Carver's Bride

by Nicola West

This afternoon, Linzi promised herself, she too would go for a walk up the valley. So far, there hadn't been time. Mornings had been spent in the studio, working with Jason. There was a good deal to do before he actually began the clay model that would be the first stage of the actual sculpture. He was making preliminary drawings and maquettes of her head and limbs. He spent a good deal of time just studying her; asking her for different poses, considering her from all angles. It was curiously intimate, yet Linzi felt no embarrassment. In the studio, they were both professionals. Personal relationships didn't enter into the work they were doing together. It was only away from the old barn with its brilliant lights, its gallery of sculpture and its long workbench, that any strain began to come between them.

  Linzi went into her bathroom to shower, dressing afterwards in the leotard Jason had asked her to wear for work and covering up with jeans and a checked shirt. The final figure was to show her in loose, flowing robes, but Jason was concerned to get the shape underneath before going on to that stage. He said there was no way he could imply what was underneath without actually knowing and building up from that, and Linzi understood this.

  Hugh had just finished setting breakfast when she went down. They were still eating as many meals as possible out on the terrace—September had proved to be unexpectedly warm, an Indian summer after the usual poor English—or Welsh—one. Linzi went out through the patio door, smiling a good-morning at Hugh, and sat down, resting her elbows on the table as she gazed up the valley.

  'You're settling in all right, are you, Miss Berwick?' Hugh asked. 'Jason seems to be very pleased with the way things are going so far.'

  'Yes, I think the work's progressing. And I must admit I love Bron Melyn-—it's so peaceful and beautiful.' She let her eyes rove over the solid, grey building set so firmly in the side of the hill. 'I keep meaning to ask, Hugh— what does the name mean?'

  'It means yellow hillside.' He nodded up the valley, where the smooth slopes of the hill were golden with gorse still. Higher up, the mountain was craggier and purple with heather, the soft amethyst colour merging into the white-flecked blue of the morning sky. Linzi let her eyes rove over the horizon to the shadows of more distant hills, and felt a sudden need to get up there, roam amongst the heather and gorse, to be entirely alone with the rocks and tumbling streams. So far, she had been too tired after the morning's work to think of going far. But today, having become accustomed to the routine, she felt refreshed and ready to tackle something more strenuous.

  'There's Jason,' Hugh remarked suddenly., 'Bracken's had a good walk, by the look of him. That'll keep him settled for the rest of the day.'

  'How long has Jason had Bracken?' Linzi asked idly. She had grown used to the huge Alsatian shadowing Jason wherever he went, and had begun to make friends with him.

  'Two years. He was a police dog, but he had a bad accident—got run down by a motorbike when he was chasing some young thugs in Newport. He had to have an operation and after that he was declared unfit for police work and retired. He hasn't forgotten his training, though.' They both watched as the dog bounded down the last part of the track towards them. 'Jason makes sure he still remembers about keeping to heel when necessary, and all that sort of thing. And he's a marvellous tracker.'

  He' passed Linzi a bowl of grapefruit and she began to eat while he went to fetch coffee. Jason arrived as she poured her first cup, and she glanced at him, thinking how fresh and healthy he looked after his morning walk. He was wearing well-cut jeans today and a dark blue shirt that opened to show his strong, tanned throat and the dark hairs that curled on his chest. He fitted in with the landscape, she thought suddenly; the strength and power that emanated from him seemed to radiate from well. It was a landscape of moods—so far she had only seen it in its sunnier frame of mind, but she knew that there must be times when these mountains were threatening and dark, when the valleys offered little comfort and the rocks gave little shelter. And Jason could be just as frightening, she knew; and shivered as she thought once again that she must not be lulled by the beauty of this gentle September. There was menace under the golden surface; thrilled and excited as she was by the assignment, she must remember that once it was at an end Bron Melyn must be put behind her, for good. She had another life to return to, and nothing must put that at risk.

  Her thoughts brought Richard to her mind and she determined that today she must try to telephone him. She had written the day after she had arrived, of course, but there was no knowing whether he had received her letter. And he might still not even know where she was.

