Chapter Six #3
She pulled a black polythene bag across the worktop and reached inside to pull out some clay.
With brisk, sure movements, she kneaded it into an even shape and placed it onto a board.
‘The clay shrinks in the kiln, so it’s important not to roll it too thin,’ she said, taking a rolling pin and flattening the shape into a wide circle.
‘Then you use your template to cut the shape you want.’
Her hands moved quickly, manipulating the clay so that it transformed into a ghost before Fraser’s eyes. ‘There,’ she said, and pulled more clay from the bag to place before him. ‘Why don’t you have a go?’
He felt his eyebrows shoot up in alarm. ‘Oh no. I couldn’t.’
‘Yes, you could,’ Maura encouraged. ‘Roll your sleeves up and give it a go.’
Fraser’s gaze slid from the well-crafted, sightless ghost she had created in just a few minutes to the glistening grey blob in front of him. ‘Erm…’
‘Here,’ Maura said, offering him an apron. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
He blinked. ‘You’ll see how utterly devoid of artistic talent I am and decide not to work with me?’
‘Unlikely,’ she replied firmly. ‘Roll out the clay. I’ll help you with the rest.’
There was, he knew, no way he could refuse.
The clay was cold and softer than he’d expected; his fingers sank clumsily into its smoothness as he picked it up.
With tentative movements, he ran the rolling pin across the surface, applying what he hoped was an even pressure to flatten the clay to the right thickness.
Maura watched, then crossed to another bench to retrieve what looked to Fraser like two long rulers.
‘Use these as guides,’ she said, placing one on either side of the rolled clay. ‘They’ll stop you taking it too thin.’
The guides helped; before long, Fraser had a flat expanse of clay. Maura handed him a stubby, angled knife and the bowl she had used as a template. ‘Now cut around that and peel the excess away.’
He did as she instructed and gave her an enquiring look.
‘That’s great. Next, you’ll need to make something for the clay to drape around. Roll some of the spare clay into a ball around the size of a large marble.’
The next part was where he felt it all went wrong.
The circle of clay stuck together once it was arranged across the top of the ball, creating thick clumps that thrust out in odd directions rather than lying in ethereal folds.
‘Ease them apart,’ Maura advised. ‘Use your fingers to create the shape you want.’
But it was no good. No matter what Fraser tried, the clay stubbornly refused to do his bidding. He fired a pleading glance at Maura. ‘Help.’
‘Like this,’ she said, moving nearer. Her deft fingers teased and tugged at the ghost, smoothing out the damage he’d inflicted and shaping it into something that resembled the one she had made. ‘See?’
‘What I see is that I could fiddle with that lump of clay all day and not make it look like yours,’ Fraser said. ‘I think I’ll stick to acting.’
‘You’re not done yet,’ Maura said. ‘Your ghost needs eyes or he won’t be able to see.’
Fraser sighed. ‘I think mine might be blind, actually. Haven’t you ever heard of Sightless Sam?’
‘Nope.’ She created two small ovals in her ghost’s face, and then offered Fraser the thin paintbrush handle she’d used. ‘Your turn.’
He would have been happier if the eyes had been level but at least they were broadly the same size.
Maura didn’t comment. Instead, she handed him a sliver of damp sponge.
‘Smooth away any bobbles or creases, or they’ll turn hard in the kiln and catch on things.
’ She leaned past him to run the sponge over the clay. ‘See?’
Obediently, Fraser bent for a better view, just as Maura turned her face towards him and, for a moment, they were no more than a few centimetres apart.
The breath froze in his chest as her gaze met his.
Several startled observations collided in his brain at once.
The first was how dark her eyes were, framed by thick black lashes that shimmered as he stared at her.
The second was the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose that he had never noticed before.
And the third observation was that this was not the first time he had been this close to her.
A memory surfaced, of another time and place when she’d been so near, perhaps even closer.
Near enough for him to lean in and kiss her. Just as she was now.
Maura cleared her throat and the memory vanished. Blinking, Fraser straightened. ‘Sorry,’ he croaked, still reeling with the implications of the shocking recollection. ‘Yes, I see. You smooth out the rough bits. Got it.’
She had turned her attention back to the ghost and was methodically tidying the edges. ‘I’ll carve your initials into one of the folds, so we know which one is yours.’
He took several breaths in and out, forcing his bewilderment aside.
Maura’s voice was utterly matter of fact, perfectly normal.
With a bit of luck she hadn’t noticed him staring at her like a lovestruck fool.
‘Thanks,’ he said, swallowing a hot rush of embarrassment.
‘Although I think it’s pretty clear which is mine. ’
Gathering up the tools they had used, she carried them to the sink. ‘You should wash the clay off your hands before you go. It gets everywhere if you don’t.’
He untied the apron he wore and laid it on the workbench. ‘Occupational hazard, right?’
She smiled. ‘You have no idea.’
Taking refuge in the act of washing the dust from his hands, he waited until he was sure he could meet her gaze before he looked up again.
‘I’ll have my solicitor draw up the paperwork and send it over to you before you start work,’ he said.
‘Make sure you’re happy with the financial details.
Obviously, you’ll retain the rights over everything you make. ’
She pursed her lips. ‘I hadn’t even thought about that. Thanks.’
Fraser nodded. ‘Let me know if you have any questions.’
If Maura thought his suddenly formal tone was strange, she didn’t say so. ‘I will. And don’t forget to take Agnes,’ she said, holding out the wrapped ghost. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing how she looks in her photos.’
He took the package. ‘Great. Well, I’ll be in touch over the next few days.’
‘Okay,’ she said, following him to the door and pulling it open. ‘Speak soon.’
Fraser was glad of the cool fresh air as he closed the door behind him and made his way along the cobbled street.
His forehead felt feverish, his thoughts hot and jumbled as he made for the bridge, but he knew his discomfort had nothing to do with the temperature inside the studio and everything to do with Maura herself.
Now that he was outside, the flash of memory had crystallized into something more tangible, an insistent recollection of pressing his lips to Maura’s, of cupping her cheek and sinking his fingers into her hair.
It had happened, he was sure of it. The question was when, and why hadn’t he remembered it before now?
Did Maura remember? Why hadn’t she mentioned it?
Although she’d probably realised he didn’t remember and that was why she’d kept quiet.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing old schoolmates dropped into conversation, after all.
With a heartfelt groan, Fraser let his eyes drift briefly shut.
In the space of a few seconds, his life and his new business partnership had both become considerably more complicated.
The problem was not the realisation that he had once kissed Maura McKenzie.
It was the fact that he very much wanted to do it again.