Swimming, as it happened, was indeed torture. Dylan screamed and cried for most of the class, but stubbornly refused to kick because that would have been too much like swimming. The one blessing was that he exhausted himself and, safe from the elements under the buggy’s plastic rain cover, was rocked to sleep as Becky half ran to the gallery.
She arrived at five past eleven, rain-beaten, windswept and prepared to kill for a cup of tea. She reversed into the Coulson, using her behind to open the door, and parked the buggy near the reception desk.
Although she hadn’t made any effort to sneak in, her arrival went unnoticed. On the other side of the gallery, Rachel was talking Charlie around the latest exhibition: a collection of grey-and-white textured canvases which looked to Becky like the creations of a preschool class allowed to rampage with papier mâché and PVA glue.
Rachel was punctuating her explanations with a great deal of fidgeting, smiling and the occasional laugh. Charlie’s smile was spread all over his infuriatingly chiselled, naked face.
Becky was wondering whether she could sneak out and head for Sweet’s when Virgil appeared at her elbow, making her jump.
‘Good morning, Becky. You’re looking positively radiant.’
‘Thank you, Virgil. But I wasn’t expecting to work today or I’d have made more of an effort. We’ve come straight from swimming and I know I look “interesting” at best.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re as fetching as always.’
Becky laid a hand on his arm and gave him a weak smile. His comments were slightly restorative, although she would have traded them for a cup of tea.
He bent forward to peer into the buggy. ‘And this handsome young man must be Dylan.’
‘Why am I not surprised you know his name?’
‘I have excellent sources.’
‘I bet you do. And, yes: that’s Dylan. Thankfully asleep at the moment. And if I’m lucky he’ll stay that way long enough for me to have a cup of tea.’
‘Sounds like a plan. Would you mind if I joined you?’
Virgil looked over at the happy couple on the other side of the room as Rachel burst into a fit of giggles and gave Charlie a playful shove. The gallery owner winced as if the small shove to Charlie had landed as a sharp punch in his own guts. Not for the first time, Becky wondered exactly what was going on between Rachel and Virgil and whether she could get Clarice to do some digging. But for now she would settle for getting them out of the building and to some tea and cake as quickly as possible.
She dropped her chin and muttered, ‘Let’s go before they—’
‘Ms Watson!’
Rachel sailed towards them, her dark hair floating behind her, scattering a delicate scent of jasmine. Charlie trailed her, staring unashamedly at his muse, his pupils as large as dinner plates.
As he approached, Becky had to admit she understood why the ‘new’ Charlie had caused more than one passer-by to do a double take. His dark hair was short and neat. The facial hair had gone, revealing a strong jawline and letting his expressive brown eyes take centre stage. Eyes which were stubbornly fixed on Rachel.
Becky tried to tuck a pained expression behind her ears along with the most rebellious strands of her hair. But it was no use; she would have come off badly in a comparison with Rachel on a good day. Right now, next to such petite perfection, Becky felt like a blob. A dishevelled, chlorinated blob. And for a horrible second she was back at that party, standing next to her lover’s beautiful wife. Seeing them side-by-side, no wonder Dylan’s dad had disowned her.
Becky stood up straight and flicked her hands at the hem of her dress. Whatever she might say, Becky didn’t have to let Rachel get to her. Although that thought was little comfort as her fingertips brushed against the mud splatter on the knee of her jeans. Why did she find it so hard to be polished and poised? She bet Rachel could have taken Dylan swimming and shown up at the gallery without a speck of dirt on her clothes, a face of expertly applied make-up and no desire at all to disappear through the cracks in the floorboards.
‘Good morning, Ms Stone,’ she said. ‘I see you and Mr Handren have finally been reunited.’
‘Yes! Finally,’ she said, touching Charlie’s arm in a gesture Becky thought entirely unnecessary. ‘I had started to wonder if he was hiding from me.’
Charlie joined Rachel in a polite chuckle, his gaze never leaving her face. Meanwhile Rachel was using her doe-like eyes to scour Becky from top to toe. Releasing her hold on Charlie, she rubbed her smoothed and varnished hands together. ‘I assume you walked here, Ms Watson? You must have been unfortunate with the weather, although I see you are dressed for the outdoors.’ She paused to let her barbs sink in, then changed her target. She jabbed a dainty finger towards Dylan and sniffed. ‘At least he’s quiet today. A gallery is no place for children.’
Becky opened her mouth to defend her son, but Virgil interrupted.
‘Becky and I are popping out for tea,’ he said with an impressive degree of self-importance and an emphatic tug on his jacket’s cuffs. ‘We wouldn’t want to get in the way of you two and your little plans.’
Becky could have kissed him. Rachel’s mouth was twisted into a pucker only her mother could rival and his comments had also torn Charlie’s stare away from his muse.
Charlie blinked at Becky, inspecting the mess passing for her hair and face. ‘Becky, are you all right?’ he said. ‘You’re all red.’
Thanks, Charlie, she thought. Couldn’t have come up with ‘radiant’, could you?
‘I rushed straight here from swimming.’ She paused to narrow her eyes. ‘I thought I might be needed.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Charlie suddenly found the floor fascinating. ‘Right. Thanks.’
Rachel interrupted his inspection of the parquet by returning her hand to his arm. ‘Yes, well, as Mr Locke says, we should get back to our little plans.’ Her sneer melted into a smile as she turned her face to Charlie and led him away by the elbow. The image of the Labrador returned to Becky, but for far less flattering reasons.
Virgil seized the buggy and drove it out of the gallery, apparently not wanting to witness round two of Charlie and Rachel’s courtship ritual. Becky followed, scurrying to keep up as he strode away from the gallery. She would have to talk to Clarice again. There was definitely something more going on with Virgil and Rachel than she’d understood.
As if wanting to confirm her suspicions, Virgil muttered his next words through clenched teeth. ‘Your Mr Handren isn’t quite the bearded recluse I was expecting.’
Becky trotted to catch up with him. ‘You only missed out by a few days. Believe me.’
Virgil huffed and let Becky take control of the buggy. ‘I suppose what he looks like is neither here nor there. And anyway,’ he said, his smile reappearing, ‘this is wonderful! I’ve finally got you to myself. Tea and brownies at Sweet’s?’
Now they were out in the fresh air, Becky found it easy to return Virgil’s smile. ‘Perfect. And, speaking of Sweet’s, that’s reminded me about something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’
‘Ask away.’
‘I have a friend who wants to know: were you named after a relative?’