‘How are you going with your exhibition?’ Harriet Fuller, one of the other Masters students, asked at college later that day.
‘I’m not quite finished,’ Keira confessed, brushing a curl away from her face as she looked up from the painting she was working on.
Harriet peered over her shoulder. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘You like your strong colours, don’t you?’
‘You think it’s too much?’
Harriet tapped her lips. ‘No, not really. It’s distinctive, eye-catching, if you like.’
Keira chewed on the end of the brush for a moment before confessing, ‘I just hope someone likes it enough to buy it or one of the others.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s the dream, isn’t it?’ Harriet said with a wistful smile. ‘All of us here want to make a living from our art but it’s hardly likely to happen. We have to die first to become famous.’
Keira sighed as she put her brush down. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right.’
‘I saw that thing in the paper the other day,’ Harriet said. ‘Is it true? Are you back with your husband, Patrizio?’
‘Yes…yes, it’s true,’ Keira answered and, shifting her gaze back to her painting, added, ‘it’s early days yet, though…’
‘So this is sort of a trial reconciliation?’ Harriet asked.
‘We’re just taking it one day at a time.’
‘I bet your parents are pleased,’ Harriet said.
‘Yeah…they are…’
‘Are you OK, Keira?’ Harriet asked with a frown. ‘You seem a bit spaced out.’
‘I’m fine, just tired. It’s a busy time of year.’
‘I guess that gorgeous husband of yours is keeping you up all hours, huh?’
Keira tried to smile but it made her face feel strange. ‘Something like that…’
‘I’d better get moving,’ Harriet said. ‘Good luck with the portfolio.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And good luck with your marriage. He’s a good man, Keira. Believe me, they’re pretty hard to come by these days.’
Keira picked up her brush again and inwardly sighed. Patrizio had been the nicest man she’d ever met until the day he’d found her in bed with Garth. After that he had turned into someone else entirely.
A stranger.
An angry and bitter stranger who wanted her to have an affair with him before they eventually divorced.
Could she do it?
Could she risk what little self-respect she’d mustered over the last two months in the fragile hope of making him fall in love with her all over again? He was still fiercely attracted to her, which was some sort of compensation to her shattered pride, she supposed. But he only wanted her to share his bed, nothing else. It was hard not to feel a little short-changed. She knew it was a lot to ask for a man, and a proud Italian one at that, to overlook a misdemeanour such as hers. She even wondered if she would be able to do it herself if the boot had
been on the other foot as she had initially suspected. The thought of him sharing his body with other women had tortured her from day one of their marriage. Her inbuilt insecurity had nibbled away at her, making her react in an entirely immature and foolish way, when instead she should have confronted him with the issue in a calm and rational manner.
What clear vision one had via the retrospect-scope, Keira thought wryly. But what would turning back the clock achieve when she didn’t even remember what had happened that night?
The memory was locked somewhere deep in her brain—perhaps she had locked it out to escape responsibility for her actions. Suppression of memories was a tricky subject; there were convincing arguments on both sides. What if she had shut down that memory because it was too painful to confront the truth of her infidelity?
But then another thought slipped into her head. She tried to quickly push it aside, not wanting to think for a moment that Garth would wilfully destroy her reputation and marriage, but still the thought lingered like a fog, clouding her brain until she wasn’t sure what to think any more. Yes, she had confided in Garth many times in the early months of her marriage, speaking of her doubts of Patrizio remaining faithful when he was away such a lot but Garth had always been supportive and reassuring. She had no reason to believe that he would betray her when for so long he had been her closest friend.