‘Typical journalist,’ said Margery with a touch of pride. ‘Always the story.’
‘Always,’ he nodded. He dug in his pockets, rifling through several before he dug out a handful of scruffy cards. ‘Jamie Milburn.’ He passed her one of the small squares. ‘Journalist. I write a column on pros and cons of life in the country. Whether it’s all it’s cracked up to be. Bucolic bad or rural idyll. Your picture of the water and this one of the pub sum up the opposites for me. I wouldn’t mind doing a feature on you. Artist in the country.’
‘I wouldn’t mind either,’ said Margery. ‘Great publicity.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be the best advocate,’ said Ella with a half-hearted shrug. Everything seemed so much effort at the moment. ‘I only moved out of London a couple of months ago. Housesitting. It’s not permanent. I’m still coming to terms with not being able to get a decent cup of coffee within five metres of my house.’
‘Perfect. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.’
A twinge of disloyalty shot through her. ‘The upside is, I do know people I can go and have a coffee with.’ She thought of Bets. ‘And people who would know if I hadn’t been out for a coffee for a few days.’ Like Doris and George. ‘And that’s worth a hell of a lot more.’
‘Really? Where do you live? In a village? Outside? How far is the nearest town?’
‘Jamie,’ Margery interjected gently. ‘If you could save that for another time. Ella and I have business to discuss.’
‘Sorry, M. Nice to meet you, Ella. I’ll liaise with M about that interview. See you next week.’ He sauntered out of the door.
‘Sorry about that. My nephew. Charming boy. Too charming by half but he does write clever, insightful and slightly satirical pieces. He likes to make fun of the Chelsea Tractor brigade that come out and play at being in the country. He’s rather naughty sometimes.’ Margery smiled indulgently. ‘Now where were we?’
By the time Ella left, they’d agreed an exhibition for the autumn and in the meantime Margery would hang all three paintings in her gallery and put them up for sale. As Ella belted herself into Magda’s little car, she repeated the figures out loud. Two thousand pounds! Margery had put a price tag of two thousand pounds on the reservoir picture. She really thought it was good enough.
Ella should have been elated but a sense of sadness dogged her. She didn’t want to go home to an empty house.
As Ella pulled up outside Lime Tree Cottage, having done a detour to the big supermarket on the outskirts of Amersham, stopped in Chesham and visited a couple of charity shops, she spotted Bets coming along the pavement with Dexter skipping along beside her. Her heart sank. She tried to compose her face as she stepped out of the car. The last person – no, the second last person – she wanted to see at the moment.
‘Hi, stranger.’ Bets’ grin was strained, her usual mile-wide smile dim and her cheeks a little pasty. ‘Ready for our walk? Isn’t it a gorgeous day? Summer is just around the corner.’ All this was said with forced cheer.
Ella faltered. Damn, she’d completely forgotten that they’d arranged today. Bets was dog-sitting Dexter for Devon. Was he in London again? She couldn’t remember. They were going for a walk. To Ashridge for a change.
‘Ella?’ prompted Bets as she ground to a halt. ‘Are you OK?’
Ella couldn’t say anything; it was as if something were lodged in her throat. No more walks with Tess’s black body zigzagging in front of her, tail swiping ninety miles an hour. No more Tess dancing around at her feet, giving that funny little yip of excitement when she saw Dexter.
Her face crumpled. Unbidden, the tears welled up as she tried hard to stifle a sob. She didn’t want to make a fuss. Embarrass herself. Be stupid. It was just a dog. It shouldn’t hurt this much. But it was constant. Every time she walked into the kitchen. When she came home. When she came down in the morning. It was stupid. She’d been heartbroken when she first came here about Patrick and losing the baby. Losing her direction. Not knowing what to do. This was completely different, so how come it hurt just as much?
‘Ella.’ Bets immediately drew her into her arms. ‘Whatever’s wrong? Hey, sweetie.’
That instant kindness set her off in earnest and she began to sob while trying to muster up incoherent words. ‘T-tess. Sh-she’s g-g-gone. Mm-um came. T-t-o-o-ok h-her.’
Bets held her tight as noisy sobs racked her body and Ella fought against the crushing weight, heavy on her chest, trying to drag air into her lungs.
‘Hey, slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s happened? Is Tess OK?’ Bets held her arms straight and gave Ella a little a shake. ‘Slow down. Breathe.’
Ella nodded, swallowing hard to try to stop the involuntary convulsions gripping her diaphragm. She felt Dex nudge herhand, as if he were trying to offer comfort too. It brought a fresh twist to her heart.
With an unladylike sniff because she had no tissues and didn’t actually care, she held out her hand and let Dex nose at each of her fingers.
‘What’s happened?’
Ella took several deep breaths, eventually managing to slow her body’s runaway emotions down. All the while, Bets rubbed her back, hugging her gently and waiting patiently without probing or hurrying her for an answer. Ella loved her for that.
‘It’s OK. Sorry.’ She took Bets’ hand and squeezed it in gratitude. She wanted to apologise to her, for thinking she was somehow inferior, she wanted Bets to know how much she valued her. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ Bets nudged her. ‘I haven’t done anything.’ She wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘Apart from stand in as hanky. I think you’ve made me a bit soggy.’
‘Thank you for being such a good friend even when I didn’t think I wanted one.’
Bets shrugged, a blush tainting her cheeks.
