Move Over Darling by Christine Stovell Page B

lengthy separation. More of a French Fancy than a farmer’s fancy, thought Coralie.
    ‘Looks as if you’re with me again,’ said Gethin. But just as she decided that dancing with Gethin was a burden she could bear, Alys tapped him on the shoulder.
    ‘Sorry to break in,’ she said, ‘but I think this would be a good time to draw the raffle.’
    Coralie took it as a sign that it was also a good time for her to head home.
    ‘Don’t even think about going anywhere,’ said Gethin, winking. ‘We’re only just getting started.’
    ‘And now a special prize …’ Gethin glanced at the prize table. From the lower-value prizes, the bottles of wine and spirits had been picked first, the craft prizes had gone in dribs and drabs and a delighted Wilfie had won a voucher for a massage from Willow. Just his pastel sketch, which Alys had kept aside as the star prize, to go.
    Scanning the room, he saw Coralie clutching a blue ticket. He smiled. Here was his chance to ensure that his painting went to someone who appreciated it. ‘John Singer Sargent meets Jack Vettriano’ a critic had once said of his recent work: flattering, sexed-up portraits of Manhattan’s most beautiful and wealthy. Not in a good way.
    ‘But first a few words,’ he said. ‘I’m sure everyone would like to join me in thanking Alys and Huw for hosting this evening and I know the funds raised tonight will be going to a very worthwhile cause.’ Community hall fund, Alys had confirmed. Well, good luck with that. ‘With that in mind, I would like to present this,’ he held the picture aloft, ‘to Alys as a gesture of thanks for all her hard work.’
    Alys looked at him questioningly but there were tears in her eyes as she accepted the work, almost too choked to speak. As she reached up to kiss him, he could see Delyth and Mair exchanging sour looks.
    ‘And to tell you about this evening’s top prize.’
    Mair was glaring at him, which he took as a sign that no love was lost there. Well, never mind, the feeling was entirely mutual. For as long as he could remember, Mair had done her utmost to make his life miserable. As a very small boy, he’d once sunk his teeth into her arm, retaliating in the only way he could for all the times she’d laid into him with a ruler behind his mother’s back for reasons he was too young to understand. Although sticking her – or someone very like her – together with someone who looked a lot like Delyth behind the windbreak in Samba probably hadn’t helped the situation. The look she had given him when he’d walked into the room suggested that given half a chance and a metal ruler, she’d probably like to have another go at him. Except they both knew that now he had the means to fight back.
    ‘Many years ago, as a keen amateur artist, I won the prize of a short art course. This, as you know, gave me the opportunity to turn my hobby into a profession.’ He saw Delyth curl her lip at Mair. ‘That profession has taken me far away from Penmorfa, and maybe one or two of you think that I’ve forgotten where I come from, so tonight I’d like to say a small thank you in the best way I can.’
    The room grew quiet and he could feel everyone waiting.
    ‘I’d like to make a contribution to the renovation of a hall for the village by donating one of my works for auction, with all the proceeds going to the community hall fund . ’
    There were low murmurs from some quarters of the room and he paused to see if anyone was bold enough to put up a protest, but Coralie, bless her, was beaming at him and had just clapped her hands together when he resumed his speech.
    ‘This will be a new piece, especially created for the sale. My reputation, as some of you will know, rests on a painting inspired by …’ he lingered whilst Mair gave him a furious stare, ‘an image I set on the beautiful cove at Penmorfa, so it’s Penmorfa I’d like to pay tribute to now by taking, as the subject of my painting, the winner of the