'That's not going to be easy,' Promilla pointed out, 'with Matthew and Rhoda working upstairs, little Scott coming in with them. And what about the painting of his house? If I know you, you won't leave that unfinished.'
'Well, all right!' Even with her friend, Briony couldn't keep the exasperation from her voice. 'I'll steer clear of him, then. And that shouldn't be difficult. After tonight, he'll be avoiding me like the plague!'
Briony might declare she was going to forget Teale, but it was impossible, not only in her own heart, but since she couldn't avoid hearing the mention of his name.
'Did you enjoy the rest of the evening?' was the first thing Rhoda asked her next morning. Since it was Monday, Briony had decided to do some painting herself. On the canvas before her, the outlines of the gracious old house were slowly taking shape. She would be glad to finish it and be rid of it, she told herself. Matthew had gone for his usual check-up, so Briony and Rhoda had the studio to themselves.
'Oh—yes—er—it was all right. Actually, I didn't stay long after you left.' She sensed Rhoda's surprise.
However, the other woman went on, 'It's good to see Teale taking an interest in someone at long last. After the business with Charlene I was afraid he'd never…'
'Oh, but there's nothing like that,' Briony said quickly. 'In fact, I doubt if I'll be seeing him again.' She bent over her work, but she was aware of Rhoda's grey eyes fixed intently on her averted profile.
'Is that your decision?' the other woman asked finally. 'Forgive me if I seem to be prying, but I'm very fond of my brother. He's looked happier these past weeks than I've seen him in a long time. I wouldn't like him to be hurt again.'
'He won't be hurt by me,' Briony assured her. It pained her to admit it, but she forced herself to say, 'It was only this business of Matthew that threw us together. Now that's sorted out…' She shrugged, because she couldn't trust her voice not to quiver if she went on.
Rhoda said no more and Briony made an effort to seem her usual cheerful self, but throughout the day she was aware of the other woman's speculative glances.
In the weeks that followed, Promilla too seemed to be continually concerned for Briony's welfare. Finally, her solicitous enquiries drove Briony to an uncharacteristically sharp retort.
'For God's sake, Prom! I'm not going into a decline just because I mistook a man's friendliness for something more. Forget the whole thing. I have,' she said mendaciously.
Obligingly, Promilla changed the subject. 'Have you heard from Iseult yet about Christmas?'
'No.' That was another cause for discontent. 'I hope Jean-Luc will let her come. If I don't hear soon, I shall telephone his Paris office.'
Only one thing occurred to lighten Briony's mood. One Tuesday morning, early in November, she was alone in the shop. Promilla was out on a delivery; Rhoda had not come in. She had telephoned apologetically from the nearest call-box to the cottage to say that little Scott was suffering from a heavy cold and that she didn't feel it would be wise to bring him out into the cold November weather. Why couldn't Teale look after his own sick child? Briony fumed. That was just typical of him—total non-involvement, even with his own son. In her heart, she knew he was probably engrossed with his latest book; and from personal experience she could understand his distancing himself from everyone and everything. But she'd found the only way to deal with her pain was to goad herself to anger with him, to persuade herself he was totally unlikeable, that she was better off without him. The doorbell jangled and she looked up from the soft toys she was pricing. There would soon be a demand for them with Christmas coming up.
'Good morning. Can I help you?' She looked expectantly at the tall man in jeans and sweater who had entered, leaving the door open behind him. He was hovering in front of the counter. He wasn't remarkably good-looking, but he had a pleasant, clean-shaven face and a nicely shaped head, the brown hair cut closely to its line. His tall, rangy frame was erect and self-confident.
'You already have, more than you'll ever know.'
Briony frowned. Was he a line-shooter? She was in no mood for flirtatious repartee.
'Briony?' He sounded vastly amused. 'Don't you recognise me?'
Something in his voice made her look at him more closely, then she gave a little squeal of surprise. She rounded the counter and dragged him over to the better light near the window.
'Matthew! You've shaved off your beard!'
'And had a haircut. Do you think it's an improvement?' he asked with a trace of his old diffidence.
'I didn't mind the beard,' she told him frankly. 'But yes, I think I like the new you. It suits your up-and-coming image.'
