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PAINT OF PASSION 2
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Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 3
‘DO YOU WANT to come to Graham’s party?’ Clare asked Daniel as she slicked on another layer of deep plummy lipstick. ‘I feel that I’ve got to go because Graham has been so good about taking my paintings but it’ll just be full of people from the art society talking about their children’s piano lessons and mortgages and...’ Daniel was already shaking his head. A thrill of excitement raced through her. She was going to the party on her own. ‘You look very pretty,’ Daniel said as he wandered into the bedroom. Clare smiled her thanks, feeling a little guilty over the effort she had been making. But she didn’t have anything to feel guilty about, she reminded herself . . . yet. ‘Shall I help you do that up?’ Daniel began to button up the back of Clare’s long red silk dress. It was stunning, but not in an obvious way, clinging tightly to the contours of her breasts and her waist before flaring gently out in a sweep of fabric that reached her ankles. She felt covered and yet revealed. The fe
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 4
WHEN CLARE GOT back to the flat in the early hours of the morning, Daniel was already in bed. When he asked where she had been she told him that she had stayed behind, with a few of the others, to help clear up after the party. Then, she continued, they all went back to Graham’s house for a night-cap. Clare claimed that a girl Daniel didn’t know had given her a lift home. He didn’t question her any further. ‘Come to bed,’ he murmured, stretching an arm out from beneath the duvet. Clare shook her head. ‘I want to get some painting done while I’m still in the mood,’ she told him. ‘Graham wants some more boat pics for the weekend.’ ‘But it’s the middle of the night!’ Daniel exclaimed. ‘And I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to come back so that I could help you off with that dress .. .’ A guilty shudder ran through her but Clare gaily shrugged her shoulders as she reminded him, 'You can’t choose when you're going to get hit with a flash of inspiration.’ ‘See if I care,’ he grunte
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 5
‘THOUGHT YOU MIGHT be thirsty,’ Daniel said, handing Clare a vodka on the rocks. He looked as if he had been crying. ‘What did you paint?’ he asked. Clare had thrown a sheet over the wet canvas at his approach. ‘Nothing good. It went wrong,’ she told him. He was almost lifting up the corner of the sheet. ‘Don’t look at it,’ she implored him softly. ‘You know I hate letting you see stuff that I’m not happy with.’ ‘I’m sure I would be impressed,’ he assured her but he let the paint-splashed sheet drop again. The next day, Clare decided, she would have to get rid of her latest masterpiece. ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ Daniel told Clare as he stood with his back to her, surveying the mess of his own ruined painting. ‘No worries. It was my fault too. The fickle muse, eh?’ Clare replied, knowing that his temper tantrum should be far outweighed in the guilt stakes by what she had just found herself doing. ‘Let’s go into the other room.’ Even covered by a sheet, the portrait of the lover s
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 6
‘GET THE DOOR would you, Clare?’ Daniel screamed. Clare was painting in the studio, he was painting at their bedroom window, finally deigning to take some inspiration from the quaint little houses which spread out below. The doorbell chimed again. Clare and Daniel were engaged in a battle over whose work was less important, who could afford to put down their brush on the off-chance that it wasn’t the Jehovah's Witnesses. Clare lost. Clare opened the door to a petite blonde, about her age, but considerably better dressed, in a pastel blue suit. She offered Clare a hand which wore two subtly expensive rings and smiled to show a row of equally expensively cared-for teeth. Clare wiped her hand, complete with bitten nails, clean on the seat of her jeans and they shook. ‘Clare?’ she asked. The dark-haired girl nodded. ‘I’m Francesca Philip. I saw your paintings in the Dragon Gallery. I do hope you don’t mind my coming here. I'd like to commission you to do a painting for me. Graham gave
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 7
AFTER FRANCESCA HAD gone Clare stood at the window for a long while, just looking out across the houses to the sea, thinking. That evening the sea was very calm. Just a few wispy, cotton-wool clouds crossed the pinky blue sunset and were echoed by the tiny white horses riding the waves. The beach was deserted but for a boy and his dog. The boy threw a stick and the dog barked, the distant noise carried up to the window by the wind so that it mingled with the calling of the gulls constantly wheeling overhead. The view from the flat where Clare and Daniel lived was almost the same as the view from Steve’s hotel, though their flat was a little lower down the hill. Steve, Steve, Steve. What had Clare been doing? She had never slept with a married man before and had always thought of the guys who had affairs as rats. In fact she had decided never to do the dirty on another girl right after the birthday party where Susie Powell stole her man and her pre-pubescent self-esteem. But at the sa
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 8
CLARE STARTED WORK on Steve's portrait the very next day. She chose to work from the picture of him sitting on his car outside the ivy-clad house, his family home. She chose it because he was wearing a forced, for-the-camera smile. It wasn’t an expression Clare had seen on his face in the flesh and thus it was the nearest she could come to finding a picture which didn’t remind her of his naked flesh every time she referred to it for her preliminary sketches. After an hour or so Clare had produced a vague, compositional outline. She stood back and appraised her work. She felt no urge to slip her hand inside her blouse today. The picture wasn’t working. It wasn’t Steve. But so what? Francesca would think it was him, Francesca would see the jumper and the car and remember snapping the shutter on that strained smile and for her it would be Steven. Daniel wandered in and out of the studio with cups of coffee as Clare painted. He wasn’t painting. He was having another off day. ‘Mmm, nice
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 9
FRANCESCA CAME TO see how the painting was getting on just a couple of days after Clare started to paint it. Clare was alone in the flat, Daniel having driven back to London for a couple of days to try and persuade some galleries to display his work there. Francesca explained that her husband was in the area on family business, turning some houses into flats for the tourists. She could only come down to see him occasionally because she had a business of her own these days, a boutique in Chelsea. Bought to keep her out of the way, Clare thought unkindly. She could imagine what it was like. Full of the kind of peachy pale clothes Francesca was wearing now, populated by bored housewives who giggled like schoolgirls and snatched up sequinned numbers for parties while their husbands were seduced by girls who wore jeans. Francesca stood behind Clare for a while as she painted. The blonde girl had one arm wrapped protectively around her body so that her hand caressed her hip, while the othe
Wild Desire PAINT OF PASSION 10
LIFE IS WHAT happens when you've made other plans. The next day, when Francesca had finally gone back to London, Clare wandered down to the harbour, diligently avoiding the fatal café on her way. Since she couldn't find her foldaway stool in the chaos of the flat, Clare doubled up her jumper to make a seat on the cold, grey stone wall, and balanced the board she used for an easel on her knees. Graham wanted still more sea scenes. The woman in America was ordering them to be sent all over the place for Christmas. Clare mixed up a job lot of sea-green on the inside of her paint-box lid and began to work on three small scenes at once, like a factory production line. She hadn’t got much further than three wishy-washy horizons when he appeared. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’ 'Yes, fancy.’ Clare replied. Steve was swaddled against the cold in a huge cream fisherman’s jumper. He sat down beside her on the harbour wall without being invited and cast an eye over the paintings. ‘Hmmm,’ he said.
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