‘This is it. Wilsgrave. The pub. The shop’s down there and we passed the church on the way in.’
‘I thought you were kidding about there not being anything here. What the hell do you do all day? You must be going out of your mind with boredom.’
‘It’s not that bad. I’ve got lots of illustrations for the new book done. And I’ve started,’ she paused, ‘a new style of work.’
Britta’s eyes gleamed with avarice. ‘Ooh, you kept that quiet. I’m dying to see that.’
Ella swallowed, suddenly not sure that she wanted anyone to see her new painting.
What would Britta think of her shadowy abstract landscape? It wasn’t edgy or urban, but hinted at secrets in the landscape, something hidden beneath the surface. Nature was beautiful but also cruel. Her hand crept to her stomach. Very cruel.
She led the way up the path, tension in her shoulders as she prepared herself for Britta’s comments about the cottage.
‘You’ve got mail.’
‘What?’
‘A parcel on the doorstep. Someone’s trying to impress you.’
Ella frowned. Another navy blue box, like the others, perfectly tied with the silver-grey ribbon.
She snatched it up wondering who else Magda had got in on the act and what well-meaning gift was in there this time.
Unlocking the front door, Ella paused for a second, meaning to warn Britta, but it was too late, an excited Tess burst through the door, tail wagging, running backwards and forwards in animated delight, her whole body quivering with happiness.
‘Stupid dog, I’ve only been gone for half an hour. Honestly, anyone would think you’d been locked up all day.’
Britta gaped at her. Ella bit her lip and smiled apologetically.
‘Sorry, don’t mind me. This is Tess . . . the dog.’
Britta gave her an icy glare. ‘I can see it’s . . . a dog. And since when have you hada dog?’
‘She’s not mine. I sort of inherited her with the cottage but don’t worry, she’s all right really, aren’t you, you stupid animal.’ Ella shook her head as Tess continued to bounce about like a lunatic.
‘All right?’ Britta’s lip lifted in disdainful disbelief, bending to brush her hands down the white culottes now speckled with black hair.
‘Sorry.’ Ella grasped Tess’s collar. ‘Behave. Britta doesn’t want you jumping all over her. Calm down, you daft thing.’ She stroked Tess’s silky ears.
Britta backed away and put her purple carpet-bag back down. Ella held on tight to the collar, feeling Tess start towards it. Knowing Britta it probably cost an absolute fortune and she’d go mad if it became covered in dog slobber.
Britta shot another unfriendly look at the dog and then lifted her head to take a good look around the tiny hall. ‘Well, this is cottagey.’ Her foot tapped on the stone flag floors. ‘Real as well.’
‘Let me just shut Tess in the kitchen and I’ll show you round. Not that there’s much to see.’
Britta wrinkled her nose. ‘Shouldn’t dogs live outside? In kennels? It can’t be very hygienic having one in the kitchen.’
Ella thought of the recent cold and misty mornings. Tess wouldn’t like being outside at all. ‘No, she’s very good,’ she lied. Britta didn’t need to know about rubbish bins being savaged, being pitched head first into the canal, irate fishermen or early morning presents on the kitchen floor.
As soon as Ella shut the door, after dumping the latest parcel on the table, Tess began to whine and scratch at the wood. She wasn’t used to being locked in during the day. Ella gave the door a worried glance. It wasn’t for long. Britta would soon get used to her.
The tour didn’t take long and she saved the best til last.
‘What do you think?’ asked Ella letting Britta enter the room ahead of her. Britta stood and considered, her head tilted as she paced the length of the room underneath the pitch of the roof. At last she nodded, her face non-committal. ‘Big windows. Good light. Plenty of space. Not bad.’
‘Not bad?’ Ella echoed, feeling as if Britta had stuck an unnecessarily large pin in her balloon. She looked around the room, seeing it with fresh eyes. Even on a grey, dank day like today, light flooded in through three large skylights, which were bare of blinds or curtains so that nothing encroached to stop maximum light entering. Her feet had grown accustomedto the grooves and dips in the marked and scratched wooden floorboards which diluted the impact of the stark white of the walls and she knew to avoid the splintery board which needed some sanding so that it wouldn’t catch at her socks when she got down from the high stool at the draughtsman’s table. Apart from a faded blue sofa bed, piled with white and grey cushions which added colour and comfort to the simplicity of the room, there was nothing else in here. It was the perfect studio.
Britta shrugged. ‘It’s OK. Have you seen Xander’s studio? You’d struggle to do any kind of serious installation in here. Unless you were filming. Although can you imagine how much it would cost to get a crew out here? Remember how much that video installation cost, the one that Bryce did. I think the location fees for a week alone were more than a grand.’
