Finding The Mystery Woman

The next morning he packed up his gear, knowing he had appointments that afternoon in his home studio. Before leaving he went Calvin asked in the village about a dark haired lady in her early twenties. Everyone he asked wanted a name, but of course he didn't have one.

They had spent the night in total intimacy, and had not exchanged names. How was that? The whole experience had that mystical quality about it. Yet further proof that it wasn't a dream had come when the erotically charged aroma of her rose from his body when he undressed. But his enquiries came to nothing.

Calvin drove sadly back to the city to take up his artistic career. And he took it up most successfully. His first task should have been to complete the outline he had done of the heftily proportioned young model. Yet his mind was so full of his experience by the sea that he set up a separate canvas, selected silver, white, and grey paints, to fashion a painting which showed a woman standing waist deep in a moonlit sea, her round naked breasts appearing almost buoyant. Her arms reached forwards with her finger tips just touching the speckled surface of the sea. But he could not get the face right.

He erased it over and over, but the expression so full of promise, and capturing the real woman, just would not come. In the end he had the dark hair wafted across the face, which was less than satisfactory to him, but others were fascinated by it. They asked where his subject had come from, but he refused to talk about it.

Calvin also reproduced that moment when the woman had dropped her kimono to stand naked under the moon. With the head turned towards the sea it created fewer problems, and in the end commanded a very generous price when he did a copy, reluctant to let that the oringinal go.

In fact, his paintings became very much in demand, from displaying and selling through local shops, he was soon earning money in many ways. Portrait painting was always popular, his landscapes too, but the nude studies often brought the higher prices. Soon he could afford to buy himself a small shop in which he could display and sell his work.

There followed the purchase of a house, where he adapted one bedroom into a workshop/studio complete with roof light. More and more his work was in demand. His sexual exploits with his various models did not wain, and there were always a few female customers who found it appealing to have their egos poked by a well-known artist. Yet none of these encounters meant anything to Calvin. None matched up to what he had found back in '47. That lady was never very far from his thoughts.

Then in the December of '52 he visited a bi-monthly market day in a village that bordered the city. Calvin had got into the habit of paying them an occasional visit, since the village was actually within walking distance of his house. For one thing the masses of people who attended, occasionally threw up an idea for a painting or sketch. But apart from that the stalls were many and varied and always interesting.

It was particularly busy pre-Christmas, and he was standing casually viewing the offerings on a second hand book stall, when he happened to look up. Through the book stall and the bakery stall beyond, on the other side of that row was a stall that seemed to specialise in ladies scarves.

At the moment Calvin looked a dark haired lady wearing a thick dark blue winter coat had obviously been trying on one of the scarves. With her back to him, she was just unwinding the scarf from her neck, and shaking her head. Obviously, the scarf was not quite what she wanted. She half turned, almost apologetically, and Calvin stopped breathing. That profile might have been recognisable, but, as the scarf dropped away, something much more definable came into view. On her neck was that so well remembered L shaped scar.

She turned fully as she moved away from the stall. That face, those eyes, that warm sensuous mouth, there was no mistake. It was her, after all this time. Desperately he waved an arm, but she was looking elsewhere. There was no name that he could call out as she moved away to his right.

Anxiously, Calvin struggled that way through the crowd, trying to keep her in view. His heart thudded in his chest. She must still live in the area. In the other lane a large crowd had gathered to watch some performer or other, and he lost sight of her.

Reaching the end of that lane of stalls he tried to race into the lane where he had spotted her. Racing was not a possibility in the crush of people, but now all he needed to do was make sure she did not pass him as he made his way up this lane. The crowd he had seen were watching an escapologist. This was where he had lost sight of her. Getting some angry stares he ploughed through any gap, without any success.

At last, he found himself at the scarf stall. Somehow he had missed her. Before launching a fuller desperate search he approached the lady selling the scarves.

"You had a young, dark haired lady trying a scarf on a few minutes ago. Do you have any idea who she was?"

The lady shrugged, "Never know any names. Dark hair you say?"

Calvin nodded.

