The Chainmakers

by Helen Spring

  'Oh look Robert... it's like... like...'

  Her words trailed away on the slight breeze. It was not like anything, she thought, not like anything she had ever seen or imagined.

  'It's... beautiful, but so... strange...'

  'Yes.' Robert had visited the Rose Granite coast several times before, but the first sight of the bizarre landscape always disturbed him. 'I sometimes think that perhaps the surface of the moon is something like this,' he ventured.

  'Of course not!' Anna had recovered and was starting to jump with excitement. 'The moon is made of green cheese, everyone knows that!' She started to run, calling 'Come on Robert, down here...'

  Robert followed with the picnic basket, watching Anna as she clambered blithely among the rocks, making her way towards the sea. For a moment he considered painting her here, against this background of weathered granite, the softness against... No, she must be seen against the greens of the countryside, these hard shapes would destroy what he intended, and anyone who observed the finished picture would not believe such a place existed, and would misinterpret his intention.

  Anna had climbed up on to the top of a high boulder. 'Look there Robert! That one looks as if it is balancing on a point!'

  Robert laughed. 'It probably is. If you pushed it perhaps it would topple over.'

  He watched surprise and indecision struggle briefly in her face before she responded 'Oh! Stop teasing. But it does look as if it would topple.'

  'The sea has worn the granite away over the years so that there is only that small point left to hold it up.' Robert explained.

  'What happens when the point is worn away completely? Will the boulder just roll down into the sea?'

  'I shouldn't think so. It will happen very gradually.' Robert put down the basket. 'Come and sit down Anna, this flat rock will be ideal for the picnic.'

  As she clambered down from her vantage point he glimpsed a slender ankle, a froth of white cambric lace, and as she neared the bottom a vision of beautifully rounded calf.

  He felt the familiar stirring and smiled at her gently as she began to unpack the basket. Gently does it, he told himself. Like the sea had worn away the granite, so he would wear away her reserve, her rigid working class conception of right and wrong, the values she had absorbed because she had no others. He would show her new ways of thinking, open her up to passion, to transports she had never dreamed of... she was already half way there if last night was anything to go by.

  'I honestly think I will miss Therese's pâté more than anything else in France,' Anna said. She cut a big slice and passed it to him on a plate. She sawed at the bread, speared a thick chunk on the end of the knife and held it out to him. 'I never tasted it before I came here you know,' she confessed, helping herself to a slice.

  'There are lots of things you have never done Anna,' Robert said gently.

  'I know. I certainly was never at a place like this.' She spread pâté on her bread, took a bite and chewed contentedly, gazing around her all the while. 'That boulder... will it fall eventually?' she asked. 'Will the sea wear it away in the end?'

  'Oh yes,' Robert said quietly. He smiled. 'Eventually it will fall. You can bank on it.'

  ~

  Anna was restless. Her eyes roved the beach below, watching idly the antics of two small children, as they dug happily in the sand pools left by the receding tide. She wondered vaguely where the children lived, and let her gaze wander beyond the beach, to the few small cottages which straggled out from the village. Perhaps they lived in one of those, or in Locquirec itself. She craned forward but still could not see the village, hidden beyond the high rising cliff.

  'Keep still please Anna.' Robert said briefly.

  Anna started back into position quickly. She had been sitting in this spot for hours on end, day after day, and although she was becoming a little stiff she had not tired of the view. How extraordinary to live here, she mused, watching the children playing in the sand. They had been brought up in the centre of so much beauty, freshness and freedom. She could not help but compare their surroundings to those of her own childhood, when the escape to clean air and fun had been once a year on the day of the Chapel outing. Did these children know how lucky they were? Probably not, any more than she had known how meagre and poverty stricken was her own childhood. It had been how things were, that was all, and in the same way these children took Locquirec and its surroundings for granted.

