, he admitted he no longer wished to marry her. A conversation which became acrimonious revealed that, not being his father's heir, he had been relying on Briony inheriting her father's house and farm.
With no family, no money and no home, Briony turned to the only other person she could rely on to help her, Promilla Kadri, with whom she'd always kept in touch.
Promilla was only too willing to give the shattered Briony refuge. But Briony knew it could only be temporary. She couldn't impose on her friend's kindness indefinitely. Hoping to use her artistic talents, she tried to find work.
Eventually, as luck would have it, her search took her to the London branch of an advertising agency which turned out to be owned by Jean-Luc. Now a successful businessman, he commuted between Paris and London.
On the day of Briony's interview he was in London. He recognised her at once. She didn't get the job, but when the interviews were over Jean-Luc took her on one side and asked her to remain behind.
Colour the Sky Red Page 8