She could hear the trace of anxiety in his words, though. He didn’t want the secret idyll to end either.
She put a hand to his cheek. It was stubbly, and the stubble was growing out into a fuzzy beard. It felt soft, the hairs bending into her palm.
‘Are you going to finish your paintings? In the attic?’
‘I suppose. I thought you wanted me to sort out the garden.’
‘I want you to do what you want to do.’
‘Stay in bed forever then?’ he said, his lips seeking hers and finding them.
The embrace was broken by the buzz of Jenna’s phone. This was the phone she used for people she actually wanted to talk to – only half a dozen people were allowed access – so she sighed and fished it out of her robe pocket.
‘Oh,’ she said, looking at the caller display. She went out of the back kitchen doors and stood on the warmed stone of the patio, putting the phone to her ear.
‘Tabitha? Hi. You’ve caught me at breakfast.’
‘Have I? It’s half past ten, you know. I’ve been at work for nearly three hours.’
‘Well, things have been a bit intense round here lately. I’ve got a lot of rest to catch up on.’
‘Quite.’ There was a pointed pause, then Tabitha continued, ‘Did you see the feature in The Times?’
‘Oh God! Yes. Yes, I did.’
It was like rewinding the last few days, past the discovery of the bones, past Jason’s release from his wrongful arrest, past all the work it had taken to get him out of prison, past Jason’s desperate last stand on the parapet of the house and the police arriving at her door. She could almost see the officers walking backwards down her path, getting into their cars and reversing up the road, blue lights flashing.
And before all that . . . the article in The Times, which had been about to cause an almighty row between her and Jason, but was pre-empted by all the other stuff.
‘I thought I’d hear from you,’ said Tabitha.
‘You would have done. But things got very hectic around about then. Tabitha, why did you talk to the press about him? You knew we wanted to keep things quiet.’
‘I know you said you did, but, darling, you have the potential new star of the art world on your hands. Why would you really want to keep quiet about that? I didn’t think you could possibly mean it.’
‘I did mean it! And he was furious.’
‘Was he? I take it the mystery artist was this chap all the fuss was about? The one you were hiding in your home?’
‘Jason Watson. Yes. It was him. And we still haven’t discussed this . . .’
‘Well, you’re going to have to. I’ve had the most enormous amount of interest on the back of that article. An absolute deluge. Buyers, agents, experts, all clamouring to know who he is and get access to his work. I can’t fend them off much longer.’
‘Oh God, really?’
‘Absolutely. You must bring him down to London, darling. Everybody’s dying to meet him.’
Jenna took the phone from her ear, needing to take a few breaths. Just as soon as one furore died down, it seemed that several more barged in to take its place. If it was too much for her, how on earth would Jason take it? The dream of a quiet summer spent alternately renovating the house and making love began to fade.
‘Look, I’ll talk to him,’ she said. ‘But that’s all I can promise. He wasn’t wild about the idea when I first broached it . . . but then, some of the reasons for that no longer exist.’
‘Legal reasons,’ said Tabitha, with a kind of gloating glee. ‘You couldn’t ask for a better launch for an artist. Really, what a story. He’s famous before he’s even exhibited. Marvellous.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Jenna repeated. ‘It’ll be his decision. And please – no more press until you hear from me, or I’ll be approaching another gallery.’
‘Darling!’ Tabitha sounded stunned. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I’m serious. This isn’t my client – not yet. I can’t make him do anything. But I’ll work on it. Anything that destroys the delicate balance of our relationship isn’t going to help, though – and that includes more publicity. So keep a lid on it.’