The Gravity of Love Page 2

  She was aware of those around her standing up. The clicking of cameras as they tried to capture this rare Arizona moment.

  Joy took a step away from the flash of cameras, bumping into someone as she did so.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, losing her balance slightly as she stumbled.

  A hand reached out, caught her by the elbow and steadied her. ‘Careful – you don’t want to fall.’

  It was a man’s voice. An English accent.

  Something about it reassured her. He was tall, but she couldn’t make out his face in the dark.

  ‘This is amazing,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered.

  They watched in silence. She realised they were the only two not taking photographs. She wanted to tell the other people to put their cameras down. By creating that barrier between themselves and the experience of the lights, she felt they were missing it.

  She glanced at the man standing beside her. He was still, as if held in a spell.

  She could see his eyes now. They were filled with reflections of the Aurora. She felt a longing for her husband. If only she could share this special moment with Eddie and see stars in his eyes.

  She thought of that first time Eddie had noticed her. He had been in the year above her in high school, and all the girls had a crush on him. The young Eddie had embodied everything intoxicating about the Arizona cowboy spirit: strong, lean, lithe. He was as natural on his horse as if he were born welded to it.

  Eddie had never said too much, unlike the other boys who goofed around all the time. He would just watch. Lean back against the fence by the schoolyard, arms crossed, eyes blue slits and take in the rest of them. Now and again, Joy would see a girl with him, in the movie theatre or walking down Main Street, or coming out of the Sugar Bowl after sharing an ice cream. Usually it would be one of the ‘Howdy Dudette’ girls, the prettiest, most popular girls at school, and he would have his arm around her waist. He had been so sure of himself and his power over the girl. It had fascinated Joy. The way he walked, so at ease in his skin and his physicality.

  And then one day, something quite remarkable had happened. She had been in the Sugar Bowl with Mary Lynn Baxter, sharing the ‘Sugar Bowl Treat Banana Split’, when Eddie had come in. He’d turned towards her – and actually looked at her.

  ‘Can I join you ladies?’ he’d asked.

  In that instant she had been hooked. Mary Lynn had seemed to be similarly dumbstruck because neither of them had replied, both turning a deep shade of pink as they’d stared down at their half-eaten dish of ice cream.

  That hour had changed Joy’s life. In the years that followed she would often ask Eddie why it was that he’d sat down with her and Mary Lynn. He would tease her that he had been after her friend and she had been his second choice, but in more serious moments Eddie had said it was because of her eyes. When he’d walked into the Sugar Bowl that day and caught her looking at him, she’d stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘You looked so different from the other girls. You were like Elizabeth Taylor with your black hair and pale skin. I wanted that difference.’

  They had dated, and the whole of Scottsdale High had been in uproar at the news. Why was Eddie Sheldon dating little Joy Porter? She wasn’t a ‘Howdy Dudette’ gal. She couldn’t even ride a horse.

  Joy had always been intimidated by the pretty girls of Scottsdale High, most of whom had their own horses. She had preferred to hang back with the less popular crowd. Mousy Mary Lynn Baxter with her thick spectacles; Rosa Fowler, the only mixed-race kid whose white father had somehow managed to get her into the high school, and Brian Delaware – not a weedy boy but an outcast because he seemed to fear horses just as much as she did.

  Her parents had found it hard to understand her terror of horses. Yet right from the first day that they’d tried to put her on her mother’s mare at the age of four Joy had screamed her head off. Her mom put it down to wilfulness, but her father had tried his best to understand her terror. He would coax her gently, getting her to help him groom his own horse, and trying to help her connect with the animal, but all Joy saw when she looked into a horse’s eyes was madness – something not to be trusted.

  She had wanted so much to please her parents, but no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t get over her fear. In Scottsdale not to have a horse, not even to ride, was a major social disability. All those boys had cowboy souls, and they wanted western girls just like them.

