‘Hi George, would you like a coffee?’
Before she had time to regret her spur of the moment invitation, George was ensconced in the kitchen, Tess’s head resting on his knee with a look of adoration on her face.
‘Here you go, one cappuccino.’ She placed the mug in front of him.
‘That looks grand, love. So how are you finding life in the village? Quite different to what you’re used to, I expect. Must be a bit of a relief after London.’
‘A relief?’ It was a funny way to put it, but he was right. She hadn’t realised how much effort she’d put into keeping up a façade all the time. She might not like it here, but yes, it was a relief.
‘I can’t bear the place. Everyone’s always in a hurry. No one ever talks to you.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘I can tell you’re going to fit in just fine here.’
Ella had no idea how he’d come to that conclusion. Ready to deny it, she asked curiously, ‘Why do you think that?’ He clearly hadn’t seen her dripping her way home yesterday.
She was pleased to see he looked a bit nonplussed. ‘Well,’ he blustered. ‘Once you’ve settled, there’s so much going on, you won’t have a minute to call your own. The Spring Fayre’s coming up and it’s all hands on deck. I’ve got to put some posters up around the village. I’ve just had them from the printers. And a lovely banner.’ His face brightened and he sat up as if he’d just had a light bulb moment. ‘Next year you can design the posters, with you being an artist.’
Ella gave a tight polite smile. ‘I don’t think I’ll be here then.’
‘Course you will, Magda said so. Now, you’ve got to take this handsome hound out, so why don’t we kill two birds with one stone and you can give me a hand with putting some of these posters up. And I’ll round up a few chaps for the banner.’
He drained his cappuccino, leaving a milky moustache around his mouth. ‘That was grand. Thank you very much. Now I’ll just get my coat.’ He beamed at her, his face wreathed in wrinkles as his faded eyes twinkled. ‘Not often an old codger like me gets to escort a beautiful young lady.’
She had to turn away to hide the sudden sheen in her eyes. He really was rather sweet.
When she returned from a surprisingly brisk walk – George had twice the energy of most people half his age – it was very easy toslip back up to the studio and get some work done on her mice pictures, sneaking the occasional glance at her new painting. She was completely absorbed in inking in the colour of Cuthbert’s bright red fez, of which he was inordinately proud, when her mobile buzzed into life.
‘Hey, doll! How’s it hanging?’
‘Britta.’ Ella tried to hold her surprise in check. Britta had always been Patrick’s friend rather than hers.
‘So you’re still alive, then. Not atrophied yet.’
‘I’m just about managing.’ Ella tucked the phone under her ear. Giving Cuthbert a satisfied nod, she got up and wandered downstairs through to the kitchen where Tess dozed in the corner, one eye opening and shutting as if to double check she wasn’t missing anything.
‘With all that time on your hands I’d have thought you’d have rattled off another six of your little fluffy bunny books by now, babe.’
Ella frowned. She should be used to Britta’s casual dismissal but this time it stung. She stared out of the kitchen window, her attention caught by a flurry of activity on the green. There was George with a couple of other men, two of them unfurling the large banner, which he’d been very pleased with, and another banging in a big fence post.
‘I do put quite a lot of effort into them,’ she quietly rebuked.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. So are you bored out of your brains? What on earth do you do all day?’
‘Well . . . ’ Actually, the days were flying past.
‘Want me to come and cheer you up?’
Ella almost dropped the phone.
‘What? You come here?’
‘No, babe,’ Britta drawled. ‘Send a hologram in my stead. Of course come there, you dumb broad. Everyone’s going to the Saatchi reopening and I didn’t get an invite.’
‘Didn’t get an invite?’ She frowned, realising she was paying too much attention to the activity outside. How many men did it take to put up a banner? Oh dear, yes, it needed a design overhaul. That shade of yellow was horrible.
‘Yes, me. Didn’t get an invite to the Saatchi gig. I always get invited to everything.’
‘Oh.’
‘I pissed off Giles, the curator of that dumb Noodle in a Field installation. For crying out loud, it was unadulterated A1 audience porn. Crowd-pleasing crap.’
