‘I’m going to have a marquee out the back for music and dancing.’
‘You’re going to make it a party?’
‘It was Den’s idea because it’s our birthday on the exhibition day. What does everyone do when they’ve looked at the artwork and had a bite to eat? If I’m not careful, everyone will have left after an hour. Den came up with the bright idea of extending the night with dancing and I thought, why not? That way everyone can walk in and out, looking at the paintings and prints more than once.’
‘Very clever. They won’t want to leave.’
He laughed. ‘That’s the idea.’
Tess was relieved to see him laughing and the colour return to his cheeks. Thank goodness he had this project to keep him busy.
‘What an amazing house and garden to grow up in. No wonder you didn’t want to move.’
‘I’ll never sell The Rookery. I’m here for the rest of my life. There’s nowhere else I want to be. I’ve seen a lot of the world and still want to see a lot more, but I’ll always come back here. All the memories I have of my parents are here, living in every room. That lawn,’ he said pointing out of the window, ‘played a big part of my childhood. It was my ocean, my sky and my racetrack. I learnt to ride a bike on it. The bushes were my caves and dungeons and the trees were my flying machines, or dinosaurs I rode on the backs of.’
‘I wish I’d known you then. It would have been fun playing kings and princesses.’
‘Ha! There were no princesses in my games. My games were macho and all about saving the universe.’
They grew relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company.
‘Come and see my work. It’s in my studio.’
Tess followed him back through the dining room and up the staircase. Her eyes couldn’t take everything in at once. At the top of the stairs, a large landing had six doors leading off it. The staircase continued to curve up to a second floor, but Daniel opened the first door and held it open for her. They exchanged smiles as she passed him.
The room was high and light, despite the walls being painted a rich dark plum above waist height. The lower half was covered in stylish Art Nouveau pressed paper, with Tudor roses on long stems, the colour of whipped cream. A bitter chocolate leather settee edged one wall and an easel and desk stood by the window. Canvasses leant against the far wall and the room smelt of oil paint.
‘This used to be my father’s study. He was an architect. I feel close to him when I’m working in the same room.’
‘It must be very comforting.’ Tess wandered over to the canvasses propped up against each other. ‘Are all your paintings in oil?’
‘No, not all of them. I do some work on my Mac and then print it. I do a little watercolour, but I’ll never be as good as Mum was. Why don’t you have a look at some of those while I see if I’ve got any emails.’
Tess knelt down on the floor. She reached for the first painting. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to see, but her smile was soon replaced by open-mouthed awe. She’d presumed they might have been modern stylish pieces with streaks and dashes of vibrant colour, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.
A river scene depicting a woman waist deep in water caught her attention. She could feel the heat of the summer sun on the woman’s warm damp skin. The luminosity of her skin must have been captured with a glaze of some sort. Tess could almost smell the river and hear the hushing of the water over the shallow gravel on the riverbank. She tried not to think who the woman could be. This wasn’t the time for jealousies to interrupt her private viewing.
The next painting was of a cityscape, silhouetted against a night sky full of stars. Another was an oil painting of elegant Cypress trees, clinging to a steep hillside that sloped towards the sea. A portrait of an old lady took Tess’s breath away. It depicted poverty, tears, dirt and tragedy. The background resembled a post-apocalyptic landscape, barren and infertile. Daniel had captured her raw emotion as if it were a photograph.
Canvas after canvas revealed snow capped mountains, verdant forests, lush vineyards, children playing, people suffering. Each painting told a story with atmospheric intensity, their hues, tones and textures drawing the eye to particular areas of the picture. Dimly lit backgrounds showed figures in the foreground, bathed in sunlight. Mountains which were shadowed in the deepest greys and mauves on one side, exploded with whites and lemons on the sunlit side of the rock face. Bands of paint in a juxtaposition of vibrant colours, all painted in perfect perspective, made Tess shake her head in admiration. She pored over many more prints, paintings and sketches, amazed at Daniel’s imagination and talent.
Daniel interrupted her silence as he was unscrewing the lens cap from his camera. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re incredibly talented. They make me smile, they make me think and they make me want to empty my piggy bank and buy them all.’
‘Right answer.’
Tess spotted a cabinet stuffed full of comics. There were so many that the doors wouldn’t close properly. ‘I’m curious about this huge pile of comics over here.’
Click! Daniel took her photograph.
‘Hey, I didn’t say cheese,’ protested Tess.
‘Photographs are so much better if they’re not posed.’
‘Anyway, stop changing the subject and explain these comics.’
‘It’s a bit embarrassing really. You’ve found my Achilles heel. I collected The Dandy for more years than I care to remember.’
‘You’re an anorak! A bona fide collector.’
‘Hey, don’t knock my namesake.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘You don’t know that Desperate Dan lives inside The Dandy?’
Tess giggled. ‘Was he the one who had big muscles and ate lots of cabbage?’
‘Now you’re really showing yourself up. That was Popeye and he ate spinach. But Desperate Dan had muscles all right. He could lift a cow with one hand and his beard was so tough he had to shave with a blowtorch. He didn’t eat vegetables. He ate cow pie with horns sticking out of them. Desperate Dan was a real man.’
