A Flower in the Wilderness

Adrian Westbrooke decided he had to change his way of life because his present path was leading him to disaster.

He was sick of the parties that turned rapidly into orgies; the booze and the drugs that were supposed to be part of the artist's lifestyle; the hangers on; especially the young and not so young women who thought it was sophisticated to mingle with artists; he was sick of the one night stands. Above all he was sick of the mediocrity of his own work.

Adrian decided on the change when one morning he awoke after a wild party and saw his one night stand lying beside him. The makeup that had made her look desirable when he was inebriated was now cracked and peeling, making her skin look leprous. There was the combined stench of booze, sweat and the post coital fishy smell pervading the bed and the room.

His head ached and he knew he was going to vomit. He got off the bed and made it just in time to the toilet. In there he retched into the bowl. Afterwards, looking at himself in the mirror, he saw a grey faced, bleary eyed image staring back at him.

He saw to it that the woman, after she had showered, was duly breakfasted. He telephoned for a taxi to take her to wherever she lived, and as she was about to depart she scribbled her name and address on a piece of paper, and with a salacious grin said, "Give me a ring some time, with the equipment you've got you can keep a girl very happy."

Adrian did not mind about the piece of paper; that was easily disposed of; what gave him a touch of anxiety was that he saw her write down his telephone number.

* * * * * * * *

Many people, perhaps most, would consider Adrian to be a fortunate young man. At twenty seven years of age he was good looking when he wasn't completely hung over; intelligent; financially independent thanks to his late grandparents, and talented, which talent he was in the process of squandering away due to his life style.

It might be considered that his financial independence led to the mediocrity of his work; he didn't need to make an effort to remain financially solvent. On the other hand, he had seen how some of his less fortunate fellow artists resorted to mediocrity in order to make a living.

What he needed to do, he thought, was to get away, right away, from the city and it's so-called artistic circle; the question was, were?

There was the Inland School; artists who live away from the city in country towns, but even they were within a couple of hours drive from the city. What Adrian thought he needed was the deep inland.

Not willing to become the complete artistic hermit his final choice of Bangalul was probably the most unlikely. Well inland, in fact just about as far as you could get from any of the major cities, Bangalul had a population of around four thousand.

Its primary reason for existing was the nearby gas field, its plant located some four kilometres north of the town with its pipelines running hundreds of kilometres to the large centers of population. At certain times of the day cars could be seen traveling north out of the town, and a little while later cars could be seen traveling south into the town; that was the time the shifts changed.

The town also sat astride a main highway running from north to south of the continent, a highway much used by tourists who insisted that they had "to see the country." Back aching, stiff legged travelers tended to make an overnight stop at Bangalul, and so the town boasted two motels and a pub that had limited accommodation.

Along with this went the services needed to support the gas field workers and the tourists. This included a reasonable shopping mall, a dentist and a medical centre.

Bangalul was in the midst of an arid plain that rather like a huge bowl was surrounded at some distance by hills that from Bangalul seemed to be dusted by a blue mist. The flatness of the plain itself was only broken by occasional rocky outcrops and the only vegetation blue and salt bush with the occasional unhappy tree struggling for survival.

To the eyes of the coastal fringe dweller this is a place that lacks any beauty, but, so I am told, to they eyes of the more perceptive it has its own particular form of beauty.

It was this place Adrian chose to be the geographical location of his new way of life, and, he hoped, a source of inspiration to assist his climb out of the pit of artistic mediocrity.

He found a house that he thought would suit his purpose admirably. It was located south of the town and was removed from it by about a kilometre. For about half a kilometre the road that went from the town in the direction of the house had a bitumen surface. This came to and end when the road dipped down into a concrete ford over a wide but dry creek bed.

The creek stretched from horizon to horizon and, he was told, only rarely had water flowing in it. The flow might be initiated, not by local rainfall, but rain falling anywhere along the creek including in the distant hills. Beyond the creek the road became a dirt track going past his house until it finally petered out.

In what passed for colonial style with corrugated iron roof and wide verandas, the house had once been the homestead of a vast cattle station. It had long ceased that function, and over the decades there had been a series of owners who had progressively upgraded it for both good and ill according to their taste and means.