  Surely it could not be much longer until lunch? Trying not to move her head she glanced sideways at Robert. She felt again the peculiar intense feeling in her stomach, as she watched the assiduous concentration on his face as he worked. Such a beautiful face, she thought, anyone who gets to know him must surely love him as I do. She loved his thick untidy eyebrows, his aristocratic nose, and the plane of his cheekbones which she knew so well from long study. And his lips, so sensual when he laughed, so inviting even when pressed firmly together in painstaking application, as they were now. And his body, his long lean body which she found herself watching each day, devouring every movement with her eyes...

  'Not long now my sweet.'

  The long body moved, brush in mid air, as he contemplated the canvas.

  Anna dragged her eyes back to the view, and a faint blush coloured her cheeks. He had called her "my sweet", surely that meant something? Or perhaps it didn't. Although she could remember little of the night at the farmhouse when she had drunk too much, she knew she had behaved disgracefully, kissing Robert in a very forward manner. She also understood he had enjoyed it as much as she did. Since that day he had never made a move towards her, and yet sometimes she felt, in that strange current which seemed to pass between them, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. If that was so why did he not take her in his arms? Why did he not sweep her away and make love to her, give her the kisses she needed so desperately? In the last two weeks they had become so close, so intimate, but without touching so that it was driving her mad. In another few weeks they would be going to Paris, and their time together would surely be curtailed.

  'There, we'll break for lunch.' Robert began to wipe his brush. 'I won't pack everything away, we can have lunch here. Tell you what,' he continued as Anna stretched her stiff limbs, 'Let's move round the corner, into that little hollow we found the day it was so windy. It was very sheltered.'

  'It's not windy today,' Anna countered 'And we can't see the sea from there.' Nevertheless she followed Robert as he picked up the basket and walked a little further up the steep hillside.

  Robert spread the rug in the hollow and Anna unpacked the basket. As usual Therese had done them proud, with a selection of cheeses and fruit and a Breton patisserie. Robert opened a bottle of wine and as they enjoyed their lunch they relaxed into the easy familiarity which had grown between them.

  Anna was never sure afterwards exactly how it happened. As he reached across to the picnic basket, Robert's arm brushed her breast lightly. She stiffened, as he murmured briefly 'Sorry.' In that second their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, and a moment later she was in his arms, responding to his kisses with abandon, trying to slake the thirst for him which had been denied too long. Her need aroused in her a passion which shook her body through in its intensity, and when he released her at last, she was gasping and breathless.

  'My dearest, my little darling...' Robert whispered. He stroked her face tenderly, and in his eyes Anna saw the look of burning desire and felt her heart leap.

  'Oh Robert...' She could not speak, the words would not come.

  Robert kissed her face gently, her eyes, cheeks and neck. His lips caressed her shoulders as his hands moved over her body, fondling, caressing and arousing in her a tumultuous wave of desire, a craving which could not be denied.

  Even so there was a moment when she desisted, when her mind sought to gain dominance and she gasped 'We must not... we must not...'

  Robert drew back, and she saw the tortured look as he whispered 'If you do not love me...?'


  'Of course I do! Oh Robert, you know how much I do...'

  'And I love you, so much my darling. Let me show you how much, we must always be like this, must always be together...' His kiss drowned any protest, and Anna gave herself up to the voluptuous enjoyment he gave her, his practised hands rousing her to such a crescendo of passion that when he entered her there was only a fleeting second of sharp pain, before she was lost in an ever mounting symphony of feeling which swept her to unimagined bliss.

  ~

  Terese was harassed, it had been a hard day. There seemed no end to the items which had to be completed and crossed off her list. It wasn't just the packing of their trunks. La Maison Blanche was to be closed up for at least a month, as Therese was to accompany the group to the Paris house to act as cook, the artists having decided that to enjoy her food for another few weeks was well worth the expenses of her trip. This arrangement suited Therese very well, as she had a sister living in Paris and would be able to visit her for a few days. Even so, closing up the house entailed a lot of work. She had organised the meals so that food could be either finished up or taken with them, arranged for her friend Albertine to come and feed the livestock each day... and she must leave the place clean...

