Good God. Ella regretted putting the TV on. Dr Marina Scott was as absolutely blooming gorgeous this morning as she had been the morning before and the one before that. Each time Ella tuned in, she hoped that she’d remember wrong, but no, this woman had star quality written all over her. Her white coat stopped just above the knee, not too short to be tarty and just the right cut-off point to show off the shapeliest, most elegant legs Ella had ever seen.
From her shiny brilliant teeth to her long graceful fingers tipped in fuchsia pink to match her lustrous wet-look lipstick, she exuded polish and gloss. There wasn’t a single feature Ella could find fault with. Even her walk, in stylish but sensibly heeled black court shoes, was sinuous. The camera loved her and she talked with friendliness and vivacity into the lens. She treated her guests with great charm, immediately scooping their pets up with enthusiastic exclamations. It was obvious why she was such a hit, she had so much warmth and empathy.
Ella could see that for some it might be addictive viewing as Dr Scott talked to worried pet owners with an authoritative air, dispensing her expertise in a kind, reassuring manner.
Tess wandered in and stood right in front of the television and let out a gentle fart, just as Dr Scott introduced a chocolate Labrador called Larry.
‘That’s my girl,’ said Ella, thinking it rather appropriate, even though poor gorgeous Marina had done absolutely nothing wrong to her.
The good vet gave the camera a particularly winsome look that made Ella mime gagging.
‘Except, as regular viewers will know, Larry’s a girl dog. She just looked like a Larry, so the name stuck.’
An off-camera interviewer interjected with a coy, ‘And we hear you have news regarding Larry this week.’
‘I certainly do,’ gushed Marina.
OK, now Ella had gone off her. The format and delivery were too cheesy for words but then again this was daytime TV. Thank God, the curtains were still closed and no one could catch her watching this drivel.
‘Larry is going to have a litter of puppies in the next month and we’re very excited because we will be streaming the birth live as it happens.’
‘And how can people find out when Larry will be having her puppies?’
‘We’ve got a special Twitter account for Larry and a Facebook page. So people can follow from the first twinge. It’s very exciting.’
Ella glared at the screen. It sounded awful to her. She bet Marina Scott wouldn’t like to be filmed live in childbirth.
What if something went wrong? Did dogs miscarry? Did they know they’d lost their babies? Did they grieve for them like humans did? Did it cause that awful hollow ache in the pit of the stomach?
With a vicious snap at the button on the remote control, she silenced Marina. The cottage suddenly felt claustrophobic and she was horribly conscious that the cottage next door was empty. Poor George – leaving him all alone, watching them wheel the hospital trolley away to the ward had been horrible. Perhaps she should go and visit him.
Underfoot, her shoes squeaked on the floor as she walked the length of the corridor, checking off the ward numbers. In one hand, she clutched a bag of books, fruit and biscuits, while in the other a cup of George’s favourite cappuccino. Visiting hours had just started and she picked up her pace – she didn’t want him to think no one was coming.
Once she’d decided to come she’d collected a few of his things, feeling uncomfortable as she went into his bedroom to find pyjamas and toiletries.
‘Morning, duck. Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Magda said you’d come.’
He was obviously a bit confused and had forgotten Magda was in the middle of the ocean on the other side of the world but she didn’t like to remind him.
‘Morning, George, how are you today?’ His colour looked much better but he looked tired and was clearly confused.
‘I’m absolutely fine, just had a funny turn, but they want to do all sorts of tests. Gives those doctors something to do. Don’t suppose you brought me a paper?’
‘I did.’ She handed over the Express she bought at the League of Friends shop downstairs. ‘And,’ she lifted the bag, ‘PJs and bits. I’ll put them in your locker. And,’ she lowered her voice, ‘cake.’
‘You never. You baked me a cake.’ George sat up straighter, his hospital gown sagging on one side to reveal a thin, bony, liver-spotted shoulder, reminding her how frail he really was.
Ella let out a peal of laughter. ‘You never give up. No, it’s one of the shop’s Swiss rolls.’
‘Hasn’t Peter Reynolds got rid of that stock yet? At this rate, they’ll be covering ’em in chocolate and selling them as Yule logs throughout December.’ His thin arms reached out to grasp the offering. ‘Oooh, that’s grand. Will go nicely with my cup of coffee. Here, hand it over before the Sister comes round. I’m not supposed to have any stimulations.’
