Chapter 24 #2
Heather nods, takes a sip of wine and sinks into the cushions as though a pressure release valve has opened.
‘I’ll always worry about her, you know. I’ll always feel compelled to protect her from being hurt and abandoned in the way I was.’
‘I know that,’ he says as gently as he can, ‘but maybe, for now, just let her enjoy her moment, knowing you’ll be around to pick up the pieces if she needs you.’
Heather makes a pinching gesture using the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.
‘Picking up the pieces. Yes. That I can do,’ she says.
The wine slips down far too easily, and they’ve drained the entire bottle by the time Scott realises he needs a distraction to break the subtle shift that’s happening between them.
As they’ve talked, they've inched closer together on the sofa. Now, he can feel her breath on his face when she laughs, meaning she’s close enough to touch. Which definitely can’t be good.
‘So, your paintings?’ he says.
Heather jolts upright and places her glass on the coffee table.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘The paintings.’
They move into Scott’s study, a large room fitted out with a long desk which occupies an entire wall. The desk houses three large screens and a host of other computer-related paraphernalia. It’s Scott’s den.
‘Gosh. It’s like the MI5 headquarters in here,’ she gasps, which makes Scott want to simultaneously hug and laugh with her.
‘Let’s get the art set out first,’ he says.
He’s prepared ahead of time. There’s already a large white sheet stuck to the carpeted floor with duct tape, four spotlights to provide even light coverage and an SLR camera on a tripod with a wide-angled lens ready fitted.
They work in virtual silence, taking their time, unrolling each picture, securing it at the corners and photographing it several times until they find the perfect orientation to best show the work.
The few words that are spoken are about camera angles, lighting, and how best to portray each painting.
Seeing Heather’s work up close again reminds Scott of her phenomenal talent. Every brush stroke is considered, every millimetre of shading honed.
He straightens up from his hunched position over the last piece of art, his camera held in one hand.
‘You know this stuff is remarkable, right?’ he says.
Heather busies herself rolling up the canvas and slotting it into the specialised tubes she’d brought with her to transport her work. She pops the plastic top in place. It’s clear she doesn’t accept praise easily.
‘Well …’
‘Honestly, Heather. Once we get these images uploaded and arranged online, you’ll get a proper feel for how great your website’s going to look.’
Heather closes her eyes in a slow blink before turning to look at him.
‘Thank you,’ she says, her voice a whisper.
Scott runs downstairs to throw the lasagne he’d made earlier into the oven before returning to Heather in the office.
It took him ages to decide what food to serve.
Lasagne, he thinks, gives the perfect balance of showing some effort without looking too try-hard.
He returns to the office to find Heather swinging from side to side on one of the swivel chairs by his office desk.
‘Ready to begin?’ he asks.
‘Ready.’ She smiles.
They take some time selecting the perfect design template for Heather’s online site and gradually build up a portfolio, giving each piece a title, brief description and price.
Even Scott, the perfectionist, is pleased with how things develop.
They stop once the pictures are uploaded, and the beep of the oven tells them it’s time to eat.
‘So, we need to think about how we market you next,’ he says as he serves slabs of pasta onto their plates.
‘Me?’ Heather’s forehead creases in confusion.
‘Yes. We need to let people know a bit about you. When and why you paint, what motivates you. Just some basic background. People nowadays like to know the person behind their purchase.’
‘Really?’ Heather mirrors Scott’s movements, taking her plate, adding some salad leaves and sprinkling some oil and vinegar over her food. Her movements appear robotic, and Scott knows she’s likely processing this information. That she, as an artist, is a commodity in her own right.
‘So, what do people want to know?’ she asks once they’re sitting at the table and a second bottle of wine, Malbec this time, is poured.
There’s a vulnerability in her face. His urge to pacify her is overwhelming.
‘Nothing big. Stuff like where you’re from, a bit about your background as an artist, what inspired you to paint the subjects you chose.’
‘I can’t see people thinking it’s acceptable that I paint in defiance of my dad’s taxidermy hobby,’ she says with her eyebrow raised. He laughs. The deep belly laugh that she always seems to extract.
