At Ella’s feet, Tess yawned and stretched.
‘I think it’s time we got some fresh air, don’t you?’ said Ella.
They were only allowed to take very short walks. Tess needed to rest, as her heart had had rather a thorough workout.
‘Come on, then,’ said Ella. She’d taken to walking Tess around the rec twice each day but she missed the routine of their long walks and the good couple of hours’ exercise they normally took each morning. On the plus side, she’d invested the extra time in painting and her work had suddenly seemed to flow. It was almost as if saying goodbye to Patrick once and for all had loosened something inside her. Now her painting was for herself and she could enjoy it – indulge in the colours, the light and shade and the sheer joy of creating without worrying about anyone judging her work.
Tess rolled to her feet as if she understood what Ella had said. ‘It’ll do us both good to get out. And why am I even asking you? You’re not going to answer me.’ Tess looked keen, though.
As they left the cottage, Ella picked up her pace. Today was not the sort of day for hanging around. A fine drizzle filled the air, the sort that gave off the type of dampness which seeped through the gaps and cracks of your clothes. No one else had been stupid enough to venture out and Ella and Tess completed a solitary circuit of the park. The swings swung disconsolately, empty and lonely, the benches were bare of the usual toddlers and mothers and the playing field was empty of any playmates for Tess. Ella had to plod along rather than being able to stride quickly to get rid of the restless energy that seemed to have built up and was now ready to burst.
On a sudden whim as they were heading home, she diverted to the village shop.
As she piled her stash of a dozen eggs, self-raising flour, baking powder, caster sugar and two boxes of icing sugar, the man running the shop looked on gloomily.
‘Baking?’ He shook his head. ‘You can always tell when the Spring Fayre’s coming up. Everyone starts baking.’
‘Isn’t that good for business?’ Ella asked, intrigued by his depressed demeanour.
He released a long-suffering sigh that seemed to go on for ever. Ella wanted to giggle but managed to hold it in.
‘My wife – I’m Peter Reynolds, by the way – has been baking for three straight days. Frozen pizza for dinner every night.’ He shook his head with a mournful expression, unconsciously rubbing at his belly contained by a burgundy sweater. He looked like a rather juicy berry. ‘And then I can’t get any bugger to work in the shop because they’re all too busy baking, or putting up tents or making new drainpipes for Splat the Rat. Then of course we’re run off our feet on Saturday because loads of people come to the fayre and they suddenly remember they’ve forgotten to buy any milk or Saturday papers, so I’m stuck here. All the cakes that don’t sell on the cake stall wind up here. I spend the next week trying to persuade people to buy them. Thing is, by then everyone is caked out, they’ve had enough bleedin’ sugar. I tell you, I’ll be glad when it’s all over and everything goes back to normal. Which reminds me, I don’t think I’ve got you down on the rota . . . ?’
And there was Devon, head down, not looking where he was going, coming straight towards her, his long stride eating up the narrow pavement.
There was no way she could avoid him. Not dressed for the damp morning, his habitual dark blue Guernsey sweater was dusted with fine drops of water and the curls of his hair had tightened in the light rain. Every one of her nerve endings seemed to dance at the sight of him. She took a measured breath and tried to muster up a casual smile. It sounded as if Marina had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Ella knew how much the idea of the new style of surgery meant to him. Now that she’d rediscovered her passion for painting, she could understand him taking this chance.
He looked up and smiled, his frown lifting. ‘Ella.’
He sounded pleased to see her, which hurt more than she’d thought it would. How could she hope to compete with Marina? ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked inanely, suddenly tongue-tied. When she’d picked Tess up he’d been busy with another patient, so they’d barely spoken.
‘Fine. Busy. That bloody dog Buster has eaten another pair of tights. Emergency surgery plus my planned list.’ His mouth crumpled in frustration. ‘You’d think his owners might have learned their lesson by now.’
Instinctively Ella put her hand down on Tess’s head. She’d certainly learned hers. ‘How’re you doing, young lady?’ He bent down to stroke her head and she nuzzled up to him. ‘She had a close call, but she’s looking a lot better.’
Ella felt a pang as she watched him fondle the dog’s ears. How could you be jealous of a dog, for goodness’ sake?
‘I’ve been taking it easy with her. Gentle exercise, like you said.’ She gave him a terse smile, aware that she’d failed poor Tess badly and that she needed to keep her distance. Desperate to get away, she looked at her watch.
‘Gosh, I need to get back. Nice to see you.’ With a quick nod, she tugged at Tess’s lead and started to walk away, pinching her lips tightly together.
He took a step back, surprise registering on his face before he frowned. ‘Right. OK.’
She walked off, resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder, horribly aware of the regret pinching at her heart. It shouldn’t matter to her if Devon and Marina did get back together, but it did.
