She carried on sketching, outlining a new, rather sumptuous hat for Cuthbert. It was possibly the most flamboyant hat he’d ever worn, but he, the most debonair of the brothers, deserved it. Very Cavalier. In fact, she might give him a Charles the First wig and buckles on his shoes. She inked in a purple plume for good measure and sat back to admire her work.
‘Looking good, Cuthbert, my young man.’ She nodded, so caught up she almost expected him to nod back. ‘Quite the dude.’ Which of course he would agree with and doff his hat with a courtly bow. She drew another quick rough sketch of Cuthbert sweeping his hat off, the plume dusting the floor. Just so she wouldn’t lose it.
She ended up doing several different versions and before she knew it, another hour had elapsed.
Over the last three days, she’d taken to having her morning cup of coffee in Magda’s secret garden when she let Tess out for her morning wee and although she felt a bit silly stroking the flowers and inhaling the scents, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d got into a really good daily routine and her deadline worried her less and she even had ideas for a new book with three alien characters who’d happened on an English village.
Englebert with his mouse angel wings and decidedly skewiff halo had come to life. He wore an endearingly dopey expression rather reminiscent of a certain vicar. Ella bit back a smile. Hopefully no one, least of all anyone in the congregation, would ever spot the likeness, with the exception perhaps of the sharp-eyed Devon, who since his rescue act in the church had been popping into her thoughts rather too frequently.
Tess appeared, the lead in her mouth. Ella rolled her eyes, laughing in spite of herself. The dog was a pain but kind of cute with it.
‘Is it that time already?’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘How do you do that? Bets will be here any minute.’
Following the flower arranging, Bets had taken to calling for them for a morning walk before the vets’ surgery opened. Ella looked out of the window. Yes, she could get used to the walking, especially when the weather was like this. Bets had shown her a couple of different walks.
At the sharp knock of the door, Tess raced in circles almost tripping over her own legs and then went charging down the stairs, the metal link on the collar thump, thumping down on every wooden step.
Ella ran down the stairs, trying to dodge the thoroughly over-excited dog to reach the front door.
‘Won’t be a mo.’ She opened the door, Tess’s tail beating a happy tattoo against her leg.
‘No problem,’ said a gruff voice.
‘Oh, I thought you were Bets.’
‘I decided it was high time I walked my own dog for a change. But Bets said you’d be expecting her, she said I had to call in.’
‘Are you coming or not?’ His face didn’t look particularly inviting. What had happened to the man who’d been so charming the other night? He had cross written all over him. Was it because Bets had probably forced his hand, insisting that he called in? She seemed incapable of believing that people actually liked being on their own.
She wasn’t sure wanted to go for a walk with this Devon. An impromptu dance was one thing, but what on earth would she have in common with a man who, if the James Herriot books she read as a teenager were correct, spent half his life with his arm up the backside of various farm animals?
With rabid excitement, Tess’s body squirmed as she tried to rub up against both their legs, her tail slicing the air with the finesse of a rolling pin.
Ella’s mouth pursed as she looked down at the dog wriggling with ridiculous over the top excitement. She could hardly say no. The poor dog had been cooped up all morning.
‘I’ll just grab a jacket and some shoes. Is it cold outside?’
Devon wrinkled his face as if giving the question serious thought. ‘It’s bright but the wind’s a bit chilly. You’ll need to wrap up warm.’ He paused and she fixed his face with a warning glare, which of course he ignored. ‘A onesie won’t cut it today.’
‘Haha! Very funny.’
‘I thought so.’ It was a relief to see the disarming smile replace the furrowed lines on either side of his mouth.
She tied on her trainers, grabbed her jacket and followed him out of the door and down the path.
Wrestling the lead from the dog’s mouth, she hooked it onto her collar and did her best to hang on as Tess threw herself forward, frantically pulling to catch up. In a half run, Ella followed the crazy racehorse-under-starters-orders plunging gait which was par for the course every single day. You’d think the damn dog had never been out of the house in her life.
‘For goodness’ sake, you need to show her who’s boss,’ said Devon, giving Tess a stern glare.
Ella rolled her eyes, thinking of the constant ache in her shoulders from having to hang on for dear life. ‘You think I haven’t tried?’
