Page 51 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘No, I’m not. I was a bastard to my wife. My life’s been such a mess. Laura’s death, my addiction to the dark side.’

Damien looked at her black-rimmed eyes.

‘You look like a panda,’ he said. ‘A very beautiful panda.’

Sophie laughed.

‘There’s a packet of tissues in the glove compartment,’ he said, reaching over to open it.

She took one and dabbed the smudged mascara.

‘I just hope Daniel isn’t up there watching me make a fool of myself. How could I have fallen for such an ordinary man? Maybe I’m glad he won’t leave his wife.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Perhaps it’s a way of me staying faithful to Daniel.’

‘You deserve more than being locked into a hopeless relationship. Why don’t you go and see an analyst?’

Or why don’t we both get soused and see what happens?he thought.

***

Sophie wasn’t sure what life had in store for her, but her visit to Bordeaux might be refreshing.

Days spent painting the beautiful scenery, happy to be distracted. Relieved to be with strangers who didn’t pry into herpersonal life.

And in the evenings, it would be peaceful to dine al fresco with her fellow guests and watch the setting sun fall into dusk.

When Nicholas rang on Wednesday morning, she didn’t answer her phone. It was early, 7 a.m. The voicemail pinged a few seconds later.

Don’t listen to it. He’s doing his number, keeping you on the hook.

She drew the blue-and-white chintz curtains and stepped onto the balcony. Such majesty. The stone path, flanked on either side by smooth grass and perfectly manicured topiary, led down to a large lily pond.

The light was so gentle that it spread across the landscape, stroking nature’s colours with a misty glow.

Time for breakfast in the courtyard with the other students, and then to paint.

‘We’re going to the meadow near Margaux today,’ said Marie, the teacher and owner of the chateau.

Morning glory. The pastel field of wildflowers – pink, lavender, lemon peeping through the grass – and in the distance, a dark silhouette of cypress trees edging the horizon. Sophie was happy. Nature had lifted her spirit.

Marie guided her students, weaving in and out between their easels. ‘That’s good, Charles. Don’t be so tentative with your brush strokes.’

‘Rosie, keep the paints flowing. Let the colours bleed into each other.’

And so she continued quietly appraising each student.

Sophie had set up her easel far away from the others. She wanted to be alone. To listen to the air moving softly across the field. It was her meditation, her eyes free to wander across the beautiful tableau and create her own vision.

Marie stood behind her. For a moment she was silent, her eyes darting across the canvas.

‘That is so lovely,’ she said. ‘You use your palette beautifully. Your colours sing. And the sun, sending swathes of light across the fields, I really like that. And those cypress trees, tall and proud. Gives the impression that they are standing guard. Fine work, Sophie.’

***

‘Any news?’ Evelyn’s voice crackled down the phone. ‘Have you met anyone?’

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