The Tied Man
At least I had begun to apply paint to canvas, and Blaine’s daily sittings became a once-a-week ordeal as I worked more and more from memory. According to Henry, she was caught up in the organisation of some charity fundraiser or other – her Lady Bountiful mask that she wore to the rest of the world – and that suited me just fine.
On the hottest day of the year, the smell of linseed oil hung heavy in the humid air, seeping into my clothes and lingering on my skin. The familiar scent taunted me with memories and I had to stop and check myself before homesickness dealt its sucker punch. I continued to tell myself that each brush-stroke took me one step nearer Santa Marita, but even this was sullied. Every image that I constructed was immediately polluted by what I would leave behind.
*****
After twelve hours of standing at the easel, I reluctantly conceded defeat. The best of the light had faded over an hour before, and I fell into the armchair and closed my stinging eyes. When I reopened them minutes later, Blaine was standing in front of me with an amused look on her face. I wondered how long she had been there watching me doze.
‘Lilith? I hate to disturb your contemplation, but would you care to come downstairs? There’s someone I’m dying for you to meet.’
I sighed with frustration. The only thing I really cared for at that moment was a hot bath, but the request was a direct order. ‘Give me a moment.’ I slid my feet into a pair of jewelled Moroccan slippers and grabbed a denim shirt that doubled as my smock. ‘Excuse me if I’m not dressed for company.’
*****
‘Ah, here’s my artist,’ Blaine announced as I padded down the corridor and into the vast, formal drawing room. She was immaculate in a floor-length black silk skirt and teal velvet smoking jacket, and stood with a solid, ruddily handsome man in a black tie and tuxedo who reminded me of a ‘Best in Show’ bull. ‘Alasdair Dalziell, may I introduce Lilith Bresson?’ she asked.
I shook the hand of the man who had terrorised me when I rode out with Finn. ‘We’ve met.’
Alasdair turned to Blaine. ‘I’m afraid the entrancing Miss Bresson and I got off to a rather unfortunate start. I think her ride was a little too challenging. Not entirely her fault, mind you – you really must get your animals used to traffic, Blaine.’
‘Ah,’ Blaine smiled. ‘Finn mentioned she’d taken a tumble. So, that was you?’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Finn, darling, you didn’t tell me Alasdair was involved.’
I hadn’t realised Finn was in the room. He sat by the fire, hidden by the high back of a green leather armchair. ‘Didn’t think it was important.’
‘Evening, Finn,’ I acknowledged, and he turned to raise an empty brandy glass to me, his smile already a little lop-sided. He too wore a dinner jacket, although his bow tie remained unfastened and draped around his neck.
‘I thought perhaps you might partner me for dinner tonight,’ Alasdair suggested, although his self-satisfied expression said that, in his mind, there was no ‘might’ about it. He ran his hand over thick, red hair that had been gelled into submission. ‘You have no idea how hard it is to be sad and single in the company of such a perfect couple.’ Behind him, Finn caught my eye and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. I hoped I understood.
‘I’m sorry, Blaine,’ I announced. ‘Thank you for the introduction, but I really don’t feel that Mr Dalziell and I have anything in common.’
Alasdair gave an indulgent chuckle. ‘Lili – may I call you that? – I can only apologise for our unfortunate first meeting. May I suggest that you consider choosing an easier ride?’
‘No.’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘No, you may not suggest that, and you may not call me that, since you ask. May I suggest that if you want a fuck out of this evening, you start being nice to your right hand?’
Finn gave a soft, choked laugh that he tried to disguise behind a cough, and Alasdair’s smile hardened. ‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed. Lady Albermarle assured me that her houseguest would be only too delighted to offer me her companionship.’ He glanced at Blaine with ill-disguised ire. ‘I’m only sorry I don’t meet with your approval.’
The woman who prided herself on providing for her guests’ every desire struggled to recover her composure. ‘Alasdair, what can I say? I’ve clearly made a terrible error of judgement. However I’m sure there are ways we can compensate you for a wasted journey.’ She placed long fingers on his hand and lifted it to her lips, placing a delicate kiss on the back of his wrist.