‘Here, let me.’ He grabbed the lead from her. ‘She needs to learn some manners.’
‘Be my guest.’ Just when she’d started to think better of him, Captain Grumpy was back with a vengeance.
He held out Dexter’s lead for her to take over. Immediately she could feel the difference as the handsome pointer walked beautifully alongside her, matching her pace.
Tess started to pull ahead and Devon stopped, pulling gently on the lead but not yanking the young dog back.
‘I don’t think she’s ever been trained properly. That’s the problem. But you can teach her a few good habits.’
The stop, start, stop, start took for ever but Devon’s earlier grumpiness seemed to vanish, replaced by an infinite well of patience as he talked soothingly to Tess.
It was slow progress and a massive relief when they turned off the road to take the footpath down to the canal. The two dogs charged off the minute they were released from their leads, joyfully leaping through the almost waist-high grass of the open field. Devon and Ella wandered along in silence for a good fifteen minutes. His mood seemed to have improved.
‘Sorry.’ Devon lifted his head and looked up at the sky. ‘I was in a really shitty mood this morning. Getting out always puts things back in perspective. Realigns things.’ He picked up a loose branch and scythed at the grass with it. ‘Gets rid of the City blues.’ He thrashed at the foliage again, this time a little more viciously. ‘I was in London again yesterday.’
‘Don’t you miss it?’ asked Ella, curious rather than challenging as she might have been a week or so ago. ‘Living in London? Bets said you lived there until recently.’
‘Not really. You can be there in under an hour. In fact, when I get back here, I realise how little I miss it. The only thing I miss is knowing what the future holds. I’m in limbo at present.’
‘I know that feeling.’ She dug her hands into her pockets.
‘You missing London?’ Devon didn’t look at her, just continued to walk by her side.
‘Yes! Of course I am.’ Was he stupid?
‘What do you miss?’ he asked, his voice tinged with scepticism.
She paused for a moment. ‘Well . . . I miss . . . I miss being able to nip out for a decent cup of coffee and . . . ’ She frowned. There were heaps of things she missed, nothing precise she could put her finger her on. ‘The buzz. You know, lots going on.’ It sounded feeble but she couldn’t identify one particular thing.
Devon let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Don’t let Bets hear you say that. There’s plenty going on here. She’ll have you roped into things quicker than you can find a coffee bar on Islington High Street. There’s always some event happening: the Village Hall fund raisers, the Spring Fayre, the Christmas Fayre and local charity events, the Muddy Run, the Santa Run and the Chiltern Peaks Challenge, and then there’s the Canal Festival, not to mention the action-packed programme of the WI and the primary school events plus all the things at the theatre, the pantomime, comedy festival and there’s talk of a literary festival. It’s never-ending.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘And I get roped into most things. I don’t see why you should escape.’
‘I’ve done the church flowers!’ she said, indignantly. ‘That’s my bit for village life.’ All those other things sounded hideously dull.
‘Not quite. Don’t forget the chance to play shopkeeper.’
‘I’ve been trying to. Hopefully they’ll forget about me.’
‘I doubt it, everyone has to take a turn. It’s written in the village bylaws.’
‘Really?’ She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
‘Well, I’m sure if it isn’t, it should be. And if I have to, you do too. And sometimes you get free stuff.’
‘Like what?’
‘Out-of-date Swiss roll!’ He grinned at her.
‘Marvellous, I can’t wait. Although I could give it to George. He refuses to believe I can’t bake a cake for him now and then. He’s a right pest.’
‘George? He’s all right. Just lonely, I suspect. Magda used to keep an eye on him, although she lets him think it’s the other way around.’
Ella cringed. Not nosy at all. She felt a touch ashamed now. Perhaps next time she saw him, she might offer him a homemade cappuccino from Magda’s machine. Although she drew the line at baking anything, despite Magda’s magic box. That was never going to happen. He’d have to go homebaked-cake-less.
They reached a stile, the path left continuing along the canal and the other way looping away through a field.
‘Which way do you want to go?’
Ella lifted her shoulders. ‘No idea.’
‘If we go along the canal it cuts back to the other reservoir and we have to cut across the fields to get back. If we go across the field now, it loops back and brings us back to the village behind the church.’