  'Do you mind if I use the phone later?' she asked Jason. 'I'll pay for the call, of course—it will be a foreign one, probably to Germany.'

  Jason raised his eyebrows. 'But of course. This will be to the banker, I take it? Did you say he was in Europe at present?'

  'Yes,' Linzi said shortly, annoyed by the faintly mocking tone. 'He's on a business trip. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to come here, of course.'

  'No?'

  'No,' she answered sharply. 'If Richard hadn't been going abroad, we would probably have brought our wedding forward. There certainly wouldn't have been time for long assignments in the Welsh mountains, even for the famous Jason Carver.'

  'Ah, I see.' His tone was still patronising, and Linzi seethed. 'Of course. Even the famous Jason Carver must take second place to the highly successful Richard Fabian, mustn't he?'

  Linzi looked up and met his eyes. There had been more in that comment than the words alone implied. Tension crackled between them as Hugh appeared with a plate of bacon and eggs for Jason and toast for Linzi. When he had gone, she leaned forward a little and answered the deliberately provocative remark.

  'Yes,' she said quietly, 'he certainly must. In fact, he always has.'

  She held Jason's blue eyes with her own golden-brown ones, and knew that the shaft had gone home. Jason could be in no doubt now that she considered him second-best— in every way. In life—and in love.

  There was a moment's silence. Jason slowly finished his grapefruit, his eyes studying her from under beetling brows. They seemed to look right through her, to strip her of all pretence, to lay bare the real Linzi who trembled in confusion beneath the cool veneer. He'll know more about me than I do myself, she thought wildly, and that seemed indeed to be Jason's opinion top, for after a moment he withdrew his gaze as if satisfied, and reached for his bacon and eggs.

  'That's fine, then,' he said noncommittally. 'By the way, I'd like to get started early this morning if that's all right by you. I've got the foundryman coming later on for some preliminary discussions. Say in half an hour?'

  'Yes, I'll be ready,' she murmured, oddly shaken by the mute encounter that had seemed to be almost a touching of mind to mind. She finished her coffee. 'I'll see you then.'

  For a moment she hesitated, half expecting Jason to detain her in some way. But he merely nodded as he began to slice his bacon, and she went indoors feeling strangely blank.

  Herr Fabian had already left for his meeting, the receptionist in the German hotel told her when Linzi finally got through. He would be back in the evening and would be given her message then, and no doubt he would ring her back.

  Linzi replaced the receiver and turned to see Megan coming through the door, ready to start her morning's cleaning. They smiled at each other; already they had become friends, though there hadn't been much time for talking, as Megan had often already left the house when Jason called a halt to the morning's work. But Linzi instinctively liked the dumpy little Welshwoman; she enjoyed listening to the musical lilt of her voice and had made up her mind that some day she would find time for a good gossip about the mountains that were beginning to take such a grip on her imagination.

  'A lovely morning it is, again,' Megan remarked, putting her coat away and wrapping herself in the overall she used for work. 'I like it to be nice in September. Shortens the winter, see.'

  'I suppose winters can be very bleak here,' said Linzi, glancing through th
e window at the bulk of the hills. 'Do you get much snow?'

  'Oh, we get our share.' Megan began to sort through brooms and dusters. 'Starts early sometimes, too. When it's raining down in Abergavenny, or Monmouth, it's snowing up here. You want to be careful up on them old hills then, Miss Berwick. The weather can change while you blink, and it's never for the better. Don't go up there on your own, look.'

  'Oh, I shan't be here then. I'll be going back to London as soon as Mr Carver's finished with me.' Not the best phrase to use, she thought ruefully, but Megan seemed unaware of any undertones.

  'Yes, I suppose you will.' To Linzi's surprise, Megan sounded almost regretful. 'Seems funny, that, but you've fitted in here so well. Like as if you belonged, in a way. Not like ... oh well.' She turned away; busying herself with the vacuum cleaner.