‘Or stimulants.’
‘Them too, but I’m not risking them taking this away.’
He took a long sip of coffee and gave a happy sigh. ‘I think I should have been born Italian. They know how to make coffee.’
‘You’d better make sure you wipe your mouth before the doctor does his round,’ said Ella pointing to his milky, chocolate-spotted mouth.
George grinned.
When she stood to leave she asked, ’Can I bring anything else?’
‘No, lass. I’ll be home tomorrow.’
‘Will you?’ Ella asked in surprise.
‘Yes,’ he nodded before adding darkly, ‘or you’ll be helping me plan my escape.’
‘If they think you should be here . . . ’ Ella bit her lip. When had she turned into George’s keeper? She wasn’t even family.
But, she felt responsible for him. There wasn’t anyone else.
‘Yoo hoo. Hello. Yes, you.’
Ella stopped, unable to pretend any longer that this woman wasn’t talking to her, quite possibly because she was the only person in the hospital corridor.
‘Ella, isn’t it? The artist.’
Ella nodded.
‘I’m Audrey.’ She announced this in a forthright manner as if Ella should know who she was, which of course she did, thanks to Bets. Unfortunately, there was no chance to run as had been the fervent recommendation.
‘Hi,’ said Ella in faint voice. The famous Audrey looked completely harmless and nothing like the ruthless Attila the Hun type that Bets had warned her about. In her smart low-heeled shoes, a mid-length skirt of a definite Marks & Spencer persuasion and a very smart little nipped-in jacket, she looked more like a friendly, glamorous granny. Behind gold-framed glasses, big blue eyes, guileless and friendly, twinkled with warm but decided mischievous intent.
‘Have you just been to see George? How is he? I heard he’d had a funny turn.’
‘He’s—’
‘I had to stop you to say hello. I’ve been very remiss not calling in, although young Bets has been doing a good job. And I did promise Magda I’d look after you. I’ve been so busy these last few weeks.’
From a capricious but very ugly handbag, Audrey whipped out a spiral bound diary. ‘Now let me see, we’ve got the final meeting for the village Bake Off, the Village Hall fundraiser, the Spring Fayre. Not a minute to call my own. But there was something, Magda was most specific . . . ah, here it is. Salsa. She said you’d love to join in.’
Ella just bet she did. When she finally got hold of Magda, she was going to wring her neck.
‘Next Tuesday in the village hall. It’s a shame you missed the flamenco, now that was a lot of fun.’
Ella schooled her face and tried hard not to look at Audrey’s plump hips.
‘Lots of stamping and attitude.’ With a twist of her hands, she held them back to back above her head and with slow steps she circled Ella, like a cheetah its prey. Then she gave two quick claps and stamped her feet, completely oblivious to the fact she was standing in the middle of a hospital corridor.
‘We do like our dance sessions. So we’ve got salsa coming up and much as the old dears all have a go, it would be great to have some young blood for a change.’
‘I don’t think it’s—’
‘You’re going to love it. All you need is a pair of shoes with a bit of a heel. And it helps if you’ve got a skirt with a touch of swish in it, helps you get into the mood. Although some of our ladies get a bit too much into the mood. Old Beryl, who is nearly ninety, Lord, I thought she might put her foot through the floorboards, she was stamping with such gusto. Goodness, is that the time? So Tuesday, five-thirty in the village hall. I’ll see you there.’ She gave an impish grin. ‘Tell Bets she should come too. I know she’s been avoiding me. Surgery finishes early on Tuesdays, so no excuses.
‘Oh I nearly forgot. One of our speakers has cancelled on me. Do you think you could come and do a little talk and a demonstration of your rather wonderful mouse pictures? I thought you could tell us how you started out and how you got published. Quite a few of the WI ladies are aspiring writers and then a few paint lovely watercolours. So, who better to come and talk to us than our resident artist. It’ll be such fun. That’s two weeks on Tuesday and there’s . . . Joyce! Oh Joyce! Sorry, must dash.’
Audrey darted off leaving Ella slightly punch drunk. What had just happened there?
Salsa? In the village hall? With a bemused shake of her head, Ella continued back to her car. She’d have to catch up with Audrey and explain that it wasn’t something she did.