Devon’s face looked a touch too innocent.
‘And what’s the time difference between the two?’
He gave her a sheepish twinkle. ‘Busted. The first one will take us another hour. The second twenty minutes.’
After the last few weeks, she had built up her stamina, so an hour’s walk didn’t faze her. If she had to, she could.
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘As it’s a nice day and I had a skinful of the city yesterday,’ his mouth tightened, ‘I’d like to head over to the Northern End reservoir. Have you been there?’
She shook her head. ‘Left it is, then.’ She followed him over the stile, and on the other side, he waited and took her hand to help her climb down.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Very gentlemanly.’
‘Or sensible – those wooden planks can get a little slippery. Gentlemen around here know it’s a smart move if they don’t want to have to carry maidens in distress all the way home.’
‘Oh.’ She’d been impressed by his thoughtfulness.
‘And it’s good manners,’ he teased.
‘In that case, thank you again.’
‘Are you one of those types who doesn’t like doors opened for them?’
‘No,’ she said with a twist of her mouth. ‘Although I do have a couple of friends who don’t approve.’ She’d heard the arguments plenty of times. ‘Apparently it’s benevolent sexism. The type of paternal and protective behaviour that perpetuates the view of women being incompetent beings who need to be cherished and protected.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Devon. ‘I think my ex would have disagreed with that. At the risk of sounding bitter, Marina loves nothing more than being cherished and protected, but I’d like to see the person that calls her an incompetent being. Ha!’ He let out a mirthless shout of laughter. ‘She’d chew them up and spit them out into very small pieces before stomping on them with her very sharp pointy stiletto heels.’ He sobered for a minute, before shaking his head. ‘Yeah, you don’t mess with Marina.’
He looked rueful.
‘Bets said you’d split up recently.’ Ella chose her words carefully. The tone in his voice suggested a certain amount of admiration for his ex. ‘That must be . . . ’
‘Difficult, very difficult. Trying to detangle two lives.’ He sounded resigned and weary. ‘I had to go and see her this week. She’s decid— she wants us to put our house on the market. Except it’s not going to be that straightforward.’ He scowled. ‘Not straightforward by any stretch of the imagination.’
Ella screwed up her face. ‘Don’t tell me that.’ She sighed. She’d been desperately trying to avoid thinking about the practicalities.
‘Bets mentioned that you . . . well, she mentioned that you were having problems.’
She liked Devon’s diplomacy, appreciated that he didn’t want to pry out her secrets.
‘We’re taking some time apart . . . but if we go our separate ways, there are all those decisions involved in detangling, as you put it.’ They’d have to sell their flat. But neither of them could afford to buy one another out individually. Where would she go? If she made the decision to split from him, she was making a far bigger decision which would impact on what she did in the future.
‘You have to do what’s right for you, detangling complications or not. Ours is complicated by the fact that our property is in negative equity. So we can’t sell.’
‘Ouch. That’s one thing we don’t need to worry about. We bought our flat ages ago. We split the mortgage and the gallery that Patrick runs is doing really well.’ Amazing really, considering other friends in the art business weren’t doing so well. Patrick had the golden touch when it came to sniffing out new artists. Shame his scouting ability had failed him so badly with her. ‘What if one of you wants to sell? To get out for good? What do you do?’ asked Ella, wondering what she’d do if she found herself in the same situation.
‘Find the money to pay back the negative equity or stick together.’
Whether it was because she turned to try and gauge his expression or the slipperiness of the muddy bank, but when Tess came bounding up, barging past with Dexter following at full pelt and hitting Ella’s legs, she lost her footing.
In a heart-stopping moment, her feet scrabbled precariously for purchase, to no avail. Like some cartoon character with windmill arms, she flailed about, grasping at nothing but air. Then just like in all the cartoons, with an inexorable trajectory she started to pitch head first into the canal and there was nothing she could do to stop herself except wait for the inevitable splash and hit of cold enveloping her body.
‘Aaargh!’ Screaming was a big mistake. Her mouth filled with pond soup, her head went under and water rushed up her nose. ‘Nggghnnn.’ She started to splash about, the weight of her clothes heavier than she could have imagined. Furiously swimming, she got her bearings.
