He shook his head, looking at the dark windows and then back at her. ‘I’ll wait with you.’
‘You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.’
‘You might be fine but my mother would skin me alive if she thought I’d left you here on your own.’ Wilsgrave might be a peaceable small village but there was no way he was going to leave a woman alone in a dark church.
‘You’re going to be very bored.’
‘You don’t know that. I might find half-naked flower arranging fascinating.’
‘I’m not half-naked,’ she snapped but he noticed her lips curled in embarrassment as she glanced downwards.
The pyjamas weren’t exactly flattering but they were kind of cute and odds with her usual prickly demeanour. He quite liked them. ‘No, but you’re not exactly dressed for . . . ’
‘For what?’
‘For anything.’ He smiled.
He sat in a pew watching Ella move, her quiet determined grace belying the baggy fleece all-in-one thing, which was growing on him. Flat refusal had met his initial offer of help and at first he’d assumed it was out of pride or the ever-present prickliness, but as she worked, he realised it was because she was so focused. She knew exactly what she was doing. With quick sure stabs, she placed each flower head in position. A quick tweak here, a snip there with her secateurs, measuring a length against another flower and all the time, he could hear her muttering to herself, in between humming.
‘Yes that’s it. Dedee da da. Yes, there. And there.’ It was rather like watching a conductor with an orchestra in the palm of his hand.
Within minutes, he could already see a shape emerging. Every now and then she’d step back, tilt her head and then dive forward again.
She was so absorbed she didn’t hear the occasional squeak of the door and never once turned around to look his way.
There was a strange satisfaction in watching someone at work who was not just oblivious to but totally disinterested in their audience. What a contrast to Marina who played to the camera, constantly aware of her audience and the nuanced effects of every move she made. A consummate actress.
The thought sliced at his heart. Had Marina ever really loved him? In that single-minded, give-everything-up-for-someone-else way? The way that he had loved her. Had it all been an act?
He had no idea why he made the sudden comparison but it struck him that willowy Ella was a complete contrast: private, reserved, her face usually shuttered apart from the rare occasions when she let the emotion leak out. Like now, when an aura of quiet confidence and serenity surrounded her, quite at odds from her usual demeanour.
He’d never been particularly interested in art, but he could appreciate the talent involved. Watching Ella, he was intrigued by her absorption and commitment to the task in hand and surprised by how similar it was to his own approach to work, although she might come to regret her single-minded dedication when she realised that in the last ten minutes, several members of the choir had amassed in the aisle in readiness for their weekly practice.
With a low voiced exclamation of triumph, she stepped back one last time and nodded. He had to admit the finished display was a thousand times better than the previous incumbent.
Colin, the leader of the choir, winked at Devon before raising his arms and launching the thirteen strong chorus into a rousing verse.
Nellie the elephant packed her bags and said goodbye to the circus . . .
Devon smiled as rich baritone voices filled the church, singing one of their regular repertoire that he’d heard before, but that was perfect for this situation. Amused, he shook his head. Colin was almost as mischievous as the badly behaved German Shepherd he owned. Ella whipped round, startled.
He waited for her to relax into the moment. Smile along. See the ridiculousness of the situation.
His disquiet grew second by second as she remained as if struck by stage fright in a spotlight, her limbs jerky almost like a robot and her face a rictus of consternation.
It quickly became clear she had no idea what to do. And he knew that Colin and Co had settled in for at least a full verse and chorus. And knowing Colin, probably a full three verses.
If she found the situation excruciating, it was even more so for him to witness.
He jumped up and crossed to her, taking her arms and forcing them into a dance pose, her right arm out and her left arm around him.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, her eyes flashing at him, stiff still and unyielding in his arms, her feet stumbling over one another behind time.
He lifted his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure,’ then he grinned at her, ‘but it seemed like a good idea at the time.’
The words elicited a blank stare, so he pulled her along in a jaunty dance which he vaguely thought might be a polka. It took a good few bars of singing before she gradually relaxed into the steps.
They cantered up the aisle as the choir, now with even more gusto sang,with a trumpety trump, trump. Trump, trump, trump.