Magda had an extensive collection of recipe books, which hitherto Ella hadn’t taken that much notice of. Now, in the kitchen, she perused the shelf. What she really wanted was a book entitled The Complete Beginner’s Guide to Baking a Perfect Cake and How to Stop Thinking About a Certain Yummy Vet. There were quite a few notebooks which bulged with recipes torn out from newspapers and magazines, but everything looked quite advanced.
Then she remembered the blue box and the sheaf of papers in there. Sure enough, in Magda’s elegant script was a recipe. Perfect Victoria Sponge. Beside the recipe, which had originally been copied out in blue biro, there were additional handy hints in red. Watch the baking powder. Slightly less sugar. None of which was terribly helpful to Ella. But the basic recipe of butter, eggs, sugar and flour looked familiar enough.
Determined not to give Devon another thought she began to measure out her ingredients, beating butter with sugar, sifting flour and beating eggs. The recipe called for a something-spoon of baking powder; a grease spot on the type had obscured the first part of the word. She made a quick guesstimate and put in the baking powder into the flour just as she was interrupted by a muffled banging at the window.
‘Hello there.’ Audrey waved her head, bashing at the glass with her elbow, her arms full of something.
With a regretful look at the bowl of cake mix, Ella dusted her hands down her jeans and went to let the other woman in.
‘Hello, dear.’ She shouldered her way in as Ella stepped aside, and moved straight through to the kitchen. ‘Oooh! Baking. Super. Another cake for the cake competition. I bet you’ve got Magda’s lightness of touch with a sponge. All right to put this here?’ she asked, putting a large red and blue hexagonal-shaped barrelled box on the table.
Ella nodded. Where did Audrey get her seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy? She looked at the cake mix. She’d followed Magda’s recipe, so maybe this sponge would be as light and fluffy as the increasing expectation.
Audrey rubbed her back and groaned. ‘I forget every year how heavy this thing is. Right, tickets are in the car. I brought you Sellotape and plenty of raffle tickets because I wasn’t sure what you’d have. I’ve got two more boxes of bottles for labelling up – Devon will bring some more later.’
‘More?’ said Ella faintly as Audrey bustled back out of the house. She already had the first three crates he’d brought previously. Following Audrey to the kerbside, she arrived just in time to take a clinking box from the older woman.
‘Here you go. Mainly spirits in there. The scouts collected that lot. WI donations will all be sherry and Campari.’
Ella, almost buckling under the weight, carried the box inside.
‘Right, that’s that lot. Devon will bring the rest over tomorrow, he’s too busy today. Poor boy, he’s so good. Up half the night again last night and on call again tonight. I do worry about him. For the last couple of days he’s been in a foul mood. Even Bets is about to throw in the towel and that takes a lot. I blame that bloody woman, Marina. I could strangle her. He’s stuck between a rock and hard place. Working all hours God sends.’ Audrey paused, her face suddenly sombre. ‘He’s so bloody proud. He won’t take any money from us.’ Ella saw the worry lining her face, quite at odds with Audrey’s normal confident serenity. ‘Doesn’t eat properly. And still willing to help.’
Ella paused, her heart almost stopping. ‘I thought . . . Marina. She said they were going to work together again.’
‘Did she? News to me. Not that he tells me much.’
‘She still cares about him,’ offered Ella tentatively. And could offer him what he wanted. That counted for a lot, didn’t it?
‘Ha, all she cares about is herself,’ said Audrey with a toss of her head. ‘But I can’t tell him that, can I? If it weren’t for that bloody debt, I’m sure he’d just tell her to sling her hook. I couldn’t believe she turned up the other day, all sweetness and light.’ She poked at the bottles on the table and held up a tall thin bottle containing a startling cerise-coloured liquid. ‘I do wonder where people get these things from.’
With a sigh, she put it back. ‘Bets says she’s up to something. Made him some offer. Whatever it is, isn’t making him happy. He’s been grumpy since he came back, but he seems much worse suddenly. He’s always been difficult to read. Unlike his brother, Jack. All charm and smiles.’ She shook her head, her face lighting up with a fond smile. ‘But like an eel. Slithers off the minute there’s work to be done, but with more charm in his little finger than you can shake a stick at. Bets is far too good for him.’ Ella was less and less liking the sound of Jack. Bets had definitely lost a touch of her bounce in recent weeks. Jack sounded totally selfish to her, not that she could say that to his mother.
‘I find it’s best if you stick to the noughts and fives,’ advised Audrey with one of her lightning changes of tack, ‘then people know they’ve won something straight away. And arrange everything in number order, otherwise it’s a nightmare trying to find the right bottles.’