  'Not like who?' Linzi asked curiously, and Megan hesitated, her round face a little flushed. 'Has Mr Carver had other models staying here?' No reason why he shouldn't, and she'd certainly seen sculptures of the female figure in the studio that must have been done from life. She remembered one head in particular—a small, neat head with pretty features, short, curling hair and, even in bronze, a flirtatious look about the eyes.

  'Not staying, no. You're the first he's had in the house. No, I wasn't meaning a model, Miss Berwick.' She hesitated again and Linzi waited, half ashamed of herself for encouraging Megan to gossip about her employer, yet too intrigued to want to stop her. But before Megan could speak again, Jason himself came through the hall. Megan immediately turned away, her cheeks more rosily flushed than ever, and Linzi sighed a little and moved towards the stairs.

  'Almost ready?' Jason asked abruptly, watching her as she began to go up. 'I want to get quite a bit done this morning before Prosser arrives.'

  'Yes, I'm almost ready—I'll be right down.' And Linzi, still acutely conscious of the eyes that followed her to the top of the open staircase, ran lightly to the top and, thankfully, into her own room.

  Why was it that Jason Carver could always make her feel in the wrong? If only he knew that she was every bit as anxious as he that the work should be finished as quickly as possible—so that she could get away from this dangerous place, and back to the safety of London and Richard's affectionate but undemanding arms.

  The sun was high as Linzi, dressed again in jeans and T-shirt, set off up the valley on the walk she had promised herself. Lunch had been early, letting Jason get back to the studio as soon as Mr Prosser, the foundryman, had arrived to discuss the sculpture. There would be other such talks, Jason had told her; he liked the foundryman to be in right from the start so that no unforeseen snags might occur. The figure was to be made in silicon bronze, for extra strength and lightness, and both this and other technicalities, like the invested mould, master cast and roman joints, all had to be discussed. It was all beyond Linzi and she was glad to leave them to it, although Alun, the young man from Crickhowell who looked after the garden and helped Jason with the hard labour that was so much involved in sculpture, was already hanging on their every word.

  Outside in the lane the hedges were heavy with ripe blackberries, and Linzi picked a few as she walked along, wondering if either Hugh or Megan would use them to make jam. Her mother had often made blackberry and apple jam in the autumn. ... After a few hundred yards, however, the hedges stopped abruptly and Linzi found herself crossing a cattle grid on to the open hillside. And here the terrain was quite different; open moorland, dotted with gorse bushes, and populated by fleecy sheep with black noses, grazing the short springy turf.

  The stream that ran past the house chattered its way down beside the track, creating tiny waterfalls as it slid over rounded boulders brought down by rain and flood. Linzi watched it as she went, noting the mosses and ferns that grew at its edges. She heard a croaking cough from above and looked up quickly to see a large black bird flapping overhead. A raven, probably. And that further speck, wheeling so high and seeming to use its wings more to glide than to fly, must be a buzzard.

  She was high above the house by the time she turned to look back, and it was strange to see it laid out below her, almost like a child's toy. She watched for a while, seeing Hugh come out from the kitchen door and cross to the vegetable garden; thinking of tonight's dinner, no doubt. Then Alun left the studio, followed after a while by Jason and Mr Prosser, who stood gazing at the doors and yard before going back in again. Considering how to get the' figure out, she thought, and realised suddenly what the old man in Crickhowell had meant by 'games' and 'all sorts' going up the track. Of course, it must be quite a spectacle sometimes to see a large, unwieldy sculpture being transported away from such a remote spot. And she remembered again seeing those great figures being manhandled through the streets of St Ives from Barbara Hepworth's studio.

  Turning, Linzi continued on her way up the valley. She was nearing the top now, and eager to see what lay' beyond. As she could have guessed, it was another hill— but as she stood there, the cool breeze lifting her hair, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of pure belonging; as if this were indeed her place, the place where she was meant to be. The wild mountains stretched ahead of her— rounded, flat-topped, conical. She wanted to explore them all, know all their tracks and ways, and not just in summer either. She imagined them in snow, in thunder and hail, and a strange excitement pervaded her body and tingled through her limbs. It was almost like the excitement she'd felt when Jason had kissed her, she thought—and groaned a little at the memory. Why did he have to force his way in everywhere? Couldn't she be free of him, just for one afternoon?