"Wearing a dark blue coat was she?"

"That's her, yes."

"Oh, I've no idea who she is, but she's quite a regular. Every time we're here, I'd say."

Calvin spent a fruitless two hours scouring the crowds but he had lost her, once again. Still, now there was a glimmer of hope. The lady who had filled his mind for five years, was still in the area, and maybe, just maybe, the February market might prove lucky.

Sadly, trying to lead his normal life, with her pulled back more firmly into his thinking, made time drag unmercifully. Then when the February market day arrived, Calvin spent from early morning until late afternoon, waiting and searching. February was a quiet month, so with fewer people he had hoped his chances of spotting her would be high. No such luck. Back to reality, utterly depressed.

He painted a picture depicting market day crowds, and among them was a ghostly figure in a dark blue coat, looking out and pointing at him. Painting it, only helped his peace of mind a little.

April came. Someone, somewhere had said that April was a lucky month. Doubting the value of that assertion, Calvin set out to carry out his market search. He was strolling the lanes of stalls from nine thirty. For April, the air was agreeably mild, and many men were in shirtsleeves, and ladies could get away with a blouse, and skirt. But, by midday, there was still no sign of the lady his heart yearned to find.

Deciding to take a quick lunch somewhere, he glanced at his watch, which told him it was ten past one. When he looked up something deep and warm leapt inside him. There she was. Just standing there, staring at him. Having no breath, Calvin could only stand and stare back. Unlike their only other meeting there were no smiles.

She was wearing a light blue blouse, with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders, and a wide dark blue skirt. The cardigan had pulled at the collar of the blouse, and there it was—the L shaped scar.

How long did they stand staring at each other, uncertain and voiceless? To Calvin it seemed like an age, but at last he was the first to find his voice, and surely it wasn't as crazy as it sounded. "I don't even know your name."

For him, it was amazing to see the half smile that came to her face as she told him, "I'm Laura."

"And I'm Calvin."

And it was as if that exchange of names, broke a glass wall that lay between them. With a murmured, "Pleased to meet you," Calvin took a step towards her, and the next second they were clasped in each others arms, as Laura met his advance with her own eager rush.

"I've looked for you," she whispered into his ear."And now,by chance, you've turned up just as you did in the sea."

"This was no chance meeting for me. I've searched for you. I saw you here before Christmas."

"But didn't speak?"

"You disappeared, as you did in the dunes."

"Where you saved my life—or at least brought me back to life."

Calvin leaned back to look into that lovely face, puzzled by her last remark. "Look, let's go somewhere and have a coffee. And talk."

Her smile was vast, yet teasing, "Yes, we haven't talked much, Have we? There's a neat little place just off this main street."

The cafe was neat, as she'd promised. Calvin ordered two coffees with buttered scones. When he sat down beside her, he took her hand, and loved her responsive squeeze. "Awkward questions first. Are you married?"

She shook her head, "Are you?" When he gave his negative response she added, "Girl friend?"

After only a moment's hesitation he told her about his art and the models he'd taken to his bed.

"Oh," she said, a look of disappointment on her face, then it lightened as she went on, "so you were serious about painting me?"

"I've done it. Over and over again. Laura, those women they were never a threat to my memory of you. They were merely a release."

She leaned towards him, "You've really painted me? From memory?"

"It had to be, didn't it? You vanished---like a dream. I woke up wondering if it had been a dream. Anyway, I haven't asked you about boy friends."

Her face became serious again, "I've been taken out a few times—but I haven't been—"She stopped, as though searching for a way to put it, "—I haven't---done it—with anyone since you." Calvin's face must have shown some doubt at her words, "That's the truth, Calvin---I like that name---you need to know---you must have asked yourself how I was there that night---like that," She gave a weak smile, "When I acted like some wild nymphomaniac."

"That never entered my mind---a sea goddess, maybe." he said truthfully.

She laughed at that, "That's amazing. My first sight of you was that you were some god from the sea come to save me."

Calvin laughed with her, before asking, "Just why were you there that night?"

