‘Ah you must be Mr Starling.’ Coming forward she grasped his hand and shook it. She did the same with Callie and with a surprising strength. ‘And you must be Miss Thorne. Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Miss Grosvenor. Grace to my friends, of which I hope to count you as two. And this is Vinny. Short for Vincent. Both the love and bane of my life. Say hello Vinny.’
Callie bent down to greet the dog. His coat a shimmering black, he possessed enormous mournful eyes and a beautiful plumy tail. He nuzzled at her hand, his tail wagging so furiously his entire bottom wiggled.
‘Oh my dear,’ Grace exclaimed. ‘He likes you. He doesn’t take to everyone. He’s most unlike a spaniel in that way. They’re usually best friends with everyone at first acquaintance.’
Callie straightened and Vinny jumped up, putting his front paws on her hip.
‘Goodness. What a naughty boy. Get down, Vinny. I do apologise.’
‘Don’t worry. I love dogs. Just never had the right lifestyle to have one. Vinny reminds me of a black cocker I used to know when a kid.’ Callie heard the regret in her voice. A little voice in her head suggested if she gave up teaching, she’d have time for a dog.And no money,she reminded herself.Can’t live on air.She tickled the spaniel’s soft ears and he whickered in ecstasy. If only people were so easily pleased.
‘I’ve come to apologise about the mix-up,’ Grace continued. ‘About your bookings. I feel quite dreadful.’
‘Of course,’ Callie said warmly. ‘You’re the Miss Grosvenor who owns Sea Haven House. We’ve muddled through, the two of us, so please don’t worry about the double-booking.’
The relief on Grace’s face was palpable. ‘I’m so relieved to hear it. I confess it’s been preying on my mind.’
‘Why don’t you come on in,’ Johnny suggested. ‘We’ve been down on the beach and have worked up a thirst. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Dear boy, how kind.’
They all trooped into the kitchen. Johnny began making tea and Callie opened the French doors to let Vinny out in the garden. He sped off, doing mad little sniffing circuits, nose to ground. She laughed. He was the most delightful dog.
With mugs of tea in hand they sat on the sofas, Grace on one and Johnny and Callie opposite, side by side. Callie was very aware of her bare knee next to Johnny’s, then she concentrated on Grace as she began speaking.
‘Firstly, can I say, in all my years of running Sea Haven House as a holiday let, I have never made such a mistake and double booked. I’m normally so careful about these things. I check and check and then check again. My children say I should get it all online, but, my dears, I’m nearly eighty. I can’t bear messing about with computers. Besides, my method has always been foolproof. Up until now.’ The woman sipped some tea looking agitated. ‘I’m not making excuses,’ she paused, ‘well actually I am, I suppose, but I haven’t been at all well and I managed to muddle up the dates. I had Mr Starling’s booking down for next month. For the month of September.’ She tutted in exasperation. ‘I remember thinking how unusual it was that two guests wanted such long lets. You were both asking for three weeks when most only want a week at most. I really should have taken more care.’ Her voice trembled.
‘Please don’t get upset,’ Callie said. Glancing at Johnny she added, ‘I think I can say for both of us that it’s working out quite well to share.’
Johnny nodded. ‘I completely agree.’
Grace’s shoulders slumped. She looked almost tearful. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said on a long sigh. ‘You have no idea how relieved I am.’ She closed her eyes for a second, calming herself down then she snatched in a quick breath, opened her eyes and seemed a different person. Brightening, she added, ‘I must say it’s a privilege to have a fellow artist living in Sea Haven House. I so much admire your work, Miss Thorne.’
‘It’s Callie, please. And thank you. Although I’m not sure I count as a proper artist. I’m an artteachermore than an artist.’
‘Rubbish,’ Grace said stoutly. ‘I popped in to take a peek at your work when it was hung and am completely delighted with it.’ She leaned forward and winked. ‘I really shouldn’t divulge but I’m on the judging committee and a lot of old fuddy-duddies they are too. Dave Wiscombe and I joined forces in support of your beautiful paintings to get you into the final.’
Callie felt Johnny slide her a look. ‘I’m going to have to see these paintings,’ he said. ‘Everyone is praising them to the hills.’
‘And so you should, young man. They’re excellent.’
Callie stifled a giggle at Johnny being so roundly scolded. ‘Did you say you’re an artist too, Miss Grosvenor?’
‘Grace please. And yes, I am. Or rather was. Events have rather overtaken my artistic pursuits so these days I make sure I support others instead.’ She held out a hand. It was gnarled and white knuckled. ‘Arthritis has struck, much to my dismay. I find myself having to limit myself to the odd watercolour.’ She gave a tinkly laugh. ‘And, indeed, they are very odd. But I take inspiration from that dear man, Matisse, who, even in his dotage and when he could no longer paint his masterpieces, still created art using cut out paper. The creative force in us is strong and should not be ignored.’
‘Are you responsible for the art prints in here. I felt right at home as soon as I saw them.’ Callie nodded to the Georgia O’Keeffe ‘Blue Flower’ abstract hanging on the sitting room wall. It was a curiously erotic choice for a holiday let.
Grace smiled. ‘I am.’ She shuddered a little. ‘I cannot bear to see white walls. It’s anathema to my soul. One needs art to cherish, to enrich. Why, even cave men painted images and I should imagine they had rather more pressing things to do.’
Callie’s interest in the elderly woman quickened. The outer package may be old and ailing but the spirit inside shone young and vital. ‘Tell us about your art career. That’s if you don’t mind.’ She rose and topped up Grace’s mug. ‘Biscuit?’
‘Mind? Of course I don’t mind. I’ll bore anyone who’s willing to listen. I’ll say no to a biscuit, if I may. Sugar doesn’t agree with me any longer. Now, my art career.’ She huffed out a short breath. ‘Oh it’s all so long ago. Another life. I studied at the Slade and then had some success with my life studies.’ She chuckled. ‘I caused no little controversy being a very young woman painting the nude male figure. It wasn’t really the done thing back then.’ She eyed Johnny and her lips twitched. ‘But I always say a naked male can be a work of art in itself, don’t you agree, Callie?’
Callie, now back next to Johnny on the sofa, sensed him stir. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or embarrassed. ‘And did you go on to have success?’
‘I did. Some. Exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1966. A strange year. We were all caught between the establishment, in their suits and the new youth with their jeans and long hair. Ah, the sixties. Such a glamorous exciting time to be alive. London was the beating pulse of the planet then.’ She giggled girlishly. ‘Swinging London. We swapped soggy Brussel sprouts and cold mashed potato for pasta arrabbiata in the new trattorias and danced to Mick Jagger. To be British at that time was to be cool and happening. Oh the pop music, the football. We were all on top of the world.’ She leaned forward and said with glee, ‘Can you picture me as a dolly girl? Well, I was. All white foundation, back combed hair and enormous black spider false lashes.’ She paused and sipped her tea, thinking. ‘And then it all stopped. At least my public art life stopped.’
‘But why?’ Callie couldn’t imagine why a vibrant life should come to a halt.