'An image I'd never have had but for you. I'm an artist, a real honest-to-goodness artist at last,' he said exultantly. 'I'm going to have an exhibition. And yesterday they finally signed me off at the hospital.' He seemed to have forgotten Briony wasn't supposed to know about his illness.
'Oh, Matthew!' she said softly. 'I'm so glad for you.'
'This is from me—and Rhoda.' Unexpectedly, he grabbed her in a bear hug and lifted her from the floor. He swung her round in a crazy dance of celebration and concluded it with a resounding kiss full on her lips.
As he set her down and she laughed up at him, she saw his eyes fixed on something behind her. His expression was one of irritated resignation. She turned to see what had caught his attention and found herself looking straight into Teale's face as he stood in the open doorway. She couldn't think of anything to say, but almost instinctively she backed towards Matthew, as if seeking protection, and saw Teale's lip curl.
But Teale did not level the expected accusation at them. Instead, he jerked his head towards the stairs. 'Is Rhoda up there?'
Briony found her voice. 'She's not in today. But you must know that? Scott's sick.'
'No, I didn't know. No one saw fit to tell me.'
'Perhaps she was afraid of "disturbing" your work,' Briony couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice. Inwardly, she was shaking. At the sight of him, all her feelings for him had surged over her so that she was afraid of betraying herself. She had to hide behind antagonism.
Teale seemed untouched by her sarcasm. He directed his question to Matthew. 'How sick is the boy?'
'Nothing drastic. Just a cold. But Rhoda worries about him.'
Teale nodded. But he seemed relieved, Briony thought. She supposed he must be fond of Scott in his own rather distant way.
'At least seeing you will save me a trip. But I wish to goodness you'd agree to have the telephone put in at the cottage. Tell Rhoda I have to go up to London. I don't know how long I'll be away. If she wants me, a message left at the flat will find me eventually.'
'Oh, but…' Matthew began, but Teale was already on his way out of the door.
'Can't stop. I've got a train to catch.' He nodded a brusque farewell that encompassed both of them.
'Damn! Damn! Damn!' Matthew exploded.
'It's all right, Matthew,' Briony reassured him, though she wasn't altogether certain herself. 'I'm sure he didn't think…'
'I'm not worried about what he thought,' Matthew interrupted. 'I'm annoyed at what he's done. I wanted to go up to London myself the day after tomorrow and take Rhoda with me. The chappie at the gallery wants to meet her and take us both out for a slap-up meal. I planned to make a long weekend of it. The first chance I get to do something really good for Rhoda, and now she's going to be stuck at home with Teale's boy!'
'Perhaps Teale will be back in time.'
'I doubt it,' Matthew said gloomily. 'You heard him. It's not as if he's got any reason to rush home, either.' Briony winced. 'Oh, well, I'd better get back to the cottage and tell Rhoda the trip's off.'
'She knows about it?'
'Yes.' Gloomily, he added, 'She's already planning what she's going to wear.'
'Look, Matthew,' Briony said hesitantly as he moved towards the door. 'Perhaps I could help. Promilla and I could help,' she amended. 'If Teale isn't back in time, you could leave Scott her
e. He's used to both of us now and it's not as if he's any trouble.'
'It seems a bit of an imposition,' Matthew said doubtfully, but his face had brightened.
'Not a bit.' Briony was firm. There would be a poignant pain in looking after Teale's son, but it would be a shame for Rhoda and Matthew to be cheated of their first real treat in years.
Though Scott was at school by day, he settled happily into staying at the Blue Unicorn. He was obviously fascinated by the varied and exotic furnishings that decked the girls' living quarters, and was soon fast friends with Briony's cats. Briony had made up a bed for him on a put-you-up in a corner of her own room.
There was an exquisite pleasure in undressing and bathing a small child again, in leaning over the tiny sleeping form to gently kiss his brow before she retired herself. On the second morning of his stay, Scott surprised her by creeping into her bed and snuggling up to her.
'Hello, darling!' she greeted him. 'This is nice!'
'I wish I lived with you and Auntie Promilla all the time.'
'You've got Auntie Rhoda,' she reminded him.