‘Thank you for enlightening me. Tell me, how is Desperate Dan these days?’
‘Like most things, the political correctness police have got hold of him. He’s been told to calm down and turn vegetarian.’
‘No! Seriously?’
‘He’s not allowed to eat cow pie any more. I’m guessing it’s because of the new trend for healthy eating and cutting obesity and all the medical problems that goes with it. I bet mad cow disease had a lot to do with cutting it out of his diet and the comic as well.’
‘They’ll have him training to be a social worker next.’
Daniel laughed and turned off his computer. ‘Are you hungry?’
Tess realised she was feeling a little hungry and looked at her watch. ‘It’s nearly twelve. I can’t believe I’ve been here nearly two hours.’
‘You know what they say. Time flies when you’re having fun.’
Tess was having fun. She felt happy and relaxed sharing Daniel’s private world.
‘How about scrambled eggs on a toasted English muffin?’ he asked.
‘Do you have any cow pie?’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tess’s day at The Rookery continued to pass in a happy blur. She and Daniel had eaten lunch together and shared memories about their lives and travels. For the past twenty minutes they’d been walking with the dogs in the house’s beautiful back garden and enjoying the unseasonably mild day. They walked in an easy silence, winding their way towards the far end of the garden.
A light aircraft droned overhead and sheep bleated in a distant field. Birds sang high in the trees and a white butterfly, enjoying the last heat of the day, danced in front of them. The area of the garden where they were now walking had been left to grow semi wild. Looking over a fence at the end of Daniel’s land, they stood and watched caramel-coloured cows chewing grass and wafting flies away with their tails. In the distance,
behind the cows and high in the sky, a white hot air balloon drifted silently in the air streams, resembling an impatient moon.
‘It’s lovely it’s so mild today after the recent chilly weather,’ she said with a sigh, leaning on the mossy fence. ‘It can’t stay like this for long now it’s October. It always used to rain when I dressed up on Halloween evenings to go trick or treating.’
‘What did you dress up as? It’s something I never did.’
‘You’re joking! You don’t know what you missed. One year I was a witch with a green face but I was frightened of my own reflection. So the year after that I was an orange pumpkin. Stop it. I looked great.’ Tess playfully thumped his arm as he bent double holding his sides laughing. Goya and Gogh ran excitedly in circles around them.
‘You wouldn’t laugh if you’d seen the treasure I collected. If you’d seen the mountain of Haribos, sherbet fountains, fizzy snakes and flying saucers I took home, you’d soon be pulling your orange tights on.’
‘I’m sure I would.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘You must dig out some photographs for me.’
Tess couldn’t quite believe that she was spending the whole day getting to know Daniel. She hadn’t felt this relaxed and happy for a long time. Secretly she was studying every laughter line around his eyes, the tan flecks in his irises, the sexy prominent bone on his wrist and his long slim artistic fingers. She’d felt the occasional pang of guilt because she’d purposefully left her phone back at Rose Cottage, just in case Blake had decided to ring and apologise for his behaviour last night. How was she to have known that she’d be spending the whole day with Daniel?
‘Let’s go back this way,’ said Daniel, pointing to a copse of trees. ‘This is the orchard. The trees are breaking under the weight of apples but I’ve only picked a few dozen. They’re past their best now. I usually take several boxes across to the pub, but I’ve been too busy this year with the exhibition.’
‘Is that why a ladder’s propped against that tree?’
‘No, I just like climbing trees.’
Tess looked at Daniel who winked back. ‘It really wouldn’t have surprised me,’ she said with a giggle.
‘Are you saying I’m childish?’
‘Stop!’ Tess yelled. ‘Don’t walk under it. Seven years bad luck, or is that breaking a mirror?’
‘I’m not superstitious, are you?’
‘No. Touch wood!’
‘Do you think some people believe that touching wood really stops bad things from happening?’
‘Some people do. Why?’
Daniel breathed in and opened his mouth to speak but exhaled noisily instead.
‘What?’ asked Tess.
Daniel shook his head. ‘It’s crazy. I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.’
‘I won’t, honestly.’
‘It’s nothing. Really.’
Tess looked at him and raised her eyebrows questioningly. She smiled gently to encourage him to continue.
‘Promise not to think I’m a mad man and run away?’
‘Promise.’
‘I… no, this is ridiculous. I can’t. Let’s change the subject.’
‘What can be so bad that you can’t speak about it?’
Daniel’s expression changed, but Tess couldn’t read its meaning. ‘Let’s sit over there and I’ll try to explain.’
Tess followed him to a wooden bench beneath a pear tree. They sat down a few inches apart. Daniel was hunched forwards on the edge of the seat with his hand squeezed together between his knees. He turned to face her.
‘It’s not a superstition as such.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘What I did. What I do.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He rubbed his palms together, making a shushing sound. ‘Shit,’ he said, ruefully.
Tess remained quiet and let him take his time.
‘I count things.’
‘Count?’
‘Yes. I count things. Three times. I can’t stop myself. I’m not crazy. You think I’m crazy, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Really, you’re not just humouring me?’
