by Allan, Gilli
‘I don’t see why not. But, for goodness sake, if there isn’t enough money to do everything, you’ve still got your job. I could even set up a company importing that painted folk furniture from Eastern Europe to sell online! You said there’s loads of it out there.’ Her enthusiasm was electric. For a moment he was too stunned to make a coherent response. His eyes were captivated by her smiling face, the way the sun haloed her hair.
And yet, even as she talked with such enthusiasm, an increasingly cold conviction was born in on him. He knew now, with utter certainty, that he loved her, but …
‘You once said you wanted to set up a sexual health clinic here?’
‘What a mad idea that was. There are plenty of specialist clinics. I don’t need to join the fray. Even my own Health Trust has plans in place to establish a dedicated HIV one-day testing centre. That’s if the changes to the health service don’t pull the plug. Doing this will be far more fun.’
He stared at her. It was blindingly obvious that she saw him as a puzzle, a problem to be solved, and she was the one to do it. Stefan Novak had become her latest project. And it wasn’t just her time and expertise she wanted to invest. The arts centre idea had the benefit of killing several birds with one stone – an interesting business venture, a framework for sorting out his life, and a stake in the house she’d always wanted. He found it hard to show gratitude. Even if everything she’d outlined was a runaway success, could he bear to live next door to her? To have her involved with every aspect of his life when he knew her heart was invested elsewhere?
His voice had become flat. ‘You really love this place, don’t you?’
Chapter Fifty - Dory
Of course it was up to him what he did with his house. He didn’t need her permission. He was a free agent. But no matter how frequently she told herself to stop being so foolish, she couldn’t shake off the sense that she’d lived through a potentially life-changing moment, but had somehow failed the test. Instead of grasping the baton that fate seemed to offer, she’d fumbled and dropped it. Life had to go on. Classes came and went. They’d been civil to one another, even casually friendly, but the loss of what had seemed within her grasp now infected her view of the future with a dull ache of disappointment.
On this, the last lesson of the summer term, there was talk about who was continuing with the class. Everyone, it seemed, apart from her and Dominic.
‘You’ll be starting your Access Course at the college?’ she said to the lad. His answering smile was transforming. She’d hardly ever seen it before. He favoured the moody glower of his heavy metal heroes, perhaps because a smile made him look younger. Despite his thinness, the long hair, and the studs and spikes piercing his face, he was a handsome boy.
‘I’ve had a … a conditional offer.’ He said the word carefully, as if it was unfamiliar to him.
‘You’ll get the credits you need. No question.’ She smiled back at him. ‘And by the way, it seems as if my niece is going to the local college as well. She’s doing A-level retakes. You’ll have to look out for her. Long, blonde …’
‘I know Mel. She’s cool.’
Everyone was packing up their equipment, un-sticking their work from the drawing boards, spraying them with fixative, unpeeling the masking tape. Fran, who’d had a dramatic revival of her usual ebullience, was rounding up like-minded people to go for lunch. Michael gave Fran a thumbs up. He now approached Stefan. Dory crossed her fingers. She’d done all she could to set up a business meeting between the two. She hoped this was the opening overture. She wondered if either would tell her the outcome.
‘You are coming too, aren’t you, Dory?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We have to celebrate the end of the year.’
‘I can’t believe you’re not coming back next term. You’ve enjoyed it so much. You’ve done so well …’ Fran followed her glance towards Stefan, who was still talking to Michael. Obviously aware that something had happened between her sister and Stefan, Fran had cross-questioned her every time they’d seen one another over the last few weeks. But Dory had resisted an explanation – she couldn’t face the post mortem. ‘Whatever happened, you shouldn’t let bloody old Teach put you off!’
‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ Dory lied. ‘I’ve other things to do with my life. I may even take on another day at the clinic.’ She picked up her art bag and braced her shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s get this stuff packed away and go for lunch. Who else is coming?’ Though too far away to hear, Stefan glanced over with a slight frown.
