Emily

Chapter Twenty-six

I awoke next morning with an awful head. I lay for a moment with my eyes closed. Slowly, painfully, I pieced together the happenings of the night before. I looked around me, wincing. I was in the studio.

Then, suddenly, I remembered Rory had hit me. ‘The louse,’ I muttered, getting unsteadily to my feet. In the mirror above the fire, I examined my face. Not a bruise in sight — how infuriating. My eyes lit on Rory’s oil paints on a nearby table. Why shouldn’t I paint in a black eye myself?

Soon I was busy slapping on blue and crimson paint — now a touch of yellow. Rory wasn’t the only artist round here. Within five minutes I looked exactly like Henry Cooper after a few brisk rounds with Cassius Clay. Hearing a step outside, I hurriedly jumped into bed.

Rory came in, carrying a glass of orange juice.

‘Awake, are you?’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not very good,’ I quavered.

‘Don’t deserve to, after all that liquor you shipped.’

Then he caught sight of the bruise.

‘Heavens! Where did that come from?’

‘I think you must have hit me,’ I said in a martyred voice. ‘I don’t remember much about it — it must have been quite a blow. But I can’t really believe you would have thumped me on my first night home — me being so weak and all. Perhaps I bumped into a door.’

Rory looked as discomfited as I’ve ever seen him.

‘You were hysterical,’ he said. ‘It was the only way to shut you up. I’m sorry, Em. Does it hurt?’

‘Agony,’ I said, closing my eyes. A flood of vindictiveness warmed my blood.

‘Let’s have a look,’ he said.

‘Don’t come near me,’ I hissed.

He put a hand under my chin and forced my face up.

‘Poor Em,’ he said shaking his head. ‘What a brute I am.’

‘You should be more careful in future,’ I said.

‘I will, I will,’ he said getting to his feet. He looked the picture of contrition. ‘And next time don’t add so much ochre. Bruises don’t usually go yellow till the second day.’

I opened my mouth, shut it again, and started to giggle. I giggled till the tears, and the bruise, ran down my cheeks, until Rory started laughing too.

After that I slept for most of the day. When I woke up, Rory was painting and it was dark outside.

‘What time is it?’

‘About six.’

Six o’clock — suddenly I wondered what had happened to Finn.

‘Did anyone ring?’ I asked.

Rory had his back to me. There was a pause, then he said nastily, ‘Your boyfriend did telephone about half an hour ago. I told him you were asleep. I’m just going down to the village for some cigarettes,’ he added. ‘Don’t start getting out of bed, or making a bolt for it. I’d track you down in no time, and if you put me to the bother, you wouldn’t find me in a very nice mood.’