  Linzi sat down on a smooth rock near the edge of the stream. Maybe it would be better if she did let the memories come back? If she took them out and looked at them, they might cease to torment her. After all, she was a different person now. Five years older and—surely— wiser. She might find that she'd been running from shadows all this time.

  For the first time for years she let the morning she had run away from Jason come to the forefront of her mind. It wasn't easy—for a long time she had been pushing it back, afraid of the pain it could cause her. But now, taking a firm grip on herself, she forced herself to remember— everything.

  The first few days-after Jason had proposed had been heaven. All her unhappy tension seemed to have evaporated and she realised that it had been caused largely by insecurity—an insecurity that had begun with her mother's death and come to a head with her father's last illness. Without either of them, she was like a boat with neither rudder nor anchor, drifting helplessly. And the anchor Jason had tried to provide had been too strong her, dragging her under as she floundered desperately to find her own depth.

  Engaged to him, wearing the pearl ring that had been his own mother's engagement ring, she had felt secure for the first time for over two years. But it had been all too short a reassurance.

  She remembered the day the doubts had first begun to creep in. She had been with a girl from the group she usually spent her free time with, although the -girl herself—Cindy—wasn't one of Linzi's close friends. They had met on the beach and were wandering along together, discussing Linzi's engagement and wedding.

  'Will it be a white one?' Cindy asked and, without waiting for an answer: 'I must say, we were all bowled over by the news. My mother says she never thought Jason would marry. A bachelor gay, that's what she called him!'

  'What do you mean?' Linzi stopped and stared at her.

  'Oh, you know—plenty of girls, plenty of fun, nothing serious. Well, I suppose you wouldn't know—you've been away most of the time. But he hasn't lived like a monk, as they say!' And Cindy giggled meaningly.

  Linzi said nothing. She should have realised, she told herself, that Jason would have had girl-friends. But none of them had been in evidence while she was there, and somehow she'd never thought about it. Anyway, it wasn't important—she was the one he was marrying. And she changed the subject to Cindy's own current love-life, a subject of even more absorbing interest to that young lady. />
  But later, the doubts returned. Linzi stood in front of her mirror, staring at the lanky, gawky reflection; lifted the heavy mop of chestnut hair. What could a man like Jason Carver, almost twice her age, see in her? She had told herself he loved her—he must love her, or why else should he be marrying her? And to her dismay there was an answer already in her mind. It was because of that promise he had made to her father—the promise that he would look after her. It was because he had come to the conclusion that marriage was the only way in which he could control her. Love—other than the brother-sister affection they had shared for years—just didn't come into it.

  Once that thought had entered her mind, Linzi found it impossible to get it out. Vainly she sought for proof that Jason did love her. But his affection was as casual as ever. His kisses were tender, but passionless. And in the end, convinced that she was right but knowing he would never admit it or let her go to make her own life, she had panicked. She had realised, blindingly, that however much she loved him, a marriage of this kind could never work, could only result in heartbreak. And with a clear, cruel self-knowledge, she had admitted that she just wasn't mature enough to cope with the problems it would bring. She needed to get away—needed time and space to grow up.

  She had slipped out one morning after he had gone to the studio, knowing that he wouldn't appear again until lunchtime. And by then, she would be far away; swallowed up in the anonymous crowds of London.

  It had been more than fortunate, she thought now, knowing some of the things that could have happened to an entirely inexperienced girl arriving in such circumstances, that she had remembered her old school house-captain, Anna. Otherwise she might well have been going home with her tail between her legs a week or two later. Or even worse. ...

  'So this is where you've got to!' Linzi started violently and looked up with a feeling of inevitability at the tall figure that loomed above her. 'Hugh told me you'd come up here. But he wouldn't have known if he hadn't seen you on the track. I suppose it didn't occur to you to let anyone know where you were going?'