I'll Be There Page 13

  Devlin arrived, bringing with him the Lily painting, framed in gold.

  ‘I’ve had several offers for it.’

  Smiling, she shook her head and led him to her studio. ‘You want Lilies. There they are.’

  Devlin tried not to let his surprise show.

  A bank of them, their serene elegance reflected in a pool. Then there were bluebells bunched in a jam jar on a windowsill; a snail climbing up the side. Yellow dandelions grew from a crack in a path with forget-me-knots in the background. White daisies were bathed in sunlight, and spilled over a bank. Dark purple Irises with gold throats that resembled richly embroidered satin nearly brought tears to his eyes.

  Poppies. He couldn’t tear his glance for them. What poppies! Glorious, flaming red, on a table so glossy Devlin reached out, tempted to run a finger over its surface to wipe away the pollen. He decided to buy it himself, for his private collection.

  ‘It’s still wet,’ she said, reading his mind.

  Smiling, he took her face between his hands kissed her mouth in celebration of her talent.

  ‘That happens to be my girl,’ Drifter said quietly from the doorway.

  Devlin’s grey eyes flicked him a dismissive look. ‘Lucky you.’

  His attention was caught by the series of fantasy scenes. He walked along the line of paintings, absorbing the impact of them. ‘These could prove to be commercial.’

  He collected them the same afternoon, sliding them carefully into the racks in the back of his van.

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ Drifter said, watching the van drive off. ‘I think he’s got the hots for you.’

  ‘It won’t do him any good.’ She slid her arms round his neck and gazed into his eyes. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

  Drifter’s eyes hooded slightly. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Almost.’ Her smile faded. ‘Are you upset?’

  He forced a smile to his face and summoned up some enthusiasm. ‘Are you?’

  Her eyes became all misty and soft. ‘Just imagine. Our own baby to love, someone who’s part of both of us?’

  At least she hadn’t mentioned marriage. His smile became as soft as hers. ‘I love you,’ he said, and meant it. ‘Let’s go and tell the others. We’ll have a party to celebrate.’

  Removing her arms from his neck she turned away. ‘Must we tell them? I haven’t even been to a doctor yet.’

  ‘Hey, Mistral.’ His arms slid round her waist from behind, and he nuzzled into her neck. ‘If you want it to be a secret that’s okay with me, we’ll celebrate by ourselves. I’ll take you to see the Sound of Music and we’ll sit in the back row and hold hands. If you’re good we’ll feast on fish and chips on the way home,’

  ‘Last week you said the film was romantic crap.’

  ‘For you, babe, I’ll suffer.’

  Laughing, she twisted in his arms and kissed him. ‘You’re on, Dad.’

  ‘Pops.’ he reminded her. ‘I’m an American, remember.’

  Chapter Nine

  Janey had forgotten how soft April was in the country – forgotten the way the wind shredded the clouds into streamers and chased them across the sky.

  She exchanged a glance with Griff, untroubled by the way her grin reflected her exhilaration.

  The fatigue had fled from his face now. His dark eyes were alive with amusement. ‘Shall we make a run for it?’

  Laughing, they sprinted to the spreading branches of an oak tree, and then shook the glistening raindrops from their hair.

  ‘At this pace, the wedding will be over before we get there.’

  ‘It was your idea to walk from the station,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I needed the fresh air.’ Disregarding the damp, he placed her parcel on the ground and leaned against the trunk of the tree. ‘Thanks for letting me sleep on the train.’

  ‘I didn’t have any choice. One minute you were gazing at me all goggle-eyed, the next minute ... comatose.’

  ‘Don’t forget, I haven’t seen you since you were a kid. Believe me, you’re worth a goggle.’

  ‘Borrowed plumage.’ She gazed down at the belted dress and matching calf length boots. The dress was made from burgundy wool, and boasted a designer label. ‘These belong to Felicity.’

  ‘Likewise. This suit belongs to a fellow internee.’ He chuckled. ‘Felicity has great taste.’