'Mmmn,' he agreed. 'But Auntie Rhoda has Libby and Uncle Matthew. You and Auntie Promilla haven't got any children or daddies to keep you company. Wouldn't you like me to live with you always, Auntie Briony?'
'Oh yes, darling,' she breathed, 'I'd like that very much.'
'Of course, there wouldn't be room here for Daddy.' Scott looked around consideringly. A sudden idea struck him and he sat bolt upright. 'But you could come and live with me and my daddy. There's plenty of room at Daddy's house.'
A pang smote Briony, and she held the small boy close for a moment, her eyes tightly closed against the sting of sudden tears. If only it were that simple!
'But then poor Promilla would be all on her own,' she pointed out, careful to keep her voice light.
'She could come, too.' Scott was prodigal with his father's house.
It was a good thing children's minds were easily diverted, Briony mused when she'd successfully suggested it was time they got up and gave the cats their breakfast.
'We're in charge of the shop today,' she reminded the child.
Promilla had asked if Briony minded her being away over the weekend.
'I'd thought of going up to London. I want to look up the Patis, old friends of my parents.'
'Of course you must go,' Briony had told her. 'It's about time you had a day or two off.'
It was not particularly busy for a Saturday. The tourist season was long over, and people had not yet launched themselves into a frenzy of Christmas shopping. There was ample time to entertain a small boy. And to grow to love him more by the minute, which wasn't very wise, Briony told herself. But how could she help it? It wasn't just that Scott was Teale's son; he was an appealing child and Briony had a strong maternal nature which had been too long suppressed.
The shop closed earlier on Saturdays, and after tea Briony had a sudden impulse to sketch Scott as he played with the cats. Her skilful pencil filled sheet after sheet with swift impressions; and, when for a short while he fell asleep, she was able to make a more detailed drawing of his head.
She made the most of the bedtime ritual. Scott's bath was followed by a story during which, inevitably, the small boy fell asleep. She tucked him in, lingering lovingly over the task, smoothing back the dark curls from the soft skin of his forehead. It was going to be torture to give him up when Rhoda returned tomorrow evening; and she sat up late, dreaming over the fire, reluctant to go to bed and thus bring tomorrow nearer.
She must have fallen asleep, for she woke with a start. The fire had burned down and the room was chilly. Confused, she sat for a moment, wondering what had disturbed her. Had Scott cried out in his sleep? She tiptoed into the bedroom, but all was peaceful. Then she heard the prolonged peal of the doorbell, as though someone had their finger pressed hard and continuously upon it. Someone was pounding on the wooden panels of the shop door.
Briony was alarmed. She was alone except for a small child, and while Gwinvercombe was relatively free of crime, one could never be certain. Stealthily, without revealing a light, she crept through into the shop and peered through a corner of the window blind. In the darkened street all she could be sure of was the outline of a man. Then a passing car caught him for an instant in its headlights, and she recognised Teale. What was he doing here at this time? It was after midnight. With trembling fingers, she unbolted the door. Unbidden visions crossed her mind. Perhaps there had been some miraculous transformation in him, and he'd been possessed by an irresistible urge to see her.
'Teale?' Her voice was husky.
'Briony! Thank God! What's going on? Where is everyone? Where's Scott?'
'He's here, but…'
'Here? What in God's name is he doing here?' He marched past her and into the rear of the shop.
Briony fastened the door and hurried after him.
'He's in bed, asleep. Don't waken him.'
In the electric light, Teale's face was drawn and tired. New lines seemed etched at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
'I got the last train down from London, took a taxi out to my place to find it all closed up. No Mrs Barrett. No dogs. No food. No explanation.' He dropped down on to the sofa in an attitude of exhaustion and ran a hand around the back of his neck, massaging tense muscles. 'Then I went down to the cottage, only to find that empty, too. It was beginning to feel like the Mary Celeste. To top it all, I found the Rolls had developed a flat. I had to change a wheel before I could drive over here.'
'I'm sorry you were worried, but no one was expecting you back so soon,' Briony told him from the kitchen doorway. Seeing his fatigue, she had switched on the coffee percolator. 'Mrs Barrett's gone to see her niece in Paignton. The dogs are boarded out at one of the farms. Matthew and Rhoda are in London.' She explained the circumstances of their trip and her offer to look after Scott. 'Have you eaten lately?' she asked Teale as she handed him a mug of coffee.