  She looked up from wiping the larder shelves as Anna appeared in the kitchen. Mon Dieu, she thought, the girl looks younger and lovelier every day. Therese was no fool and was well aware of the reason. It's amazing, she thought, what love can do for the complexion.

  'Hello Therese, still at it? Well I'm ready, all packed, and I've cleaned my room and Robert's.'

  It was on the tip of Therese's tongue to say 'I expect more than cleaning 'as been going on in Monsieur Robert's room', but Anna smiled her lovely open smile, and Therese bit back the retort and said, 'The kitchen floor is to be clean... then I must prepare for myself... I still 'ave not find my clothes to take to Paris...'

  'Oh Therese, aren't you excited? I am. To think of us going to Paris! The only sad thing is leaving here...' Anna looked round the large comfortable kitchen with affection. She knew the memory of La Maison Blanche would remain with her. She had been happier here than ever in her life...

  'Poof!' Therese was saying. 'Excited for going to Paris? What is Paris? Nothing! And those Parisiens... they 'ave much money to waste but are so... so...'

  'Stingy.' Anna supplied the word, well aware of Therese's views on Parisiens. 'Or mean, you can say mean.'

  'Yes, mean.' Therese agreed. 'They will not give you the drip off the nose!'

  Anna laughed. 'Go upstairs now Therese and pack your things. I will do the floor,' she added, seeing Therese was about to remonstrate. 'You have done enough for today. When the floor is dry I will make us a nice cup of tea.'

  Therese nodded, but at the door she turned. 'Coffee,' she said firmly.

  'Tea,' Anna responded, just as firmly. 'There is enough to make a last pot.'

  Therese scowled, and left the room muttering 'Les Anglais! Le thé, toujours le thé!'

  Anna smiled, she enjoyed their little arguments about tea versus coffee. She fetched the floor bucket and began to wash the floor. It was a good floor of dark stone tiles and came up well. She was reminded of the quarry floor in the kitchen at High Cedars, although of course that was red. There were a few quarry floors in the better houses in Sandley Heath, although her mother had never enjoyed the luxury of such a floor at home, in fact there probably wasn't a quarry floor at all in Dawkins Street.

  What was she thinking of? Where was her mind wandering? She was not going to think of Sandley Heath. The old life was far away, and she would never return to it. Her life had changed so completely since she came to France that she knew she could never again be comfortable in the restrictive poverty of her home. But then, had she ever been comfortable there? She realised she had not. Until she came to La Maison Blanche she had never known what it was to be at ease, to be free, to have fun. At High Cedars she had seen something of the sheer delight of conversation with intelligent people, as they pitted their wits against each other in argument, and it was the same here. Every evening she listened to the artists as they debated every subject under the sun over their dinner and wine. She listened, she learned, and she loved it.

  A frown crossed Anna's brow as she finished the floor and surveyed her work. She would have to write to Clancy, and her father, and to Will. She had sent a few letters home, letters of the kind they would expect to receive, letters which gave no information other than assurances about her health and comments on the weather.

  She went out to the yard to empty the floor bucket. The sun was strong and warm on her face and arms and she stopped a moment, trying to draw to herself the character of this lovely place. She wanted to keep it, to fix in her memory forever the warmth of the old pink stone, the noisy clucking of the hens and the cheerfulness of the small flower bed, the scent of Therese's herb garden.

  Would she ever return here? Surely she would. Robert had spent his summers here for some time, and her life was undoubtedly bound up with him for ever. She felt a little thrill of happiness at the thought. For the last two weeks they had made love any way and anywhere they could, any place they happened to be. In Robert's room or in hers, having crept along the landing trying not to make the floorboards creak. They had made love with ever increasing passion and variety, in the hayloft and in the fields, in the woodlands under the trees, and yesterday they had taken a last picnic to the hillside overlooking the beach near Locquirec, and had found the little hollow they both remembered with affection. Impressions of their passion filled Anna's mind, and she hugged her secret joy to herself with delight.