The house was far larger than Adrian needed, but since it had no other buyers he got it very cheaply. He did his own bit of upgrading, in this case to suit his artistic needs.

At some time in the past part of the verandah had been glassed in to form a conservatory. No doubt it had once contained plants but now it became his studio holding Adrian's artistic paraphernalia. Not that he intended to make much use of it because he saw himself as essentially a landscape artist, and so much of his time would be spent outdoors painting the rugged views.

This then, was to be the place of Adrian's rebirth, both as an artist and a man.

* * * * * * * *

Such was the community that word soon got around that "A young artist bloke has just moved into the old homestead." Adrian was something of a curiosity since the town had never had an artist in its midst, apart from members of the local Ladies Auxiliary water colour group whose doubtful daubs inhabited the walls of the "The Community Club."

Unwilling to forgo some of the comforts of civilised life as he conceived them to be, Adrian employed a daily who "did for him;" a somewhat austere but efficient lady called Mrs. McGregor whose main motto in life seemed to be, "Cleanliness is next to godliness."

Since he would need to reconnoiter large areas of the plain in search of views for his landscape painting, Adrian had purchased an off-road four wheel drive vehicle, but his first exploration was the town itself. This did not take very long, but it did lead to an encounter that was to have a profound effect on his life.

Having driven round the not very inspiring housing, mainly provide by the company for its workers, Adrian parked his vehicle in Dennis street -- named after one of the early inhabitants of the area -- and walked along the pavement viewing the shops. He was just passing Dann's the Pharmacist shop when a woman came hurrying out. She tripped over a crack in the pavement, staggered a couple of steps and ended up being supported by Adrian.

"Sorry...so sorry she gasped, I just tripped and...well, thanks for saving me."

The plastic shopping bags she had been carrying were lying on the pavement and Adrian helped her recover them. It was then he had the opportunity to see her properly and was fascinated by her looks.

He was reminded of the painting of Freyja the Norse goddess by Arthur Rackham, except that Rackham's Freyja was bare breasted, and this woman was not exposed in that way.

She was slender with a long graceful neck and a heart shaped face with delicate features. Her softly waving hair, parted in the middle, was cut to where the base of her head joined her neck and was a startling mixture of red and gold, rather like the fur of a fox. Her complexion, unlike the rougher complexions of the inlanders, was a soft pink and cream. The loveliest green eyes he had ever seen seemed to sparkle as she looked at him. He gauged her to be in her mid twenties.

Adrian had known many women, quite a few of them intimately in the bedtime sense, but he thought this woman to be the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Unusually for Adrian in the presence of attractive women, he found himself tongue tied as he looked at her. It was she who broke the silence, smiling and asking a question that since so many tourist passed through the town, he was to hear many times.

"Just passing through?"

Adrian's tongue untied as he said, "Ah...er...no, I've just moved in."

"Are you the artist who's moved into the old homestead?" she asked.

"Yes...er...Adrian Westbrooke."

"Celeste Harma-Swan," she said, extending her hand. He took it in his and found it to be cool and her grip firm.

She laughed lightly and said, "You're arrival has caused quite a stir, we've never had an artist in our midst before, this is not the sort of place where you expect an artist to want to live. By the way, I'm the vicar's wife and we're having a garden party on Saturday afternoon, here's a pamphlet about it, you can get to meet quite a few people if you come along. I've got to rush, but I hope I'll see you on Saturday, but if not I'm sure we'll meet up again, it's a small town."

With that she left Adrian, heading for a small dark blue car in which she drove off. He watched her and the car until both were out of sight.

There seemed to him some incongruity about this lovely women living in the rough environment that surrounded Bangalul.

"A lovely flower growing in the wilderness," he thought.

He looked at the pamphlet she had thrust into his hand. It advertised the various side shows and the sausage sizzle that would be available at the garden party. He had never been to a vicarage garden party, but he had always imagined them to be in gardens with green lawns, shady trees, shrubs and flower beds. He could conjure up no such image for the Bangalul vicarage.