'Not since I left London. But I'm not hungry, just damnably tired.' He sat hunched forward, his hands clasped about the mug as though he were cold as well as weary, and Briony sensed depression in his mood.
She knelt in front of the fire, stirred its glowing embers into new life and threw on a couple of logs.
'London can be tiring.' She sat back on her heels and studied his drawn face.
'I've been to see Charlene,' he said abruptly.
'Oh!' She averted her face and made a great play of poking the fire. How, she asked herself fiercely, could she be so despicable as to be jealous of a dying woman? 'How is she?'
'Very poorly. I've been sitting up with her at night, to give her mother a break.' He went on, speaking rapidly, the words pouring out of him as if he needed to unburden himself. 'It's the least I could do, isn't it? God knows, our marriage was a mistake. But its failure wasn't entirely her fault.' He ran an impatient hand through his hair, dishevelling its dark thickness. 'I should never have married, of course. Not just Charlene, but anyone.' He looked at Briony, her face still in profile to him, long lashes sweeping her cheeks. 'Do you know what George Bernard Shaw said about writers?' And bitterly, as Briony shook her head and turned to look wonderingly at him, he continued, 'He said they'd let their wives starve, their children go barefoot, their mothers drudge for their living, so long as they were free to write. That's the sort of man I seem to have become.' He sounded genuinely horrified. 'Oh, my family didn't lack for material comforts, but they were starved of my attention. I know this, and yet I can't stop writing any more than I could voluntarily stop breathing.'
'I think you're being too hard on yourself, Teale,' Briony told him gently, knowing the need to comfort the tortured man before her. 'Marriage shouldn't be a prison. People are still entitled to their own identity.'
His smile was weary. 'Yes. Being an artist, you would understand that. I think that's why I find it so easy to talk to you. We're two of a kind, you and I. You value your freedom, too.' Briony flinched; if only he
knew! 'But have you ever been married?'
Briony flinched again. At her side, her small hands balled into tight fists.
'No.'
'Then you can't know what it's like. It isn't that easy. Partners feel entitled to make demands on your time. They don't understand the compulsion to…'
'But surely—' out of her own values and beliefs, Briony felt bound to protest '—people don't get married in the first place unless they enjoy each other's company?'
'You think not?' His expression was cynical. 'Sometimes I ask myself just why I got married. If I'm honest, wasn't I just attracted to a pretty face and a sexy body? Wasn't marriage just the price I had to pay for possessing both? Certainly, it seems there was nothing else.'
'In that case,' Briony said firmly, 'if you'll forgive me for saying so, you married the wrong person. There has to be more than just physical attraction. There has to be liking, respect, mutual interests.'
'Is that why you've never married?' he asked curiously. 'Because you've never met anyone that embodied all those things?' As she nodded, he went on thoughtfully, 'You may be right, of course. But I don't believe the woman exists who could offer me all that.' Wryly, he added, 'But at least I never make the same mistake twice.' He yawned and leant back on the sofa, his long body suddenly more relaxed. 'You're a good listener, Briony. It's good to be able to talk to someone who understands, who doesn't make demands. Do you know, I believe I am hungry,' he told her. 'You wouldn't have the odd sandwich or slice of cake going begging?' His tone of voice and his lop-sided smile had all the coaxing appeal of his son's when asking a favour, and Briony's heart lurched. If only he weren't so damnably attractive. If only she could think of him just as a friend, as he treated her.
'I'll make you something.'
But when she returned from the kitchen Teale was asleep. Softly she put down the tray she carried. For a long moment she stood looking at him, hungrily studying the familiar features. Then she tiptoed into the bedroom and returned with a thick blanket. Careful not to disturb him, she eased his long legs up on to the sofa and spread the blanket over him. She longed to smooth back the dark hair from his brow, as she had done earlier for his son, but she didn't want to wake him. If she did, he might go, and for just these few hours she wanted him here under the same roof as herself. She wanted to pretend he belonged here, that he belonged to her, even though there was no future in such imaginings.
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