Page 19 of The Christmas Invitation
I’d never expected to see him againorwanted to. He should have stayed firmly buried in my past, not returned well over a decade later, bringing back a memory I’d done my best to bury.
Now I felt again the hurt and anger of that time so long ago, and while it was true that I didn’t have anentirelyclear conscience about my behaviour on that night we spent together, the episode had been distorted and blown out of all proportion by Lexandhis friend Al.
In fact, if Al hadn’t sought me out in my studio space at college after Lex’s wife, Lisa, died, to tell me exactly what he thought of me, I wouldn’t have known the roles of both scapegoat and Delilah had been thrust upon me.
I think what had hurt most was that Lex must have told Al everything that had happened … or what he remembered, anyway.
Now, seeing Lex so unexpectedly had brought it all back, as raw as if it had happened yesterday, instead of – I did some rapid mental arithmetic – fourteen years ago.
What were the odds of my running into him here, in the wilds of Lancashire? Infinitesimal, I would have thought. And he’d looked at me as if his worst nightmare had come back to haunthim, too, though perhaps that was partly because seeing me had suddenly brought back the pain of losing Lisa.
He’d returned to college only once after her death, to collect some of his work, and when we’d come face to face in the corridor he’d turned on his heel and strode away before I could express my sadness at his loss – for Lisa had been a glowing, beautiful person, both inside and out. At the time I’d been puzzled and hurt, but later, when Al cornered me and in one furious, unstoppable outburst told me what he thought of me, I’d simply wanted never to see or even to think about either of them again.
How young we’d been! I was just twenty-two and Lex and Lisa only a year or two older. But I was not the person Lex had thought me then, and I’d changed even more over the ensuing years. For a start, I now understood the tragedy of loss so much better …
Whatever emotion my sudden appearance yesterday had conjured up in Lex, it had been powerful enough to make him turn round and leave without a word, like a ghastly reprise of our last meeting.
And if I’d had an ounce of sense, that’s whatI’dhave done too: got back in the van and driven off, then sent some kind of apology to Clara later. Now, having missed my opportunity to make a fast escape, I was stuck here until after the Solstice on the 21st. Two weeks suddenly seemed like a very long time.
If Clara and Henry could give me enough sittings, I was very sure I could finish the major part of both portraits by then, for once the initial drawing on to the canvas was completed, I used a bold, almost impressionistic technique with a palette knife to apply the paint. When the spirit was with me, I’d usually finish the face within two sittings and the rest in four or five … or at my leisure, back at my studio.
I hadn’t actuallyagreedthat I would stay for Christmas, so I could say that I’d realized how much I’d miss the Yule Feast at the Farm with all my surrogate family, which I would, however alluring the thought of a traditional family Christmas had been before I found out about Lex.
Mind you, I already suspected that a lot of traditions at the Red House would turn out to be of the inhabitants’ own devising, though probably just as much fun.
The image of Lex’s face at the moment he had turned and clocked just who had arrived at the Red House yesterday slidunbidden and unwanted back into my mind. It was hard to define. Shock? Anger? Even a touch of contempt?
Still, now he knew I was here, he’d probably avoid the place until I’d gone, and if he did appear, I’d make myself scarce.
I sighed. There was no point in lying there fruitlessly going over and over it all. The sooner I set up my painting gear and got going, the better!
I showered, washing another layer of green out of my hair in the process, and dressed in jeans, T-shirt and a long, loose stripy knitted tunic with handy pockets. All were indelibly marked by oil paint, permanent souvenirs of portraits past – happier memories.
I twisted up my hair into a high knot – it was just long enough and kept it out of the way when I was working – and then I was ready.
Before I went downstairs I looked out of the window where, past the tops of a lot of majestically waving fir trees, I could see right down into the drowned valley. The dull, unpolished pewter surface of the water sullenly mirrored the surrounding hills and the dark pine trees that crowded up close to the shore, as if daring each other to take a dip in the icy water. They reminded me of the Forestry Commission woodland next to the Farm, which a few years previously had suddenly sprouted walking trails and a chalet café with a visitor centre.
I felt quite guilty as I went downstairs, because it was so late. The house was quiet, except for the grandfather clock ticking heavily in the hall.
Clara had told me breakfast and lunch were help-yourself affairs in the kitchen, so I went down the dark passage and opened the door at the end on to light, cosiness and the mouth-watering fragrance of warm bread.
‘There you are, darling,’ said Clara, a slab of bread and jam poised halfway to her lips. ‘And very workmanlike you look, too.’
‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ I said.
‘Not at all, you were tired and needed your rest,’ she assured me. ‘Den and Tottie have taken Teddy to school and then they’re going to do a little shopping. Tottie always gets the siege mentality at this time of year, afraid we’ll get snowed or iced in, so she stuffs the larder and freezer until they bulge at the seams.’
‘Do you often get snowed in?’ I asked anxiously, for if they did, that might make my getaway difficult. Come to that, River might not be able to get here.
‘Fairly often, but the road to Thorstane is generally cleared after a few days. Once we were snowed in for a week at Easter, though, and Tottie has never forgotten it!’
‘I don’t think I would have done, either,’ I said, thinking that my tall, narrow camper van was certainly not built for difficult driving conditions.
‘They’ll be back shortly, I’m sure, and then Den can give you a hand bringing in your painting gear.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Nothing’s heavy and I’m used to carting it about.’
‘Well, have something to eat, first. The coffee is hot on the stove and the bread is fresh from the oven. We have one of those bread-making machines, and Henry and Den have lots of fun experimenting with different types of dough. If men have to have a hobby, then producing something delicious is a good one. This loaf was so tasty it seemed a shame to toast it.’