The laugh faded from her eyes as she said, "I do need to tell you."

She paused while a waitress delivered the coffee and scones, and then she went on, "My experience with men has not been happy. When I was eighteen I was dating this man two years older than me, a handsome charmer. After three months, I was so positive that I'd met my Mr Right that one night in his flat I let him take me---take my virginity—and shortly after he packed me in, saying I wasn't his type. I was devastated. Broken hearted is the cliché for it, isn't it?"

"All men aren't like that, "Calvin told her.

She took a sip of her coffee, wiped her lips and said, "That hasn't been my experience. It took me some time to get over that first rebuff, but when I was nineteen I was at a party, and this quite smart man offered to walk me home. A lovely summer's night, all so potentially romantic, until he pushed me to the ground, held a knife to my throat, and told me all the unspeakable things he was going to do to me." Calvin squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, before going on. "If I didn't cooperate and let him do these things he'd cut my throat."

"You don't have to go on if it's difficult for you," Calvin told her.

"Oh, this didn't get far. I was lucky enough to get my hands on a rock, and I was able to crack him on the head with it. Unfortunately as he fell, the knife jabbed into my neck." She touched the L shaped scar. "That's where this came from. L for Laura." She smiled bitterly, "But that's not why I kept it. It stayed there to warn me never to trust men. Huh, a fat lot of notice I took of my own warning."

"There was more?"

"How old were you when we met?"

"Twenty."

She nodded, "I was twenty two and that night was the end or would have been. For two years I was practically living with this guy, Paul, was his name. He taught me most of the things I knew about sex. Yet when I think about it now he never really reached me. I was always left expecting more. He seemed so deceptively respectful, that I was sure I had to marry him. He talked about that quite openly, almost like a promise. I was so sure."

She stopped, and her eyes looked into Calvin's, "On the day of the night you found me I discovered that my dear Paul was doing, and saying, precisely the same things to at least three other women. When I confronted him, he became quite contemptuous, almost mocking my trust. Told me to grow up, and how I didn't come anywhere near some of his other conquests for sexuality. His attitude changed completely—no more respect—nothing."

Tears showed on her cheeks, and Calvin leaned close to her, "I'm sorry. I wish I had that guy in front of me now."

She smiled, and pointed at the tears, before wiping them away, "You see? This is five years after that time and it still cuts me. I was stupid. What hurt as much as anything was that I knew he was wrong about my sensuality. I knew that deep inside me I had this longing to give, but it needed the right person, the right circumstance, and I'd never found that.

But, at that time, I took his cruel words to heart. I felt brokenand useless. I could not face up to a life of rebuttals like that. I drove down to the coast, and wore nothing that would indicate my identity. And I walked along the dunes to find the quietest spot where nobody would see me."

Calvin was shaken, "You were going to commit suicide?"

She nodded, "I told you, you saved my life. I was so determined that there was nothing left in life. Then I came up from my first dive and there you were—my god of the sea. You smiled, and I had to smile back, in spite of the pain in my heart. You touched me, and it was like a balm to my pain. You were a man, but I found no mistrust for you. I don't know whether you remember but I swam out deeper, still not sure---"

"And you swam in a circle," Calvin affirmed, he found his legs were shaking. In all that time he had had no idea of the significance of her being there that night. "But at the end you went away."

"Calvin, you can't know my state of mind. One minute in pieces, and then you, your body, your smile, you freed my libido—and please don't be hurt---but it was your initial failure that so delighted me. You were real, you were genuine. Yet, when it was over, and we'd come together, I needed to be on my own again to register the change you'd encouraged in me. A reason to live—a freedom of sensuality which I feared had been destroyed."

Their heads were very close together now, sitting at the table, and to kiss her would have felt like the most natural thing in the world to Calvin. All the familiar stirrings of five years earlier were building inside him. God, it was the first time he had seen her face, her hair, her smile, in daylight. And she was magnificent to his eyes.

Laura was looking uneasy as he stared at her, "You don't believe me? "

"Believing you is not the most important thing. Now, just keeping you close is."

