The Chain Garden by Jane Jackson Page A

her a corner of his studio and told her to paint her memories. Revealing unsuspected talent the results had astonished him. And he, who had always refused to teach, began to instruct her in technique.
    Spending all their time together they had quickly grown close. Despite her youth her careless upbringing had made her self-sufficient. She brought him an eagerness to learn, honesty, and a passionate nature. She was his muse, model, pupil and mistress. He gave her a home, his adoration and, when she was eighteen, he married her. Loved, protected and fulfilled as an artist she accepted childlessness with equanimity.
    His sudden death when she was twenty-five had been a far greater blow than losing her parents. Soon afterward she left St Ives, sickened by propositions from men who, blind to her annihilating grief and judging her solely on her unconventional appearance and lifestyle, considered her fair game. Women who had admired her devotion to Zander now turned their backs. She was alone and therefore a threat.
    Zander left her all his paintings. But his house and studio had to be sold and the proceeds split between a son and daughter of whom she’d been unaware. They arrived for the funeral accompanied by a solicitor, all three tight-lipped with disapproval.
    Selling all but two of his paintings she had moved to a rented cottage just above the Town Quay in Falmouth. There she had nursed her grief, painting delicate watercolour land and seascapes, and occasional studies of local faces rich in character. Signing her work with a simple DR she had sold it through a small gallery in Arwenack Street.
    Two years later she had met Henry. In Falmouth on business he had also been looking for a birthday present for Louise. Dorcas had arrived at the gallery with a batch of paintings when he walked in. The attraction was instant and mutual. He had asked if she had any other work he might see and she had invited him back to her cottage. She was twenty-seven, he was twenty-four and the first man she had allowed across the threshold.
    Theirs was a fiery relationship: their most frequent clashes over his insistence that she needed protection, which she interpreted as jealousy. She laughed at his fear that she might find someone free to marry her. She had been married. What she had shared with Zander could not be repeated. Nor did she wish to try. She enjoyed her independence.
    Her pregnancy came as a shock to them both. Fearful for her wellbeing after an outbreak of enteric fever from contaminated well water, Henry wanted her to move. Though touched by his concern she wanted to remain where she was. But once her pregnancy began to show people’s attitude to her changed. Once more she was made uncomfortably aware of the price of her freedom.
    A fire at the gallery destroyed several of her paintings. Days later she received an eviction notice from solicitors representing the owner of her cottage. Exhausted and at her wits’ end she turned to Henry. Within a week he had brought her here. He would explain her presence by letting it be known she was newly widowed: her late husband his closest school friend. All she needed to do to forestall possible questions was to change the spelling of her name from Renaudin – which might be recognised – to Renowden.
    Henry had been with her the night Hal was born. He had brought his doctor, who was also his brother-in-law, to assist her. Since that night John Ainsley had become her trusted friend and confidante. Grateful for her adored son Dorcas had ensured there were no more children. She grieved that it was necessary for Hal to believe his father dead. But that was the price of avoiding a scandal that would hurt too many people.
    The gate hinges squeaked again, rousing her from her memories. Hearing heavy footsteps she smiled. Settling her glasses more comfortably she rose from the garden seat and went to meet her lover.
    ‘What a day!’ Henry blew out a long breath. Lifting her hand he pressed it