Silvergarth by Sheila Spencer-Smith

Author:Sheila Spencer-Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AudioGO
Published: 2012-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

The glorious day was declining into evening as she chose a spot where the hillside dipped to accommodate a beck beneath silver birch trees. Satisfied, she settled herself on a mossy rock. The delicate detail of slanting sunlight on the brown rippling water was pleasing.

She was unaware of passing time as she worked. She saw only the shadows in the indents in the boulders on the other bank, and felt the strength in their very silence and immobility. There was an agelessness here that was appealing. Until now there had seemed to be a sense of stability lacking in her own life. Now, having brought the remainder of her belongings to Silvergarth, she would surely find it again.

Absorbed, she mixed delicate shades of yellowy-green on her palette, and didn’t at first hear the footsteps coming along the path. She looked up for a moment; and then down again, conscious of the warmth from Tom’s body as he stood behind her and gazed silently at her work.

‘Too restricted,’ he said at last as he moved round and seated himself on a rock facing her.

His hair caught the last of the sunlight and the brown skin on his neck glowed. Her brush poised, Andrea heard the censure in his voice.

‘It’s on too small a scale,’ he said. ‘Too trivial.’

The hurt that shot through her tightened her lips, but before she could say anything he leaned forward and picked up the painting, holding it carefully so that the paint shouldn’t run.

‘This is too much on the surface of things.’

He spoke in such a calm, matter-of-fact way that he might have merely been making polite small talk.

‘It’s flat and uninteresting.’

Speechless, she watched him replace the painting on the ground at her feet. Then she sprang up.

‘How dare you!’ she cried, swallowing back tears of humiliation. Couldn’t he see he was squeezing the very life blood out of her? She grabbed frantically at her paints and thrust them in her bag.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion. Just go and leave me alone.’

He got up and stood looking at her with a serious expression in his blue eyes.

‘My dear Andrea, you’re capable of much more depth than this.’

She heard a huskiness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. He waved his hand at the beck and the trees beyond.

‘These subjects are too light, too pleasant for your talent. I’ll show you things deep in the earth that will change your whole outlook.’

He seemed not to notice that he had upset her deeply, and his indifference was a sword-jab.

‘Come with me when we next go caving;’ he said, completely unaware. ‘It’s fascinating.’

She took a deep breath, struggling to keep calm.

‘Please leave me alone.’

He looked up at the trees on the other side of the beck with his eyes half-closed. Another gruesome activity being planned, she thought bitterly as she hurled her painting water into the bracken. Did he never rest? He seemed to make up his mind suddenly, and was off before she could say any more.

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