  Yet Eddie had wanted her, and because of that she’d even got on a horse for him. She’d been that crazy about him. He’d told her he would be right there, holding the reins and leading her, so she’d let him give her a leg-up, and she’d clambered on to Amber, a huge Arabian mare.

  She hadn’t liked it. Had felt the beast shifting beneath her weight, as if it could sense her fear.

  ‘Can I get down now?’ she’d asked Eddie.

  ‘Not yet, Joy. Trust me.’

  They had been up at Gainey Ranch where his dad worked. But that day there was no one else around.

  ‘This here is where we take those Arabian beauties through the motions,’ he’d told her as he led her round the arena.

  ‘Do you help your dad?’ Joy had asked him.

  ‘Sure do.’

  She had gripped the horn of the saddle, felt the horse shifting from side to side, but it was okay. She could do it.

  ‘Do you want to work here when you leave school?’

  ‘No way. I don’t think this place can run as a ranch much longer. I’d say it’ll be turned into a development soon. I’m going to get in where the money is.’

  He had looked up at her then, and she’d noticed how different he appeared from his usual cool self. He had let his guard down. His cheeks were flushed, his fair hair damp on his forehead, one big blonde curl stuck right in the middle. She had wanted to slide off the horse and kiss that curl.

  ‘Property. That’s what I’m going to get into,’ he had said. ‘You just watch me, baby. I am going to make it big.’

  She had loved his ambition. It had thrilled her. What would life be like with a guy like this? she had wondered. They would go places together, have adventures, live the big dream. He would take her all the way to Mexico to swim in the Sea of Cortez.

  ‘Okay,’ he had said, stopping for a moment and handing her the reins. ‘Now you take those in your hands like so. You’re gonna try to ride Amber on your own now.’

  ‘Now? I can’t, Eddie.’

  ‘Course you can. You’re a Scottsdale girl, aren’t you?’

  She had gripped the reins in shaking hands. Felt a swell of nausea inside her belly, a dizziness buzzing around her head like a swarm of flies. She had wanted to get down. But she had wanted Eddie more, and if she got off his horse he would never want to see her again. He would think she was pathetic.

  ‘Go on now,’ he’d said, giving the horse a slap on the rump.

  Amber had started trotting, Joy bumping around on her back like a sack of potatoes, but the horse had sensed her lack of control and speeded up, and before Joy knew it she’d been cantering. Fear had soared through her. She had wanted to stop but didn’t know how. She had tried to pull on the reins but Amber had ignored her.

  ‘Just go with it, Joy,’ Eddie had called.

  There had been a moment when Joy had felt it, that free spirit that all riders must feel at one with their horse, but it had been fleeting. Then terror had taken over as Amber moved faster and faster.

  ‘Pull on the reins, Joy – stop her!’ Eddie had shouted.

  But Amber had known she was in charge. The horse had surged towards the edge of the arena, and too late Joy had realised that she was jumping the fence. She had screamed as she let go of the reins and fell off the horse onto the hard sand.

  Eddie had scooped her up into his arms, and she had buried her face and her humiliation in his chest as he stroked her hair.

  ‘I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.’

  Eddie Sheldon had apologised to h
er, but she had been unable to stop the tears as they leaked from her eyes.

  ‘I’m so stupid,’ she’d said.

  ‘I shouldn’t have made you do it.’ He’d stroked wisps of hair off her forehead. ‘I promise I’ll never make you ride again.’

  ‘Where’s Amber? Has she run off?’

  ‘Nope.’ Eddie had given her one of his dazzling smiles. ‘She’s right there, the minx. She was just having some fun with you.’

  That night they had made love for the first time in the back of Eddie’s Plymouth. She could still remember the trembling thrill in her breast at the sensation of his fingers pushing under the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning them. She should have stopped him. She had been raised a Catholic – they both had – and they knew they were sinning. But her vulnerability and his strength had been irresistible, and they had been unable to deny each other. She had wanted him. She had encouraged him. They’d peeled off their clothes and climbed into the back of the Plymouth, and for a while they’d just explored each other’s nakedness. She had never seen a man up close before. She’d thought she would be afraid, but instead she’d thought he was beautiful and she’d wanted to know how it would feel to have him inside her. How were they to know that one moment would change both their lives forever?

