Squeezing liquid soap into the stream of water, Cara watches the bubbles form. It’s mesmerising the way they expand and take over the surface of the bath water and her artist’s eye studies the shapes formed between. She’s so engrossed that she doesn’t hear the sound of knocking.
‘Mum! There’s a man at the door.’ Sky stands in the bathroom doorway.
‘What? Oh!’ Cara turns off the taps. Checking the water temperature, she says, ‘Undress and hop in, Sky. I’ll be back in a minute.’
The boy peels off his clothes in one swift action and Cara laughs. ‘Well, that’s one way!’
Sky grins and clambers over the side of the bath.
As Cara walks into the living room, through the bay window she sees Bethany at the stable door talking to Greg.
‘Hope I’m not disturbing anything,’ Greg says, as Cara enters the porch behind her daughter. ‘I thought you’d like to learn my latest thoughts with the entries for Threadneedle.’
Excitement grabs at her. This is for real!
Greg steps into the porch. Unzipping his jacket, he hangs it on a coat hook and follows Cara and Bethany into the living room. They can hear Sky singing at the top of his voice.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ Cara says to Greg. ‘Have a seat.’
Picking up a jumper lying on the arm of the sofa, she cringes at how messy the bungalow is but then pulls herself up short. Too bad. If he just rocks up without warning, what can he expect? She walks to the bathroom and deposits the jumper in the linen basket.
‘You OK in here for a bit, Sky?’ The boy stops singing and nods. ‘Just shout when you’re ready to get out.’
‘OK.’ Gathering bubbles into mountains, Sky blows them across the surface of the bathwater like clouds before a big wind.
Cara walks back to the living room. ‘Can I get you a drink, Greg?’
‘No, thanks,’ he replies. ‘I only called by on the off-chance you’d be here. I can’t stay too long.’ She sits down in the chair opposite him. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that several paintings were of a good enough standard.’ A muscle twitches in his cheek at the little white lie; all passed his critical assessment. ‘I’ve selected the maximum number to put forward to the selectors: Lanyon Quoit at Night; The Cove at Sunset; Porthcurno Early Morning; Rainbow over Rinsey Head; Herons on the Helford and Marazion Moon.’
Cara studies Greg. He doesn’t look comfortable and seems out of place.
‘What do you think?’ Greg asks, almost as an afterthought.
‘Well, OK. Yes, I suppose.’ She winces. How flaky she must sound to him. ‘I mean, I was pretty pleased with the way they turned out.’
‘Pretty pleased?’ Greg repeats incredulously. ‘As I’ve said before, Cara, you are one cool customer.’
Cara frowns. She’s still unsure what he means.
The low afternoon light plays tricks and as the shadows fall across Greg’s face, he appears to Cara both attractive and dangerous. She can well imagine him as a pirate with a gold earring in one ear; ruthless with women and, yet, at the same time, sophisticated, charming and welcome in the highest echelons of society. He really confuses her.
‘So, what I propose is this,’ Greg says authoritatively. ‘We go through the registration now and submit your work online for pre-selection. You will, of course, have to ensure the canvases are unavailable until we know the outcome of the prize.’
‘Register now?’
‘No time like the present.’
Cara thinks quickly. To do the online registration will mean using the computer – in her bedroom. Does she want him in there? It was difficult enough allowing him in her studio.
‘Is there a problem, Cara?’
‘No problem.’
Greg looks at his watch.
‘The computer is through here,’ says Cara, ‘but you’ll have to excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.’
As Greg follows Cara from the room, Bethany glances up from her Kindle and thoughtfully observes the American.
Sky’s singing carries along the hallway and Cara pauses. Opening the bathroom door a fraction, she puts her head round the corner. ‘Do you want more hot water, Sky?’
The boy turns in the bath, bubbles piled high upon his head, and nods. Cara enters the room, pushing the door to behind her. Smoothly, Greg puts out a foot, successfully preventing the door from fully closing, and silently observes the domestic scene unfold.
