She smiled with her eyes. He thought how full of passion they were, so dark. Her skin was luminescent. Her hair was long and flowing around her shoulders in a mane of black and silver.
‘I’m not exhibiting locally at the moment. My agent in London is taking everything I can produce. I can show you some of my canvases – works in progress.’ She reached out a hand as he came near. ‘I appreciate you coming all this way.’
He looked at her hands; they looked older than the rest of her – the years of oil painting had dried them.
‘It’s no trouble. I have an appointment in Exeter this evening, just finalizing a really big order for five yachts. But I couldn’t wait to see you again – that’s the truth. You left me wanting more.’ He leant in to smell her as he kissed her neck. She smelt of roses and musk. She wore a velvet dress that came almost to the floor. Between her breasts was a silver pendant. He watched it rise and fall then traced it with his forefinger.
‘A Claddagh pendant… Love, loyalty and friendship. Did you wear that especially for me?’
She gave a curious smile, her eyes shining. ‘Perhaps.’ She looked past him. ‘Looks like the mist’s following you. It wants to keep you here.’
Ellerman turned to see that all around was now obscured by white, and cold dampness filled the air.
She looked at him. ‘I hope you don’t intend trying to leave,’ she said, laughing as she turned towards the house.
‘No intention of it. One moment.’ Ellerman turned back to his car, opened the passenger door and, reaching inside, he pulled out a box that had been on the floor. It contained six bottles of wine.
‘I brought us something interesting to try. It’s ideal for the Dartmoor weather. I hope you’re keen on taking risks?’
‘Absolutely.’
He followed her into the house and down some stone steps into a flagstone-floored kitchen with a large Aga, a sturdy oak table and hanging pots and pans. He came behind her and slipped his hands around her waist. The velvet of her dress was soft to the touch. He heard her intake of breath.
‘But, are you ready for the first taste?’ she said breathlessly.
‘Yes.’
‘Close your eyes.’
She stepped away from him and he heard the clink of glasses and the sound of liquid filling a glass. He smiled knowingly.
‘Unmistakable.’
‘Damn!’ She laughed. ‘I opened the bottle as you drove in. I hoped to be cunning. You heard the fizz as it hit the glass, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Let me guess the vintage. Mmm. I can smell almond and cocoa and… dried flowers.’ He took a sip and held the liquid on his tongue for a few seconds before he swallowed and smiled and nodded appreciatively.
‘Yes… tactile, dark and chiselled, even. Dom Pérignon 2004?’
She laughed excitedly. He could feel her heat close to him.
He opened his eyes slowly. ‘What a perfect choice to cement our friendship.’
She smiled, happy. ‘When I read that on your profile – “my favourite thing of all is champagne” – then I knew you’d be romantic.’
‘And you were right. I have a sensory nature: sensual, hedonistic – open to pleasure, sharing pleasure.’ His eyes stayed on her and he took a step closer. ‘I want to see where you paint. I want to know everything about you.’
‘Then come with me.’
She picked up the champagne bottle and turned and led him through the kitchen to a room off the back of the house. It was high-ceilinged, with skylights, and one whole wall was glass set in stone. The smell of oil paint hit him. She was working on several paintings. Slashes of black and grey and yellow gorse covered her canvases. They were bleak, dark and full of movement and anger.
‘Magnificent.’
‘Thank you.’
She was watching him as he looked at her work; he went around the studio, pausing in front of each easel, each piece of art. He took his time. She had stopped by one she was currently working on: a whirl of blue spring sky above forbidding granite shelters. He walked over to her and stood behind her, pulling her closer to him, feeling her buttocks nestle into his hips.
‘Your paintings are magnificent, beautiful, wild. They make me feel exhilarated. They overwhelm me with passion and excitement.’
She led him back through the kitchen, champagne bottle back in hand, and upstairs to her bedroom; he ducked to avoid the low beam. It was beautiful, minimal, with white-plastered walls and old beams.
Megan poured him another glass of champagne.
‘It’s been too long,’ she said as she began undressing. Ellerman studied her. When she was standing naked, he walked across and pushed her back onto the bed. He placed his hands beneath her and cupped her buttocks, parted her thighs and sucked so violently on her sex that she writhed and squealed beneath his mouth. She tried to push his head away but he stayed until she orgasmed. He took a swig of champagne and looked at her as she lay in the foetal position, squeezing her hands between her thighs.
He refilled his glass.
She turned onto her back and brushed her hair from her eyes as she watched him walk naked round to the other side of the bed. He was semi-erect.
She crawled to the edge of the bed and went to touch him. He stopped her hand, gently but firmly.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.
‘I want you to be my slave.’ He reached down as she knelt on the edge of the bed and touched her between her thighs: still wet, still swollen and still so sensitive. ‘I want you to love me so completely. I want to be everything to you.’ He held her and kissed her gently as he slowly made love to her.
He was just drifting off to sleep, feeling like he was floating in a warm, sex-scented bath, when Megan rolled onto her side and he felt her eyes studying him. He opened his eyes reluctantly and looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed, focused on his face. He smiled and closed his eyes again, hoping that she would get the hint as he reached out a warm heavy hand and laid it on her thigh.
‘So tell me – if I fall for you, what am I letting myself in for?’ she asked.
‘As in?’ he said on a sigh, trying not to sound irritated.
‘As in – you are separated?’
‘Yes, but it’s complicated.’
She reached for her champagne. ‘Go on.’ She looked at him, waiting.
Ellerman breathed in deeply, resisted the urge to sound pissed off. He forced himself to sit up, rest back on the pillows.
‘I have a son who needs me. My wife’s unstable. I told you about it last time…’
‘Unstable how? What has she got? She’s bipolar, you said?’
‘She’s never been diagnosed with anything but she doesn’t cope well with situations.’
‘What kind of situations?’
‘Anything really. If I want to talk about us – the relationship my wife and I have, or lack of it?’ He looked across to gauge Megan’s reaction. She was resting on an elbow, watching him intently. He could see his wife in her.
‘How is that likely to change in the future?’
‘Well… because my son is sixteen now. He’s doing his GCSEs. He’ll be going to uni when he’s eighteen, then I can leave.’
‘And you think that will realistically happen?’
‘Yes. Absolutely. I will have fulfilled my side of the bargain then. I owe it to my son to stay and see him through this part of his life but then… when that’s done, I’m one hundred per cent calling it a day. I’m already doing up the house in preparation. You know, I took on a wonderful old house that needs so much work and now, of course, I need to finish that work in order to get the best possible price for it when I sell it.’
‘Does your wife know that you are dating?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. I expect her to be doing the same thing. We live in the same house but we are most definitely separated. We haven’t had any intimacy for five years.’