Tess was delighted to see her.
‘Stupid dog, I’ve only been gone for an hour. Poor old George is looking much better. He says you can have a big bone because you saved him. Clever girl. Although I might never leave the house again. It’s too damn dangerous. Let me at least have a cup of coffee and do some work. Bets is coming over soon with Dex and then we’ll go out for a nice long walk.’
Now that she was a lot fitter, she rather enjoyed their joint walks. The lure of spring sunshine was an added incentive. These bright sunny days lifted her mood.
Taking a steaming mug upstairs, she went up to her studio and quickly reviewed the week’s progress. She could get an hour’s work done before Bets arrived. For once she was actually well ahead and had enough ideas for the next book and possibly a series about her little alien characters. Her publisher would be pleased.
With a smile she surveyed the mice. Perhaps she should . . . flamenco. That was it. Grabbing a pencil, she started to sketch. Cuthbert would love one of those Cordoban flat black-brimmed hats and his sister Catherine would look rather swish in a bright red frilled and flounced dress and little red Latin dancing shoes.
Dropping her pencil, she ran back downstairs, scooped up the shoe box and taking the stairs two at a time hurried back.
Latin shoes with socks looked quite odd but they were perfect and they twinkled as she swivelled her foot at the ankle to let the light catch the diamonds. They’d been diamonds in her head at fifteen and they were still diamonds now, she decided with a happy nod of defiance.
She needed music. A quick YouTube search and she had the Gipsy Kings playing. Yes. With her shoulders rocking and her feet tapping to the music, she added a guitar-playing Englebert.
‘Bamboleeeeo, bamboleeeea, lalalala.’
Her fingers flashed across the page, the drawings flowing from her fingers. When the music stopped abruptly, she clicked to play the track again but this time stood up. Shoes like these needed trying out. Up here in the attic with the skylights facing to the brilliant blue sky, no one could see her. With a wry smile at her own silliness, she stood up and started to dance.
Tess thought it was a great game and as Ella swivelled her hips and raised her hands above her head, she tried to join in, weaving in and out of Ella’s legs and jumping up and down.
‘Crazy dog.’ Ella laughed. They probably looked totally ridiculous but no one could see her. When was the last time she’d danced? When she was in her early teens she’d done Latin and Modern. At college, she’d gone regularly to a local salsa club. With a sudden sense of sadness, she realised it was another thing she’d got out of the habit of doing. Patrick wasn’t much of a dancer.
This time when the music stopped, another track began before she could get to her iPhone. ‘Baila, baila, baila, me.’ She joined in the refrain, making up the words she didn’t know. Whirling around the room, her heart full of lightness and joy, she danced through several tracks. Eventually Tess got bored, the initial excitement wearing off, and she wandered out of the room but Ella, relishing the feeling of her heart pounding and her pulse beating furiously, carried on dancing.
‘Er, excuse me.’
Startled, she whirled round to find Devon standing in the doorway at the head of the stairs to the loft conversion, an apologetic smile full of sympathy on his face and right on cue the music stopped.
A fierce blush fired up her cheekbones.
‘Crikey, you scared the life out of me,’ she said. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ The aftershock of fear made her sharp. Tess bounded over to him and gave his hand a welcoming lick.
‘Great guard dog, you are,’ she snapped, irritated by the dog’s complete lack of loyalty. ‘You do remember that this is the man who called you fat?’
Devon rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure I didn’t use the word “fat”. Although she is looking much better.’ His eyes slid to Ella’s waist where her shirt had become untucked.
‘Don’t you dare say it.’ Ella gave him a mock glare and shook her head in warning.
‘Nice shoes.’
Automatically she went to cross her feet at her ankles as if that might hide them and then thought better of it, lifting her head to say with a regal nod, ‘Thanks,’ as if they were her finest footwear.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He gave her an unrepentant grin.
‘Well, what did you mean to do?’ She put her hands on her hips, a smile playing at her lips. There was a sense of freedom in talking to him today. The shared misery of the other day on the Beacon had seeded a tentative friendship. ‘Do you make a habit of breaking and entering?’
‘The door was open and I could hear the music – I did call up several times.’ His eyes sparkled with wicked humour. ‘Bets said you might be working.’ He looked around. ‘This is a great room.’