‘No. Perhaps we can dial that down a little,’ he says.
Heather moves her fingers in a rotating motion. ‘What, dial down the crazy?’ she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Maybe just a tad.’
They construct her biography over dessert.
Thank you for checking out my website. I’m a single mum and getting back into painting now my daughter, Georgia, is at university.
I’m based in Edinburgh, and my work is inspired by local wildlife and the representation of animals in their natural environment.
I specialise in water colour, but enjoy using oils for more vibrant plumages.
(Check out my oils of parakeets and parrots if you are interested!).
I have a fine art degree from the University of Edinburgh and am a former art teacher in our local high School.
Specialisms include memorabilia for deceased pets and mementos of family pets for university students living away from home.
I work from photographs to ensure a sensitive and meaningful portrayal of your cherished animal.
Click on the link below for examples and feel free to get in touch using the contact page. I'd love to hear from you! Heather x
‘Not too cheesy?’ she asks when they’re back upstairs and the snippet is typed out onto the test page.
‘Nah, I think it’s good.’ Scott focuses on the wording.
The font size, the text configuration. Anything to distract him from the adorable tilt of her head and tinge of pink on her cheeks.
Another entire bottle of wine down, and his earlier resolve is drifting away.
He diverts his eyes back to the text. ‘Ah. Look. A typo. School doesn’t need a capital S. ’
They reach for the mouse at the same time, and his hand ends up dwarfing hers below it. He jerks his arm back as if scalded. His throat contracts, and he coughs to release the tension. He hears Heather swallow.
‘Erm. Hmm. Yes. Got it. Well spotted,’ she says.
The air in the room sits heavy with the heat between them.
Keep it together, Scott.
‘So. Payment portal next?’ he says.
For the next two hours, Scott works, consumed by an awareness of Heather’s proximity.
The gentle contact of their knees when she re-positions her swivel chair, the overlap of their fingers when they simultaneously point to an error, the light touch from a lock of her hair against his arm when she moves closer to the screen to check the resolution of her work.
By the time the website is done, her new e-mail address is installed on her phone and laptop, and Facebook advertising is set up, Scott is super-charged.
Even the gentle exhalation of her breath on his cheek sets him on fire.
They stand up after two hours at the desk. Heather stretches her back out like a cat, her hands positioned on the small of her back, her breasts tantalisingly on full display. By the time she rights herself, he’s hard, and she’s beaming.
‘I can’t believe how much we’ve achieved in one session,’ she says. ‘I’m so grateful, Scott.’
It’s the wine speaking. Probably. She lifts her hands up and comes in for a hug of gratitude.
He resists. Initially. Because he’s pretty sure he no longer has the willpower to resist. And the feel of her body, albeit in a sweeping embrace, might be more than he can stand.
But it would be churlish to refuse a hug, right?
Her face, previously filled with gratitude, now falls.
He can’t leave her hanging with her arms outstretched.
That would be mean. He takes a step closer, and they’re hugging before he knows it.
Moments later, his hands slip into her hairline.
‘Scott.’
He can’t resist. His palms fall onto her cheeks. He so desperately wants to kiss her.
‘Do you mind if…?’
But it’s too much, he can’t finish the sentence. He promised himself he would be a gentleman. That he would respect the boundaries they both agreed. No matter how much they both want it.
He practically pushes her away.
‘Scott?’ Her voice is confused now. Or pleading? But he can’t allow himself the luxury of interrogating every nuance, every inflexion. This is about self-preservation. He leaves the room.
HEATHER
Heather watches the door close behind him and her heart contracts.
There’s something about the feelings he evokes in her that defies all logic, all her lived experience.
There’s a dampness between her legs that confirms this.
When she’s with him, the promise of more never feels far away.
But he’s made his thoughts clear tonight.
No matter how much she might want them to re-assess their agreement about keeping things cordial and never again allowing their guard to fall.
She needs to focus on the purpose of her visit.
That’s clearly what he has in mind. It’s obviously why he left her, literally hanging, in the middle of the room.