The Truth of the Body (Templer Series)

The Truth of the Body

Duka Dakarai

Copyright DUKA DAKARAI 2013

Published at Amazon

Copyright DUKA DAKARAI 2013

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and is not intended to cause offence.

Dedication

This work of fiction is dedicated to my lovely husband who endlessly supplied me with coffee and cigarettes into the wee small hours of many a late night.
It is also more importantly dedicated to our incredible Armed Forces wherever you are serving our country and keeping us safe. Thank you. x

The Truth of the Body

Chapter One

I look at all their smiling faces one more time before attempting to speak. I do
not know if I am gloriously happy or absolutely furious. So I need this small reflection time to think. I shake my head for the third time before finally blurting out:

“I don’t know what to say” It is all I can manage until it has sunk in. Tilly and Mia have arranged my very own
Art exhibition. I should be delighted. And I am. But I am also pissed at them.

I want to make it on my own. Being the youngest of the Templer siblings and the only girl has meant I am spoiled
, and also rich beyond the dreams of most twenty four year olds. I live in a three bedroomed flat near Marleybone, London valued at around 2.6 million GBP which my brother Drew bought for my twenty – second birthday.
I was happy in the bedsit in Peckham.
I have a trust fund which accumulates over 3.9 million GBP in interest annually but I don’t know how much I am worth in totality because I rarely dip my fingers in the pot.
Much to the frustration of my brothers!

I did not join Templer Industries as was expected of me when I completed my Art Degree at Harvard, instead choosing to try to make it on my own as an artist. Sculpture is my passion.
My brother, Drew, is the CEO of Templer Industries while Jake, the middle sibling, is Head of Design Engineering. Templer Industries
is the international market leader in construction and building of luxury hotel complexes. My great, great grandfather started the family business in the late 1890’s. And after my degree, I could have walked into the role of Director should I have desired. But I didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I
just don’t know what to say” I repeat, giving myself more breathing space.

“It’s too much….I knew it would be.” Tilly throws a nervous look at Mia.

“Of course it isn’t too much! You are so talented….and now everyone will get a chance to see it!” Mia drawls in response, batting a hand at Tilly.

I glance back and forth as they continue to mildly reprimand each other. Tilly is Drew’s fiancé. She is petite, fair and very pretty. She is also an Events Planner for some major charities.
And my brother Drew worships her with every breath of his body. I love her almost as much as him.

Mia….well, she is a whirlwind. Mia is one of the world’s most famous
Supermodels
, actually ex-model as she prefers to be known, and now an up and coming photographer in her own right. She is fiery haired and tempered, and unbelievably beautiful. She is Jake’s fiancée. Previous to Mia, Jake had been a
player
. Then the ‘whirlwind’ entered his life, via her best friend Tilly, and like a spinning tornedo, he found himself completely captured by her. And I have never seen him so happy. I love her equally as much as Tilly and my brothers.

***

So here I am in my penthouse apartment in Marleybone shaking my head in disbelief. Tilly and Mia have arranged my very own
Art exhibition, at Burlington House, of all places. For those of you not familiar in Arty circles, Burlington House is most known to the general public for housing the Royal Academy of Arts and where many a famous Art exhibition has been held. And while I may be starting to make a small name for myself amongst certain Art circles, I know that Mia and Tilly have pulled
serious
strings to achieve this one.

Jake eyes me seriously. He can read me like a book. “I know you want to do everything your own way. We get it. So will you be happier to know that all the proceeds will be going to two charities?” He throws me his handsome lop-sided smile.

Instantly, I feel the tension leave my shoulders. “That would swing it.” I beam back, the same lop-sided smile. “Which charities do you have in mind?”

Tilly squeals in relief. “I chose them. I hope you don’t mind. One is a small independent charity raising support for
Art supplies to schools in Africa and Asia, and the other is The British Forces Foundation. Mia has recently become involved in their work.”

Yes, that swung it.

Chapter Two

Burlington House ~ Art Exhibition

The courtyard of Burlington House is open to the public during the day. The Royal Academy's public
Art exhibitions are staged in nineteenth-century additions to the main block which are of little architectural interest. However in 2004 the principal reception rooms on the
piano nobile
were opened to the public after restoration as the "
John Madejski
Fine Rooms". They contain many of the principal works in the academy's permanent collection, which predominantly features works by Royal Academicians, and small temporary exhibitions drawn from the collection. The east, west and Piccadilly wings are private.

I have chosen six of my main pieces to be exhibited. At four o’clock this morning I was sick with nerves. Literally. But now as I watch Mia and Tilly, flanked by my handsome brothers, work the rooms a sense of excitement has finally washed over my body. My eyes are drawn to a woman stood deep in thought looking at my
Tree of Tears
. I watch her fascinated as she tentatively reaches out a hand and strokes the cool surface of the sculpture before recoiling quickly as though she has been caught doing something rather naughty.

“You are allowed to touch the exhibits” I laugh kindly at her.

“Oh!” She flinches, startled, before turning to return my laugh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Amber Templer. These are my sculptures.” I stretch out a hand to her.

“Dr Alison Rowe.” She shakes my hand. “I love this piece in particular. And I was day dreaming imagining how I could persuade my department to include Art more in my work at the hospital.”

“Please say more…..I’m intrigued.” I move closer to her, indeed, intrigued.