‘Daniel! I’m not humouring you?’
‘I’m not as bad as I used to be. I just need to do some things three times.’
‘Like what? Give me an example.’
‘I pick up the third newspaper in a pile. I check I’ve locked the door three times. Lather my hands with soap three times, choose the third carton of milk at the shops, check the lights three times… I could go on. I’ve managed to stop doing several repetitions over the years, but some things I need to continue doing. You probably hadn’t even noticed. It’s not something that looks out of the ordinary. I suppose you’d call it a private addiction.’
‘Have you done it since you were a child?’
‘No.’
‘Can you remember when it started?’
‘Shortly after my parents died. It made me feel safer; more in control of mine and Den’s destiny.’ He shrugged. ‘So much for that hypothesis. Look at Den now, diagnosed with cancer. I’ve been thinking since yesterday, that maybe I brought it on because I stopped counting to three on some occasions. As I’m saying the words to you, I can hear that they sound ridiculous, but maybe that’s what caused the cancer.’
‘Have you spoken to someone professional about it?’
‘Christ, you do think I’m mad.’
Tess placed her hand on his. ‘I know you’re not mad. It sounds like an obsessive compulsion. I’ve seen a documentary about it on the television. Some people can’t touch anything without scrubbing their hands and some people have to check that the gas is off hundreds of times a day. It can ruin lives if it gets out of hand without professional help.’
‘I suppose I’m lucky, then. I could be obsessed with the number thirty-three. What sort of help do you mean? A psychiatric hospital?’
‘No. Nothing that drastic. You ought to see your doctor and he’ll arrange an appointment to see someone. Sometimes it just helps to talk. Have you told anyone else?’
‘I told Den shortly after it started but I’ve never mentioned it since.’
‘Do you have any idea why you count to three over any other number?’
‘I don’t want a third accident to happen.’
‘A third one?’
Daniel held his head in his hands and gripped clumps of hair in his fists. ‘Sean.’
‘A friend?’
‘An ex-friend.’
Tess spoke softly. ‘What happened to him?’
‘It was my fault.’
Tess didn’t answer. She waited for him to continue in his own time.
‘Sean Connors was my best friend since the age of five,’ said Daniel. ‘He’d been paired with me at school, you know, to show him the ropes. I’d been there a term and new kids were coupled with older kids. We became inseparable.’
Daniel appeared to drift off into a painful distant memory, his eyes staring sightlessly into the distance. Tess waited patiently. He cleared his throat and shook his head as if trying to dislodge the heavy burden of guilt that was weighing him down. He subconsciously rubbed his scarred temple and continued.
‘Sean was a fantastic artist. It was because the two of us stuck together like glue, that I went with him to galleries and evening art classes and discovered that I’d inherited my mother’s talent for painting.’ Daniel wafted his hand in the air as if dismissing an irrelevant idea. ‘My stuff was child’s play compared to Mum and Sean’s work. Sixteen years ago, on bonfire night, I wanted to skip an evening class and go to a firework party. He wanted to go to the class and finish a painting.’ Daniel took a deep juddering breath.
Tess almost believed that he’d forgotten she was sitting there. His thoughts and visions were in another time, another place.
‘I suggested we tossed a coin. I won. We caught the bus to the bonfire.’ Ten long seconds of silence passed. ‘A firework shot sideways into the crowd. It hit Sean’s face.’
/>
Goosebumps spread down Tess’s arms and neck like a rash. She slowly lifted her hand to cover her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to comprehend the immense misplaced culpability that Daniel must be feeling.
‘He lost an eye. I did that to him. He might only have been blinded in one eye, but I killed his future as an artist. All I got was this burn which healed.’ Daniel rubbed his scar.
Tess knew that his physical injury had healed, but his psychological wound was still sore and open. ‘Where is he now? Do you keep in touch?’
Daniel looked up at her. He was pale and drawn. ‘I visited the hospital every day for the first few weeks he was there. When Sean left hospital his family sold up and moved to America. They had family there so moved to be with them. We were inseparable for eleven years and then he was gone.’
Tess turned towards him and held both of his hands in hers. ‘Listen to me. Look at me. Terrible things happen to wonderful people every day. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. The coin could have come down on the other side and an accident could have happened in the art class. Would you have let Sean blame himself? And listen, Daniel.’ She gently shook his hands to make sure he was listening. ‘From my point of view, you’d already had three tragedies, not two. Your mother. Your father. And Sean.’
He looked deep into her eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘So Den’s illness is a fourth negative thing to happen, not third. None of this is your fault. It’s just life. It can be cruel sometimes.’
Tess could see his mind whirring with this fresh look from a new perspective. She continued, eager to un-crease a few more frown lines from his brow. ‘Blake is suffering with cancer just like Den, so you must stop thinking that something you have, or haven’t done, has caused Den’s illness. Every day people wake up without a care in the world, and by the time the sun sets on the day, they or a loved one have discovered that they’re sick. It’s out of our hands, Daniel. The luck of the draw. No matter what number you count to, it won’t alter people’s destinies.’
You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story! Page 16