"I drove back the next day. But you had moved out."

"I asked about you in the village. They didn't know you."

"No, they wouldn't." Laura said, "I only parked my car there."

There was a moment's silence. Their hands were locked together and she squeezed his as she said, "Might I see your painting of me sometime?"

Push it, Calvin told himself, and he said, "Why not today? Why not now? I only live a mile away. In fact I walked here."

To his delight there was no hesitation from her as she told him, "My car is parked in the next street. I'd really love to see your work."

Within minutes, Calvin was seated beside her as she drove and he was as excited as a schoolboy on a first date. On the way she told him of her apartment in town and that she wrote articles for various women's magazines.

When she saw his house, a detached four bedroomed villa in a quiet estate, she voiced her surprise. "Big house for one person."

"I have a working studio, plus a client's room where I do portraits."

Inside he led her upstairs and into the room that he'd converted into his studio. Against the walls were several completed canvasses. There were two easels, an assortment of paints on a side bench, and paint brushes and utensils everywhere. Under the high window was a flat sofa type bed, large and wide, more like an oversize cushion. "Where my models pose, if I'm doing a reclining study."

"Is that where I'd be if you painted me?"she asked, rather coquettishly.

"It could be, but I would like to do a portrait of your face."

"Not my body?" She placed her hands on her hips and adopted a pose, before adding, "What's wrong with my body?"

"Nothing at all," Calvin replied, "if my memory serves me correctly." And he was thinking that if they had been in the sea, he would be swimming around her now, occasionally touching her body. A familiar flicker started in his groin.

Laura had moved to where the canvasses were lying, and began flicking through them. "Where's the picture of me" she asked.

Calvin was thinking, gentle steps, gradual approaches, as his longing for her grew, and he said, "They have a special viewing place."

Laura looked at him from across the studio and he saw her eyes travel down to his waist. "And where would that be?" she asked.

He turned away, and gestured for her to follow him as he led her out of the studio to the door to his bedroom. He pushed the door open and said, "See if you can find them."

As she moved past him, the first thing she saw was the bed, and her eyes looked back at him, not questioning, more hopeful. At least that is what he read in them. He followed her in, knowing she would have no difficulty in spotting the paintings. In fact by the time he reached her side she was standing slightly open mouthed, looking at the three framed pictures on the wall facing the bed.

First was the nude figure with the kimono falling at her feet, as she stared out to sea. Then came the one in which she stood waist deep, her breasts prominent, her hair over her face. A third picture doing a front crawl with her head turned to one side. In this one Calvin had tried to give a vague impression of a figure swimming underneath her.

Anxiously, he tried to see her face for reaction. She said nothing as her eyes moved from one picture to the next, and then back again. At last she said, "If you got the body right, I'm flattered. But my face didn't show on any of them."

Calvin tried to explain his difficulty in catching her expression, "That's why I need to do a portrait of you, to capture that gorgeous face."

"Maybe you need a closer look," she said. The next second she had her lips pressed on his, her tongue found his, while her whole body turned to press against him, her arms around his neck.

Calvin delighted in the rematch of their tongues. He enfolded her about the waist, and as she snuggled against him, he wondered if she was surprised at his erection being so far on. They stood like that for a long time, and her movements clearly informed him that she welcomed the press of his penis against her belly.

As they broke away, Laura said, "You make me feel like a scarlet woman. The uninhibited way you make me act."

Keeping her held close he said, "Not a scarlet woman, you're my lady in silver. See?" And he nodded his head towards the painting of her standing in the sea, her breasts prominent. "And I'm hopeful that you are only uninhibited with me."

"I've told you. No one, since our last time." She freed one hand to give him a little nudge in the ribs."More than you can say."

Calvin pressed his lips against her neck, near her scar, and he said, "You make me ashamed, but I was the one doing the searching. You only found me by accident." They hugged and laughed together, and it just felt so good.

"That kiss was a first." Calvin told her, holding her tight as thought she might try to escape.

"How?"

"Back then, we'd done plenty of touching before we got to the kissing stage."