On the other hand Celeste Harma-Swan did not match up to his vision of a vicar's wife, but his knowledge of vicar's wives tended to be limited to the caricatures of such women as seen in films and on television; plain, severe and censorious.

Being an agnostic Adrian would normally not have been interested in the garden party, but his curiosity had been aroused by his chance meeting with the fair Celeste. He would go, even if only to see her again, and perhaps meet a few of the locals.

* * * * * * * *

On Saturday afternoon he drove into the town, and after a few enquires he located first the church, and next to it the vicarage. It was as he had anticipated; there was a lawn but not of a luscious green. It consisted of some tough grass that struggled to survive in the poor soil and the ongoing drought. Instead of shady trees, shrubs and flower beds the large garden was festooned with beach umbrellas under which were set out tables and plastic chairs.

People were already there, some seated and others milling around the hoopla, coconut shies and the sausage sizzle. Not knowing anyone Adrian wandered around wondering if the scene would make a worthwhile painting, until he was spotted by Mrs. Harma-Swan.

She came to him smiling a welcome and said, "I'm so glad you made it, come and meet my husband."

She led him to one of the beach umbrellas and as they approached a man stood up.

"Darling, this is the artist I told you about, Mr...er..."

"Adrian Westbrooke," Adrian supplied.

"Kingsley Harma-Swan," the man replied, taking off his sun glasses, "call me Kingsley."

If Adrian had been surprised by Celeste, he was even more surprised by Kingsley Harma-Swan.

Dressed in cream trousers with a dark blue shirt surmounted by one of those minuscule dog collars some clergy effect these days, he was well over six feet tall. If Celeste had reminded him of the goddess Freyja, Kingsley reminded Adrian of Adonis.

With dark hair and vivid blue eyes the only word Adrian could find to describe him was "beautiful."

Inapt though that word would normally be to describe a male, undoubtedly is fitted Kingsley Harma-Swan.

As they shook hands and Kingsley said, "Welcome to Bangalul," he looked at Adrian with what he felt was intense and disconcerting appraisal, and the handshake seemed to linger a little longer than necessary.

The moment passed and Kingsley said, "Sit down, shall I get you something to eat and drink?"

Adrian said he would like something and so Kingsley said, "You talk to Celeste while I fetch it."

Adrian had begun by addressing her as Mrs. Harma-Swan, but Celeste laughed and said, "Celeste, please, we're rather informal here, and anyway Harma--Swan is such a mouthful."

"How did you get the name Harma-Swan?" Adrian asked, "It's rather unusual."

"Kingsley's family name is Harma and mine was Swan before we married and so we just put them together joined by a hyphen."

Kingsley was approaching carrying a tray of food and drink, and Adrian noticed the grace and ease with which he moved. The word "beautiful" came to mind again.

As they ate Kingsley and Celeste questioned Adrian about his reasons for moving to Bangalul, Adrian, unwilling to reveal that he was looking for a new way of life, told them he had come seeking fresh inspiration for his work. The talk went on for a couple of hours, strung out by the arrival of people to talk with the vicar and to be introduced to Adrian.

Their welcomes to the town were clearly laced with curiosity about this young man who had come to paint their environment.

The party was beginning to slow down as Adrian rose to take his leave. Celeste said, "Perhaps we shall see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Adrian asked, puzzled because he could think of no reason why they should meet again the next day.

"The church service -- half past ten," Celeste said.

"Oh...yes of course," Adrian replied without committing himself, thinking that church attendance was not quite his thing.

* * * * * * * *

That night Adrian thought about the church service and the idea of seeing Celeste again decided him that he would attend. Besides he would like to hear what this unusual vicar had to say.

The church seated about a hundred people and Adrian was surprised to see it nearly full. He noted that at least three quarters of the congregation consisted of women.

He was looking for somewhere to sit when Celeste came up to him and said, "Come and sit with me. Sitting next to Celeste was more or less the beginning and end of the service as far as Adrian was concerned.

Her nearness coupled with the fragrance of her Jasmine perfume was too disconcerting for concentration on anything else.

He was vaguely aware that Kingsley, in a rich baritone voice, preached on something about a woman taken in adultery and a stoning to death that didn't happen.