‘Yes.’ She ran a hand through her hair. What on earth did she look like? Slight sweaty and a bit breathless and very scruffy, apart from the shiny new shoes. He was used to super-sophisticated Marina with her immaculate white coat, perfect tanned legs and trim ankles. He probably thought Ella was a lunatic. Deranged. So uncool. And terminally clumsy. ‘The light’s good.’
‘I imagine it is. So this is where you work.’
‘Yes.’
Now she sounded stupid but she couldn’t think of anything to say. In jeans and a big navy sweater, he made a larger than life contrast to the stark white brightness of the room. His dark curly hair was a little too long for her taste and his clothes too casual but something about his confident stance made her heart jump and her mouth go dry. He looked solid and reliable. All man. More masculine than she was used to. It made her feel small and the strangest thought popped into her head. How lovely it would be to be encircled in his arms. Like she’d been when he’d comforted her on the Beacon yesterday.
Shaking her head as if to dislodge the unwelcome thought, she folded her arms as if that might keep any further fanciful notions at bay. ‘Did you want something?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ He nodded towards her drawing table. ‘Bets is tied up and asked me to come instead. I assumed you’d be working, not . . . dancing.’ His mouth twisted with a wry smile. Ella blushed again. There was an awkward silence as she tried to gather her thoughts.
Ignoring her discomposure, he moved across to her drawing table.
‘Mind if I take a look? I’ve never seen a real artist at work.’
‘Then you’ll be disappointed.’
He raised one eyebrow and she couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or irritated as he took a measured, assessing look at her drawings.
‘These are really good.’ He sounded genuinely impressed but then most people thought a picture was good if things were in perspective. He continued to study the pictures with a thoroughness that Ella hadn’t expected. ‘I feel as if I could touch them and they’d spring to life.’ He smiled, a half-hearted thing of a smile, as if surprised by his own fancifulness. ‘In fact I expect them to move at any second. It must take real skill to draw like this.’
Seeing the pictures with new eyes, she gave a hesitant answering nod. Gentle pride bubbling up for the first time in a very long time. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now I understand the music.’ He pointed to the female mouse in her red flamenco dress. ‘Cute.’
He turned another page and burst out laughing, a wholehearted uninhibited gale of laughter she hadn’t thought him capable of. He shook his head in amusement. ‘Priceless.’ With a broad gin, he pointed to the picture of Englebert clutching his Spanish guitar, an expression of extreme seriousness on his whiskered face. ‘Do I recognise him?’
Ella’s eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh Lord, do you?’
With dancing eyes, Devon nodded. ‘Yes, I think I do. If I’m not mistaken, he bears a decided likeness to our esteemed vicar.’ Devon flicked through a few more of the pages lying on the table, his lips pinched together, cheeks dimpling as if trying to hold back his amusement.
Ella ran over and put a hand on the pages. ‘Damn. I thought no one else would notice. Is it really that obvious?’
‘Probably not. It’s only because I saw the sketch you did in the pub.’
‘Do you think it’s . . . too much? I’m going to have to change him. Shame, Englebert, that’s the character’s name, has only just come into his own.’
Devon shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t worry. I doubt anyone else would pick it up. Besides, Richard would probably think it’s quite flattering. It’s not as if it’s a malicious or unkind representation.’
‘Yes, but people might laugh at him.’
‘I think to be a vicar these days you have to be fairly thick-skinned and I’m sure Richard would see the funny side of it.’
‘All the same.’
‘People will laugh with him, not at him and if they’re laughing at him, that says more about them.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ella couldn’t comprehend his view. Being laughed at was horrible. When he’d said laughing was his way of coping with things at work, it was different. They were situations that were beyond his control. She lived in dread of people laughing at her work. Ridiculing the things that she’d put her heart and soul into. Perhaps that’s why in recent years, she’d held back. Fear had a great way of stifling things.
‘Don’t you think that if someone laughs unkindly, it means they’re mean-spirited? It’s deliberate. Small-minded.’
‘I guess. I’d never thought of it like that.’
It came to her with a sudden rush of freedom, like a lance bursting a boil, releasing the poison. No wonder she hadn’t been able to do anything truly creative, she’d been bound by fear of what others would think.