would love to have from me right now,’ I mused to myself. No-one, except Linda, heard, and she stopped painting to look at me. I explained, ‘Since we’re going to see more of each other, you may as well know, I came here with a husband.’ I felt a familiar sting behind my eyes. Don’t, don’t, DON’T!
She put down her brush and came over to stand beside me. ‘And he’s gone home?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ I held in my tears and wondered why on earth I’d spilled the beans so early. I didn’t even know Linda.
‘Oh my darlin’, that’s terrible! He cheat on ya with some bimbo?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. The thing is, he is Chris’s best friend. Best not to say too much at the moment.’
‘Well,’ she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re a brave lady, staying on by yourself. You can’t let ‘em stall your whole damn life. There just ain’t enough time for that.’
She gave me a sympathetic hug. Hughie, who was working a few yards in front, chose this touching moment to announce out loud that he’d ‘like to get that Binnie down on some canvas’ and proceeded to paint me – boobs first, judging by the huge, almost symmetrical circles already staring out from the centre of the page. ‘Och, yer an awfy flirt,’ Greta told him. I think. Despite my private misery, I couldn’t help but laugh.
By the time Chris announced a break for lunch, I was beginning to feel sick under the midday sun and my stomach was badly in need of the kind of sustenance only half a loaf of bread and a humungous plate of chips could bring. I was so hungry! However, when Mita appeared with two huge Greek salads, floating in olive oil, my gut lurched again. If vomiting was an Olympic event, I was about to go for gold.
‘Chris? Do you have a toilet I can use?’
He pointed to the empty apartment below his villa. ‘Use the one in there,’ he said. ‘It’s closer.’ I was already off like a rocket – running straight out of the clogs which stayed behind at my easel.
‘And for the rest of today, Binnie will be working while invisible,’ Chris said.
Emerging exhausted and dazed from the bathroom following an unproductive bout of heaving, I looked around the tiny, unlived-in apartment. Dusty and strewn with discarded canvases, it was a quaint single room with a kitchenette partitioned off. The open door revealed a sunny haven I had missed in my rush to get to the toilet. White curtains around a small patio provided welcome shade from the searing heat, as well as a screen between the apartment and Chris’s villa. A garden table and chairs faced over a glorious array of flowers to the horizon beyond. I batted a sudden sting on my arm and realised the air was alive with biting insects, yet I imagined anyone would feel quite happy sitting here on a balmy evening with a bottle of wine and a mosquito swatter.
Toying with the trinkets and vases scattered on shelves, I saw a woman’s face in the mirror on the wall. A woman I barely recognised: tired, sad and resigned, with heavily lined eyes. Good God, where had my spark gone? Once again I mourned the carefree, happier me who had flopped in a disorganised heap beside some guy who’d also arrived alone at the christening of a mutual friend’s daughter.
‘Do you come here often?’
It was a cheesy line to match his cheesy grin but, for a second at least, I was sceptical. He’s a bit full on. Do I come often to a chapel? What if he does? What if he just wants me to as well? What if . . . oh, wait. Glancing up at astonishingly deep brown, teasing eyes, I met the face of my future. Towering over me by at least a foot, David looked slightly older than me, with a lick of wavy, dark hair and an assured, over-confident air. I was enthralled, captured and pretty much thrown over his strong, slender shoulders in that instant that I looked at him. For the rest of the day, as we weaved around each other chatting to the rest of the
She put down her brush and came over to stand beside me. ‘And he’s gone home?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ I held in my tears and wondered why on earth I’d spilled the beans so early. I didn’t even know Linda.
‘Oh my darlin’, that’s terrible! He cheat on ya with some bimbo?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. The thing is, he is Chris’s best friend. Best not to say too much at the moment.’
‘Well,’ she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re a brave lady, staying on by yourself. You can’t let ‘em stall your whole damn life. There just ain’t enough time for that.’
She gave me a sympathetic hug. Hughie, who was working a few yards in front, chose this touching moment to announce out loud that he’d ‘like to get that Binnie down on some canvas’ and proceeded to paint me – boobs first, judging by the huge, almost symmetrical circles already staring out from the centre of the page. ‘Och, yer an awfy flirt,’ Greta told him. I think. Despite my private misery, I couldn’t help but laugh.
By the time Chris announced a break for lunch, I was beginning to feel sick under the midday sun and my stomach was badly in need of the kind of sustenance only half a loaf of bread and a humungous plate of chips could bring. I was so hungry! However, when Mita appeared with two huge Greek salads, floating in olive oil, my gut lurched again. If vomiting was an Olympic event, I was about to go for gold.
‘Chris? Do you have a toilet I can use?’
He pointed to the empty apartment below his villa. ‘Use the one in there,’ he said. ‘It’s closer.’ I was already off like a rocket – running straight out of the clogs which stayed behind at my easel.
‘And for the rest of today, Binnie will be working while invisible,’ Chris said.
Emerging exhausted and dazed from the bathroom following an unproductive bout of heaving, I looked around the tiny, unlived-in apartment. Dusty and strewn with discarded canvases, it was a quaint single room with a kitchenette partitioned off. The open door revealed a sunny haven I had missed in my rush to get to the toilet. White curtains around a small patio provided welcome shade from the searing heat, as well as a screen between the apartment and Chris’s villa. A garden table and chairs faced over a glorious array of flowers to the horizon beyond. I batted a sudden sting on my arm and realised the air was alive with biting insects, yet I imagined anyone would feel quite happy sitting here on a balmy evening with a bottle of wine and a mosquito swatter.
Toying with the trinkets and vases scattered on shelves, I saw a woman’s face in the mirror on the wall. A woman I barely recognised: tired, sad and resigned, with heavily lined eyes. Good God, where had my spark gone? Once again I mourned the carefree, happier me who had flopped in a disorganised heap beside some guy who’d also arrived alone at the christening of a mutual friend’s daughter.
‘Do you come here often?’
It was a cheesy line to match his cheesy grin but, for a second at least, I was sceptical. He’s a bit full on. Do I come often to a chapel? What if he does? What if he just wants me to as well? What if . . . oh, wait. Glancing up at astonishingly deep brown, teasing eyes, I met the face of my future. Towering over me by at least a foot, David looked slightly older than me, with a lick of wavy, dark hair and an assured, over-confident air. I was enthralled, captured and pretty much thrown over his strong, slender shoulders in that instant that I looked at him. For the rest of the day, as we weaved around each other chatting to the rest of the
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