  Nine months later they would be married, moving into their own little house in Scottsdale, and they would have a baby boy – Ray. Two years later their little girl Heather would arrive. She and Eddie had made a family so quickly.

  ‘In the blink of an eye,’ her father had said, none too happy.

  Thinking of her father again reminded Joy of those last words he had said to her before he died. They felt like old stab wounds, throbbing beneath her skin. She had given her mom a whole year to talk about it, but she’d never said a word. Not in all the times they had spent together since.

  Joy wasn’t going to wait any longer. Her father had only told her a little part of the truth. She needed to hear the whole story.

  *

  It had been one of those rare moments of familiarity with a stranger. It had happened to Lewis before on trains, or planes . . . sometimes in a bar. The sharing of an experience – an understanding that you and your unknown companion were both in your private worlds and thoughts. The woman had split her Thermos of coffee with him. It had seemed perfectly natural, as if they were old friends. But after the lights had faded away, he had said goodbye and climbed back down Papago Butte without even exchanging names.

  He was home again now. He doubted Samantha had even noticed that he’d gone out in the middle of the night. He picked up the postcard from where he had left it in the kitchen and brought it out to the garage, storing it underneath the top tray of his toolbox. He was hiding it from Samantha as if it was his own secret treasure.

  That very night he dreamed about Marnie. She was in her signature green coat, dark hair glossy as horse chestnuts, umbrella in hand. She was expecting rain. Yet she was walking barefoot under the midday glare through the Sonoran desert, surveying his landscape. Colour and form shifted at her command. The cacti sprouted desert blooms; the arid plains filled with banks of golden poppies. She was conducting an orchestra of vision. She was designing another new land just for them.

  London, 13 April 1967, 7.15 a.m.

  Lewis stood outside Marnie’s flat, ringing the bell. A few minutes later, she opened the door to him, her eyes still sleepy. She was wearing a black chiffon nightdress, and her dark brown hair was loose, tumbling around her dreamy face. But it was her plush lips that drew him across the threshold. He leaned forward, kissing them without a word and she kissed back. He put his arms around her and buried his face in her chest. She smelled of her favourite perfume, Ma Griffe.

  ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’

  ‘Don’t talk . . .’ He put his finger to her lips and continued to kiss her, pulling the straps of her nightdress down so it slid off her to the floor. He threw off his coat and walked her backward into her bedroom and onto the lopsided bed.

  She was as bold as he, pulling off his clothes until they were both naked. They rolled on the bed, caressing each other until he entered her. He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her mouth a little open, her pink tongue pushed against her teeth. The window was unlatched, and the curtains fluttered against the bed. He could smell cherry blossom on the trees outside, and hear the patter of rain as it fell on the leaves. All of this was part of making love to Marnie. The glory of London on a spring morning, the scent of wet cherry blossom, the rainbow-filled puddles and the promise that came with a new day.

  Afterwards they lay on their backs, sharing a cigarette. He watched the smoke coil above him, like steam rising from their bodies.

  ‘We had better get up and go to work,’ Marnie said at last, sitting up and pulling her hair into a knot on the top of her head.

  Now all of sudden she was bashful as she slid off the bed, clasping her black nightie to herself, not quite hiding her nakedness completely. She tried to suppress this wildness within her, but it was her free spirit that had drawn him to her.

  Lewis remembered the first day he had met Marnie. Six months ago George Miller had brought her into the design studio, introducing her as their new girl Friday.

  ‘What do you think, lads? Very pleasing on the eye,’ George had said as soon as Marnie had gone into the kitchen to make tea for them all. ‘Do you think she’s a modern girl, eh, Pete?’