The sequence of events that led to sharing Stefan’s bed now seemed scarcely credible to Dory. If only the ball had stopped rolling there. Instead, their night together was overshadowed by the devastating shock he’d delivered the next morning, and then their furious row. What was it Fran had said – despair and elation? That night had been elation followed by despair. His invitation to visit him a few days later had given her hope that there was something to salvage. For once, and without a shadow of doubt, she’d known what she wanted to do with her life and who she wanted to do it with. And she’d given it her best shot, pitching her ideas to him with all the enthusiasm she could muster, but without success.
Left with a bleak sense of lost opportunity and failure, she cross-questioned herself. Could she have done more? Was there a different angle she should have tried, other than to tell him she loved him, of course? But that was an admission too far. There was no space for a woman in his life; he’d made that plain enough. She believed he liked her, that he was even fond of her. There was a strong physical attraction between them. In his mind, presumably, that had been ‘just sex’. But he wanted nothing more from her. There would be no second chance. Her disappointment was fathomless.
Still, a part of her had hoped, against all the evidence, that once she explained her commitment to him and to the promotion of his career, he might open up a space for her in his life. It hadn’t happened. He hadn’t become angry this time – in fact, he’d listened attentively, had seemed intrigued, as if for moment, he might have gone along with it. But in the end he’d closed the door firmly on everything she suggested. He’d said he’d made up his mind. There was no going back. The lure of the money was just too strong.
The boot of her car was open. Dory dumped her bag inside and laid her drawings across the back shelf. Fran was parked in a different row and was chatting and laughing with Rachel. ‘I like your car.’
Dory jumped. Dom had approached silently. He may have become a lot less self-conscious over the last few months but he still hardly ever initiated a conversation. Yet it seemed he’d deliberately followed her.
‘It’s a cool colour … that yellow,’ he went on.
‘I’d have thought you’d prefer black,’ Dory suggested with a smile.
‘For myself. Yeah. One of those in black. Stefan’s going to give me lessons.’ He said it with the same casual acceptance that Mel had in response to Fran and Peter making her the same offer. Part of being a child, Dory thought. Unquestioningly taking for granted everything your parents do for you. Probably the way it should be. Except that Stefan wasn’t Dom’s father, but had gradually taken on those responsibilities. Dom sniffed, and seemed about to say something else. She waited.
‘Look, I don’t want to interfere, but …’ His cheeks ballooned as he puffed out a breath. ‘Stefan is, like, really gutted about … you know.’ Dom looked up at the sky. He grimaced and scratched his head. ‘… everything.’
‘Dom?’ Dory’s pulse had started to quicken. What was this all about? Was he Stefan’s emissary?
‘Yeah?’ Dom slotted his hands into his back pockets and looked down at his biker boots. ‘Look, he didn’t put me up to this. But I kind of thought …’ He looked up at her sideways. ‘Like, maybe he’s got the wrong end of the stick or something.’
Her hand came up to cover her mouth. She felt tears of hope, excitement, fear, she didn’t know which or why, prickling her eyes.
‘What are you sayi
ng, Dom?’ Her voice sounded high and thready. He sighed deeply. Poor boy, he’d put himself through enough just raising this subject with her, but she was insisting on chapter and verse. ‘I’m sorry, I really need to know.’
‘Well, he’s a really cool bloke. Like … if I was a woman, I’d rate him. I thought you did. Thought you two got on really well. But he says you’re not interested.’
‘Dom, this is important. What exactly did he say?’
‘Well, he hasn’t said much, but I can tell he’s really hacked off. I asked him about you, ’cause I know you two …’ He paused again as if trying to choose his words carefully. ‘… copped off together.’
It was ridiculous, but she felt herself blush. ‘And?’
‘And he said there was no future in it. Said you were only ever really interested in the house.’
Her trainers squeaked on the stairs as she ran up them. Liz was coming down, juggling with her bags and a large, unravelling roll of paper.
‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’
‘Left something behind,’ Dory said breathlessly. Momentarily, she considered turning back and offering Liz a hand. She armoured herself against her benevolent instincts. Not now. Her present errand overrode everything else. ‘D’you want any help with that …?’ She couldn’t believe she’d just said that.
‘I’m OK. Are you coming to lunch?’
Relieved to be let off the hook, Dory called back that she was, but wondered how confident she could be. As she entered she was struck, maybe for the last time, by its typical smell of paint and primer and fixative. The room, which had seemed so strange to her then, had become familiar. She recalled her first lesson, arriving late, everyone’s eyes on her as she burst through the door. And Stefan.
It was empty now. Summer sunlight streamed through the tall windows. The easels had been pushed back. Tube leg tables and chairs stacked up. The surfaces had been cleared, all bar a few boxes of equipment. She heard a noise coming from the storeroom. Dory picked up one of the boxes and walked towards its door. Stefan emerged. His eyes widened but he said nothing, simply extended his arms to take the box from her. As he stowed it away, she fetched the other.
‘Thank you. Did you forget something?’ Stefan had put on a denim shirt over the short-sleeved T-shirt he’d worn through the lesson. Looking down at his charcoal-ingrained hands, he began to turn back the cuffs.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ she said. He looked up at her, his face serious, his brown eyes darker and more unreadable than usual. Suddenly he seemed to recollect himself.
‘Um … I believe it’s to you I owe thanks for recommending my work to Michael.’ He’d moved to the sink and was running water over his hands.
‘I’m glad he’s spoken to you. I hadn’t really considered just how wealthy he is before Fran and I went to his open garden. It was a revelation. He is seriously loaded. He spoke to me about his plan to source classical reproductions to replace some damaged sculptures in his garden. And there’s loads of other tat that came with the house he’s planning to junk. When I suggested he commission original pieces by a local sculptor, he seemed rather taken by the idea of becoming a patron of the arts.’
Stefan shook his hands then wiped them on a dirty towel. ‘And you thought of me? I appreciate it.’
‘Of course I thought of you!’ Dory could have added that Stefan was rarely out of her thoughts these days.
‘He’s coming over to Kitesnest to look at some of my pieces. If he thinks I can produce the kind of thing he’s after, I’ll go over to his place to look at the situation. Then I’ll produce a few maquettes and, fingers crossed, we go from there. It sounds like the kind of commission I’d enjoy.’
‘And if it comes off, just think, his garden becomes a showcase of your work to his friends. He lives in that milieu. Rich, influential media types, with flats in London and houses in the country. It’s an opportunity you can’t turn down.’
‘I’m not going to. Thank you. I really appreciate your advocacy. By the way, I’m sorry you’re not continuing with the class after the vacation. I’m sure you could go further with it. You do have talent.’
‘Kind of you to say so.’
‘I’m not being kind. I’d hope you know me well enough by now to know I don’t flatter. It’s true. So …’ He turned his head, eyes flickering over the classroom. ‘I haven’t come across anything.’ Dory looked at his face in profile, the straight nose, the high cheekbones, the darkly defined jawline. ‘What is it you’ve lost?’
She cleared her throat, glancing around distractedly. ‘Um, a pencil.’
‘A pencil?’ He raised his eyebrows. Why had she said that? There were a hundred and one items she could have claimed to have mislaid. A pencil was the least significant of the selection.
‘Yes. A … um … special pencil.’
‘Perhaps you’d better have a look in the store cupboard. I’m afraid I just collected together all the odd pencils, bits of charcoal, and pastel and put them away. It’s taken me longer than usual. Dom normally helps.’
‘He’s out in the car park chatting to … to Fran.’ If she was going to persist in making things up, perhaps she should think, and come up with a more plausible scenario before she spoke next time.
‘Fran?’ Stefan regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Not willingly? That reminds me, I meant to ask you. How is the family after all their recent adventures?’
