One
‘Why, if it isn’t Hanna Shaw! We haven’t chatted for ages. Oooh. That’s a pretty painting, dear.’
Hanna jumped at the sound of Barbra Brimble’s voice. Not because of who had spoken (although Mrs Brimble was a notorious gossip and was best avoided if possible – and Hanna had successfully done so for months) but because she’d been so deep in thought that she hadn’t seen the woman coming, and the shock of finding Barbra standing so close, startled her.
It had been the perfect summer morning – until then – and Hanna was enjoying both the glorious sunny weather, and the solitude.
When she’d left Catkin Cottage, the early morning air was cool, and on arrival, minutes later, at the ornate iron gates of Betancourt, the ancestral home of the Betancourt family, tiny droplets of dew clung to the tips of the recently mown grass on which she’d set up her easel. Autumn might be weeks away, and summer only halfway through, yet Hanna had needed a cardigan first thing in the morning.
Three hours later, with the sun a golden ball high in a clear cerulean sky, and the cardigan long since discarded, Hanna basked in the mid-morning heat and her hair danced around her shoulders in the gentle, summer breeze. Birds tweeted and chirped from the trees and bushes behind the stone walls of Betancourt, a butterfly or two flew by, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, while Hanna painted and daydreamed outside the gates of the stately home she loved.
Now Hanna instinctively took a step away from Barbra as her breathing returned to normal.
‘Thank you,’ she said. And then she spotted that the butterfly she had been adding to her painting of Betancourt and its grounds, as a finishing touch, now had a rather long tail.
Damn Barbra Brimble. Hanna would need to paint that out.
‘I was thrilled to bits for young Grace Eversley,’ Barbra said, leaning closer to Hanna in a conspiratorial fashion, ‘when I heard the news of the engagement. And now there’s going to be a wedding so soon after. Between you and me, a few people thought the rush meant there might be a little Betancourt on the way. Well, you know how some people gossip, dear, and Grace did move into the house very quickly. But that’s not so, apparently.’
‘No it’s not.’ Hanna tried to retain her composure but her tone was sharp, even to her ears. Hanna had heard that rumour, and she had a fairly good idea who had started it. The woman standing right beside her. ‘It’s simply because they’re so deeply in love and they can’t wait to be husband and wife.’
Barbra was giving her an odd look. ‘You don’t sound too happy about that, dear.’ Ignoring Hanna’s tut of irritation, she continued. ‘But then Grifforde Betancourt broke so many hearts when he announced on Christmas Eve that he loved Grace.’
‘I’m truly happy for them,’ Hanna snapped, wishing the woman would just go away and let her finish her painting of the gorgeous stately home and grounds.
‘Of course, dear. If you say so. I’ll admit I was astonished when I heard that Grifforde had apparently been in love with Grace for years. Weren’t you? I hadn’t guessed for one second that the gorgeous man felt that way about her. They had always seemed to dislike one another. And she was in love with poor dear Russell, or so she always said. Yes. It was a complete surprise. And I’m not the only one who thought so. But then who wants the younger brother if you can get the older one. Especially as it’s Grifforde who inherits Betancourt.’
‘What do you mean by that? It’s not about the money. Or Betancourt. Grace adores Griff. And Russell is just as great as his older brother. We don’t choose who we fall in love with.’
Hanna was growing angry, but she wouldn’t let Barbra Brimble spoil her day. Instead, she focused her attention on the house and how beautiful it looked with the sunshine bringing out the warmth of the sand-coloured stonework, and how the tips of the trees swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze. The scents of so many varieties of flowers in the rows of flowerbeds lining both sides of the wall surrounding the grounds, mingled together, and wafted towards her, and she breathed in the heady fragrance, calmer now as Barbra’s voice droned on and on in the background.
‘Of course we don’t dear. But for Grace to get Grifforde to propose so soon after they’d started dating was a triumph, wasn’t it? And now the wedding! And all within eight months. Grifforde’s a real catch, isn’t he? Grace wouldn’t want to let him slip away. So handsome. So rich. So rugged. Not to mention … so sexy.’ She giggled. ‘Imagine being his wife. Why, it’s like a fairytale, isn’t it? Betancourt has stood here for centuries. Imagine the stories it could tell. Imagine all the things that havegone on within those walls. Imagine living in that magnificent house.’ Barbra let out an envious sigh.
Distracted, Hanna matched it. She had been thinking something along similar lines before Barbra had appeared and interrupted her daydreaming. ‘I do imagine it,’ she said, absentmindedly. ‘It would be a dream come true.’
It was a moment or two before she realised that Barbra had stopped talking, and the look the woman was giving her now was even more curious. Not to mention, slightly worrying. The raised brows, the sparkle in those all-seeing eyes, and the huge, almost triumphant smile that crept across Barbra’s florid face sent an odd sort of shiver down Hanna’s spine.
When Barbra laid a cold hand on Hanna’s arm, she felt as though the woman was a spider who had just caught Hanna in her web.
‘Oh, absolutely, dear,’ said Barbra, with excitement in her voice. ‘Now I must get on. I’ve interrupted you and your painting. You’re such a talented artist … although … should that butterfly have that long, thick tail? It looks a bit like a dragon. But I’m sure you know best. I’ll leave you be. Bye, bye.’
‘Erm … No, I was…’ The woman was gone before Hanna had finished her sentence.
Clenching her teeth and scowling at Barbra as the woman hurried away, she added. ‘The only dragon around here, is you, Barbra Brimble.’
But that wasn’t really fair to dragons, and despite being fully aware that dragons were fictional creatures, Hanna silently apologised to them as she set about removing the long tail from the butterfly in her painting.