  Lewis’s colleague Pete Piper had looked embarrassed and mumbled something indistinguishable. Frankie, the Italian designer at the studio, had slapped Pete on the back. ‘Is she too much woman for you, Pete?’

  But George had been wrong. Marnie had not been easily seduced, and she had been faultless at her job. The agency had never run so smoothly. Lewis had found Marnie’s cool indifference attractive. He liked a challenge. In his experience, no matter how aloof a girl might seem, there was always a chink in her armour.

  Marnie’s chink had surprised Lewis. It hadn’t been flattery or gifts, like the bunches of flowers George had bought her or the chocolates Frankie had left on her desk. They were both married men, and she had no intention of responding to their constant requests for a quick drink after work.

  What had turned Marnie on was, in fact, her love for art and design. Lewis had discovered all this at the Christmas party, plying her with so many gin and tonics that her ice-queen veneer had finally slipped. He had been bewitched by her as she’d talked about her dreams of being a designer herself. Had Lewis seen something in Marnie that he’d identified with? Only a few years ago it had been hard to distinguish between a commercial artist and a graphic designer, but he had sought out the new leaders in the design field. That’s why he’d pursued George Miller and persuaded him to give him a job fresh out of art school. Marnie had reminded him of his passion and drive. If she had been a man he would have felt threatened by her, but he knew her gender was against her. She had become a collaborator rather than a competitor.

  After the party Marnie had let him accompany her home on the Underground. They had kissed on her doorstep, and after a moment’s hesitation Marnie had invited him in for a cup of tea. To his surprise, Marnie had showed him a series of designs she had made for the Macht shaver advertisement he had been working on. Using photomontage she had created a sleek design, alluding to the current fascination with all things space-age. He had told her how good he thought her designs were, though at the same time he had felt a little piqued. Why had this girl been gifted with such a talent?

  ‘Do you think I should show them to George?’ she’d asked him.

  Lewis had wanted to help Marnie, but George was such a chauvinist. His boss would not have taken her work seriously no matter how good it was.

  ‘I think it might be better if I presented them to him for you,’ Lewis had suggested.

  ‘Do you mean pretend you did them?’

  ‘No, but maybe say that we worked on them together as a team.’

  ‘But we di
dn’t.’ And she had given him a wary look.

  ‘George is very old-fashioned. We’d have to build him up to the idea of having a woman designer at Studio M.’

  ‘Do you think they’re that good?’

  ‘Yes, Marnie, I do.’

  He had got up onto his knees and crawled over to her, through the pictures.

  ‘Mind them! Careful where you’re going,’ she had said, giggling.

  ‘I have an idea.’ He had snaked towards her.

  ‘And what is that?’ Marnie had asked, letting him undo her blouse, button by button.

  ‘Let’s set up our own design agency.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ She had sat up abruptly. ‘Do you mean it?’

  It had been the alcohol talking, but it had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

  ‘With your talent and my sales banter, we would be unstoppable.’

  ‘When can we do it?’ she had asked, pulling her shirt off, her breasts spilling out of her bra.

  Their desire for each other had never seemed to wane. When would it end? It worried Lewis. He felt he should be playing the field, but he couldn’t help wanting only Marnie all the time.

  During the first few weeks they had been together Marnie had often asked him when they were going to set up their design practice. He had tried to explain that his drunken state had made him a little premature in his enthusiasm.

  ‘Not yet,’ Lewis would tell her. ‘I need to get more clients. You need more design experience.’

  After she had assisted him on three more campaigns, she’d begun to ask him why he couldn’t tell George about her. Could her boss really be that against female designers? Now and again they had dealt with other women in the business.

  What was it that was stopping Lewis from telling his boss that she should be promoted?

  Was he jealous of her talent? No, of course not. He was proud of her. So what was it?

  It was to do with George Miller, he realised in the end. His whole life Lewis had trained himself to avoid conflict, and he knew broaching the subject with George would be difficult. Would the great man think less of him and his capabilities as a designer? Would Marnie rise without him – and once she was successful not want him any more?