‘Oh, I think everything will be all right. Mel’s fine. She’s going to college to retake her A-levels in the autumn. And my sister’s a survivor. She … they all seem to be moving towards a new understanding. In fact it was Fran’s birthday on Tuesday. The big Four-O. But she didn’t wake up with wiry, grey hairs growing out of her chin, she told me.’ Dory smiled at her sister’s ability to laugh at herself. ‘In a way, I think everything that’s happened has been good for her. It’s made her take stock. She’s thinking about retaking her art degree. It’s an idea you can take some credit for. Without your teaching over this last year, she would never have contemplated such a step.’
It was bizarre. As they had for the last few weeks, they were treating one another like mere acquaintances, when in reality they’d engaged in the most intimate exchange possible between two people.
‘I’m pleased,’ he said, continuing to regard her with that same thoughtful scrutiny.
‘Look, I didn’t come back for a special pencil,’ Dory admitted with a rueful shake of the head. ‘Nor to talk about my family, or even Michael.’ She drew in a breath. ‘I came back to … I hadn’t said …’ Her voice suddenly let her down, emerging as a croak. ‘Goodbye. But …’ She cleared her throat and continued more briskly. ‘We’re all going for lunch. Do you fancy it?’
‘Lunch?’ He spoke as if the concept was unfamiliar to him.
‘Yes. The Old Sheep Shearer. It would be good if …’ Dory hesitated, feeling as awkward and gauche as a teenager. Something was happening to his face. His head had tilted. His expression had warmed and softened. A smile seemed to hover on his lips. Her brain suddenly crashed. Was that where Fran said they were going? ‘In fact, that’s not what I came back to ask you,’ she continued, convinced he would write her off as a complete idiot. ‘Though of course you’re welcome. More than welcome.’
‘Dory? Before you say anything more, may I?’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘I don’t know how to wrap this up prettily, so I’ll just say it. It’s been on my mind. And I realise now that it’s one of those things that needs to be said whether or not the other … whether or not you …’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I have to say it. I love you, Isadora Seymour.’
Had she heard what she thought she’d heard? She must have been looking blank, because he went on, ‘Are you surprised? Surely you guessed? After we went to bed?’
Still almost convinced that what she’d heard was a wish fulfilment daydream, momentarily overlaying a far more prosaic reality, she said, ‘Wasn’t that just sex? The heat of the moment?
�
�Was that all it was for you?’ His voice had flattened.
‘No! That’s what I assumed you felt … it’s different for women, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t give me that men from Mars, women from Venus crap! I’m talking about you and me. I don’t do just sex, Dory!’
This scenario was so different from the one she’d envisaged, she was struggling to find the words.
‘I love you,’ he repeated. ‘But for you …’ He gave a humourless chuckle. ‘It’s always been about the house, hasn’t it?’
‘You’re wrong! That’s what I really came back here to tell you. I woke up to what you were thinking.’ Time enough to explain Dom’s part in it. ‘I’m sorry that you’re selling Kitesnest. You know I love it, but not more than I …’ She considered her words, desperate to get everything straight between them. ‘Of course I was looking at the art centre project as a business opportunity, but it’ll never make a fortune. Making a living is all it needs to do. Most of all, I felt that at last I’d discovered something I really wanted to do, with someone I really wanted to be with. But you’d made it clear that you weren’t interested in a relationship. I thought there was no hope of that.’ Her hands were suddenly trembling in his.
‘That was nineteen years ago. I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I? I mean it, Dory. I’ve fallen in love with you. I want you to be part of my life. I want to be a part of yours.’
Everything was all right. Somehow, despite her juvenile, stumbling incoherence, she’d emerged into the light. It was unbelievable. Her throat clogged with emotion.
‘And I love you, Stefan, but I was scared that telling you might drive you away.’
He sighed. Minutes passed before anything more coherent was said. At length, he held her at arms’ length and studied her.
‘The sale has fallen through,’ he said. ‘The offer was withdrawn. Apparently the company puts in speculative offers and plans for many possible sites across the south. Kitesnest was just a blob on a map. But when they looked into it more carefully, they changed their minds.’