After the service, Celeste, holding his arm, led him to the church door to stand beside Kingsley for more introductions. Since the majority of the congregation was women, it was to women he got mostly introduce, but they seemed to have little interest in him. Their attention was focused on Kingsley.

They tried to linger, holding his hand, while others behind them pushed to move them on and take their turn at Kingsley hand holding.

Adrian glanced at Celeste a few times to see how she was taking this female interest in her husband, and saw that she was smiling rather enigmatically.

Finding no excuse to linger Arian drove back to his house deep in thought.

Although he was attracted to Celeste, he told himself to not hanker after what he had no chance of getting. Firstly, she was a vicar's wife, and that suggested stern morality; second, she was not only a vicar's wife, but married to a vicar of such looks and personality that he could not imagine any man would have a look in.

* * * * * * * *

During the following week Adrian explored the surrounding country, noting likely subjects for his painting. Gradually he came to terms with this stark landscape, finding it did indeed have a beauty when taken on its own terms.

Despite his decision that it was better not to let his mind linger on Celeste, she did keep coming into his thoughts. This led him to continue attending the church services. It was after the fourth time he attended that Celeste asked him, "Would you like to have lunch with us after next Sunday's service."

Adrian readily accepted this invitation, telling himself this would be at least one lunch he wouldn't have to prepare himself, and it would give him a little longer to bask in Celeste's aura.

Over the lunch Adrian was surprised to see that although in public Kingsley and Celeste appeared to be a united and affectionate couple, in private they seemed to distance themselves slightly from each other. He could detect no signs of aggression as if they'd had a fight or argument, but they seemed to keep each other at arm's length.

After lunch Adrian was not sure whether or not he should leave, and as he began to express his thanks for the lunch Kingsley said, "Don't go yet old chap, Celeste has something she wants to ask you." With that he excused himself, saying something about having to prepare for the Sunday evening youth service, leaving Celeste and Adrian sitting in the lounge."

Adrian looked at Celeste enquiringly and she said, "What I want to ask you is, do you paint portraits?"

Taken a bit by surprise Adrian replied, "Well I have done two or three, but portraiture if not really my field, I'm a landscape artist."

"But you have done portraits?"

"Yes."

"Would you paint my portrait?"

"Oh, I really don't think I could..." Adrian began, but Celeste interrupted. "Please Adrian, I really would like you to paint me, I can pay."

"It's not a question of money," Adrian said hastily, "it's a matter of me feeling I can do you justice."

"How do you know if you don't try?" Celeste asked.

Adrian wanted to say that he felt he could not capture her delicate and exquisite beauty, but instead he said, "I might be wasting your time."

"Or I might be wasting yours?" Celeste queried.

"No," Adrian said, "If I thought I could do you justice I wouldn't hesitate but..."

Shall we make a little agreement," Celeste said persuasively, "if after a few sittings you really do feel you can't do me justice then we stop with no hard feelings, how's that?"

"Well if you're really sure, Celeste..."

"I am," she replied firmly.

"Then when would you like to sit for me?"

"I'm flexible," she replied, "how often?"

"How about three times a week for a couple of hours at a time?"

They settled for Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons.

"Can you tell me what you'd like to wear?"

"Nothing formal, something casual, I thought white shorts and a red shirt. Would that be all right?"

"Fine," Adrian said, "if that's what you want. Do you mind if I have a look at you?"

"You are looking at me," Celeste said.

Adrian laughed and said, "Yes but what I mean is...would you go and stand over by the window."

Celeste obeyed and stood facing him. He looked at her intently for a couple of minutes and then said, "Turn so I can see your left side." Another couple of minutes and then, "Let me see your right side."

"Okay," Adrian said briskly," that'll do for now. Tomorrow we can go into detail about the best way for you to pose. Perhaps you might have some idea yourself."

"I might leave it up to you, Adrian," she said, "but can I come to your place for the sittings?"

Adrian was puzzled about her choice of venue, but it suited him since it would be more convenient. Once the setting was prepared it could remain as it was. He nodded and said, "As you wish."