Tess and Dexter were perched on the bank, barking furiously, and behind them stood Devon, his mouth twisting suspiciously.
Grimly she splashed towards the canal edge, tears of mortification stinging her eyes. How the hell was she going to haul herself up out of the water? Devon’s lips were now pressed together and he’d assumed a bland expression which didn’t fool her in the least. Bastard was laughing at her.
She reached out to grasp the side and her knee bumped something.
Shit. Both knees bumped. The bottom. She closed her eyes. This wasn’t happening to her. Slowly she rose to her feet, water pouring out of her coat sleeves, her hair plastered to her face and her feet squelching with each step. She looked down, staring the final indignity in the face. The water level came to just above mid-thigh.
Devon had turned away but she could see his shoulders shuddering.
Wiping at her slimy face, she waded the final metre, her jeans clinging heavy and wet around her crotch. Her nose felt full of bits and bringing her hand to her mouth, she spat out a mouthful of stuff, feeling sick as something slippery dislodged itself from her teeth.
The treacherous toad on the towpath had composed himself enough to turn around and offer his hand to help her step up and out. She took it and didn’t say a word.
‘Are you . . . ’ Apparently there was some problem with his breathing or he appeared to have a terrible stomach complaint, from the way he kept almost doubling over. ‘Are y-you . . . ’
‘No, I’m not.’ She refused to cry in front of him. Instead she brushed past him, heading along the towpath.
‘Erm, Ella,’ he called.
She stopped, took in a deep breath. ‘What?’
‘Er . . . it’s this way.’
Ignoring the rushing in her ears, she wheeled around and stomped past him, water oozing in her trainers with every step, her jeans chafing and the heavy coat releasing yet more bloody reservoirs of water at regular intervals.
She hated this horrible muddy path. Hated the pissing canal. The stupid hedges. The fact that they were still miles from the village. No bus. Taxi. Gritting her teeth to keep in a howl of frustration, she marched on. Her fingers were freezing and she couldn’t even put them in her pockets. Probably find a couple of frogs in there or something.
Devon did try to talk to her but she quelled every attempt with icy hauteur. The walk back to the village seemed interminable and at least by the time they hit the green, she was too chilled to give a toss what anyone might think. With her head held high, she stalked past several dog walkers, all of whom were stunned into silence by her silent deadly glare which dared them to say one word, just one word.
When they reached the cottage, she was surprised to find that Devon had followed her up the path. Did he have some kind of death wish? She was about to reach boiling point and if she didn’t get inside, away from everyone, she might just explode right in his face. And she never exploded. Never lost her cool.
Her fingers were so cold and pinched she couldn’t get the key in the door. When Devon took them from her and opened it, she couldn’t look at him.
‘Why don’t you strip off here and go up and have a hot shower? I’ll sort Tess out and make you a hot drink.’ The calm, reasonable tone almost ripped the lid off her control.
Fuck it. She mustered a baleful glare and slipped off the coat, letting it fall at her feet.
He gave her an approving nod.
Approving nod. She’d give him flipping approving. Stamping her foot down, she toed off one soggy trainer and kicked it across the room narrowly missing him. He jumped and she gave him a grim smile, setting to work on the second. This time her aim was better, although not perfect.
‘Oi, careful.’ From his sudden wariness, she could tell he wasn’t so sure of things now. He glanced down at the damp footprint on his thigh and then up at her.
Fuck reasonable. Fuck everything. She peeled off her T-shirt and jumper in one go and flung them on the floor and furiously yanked down her jeans, quite a feat as the beggars had glued themselves to her legs, and hurled them on the floor at Devon’s feet.
His eyes widened and he had that oh-shit-what-have-I-got-myself-into-here-look, which gave her a smart slap of satisfaction. See how you like being discombobulated, Mr I-have-all-the-answers.
In bra and knickers, both decorated with pondweed, her skin red and chafed, she stormed across the hallway, her dramatic hauteur somewhat spoilt by the squelching of her soggy socks which left puddles in her wake. Stomping up the stairs, she wheeled into her bedroom, slamming the door for good measure.
That was it. She’d made up her mind. She was going back to London as soon as she could pack her bags.