“I’m a consultant psychiatrist at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham in the military managed wing. All of our patients are service men and women who have been injured while on active duty, mostly in Afghanistan. Many as you will know require intensive rehabilitation…..and we are exploring many forms of therapy, in particular, for the benefit of working with those whose physical and psychological effects of war are more complex. Art can be a fascinating in-road to working with complex and vulnerable patients.” She sighs, exhaling a long, deep breath.

“Yes. Art can be used as therapy where other forms have struggled. I saw evidence of that while studying for my degree at Harvard. But you incorporate Art now, don’t you, as I have read?” I cock a questioning look at her, gesturing her to continue.

“Of course. But as yet not sculpture. I don’t suppose you would be interested to talk further……”

***

I snatch one last look in my car rear view mirror before heading into the main entrance of the
striking steel and glass oval towers of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. My long jet black hair frames a face which looks paler with apprehension and nerves. My normally round chocolate eyes now resemble saucers, and I can see a nervous tremble play along my bottom lip.

For the last two months I have worked with Dr Alison Rowe and her team expanding the therapy unit to incorporate sculpture. But today is my first time of working with patients delivering a class. And
as I walk through each corridor towards the military managed wing, my stomach churns just a little more. I am using all my focus just to breathe in and out.

“Amber! There you are.” Alison squeezes me into a warm hug. “Come into my office for a few minutes before we head down to the unit. I need a quick word.”

Alison gestures me into her office seating herself behind a desk laden with files, text books and medical manuals. Clutter is her middle name. I lower myself through slightly shaky legs into another chair. I watch her flick through a file before she continues.

“Amber, I want to talk to you about a particular patient…a young
corporal from 40 Commando of about your age. Aiden Finch. He has temporary blindness resulting from a blast implosion. Although physically he has recovered remarkably, the blindness remains an issue. He is very depressed and suffers bouts of intense mood swings. I have managed to persuade him to join in for today on your class but you will need to tread very carefully. Do you understand?”

I nod, biting my lower lip. “I understand.”

“Good.” Alison smiles gently. “Then let’s get you started. And Amber? My door is always open, ok? This is emotive work and for you to volunteer your time…….I can’t thank you enough.”

We head out into the unit and I am greeted warmly by the patients. Some cheeky ones have wolf whistled before being reprimanded by the staff. In the last single bedded room on our rounds, I find a mousy haired man sat by his bed, his eyes bandaged. By the window with his back to us looking out across the car parks is another man, stood very upright
with his tall muscular frame in military fatigues.

“Corporal Finch, it
is Alison Rowe, and with me is the artist we discussed, Amber Templer.” Alison touches him slightly on his arm. He nods shyly.

I take his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “Hi, Corporal Finch, pleased to meet you. I’m Amber.”

As he shakes my hand, I glance across at the man who remains with his back to us still looking out of the window. Slowly, as though he senses me looking at him, he turns to catch my gaze. I straighten my posture, smiling a nod at him aware my mout
h has suddenly dried completely.

“Amber, let me introduce you to Major Logan Grant. Major, this is Amber Templer who has kindly volunteered the next six weeks of her time
to teach sculpture. She recently held a private exhibition of her work with half the proceeds dedicated towards The British Forces Foundation. We are very lucky to have her here.” Alison smiles towards the Major as he strides towards me.

He comes to a halt just at the threshold my comfort zone and
looms over me. Although I am tall at five foot nine, I feel dwarfed by the man. His huge powerful frame towers over me, his face looking directly into mine. He has the most intense blue eyes I have ever seen, set in a chiselled, astonishingly handsome face. His hair is cropped military short with shades of gold and almost white blonde.

He drags his eyes up and down my body before returning his penetrating look at my face. I flush as I feel a breath catch in my throat, heat rushing throughout my body. I have never experienced such instantaneous sexual arousal just b
y having a man look at me.

I hold out a shaky hand almost hoping he will refuse it as I’m not sure how I will react if he touches me.
He envelopes my hand and nods abruptly. I feel tingles of electricity spark up my arm causing me to recoil sharply.

He leans a little closer still studying my face before turning to Alison. “So making sculptures is the treatment for today, is it?” His voice is velvety deep
but stern, sarcastic.

“Major….it is a complementary therapy as you well know. And I’m sure Corporal Finch will benefit greatly.” She responds sharply.

He straightens his shoulders gruffly before making a move towards the door. “Corporal….I will look in on you again soon.” And with that he is gone.

I breathe out a long sigh. Corporal Finch releases a small laugh. “Miss
Templer, do not be put off by the Major. He is one of the best…..actually he is the best.”

Chapter Three

One Week Later

“Fuck it. I can’t do it!”

Aiden swings an angry arm in the air crashing his clay across the room. Two nurses rush into the room
as I shake my head to confirm that I am okay. I pick up the wet clay and begin to place it calmly back onto his work station. I pat his arm reassuringly.

“Yes, you can Aiden. Visualise with your other senses. Feel the clay in your hands.”

“I can’t! I can’t fucking see anything….” He growls, frustrated.

“I know that Aiden. Here, I have an idea.” I wipe the wet sludge from his hands
and pat him dry. “We’re going to do a visualisation exercise, ok?” I gently lift one of his hands and place it on top of my head. “Now, I want you to tell me what I look like as you trace your hand around my head and face. Visualise each contour as you tap across my face. Go on, don’t be shy.”