  ‘She can afford to have great taste. Daddy’s a banker.’ Hefting her bag from one shoulder to the other she slanted her head to one side, gazing at him curiously. ‘You make the hospital sound like a prison.’

  ‘It is, more or less. If I’m not working flat out, or attending lectures I try and snatch a bit of sleep.’

  ‘Is it worth it, Griff?’

  His mouth stretched in a wry smile. ‘I admit I’ve had my doubts these last few months – but yes, I guess so. In the end it will be worth all the sacrifice and hard work. Besides, I owe a debt to Charles Wyman. He had enough faith in me to advance the money to help me through my initial training. I can’t let him down.’

  The shower stopped as suddenly as it started, and he lifted the parcel to his shoulder. ‘What’s in this?’

  ‘One of my paintings.’

  ‘Is it good?’

  ‘When it’s opened you can judge for yourself.’

  His eyes caught hers, dark and intense. In his young man’s face she saw a trace of the boy she’d idolized. Warmth touched her heart as she experienced the depth of her affection for Griff.

  ‘How do you feel about it, Janey?’

  ‘It’s perfect.’ She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You will come and visit me when you get time, won’t you Griff?’

  His hand closed around hers. ‘Try and stop me. Come on. Let’s go before it rains again.’

  They made the church with a few minutes to spare, and paused in the doorway to cast an eye over the pews.

  Miss Robbins was playing an asthmatic Bach fugue on the organ, her head nodding in time to the music.

  Ada was halfway down the aisle. She’d gained weight, and wisps of grey hair escaped from her blue hat. Next to her sat Phil, looking exactly how she remembered him. A lump lodged in her throat.

  Phil’s head lifted slightly as if he was listening to something, then he turned, his face creasing into a smile.

  ‘I knew you’d make it,’ he said, his voice echoing out in triumph. ‘Damned if I didn’t say so to Ada.’

  ‘You watch your language in the Lord’s house, Phil Tyler.’ Ada admonished. Her eyes widened in shock as she turned towards the door. ‘Well I never! If it isn’t Janey Renfrew, as pretty as a picture. I never thought the day would come when I’d see you again.’

  Charles Wyman, his dark suit sporting a red rose, blew her a kiss as she and Griff walked down the aisle.

  Miss Robbins launched into the bridal march, and all heads turned towards them.

  ‘Anyone would think we were the bridal pair,’ Griffin whispered as they settled themselves between Ada and Phil.’

  ‘And a nice pair you’d make, if you ask me,’ Ada said loudly.

  Janey colored when Griff gave a low chuckle.

  The organ suddenly wheezed to a stop, and then started the wedding march all over again.

  Heads turned again, the whispers and rustles faded to a hush.

  Brenda looked elegant in a cream suit and a veiled hat. Her brown eyes glowed as they met those of Charles. The neatly dressed man who escorted her in was of medium height, with thinning brown hair. He delivered Brenda to Charles, and then sat in the nearest pew.

  Janey thought he looked familiar, but she dismissed him from her mind when the service began.

  She knew she’d never forget this wedding – never forget the fragrance of the flower filled church.

  Huge vases of lilies and roses almost obscured the altar, candles sputtered. Light shone through the stained glass window, and dust motes danced in the air.

  It was more than the ambience she’d remember. There was an atmosphere of love, almost s
acred in its emotional intensity as the vows were exchanged and the songs of celebration sung. Charles and Brenda were amongst friends who wished them only happiness, and she experienced it in every fiber. Tears pricked her eyes and she felt like bawling as Charles and Brenda left the church.

  Griff offered her his handkerchief. Careful not to smudge the eye-shadow Felicity had applied, she dabbed the tears away and managed a smile as she handed it back.

  He took her hand in his and led her outside, into an April day that sparkled with sunshine, diamond bright showers, and bird-song.

  ‘I wish I could stay longer.’

  ‘You can.’ Griff’s voice was a low enticing murmur. ‘Stay the night. We’ll walk through the woods, then watch the bats fly out of the hill.’

  ‘I thought you needed to rest.’

  ‘It will be a rest.’

  ‘A renewal, you mean.’

  Their eyes met in complete understanding.