‘Have you washed behind your ears?’ Cara asks, leaning over the bath and turning on the hot tap.
‘Yes.’ Innocent brown eyes look up at her.
‘Sk-y-y?’ She draws out his name into a question.
‘Maybe not a lot.’
Squeezing shower gel onto a sponge, she sets about washing her son. As Greg watches this small, intimate act, he swallows hard.
‘There you go.’ Cara turns off the tap and kisses Sky on the nose. ‘I’ll come and dry you in ten minutes.’
Quickly, Greg steps away from the door. As Cara emerges into the hallway, he smiles at her. Without saying a word, he follows her to her bedroom, instantly noticing the unmade bed, the clothes strewn over a chair and a couple of towels dumped on the floor. Wet, no doubt!
Cara’s eyes critically sweep the room. Inwardly, she groans. Rushing to the bed, she pulls the duvet straight.
‘Don’t worry on my behalf,’ he says smoothly.
‘I had no idea anyone would be coming in here,’ she says apologetically.
‘As I said, don’t worry.’ Greg maintains a smoothness honed over many years. ‘Now, let’s log on.’ He inclines his head towards the computer perched on a small table by the French doors.
The computer takes an age to fire up and Cara is very aware of him standing behind her. Feeling panicked, she wonders if he has this effect on her because of his superior knowledge of art. She’s hugely flattered that someone like him should see merit in her creativity. She also has great respect for him as a first-rate art critic.
At last the screen flickers into life. Lightly resting his hand on Cara’s shoulder, Greg instructs her to sign on to the Threadneedle Prize website. Twenty minutes later she has completed the registration.
‘Well, that wasn’t too painful, was it?’ Greg says, his fingers still lingering on her collarbone.
Cara logs out. Swivelling in the chair, she dislodges his hand.
‘Now all we have to do is await the decision,’ he says, checking his watch. His wife will be wondering where he is.
On the way back to the living room, Cara looks in on her son.
Sky stands in the centre of the bathroom wrapped in a large towel. ‘The water went cold,’ he explains.
‘Sorry. It took longer than I thought,’ she says. ‘Don’t forget to pull out the plug.’
‘Goodbye, Sky,’ says Greg behind her. ‘Perhaps we can walk the dogs together one day?’
Sky nods enthusiastically. ‘Barnaby would like that.’
‘Milo too.’ Greg smiles at the lad before following Cara into the living room.
‘Beth, it’s not good for you to read in the dark,’ Cara says, switching on the light.
Still studiously reading at the table, Bethany looks up in surprise. ‘Sorry, Mum. I didn’t notice.’
‘What are you reading?’ Greg asks.
‘Harry Potter.’
He tries to recall anything about the wizard but fails miserably. ‘Good, is it?’
‘Yes.’ The young girl looks at him with intelligent, kind eyes, waiting for him to say something more. Greg remains silent. ‘It’s the Order of the Phoenix.’
‘Ah,’ he says, floundering.
‘I’ll get your jacket,’ says Cara, swiftly turning away to hide the smile on her face. Greg seems as thrown by her daughter as Cara is by him.
‘Goodbye, Beth,’ Greg says, quickly following Cara out into the hallway.
When they step out onto the track, the tide is almost fully in.
‘Hope summer arrives soon,’ Cara says, rubbing her arms against the early evening chill.
‘I have to return to the States soon,’ says Greg. ‘However, when your paintings are selected I will fly back to guide you. Now all we have to do is let the selectors come to the right decision.’
Excitement snatches at Cara again and she smiles.
Suddenly Greg crushes her to his chest. Taking a step back, he looks at her with a gaze so intense that Cara is the first to break eye contact. It’s the same look he gave her that day she met him at Rick’s, which is doubly disconcerting now that she’s met Marietta.
‘Now, I really must be going,’ he says. Leaning forward, he kisses her lightly on the lips.