  For a moment she wondered with a degree of apprehension what Florence would make of their love, but quickly decided Robert's mother would probably be delighted, she had after all spoken of Anna as 'one of the family'.

  She returned to the kitchen and put the teapot to warm, smiling to herself. Eventually she would get Therese to admit she liked tea in the afternoon.

  PARIS

  The grey stone tower of Notre Dame seemed ethereal in the moonlight, as the boat wound its way slowly down the Seine. As Sylvie had declined to join them Anna found herself sandwiched between Alphonse and Jacques near the stern, and gazed around her in rapturous enjoyment. She still could not get used to the beauty of the city, for she had not realised until she came to Paris that it was possible for a city to be beautiful. In her experience the more buildings there were, the more ugly and dirty the place became. Jacques had tried to explain to her that many parts of Paris were indeed filthy, poor and overcrowded, but Anna did not wish to listen.

  'I believe you,' she told him, 'But I do not wish to see those parts. I know what they will be like. Where we are living now is so lovely, the trees, and the museums and galleries, and the Tuileries Gardens...'

  Her enthusiasm for the city had touched his heart, and because Robert had been busy much of the time Jacques had taken upon himself the duty of escorting Anna to several places she wished to see. To his surprise he had found himself involved in a personal journey of rediscovery, seeing Paris through Anna's fresh and enthusiastic eyes. Most of all she delighted in the spacious elegance of the large town house the artists had taken for a month, and Jacques often caught sight of her examining a piece of furniture or fabric, or even a kitchen implement, with undisguised curiosity and appreciation.

  He smiled now, as Anna tugged his arm, pointing at the squat tower of Notre Dame. She chatted happily, spilling out details of the long climb the day before, when she had persuaded Therese to join her in braving the steps and their own fright, to see the big bell and the view from the top.

  'From here you can hardly see the gargoyles,' she bubbled, 'Look, at the top... there on the corner... I stood right next to that one and gave him a hug. He was so deliciously ugly!'

  She sighed with contentment, recalling the fun of the ugly faces and strange shapes, the wonderful view over the city and the joy of feeling you were at the top of the world. She turned to J
acques confidentially.

  'Jacques, do you know what was the best memory of all?'

  'What?' he said gravely, his eyes twinkling above the huge bush of beard.

  'When we were up there, right at the top looking at the view, I suddenly could smell lavender. It was impossible but I could smell it. Therese could smell it too. Then we realised what it was. There was a lavender seller on the square in front of the church, he had a big cart piled high with it, and the scent was wafting up, all that way to the top.'

  'I see, and that was your best memory?'

  'It was... I can't explain. It was... touching, the scent of lavender up so high...'

  'And the church itself, didn't impress you?'

  'The building, yes of course. So old, and so beautiful. But inside...' Anna giggled as if slightly ashamed. 'It's a bit... a bit... over decorated... you must remember I am a Chapel person, we do not agree with ornamentation, I felt quite strange in there... quite wicked!'

  'Really? How dull Chapel must be!'

  'No it isn't.' Anna responded seriously. 'We do not believe in praying to pictures and statues like the Catholics, we only pray direct to God, from our hearts.'

  Jacques, who had been brought up a Catholic, felt it his duty to defend the Faith. 'We don't worship pictures Anna, or statues either. They are symbols, that is all.'

  'Pictures and statues don't mean anything,' she replied. 'They are not God.'

  'Of course not. But I can't agree they mean nothing.' Seeing she did not understand he continued, 'Have you ever had your photograph taken Anna?'

  'No,' she said, mystified. 'But I have seen photographs.'

  'Well, imagine you have a photograph of someone, a person you love dearly, your mother perhaps.'

  'Oh yes! I always wished I had a photograph of mother...'

  'Imagine you have. It is in a nice frame on a chest in your home, where you see it every day. It is a comfort and a reminder. One day someone comes to your house, picks up the photograph, takes it from the frame and tears it into pieces. How would you feel?'