  Dear, dear Griff, his face quiet and serious, his smile enigmatic. How well they knew each other. He sensed the need for solace in her, a hunger that matched his own.

  ‘Will we always feel like this?’

  ‘Always, Janey.’ His dark eyes held the secrets of the universe in their depths. ‘Wherever we go, whatever we do, this place will always call to us.’

  They posed for photographs, two people pulled together by an invisible thread, so close in spirit. Yet they were apart. She with her art, her lover and the tiny spring bud of her child curled close to her heart – he with his need to heal.

  Brenda and Charles approached, claiming astonishment at the change in her, as if they’d expected her never grow up.

  ‘Such a wonderful painting, everyone has admired it.’

  Charles took her aside, and informed her that Lord William had left her a small bequest when he died. It’s invested until you’re twenty-one, so don’t forget to come and claim it.’

  Vaguely, Janey remembered an old man she used to play soldiers with, and a horse called Wellington. It all seemed so long ago now. Her hand closed around the lead soldier, deep in her pocket. Thank you, Lord William.

  Later, when the reception was over, she borrowed some jeans and a sweater from Griff and they walked in the woods.

  Nostalgia gave everything a sharp piquancy. The damp mushroom aroma of leaf litter, the green moss clinging to root knuckles and the pungent smell of the bog called to her. Childhood smells. Childhood fancies.

  ‘I thought Goblins lived in the bog. I used to hide behind a tree and try to catch a glimpse of them.’

  Griff gently squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

  On the hill they watched the bats tossed skywards into the purple dusk. Sprawled on the ground she felt at peace. The world was turning in the damp grass beneath her cheek, and she was cradled against its heart, turning with it.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ Griff said abruptly.

  She scrambled upright, staring at him. ‘How did you know?’

  He took her in his arms and held her against his chest. ‘Do you love him – the father of your child?’

  She felt Griff’s hurt, like a tiny ache inside herself. ‘Yes, I love him ... at least, I think so.’

  ‘Call me if you ever need me.’ He kissed the top of her head, and then pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s get home. Dad will be annoyed if he doesn’t get to spend some time with you. He loves getting your letters.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he ever answer them?’

  ‘He can’t read and write, except for his name.’

  ‘Then how does he –?’

  ‘Ada reads them to him.’

  So later, whilst Phil and Griffin talked before the fire, she quickly sketched the two of them together. When she presented it to Phil as a parting gift he gazed at it for a long time, then said with a trace of moisture in his eyes.

  ‘That’s the best gift I’ve ever been given.’

  He was talking about Griff, not her sketch. Her hand slid unconsciously to cradle her child under her palm, and she exchanged a smile with Griff over his head.

  On the train the next day, when Griff slept, she saw the man who’d given Brenda away further down the carriage. He was reading a newspaper, his eyes intent on its pages.

  Recognition came to her suddenly. With a quick intake of breath she rose and made her way towards him. ‘Mister Smith?’

  A pair of eyes peered at her over the newspaper.

  ‘I was at the wedding yesterday.’

  ‘Ah ... yes. I remember. I don’t think we were introduced. How did you know my name?’

  ‘We met once before. You used to live in the bed-sit below me in Hammersmith. I slid your gas bill under the door, and you opened it and wished me good-night.’

  The paper was lowered. ‘You have remarkable powers of observation. You only saw me for a second, Miss ...?’

  ‘Renfrew.’

  He gave a small start.

  ‘My flat-mate thought you were a spy, because we sometimes heard you – but never saw you.’

  He gave a dry sort of chuckle. ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid. I’m quite a boring chap. When I’m not working I like to play a little music, then go to bed.’

  ‘What work do you do, Mister Smith?’

  Janey thought she’d been too nosy when he hesitated, and was about to apologize when he said.

  ‘Oh, this and that. I was a chauffeur when I lived there, I hope you’re not too disappointed.’

  ‘On the contrary, I must tell Sandy if I see her again. She’ll be crushed to find out you’re not James Bond.’

  ‘And what keeps you occupied, Miss Renfrew?’

  ‘Please call me Janey.’

  ‘Only if you call me John.’

  ‘That would be nice.’ She smiled as she told him she was an artist, because sometimes she didn’t believe it herself. Encouraged by his polite questioning, she chatted non-stop all the way to London. She invited him to her first professional art exhibition as they pulled into Waterloo.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to come.’

  ‘Goodness.’ She grinned as she scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ve been talking your head off. I’d better wake Griff.’

  A frown on his face John watched her walk away. He didn’t usually believe in coincidence, but was odd seeing the girl he’d once shared a building with at the wedding, and odder still to discover she was the daughter of a man he’d once investigated.

  He’d kept out of her way at the wedding, and had been surprised that she’d recognized him. She was a nice girl. He looked at the address she’d scribbled on his paper. Finsbury Park.

  ‘Come to dinner one day,’ she’d invited. ‘You can meet Drifter.’

  He doubted if he would, but he’d certainly go to the art exhibition. The painting she’d given Charles and Brenda had been surprisingly good for one so young.

  Throwing the paper on the seat, he joined the other passengers on the platform and disappeared into the crowd.

  Four more tenants moved in with Felicity and Connor over the next two months. The two females said they were feminists, though Drifter said they were dykes. They discarded their bras, walked around on dirty bare feet, and grew long sweaty hair in their armpits.

  The other two were men. One was tall and wore round glasses. The other was smaller and cur-like. ‘Fuckin’ right on, man,’ he answered to anything said by Connor.

  The house began to smell of hash and incense – dirt gathered in the corners. Stephen and Dion rarely visited, and Janey knew it was because they had to run the gauntlet of the latest tenants.

  The crude language and sneering comments upset them, and annoyed Janey. Drifter found it amusing. ‘Forget it, babe,’ he drawled when she commented on it. ‘They’re just making a statement.’

  ‘They’re creeps.’

  The mixed exhibition was a success, her oils selling quickly. Devlin followed up with a showing of the Mistral series, and sold those as well.

  ‘They brought better prices than I expected, so
you’ve got to jump on the band wagon while it lasts. Think big and acrylic for the Mistral signature. In twelve months’ time I’ll be arranging a major oils exhibition for you, so start work.’

  ‘Mistral’s pregnant.’

  The flat statement from Drifter sent Devlin’s head swiveling round. He gave him an unfriendly stare. ‘So what! She can still use her arms, can’t she?’

  ‘Listen, man.’ Drifter lumbered threateningly to his feet. ‘I don’t want her tiring herself. She’ll have a baby to look after soon.’

  ‘I don’t recall asking for your opinion. Janey’s my client, she can decide for herself whether she’s prepared to work.’

  ‘Well Mistral?’ Drifter said.

  Both men had the same disgruntled expressions on their faces as they gazed at her. She grinned. They looked like kids spoiling for a fight.

  ‘Of course I can do the work. I want to. The baby’s not due until early January.’ Crossing to Drifter, she linked her arm through his and laid her head against his arm. ‘I’ll have to rely on you to keep the others out of my hair.’

  ‘Anything you say, babe.’

  He was annoyed, she could tell. After Devlin had gone, strutting like a victorious turkey cock, Drifter gazed at her with wounded eyes. ‘I was only thinking of you.’

  ‘I know, and I love you for it.’

  His arms came round her. ‘That guy’s a Svengali. He’ll work you until you drop if you let him get away with it.’

  Irritation niggled at her. It was all right for Drifter. He’d grown up taking money for granted. She needed to work, to get ahead with her painting and grasp every opportunity that came her way. Drifter didn’t understand that her work was more than just a job to her. She needed it liked she needed to breathe.

  By Christmas, their relationship was coming apart at the seams. Drifter needed people around him, and he filled the house with them. Stephen and Dion moved out, their place taken by a several students, who didn’t seem to study, but played loud music and smoked pot incessantly. One of them had a set of bongo drums that throbbed half the night.

  There were parties. People walked around half naked and drunk, and she nearly tripped over a couple making love on the stairs outside their door one night.