Ella nodded. She hadn’t realised she’d have to do this bit when she was volunteered.
‘So I have to stick raffle tickets on every bottle?’
‘That’s right, dear. One on the bottle and the other ticket in the barrel.’
Ella looked at the collection of bottles on the table. She was going to have her work cut out. Before she could wonder out loud how long it might take her, Audrey had bobbed up and was off with a cheery wave. ‘Cakes need to be delivered to the tent by eight-thirty, so that the judges can start their deliberations first thing. Stalls open at ten prompt. You’re on till twelve and then someone will take over. Think that’s everything. Look at the time. I still need to get to the hairdressers, pick up the new rat and make sure that Peter’s got the trestle tables out of the village hall. It’s all go. Happy baking.’
Watching Audrey’s retreating figure, Ella sighed, reeling slightly. It was as if a tornado had just swept through.
She exchanged a look with Tess, who shook her head, kneaded her blanket with her paws, walked around three times and then with a mournful sigh, dropped into the bed, turning her back on Ella. ‘I’m on my own, then,’ said Ella.
She started combining the cake ingredients she’d previously measured out and then couldn’t remember how much baking powder she’d put in, so added a tiny bit extra to the flour just in case. She had no idea that baking could be so therapeutic, although her arm was killing her and her mind kept straying to Devon. Whether he went back to Marina or not, she still wanted to explain about Patrick. She didn’t want him to assume that she’d forgiven Patrick.
Audrey had looked so worried about him. It didn’t seem right he owed so much money, not with the way property prices were in London. Something nagged at her, like a missing piece of puzzle.
Now the cake was in the oven, she wondered how she was going to decorate it.
She’d seen the odd episode of Bake Off. That nagging buzz at the back of her head surged forward again. Filmed in a tent in the grounds of some gorgeous house. Did they pay the house-owners to rent the grounds?
She needed to focus on the task at hand. Baking. Presentation. Making it look as good on the outside as on the inside. Not that she was particularly confident about the inside. But the outside, she could definitely do something about.
As she tidied the kitchen, wiping up the flour, washing the mixing bowl, under the watchful eye of Tess, she flitted from one idea to another. She could cut the cake into an intricate shape and ice it. Trim one edge into a straight line and tip the cake on its side so that the flat front faced forwards. That would be different, but then what would she put on the front? There were so many possibilities. Tess yawned with a loud groan.
‘What do you think Tess? Fancy shape? Fancy icing? Or am I overthinking it?’
Tess stood up slowly, shook herself and came to stand in front of Ella, her amber eyes blinking up at her with a serious expression as if she were carefully considering the options. With a sudden gurgle of laughter, Ella crouched down to give the dog a hug. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ Under her arms, Tess wriggled to get closer, almost knocking Ella off her feet. A surge of love bloomed in Ella’s chest.
‘Daft dog,’ she whispered, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes. There was nothing quite like this quiet, unconditional companionship. It was a shame friendship with people couldn’t be like this. Although, Ella smiled to herself, it was rather convenient when one half of a pair couldn’t talk back. She sighed and looked at her watch. While the cake was baking she just had time to make a phone call. The idea that had been nagging at her had bubbled away for the last hour.
‘Britta, it’s Ella.’ She held the phone in one hand, the other stroking Tess’s silky ears. The crazy dog had snuggled in so close, her head nestled on Ella’s thigh and her breath was leaving damp patches on Ella’s jeans.
‘Ella, babes. How you doing? You and Patrick sorted things out yet?’
Ella refused to even discuss that yet. This call was going to be difficult and she would rather have avoided it but she needed to check something.
‘Yes, we have.’
‘Thank God for that. So when are you coming back to London?’
Ella chickened out. ‘Britta, remember when you and Bryce did that video installation.’
‘Lord, yes. What a palaver.’
‘How much did you have to pay for the studio?’
‘Daylight robbery. Only £900 a day.’
‘And what did that include?’
‘Ella, babes. What are you planning? Should I be getting excited? Is this a new direction?’
Ella wanted to groan out loud. Instead she looked down at Tess and rolled her eyes. The dog lifted her head and nuzzled in closer if that were possible, almost sitting on Ella. A definite show of support on the canine front.
‘Yeah,’ she lied quickly. It was probably easier. ‘So what did that pay for?’
‘Lights and electricity. That’s it. Then we had to pay extra for the cameraman, the sound man, all the kit. Cameras. Mics. And then we went over one day. By an hour. Had to pay a surcharge of £250.’
Filming was an expensive business. Even more than Ella would have guessed.
‘And is that standard?’
‘No, that was cheap. Depends on the size of the studio you hire. How specialist is it? Depends whether you want sound and cameras. Whether you want to use their editing suite. Their editors. Licence to print money. Although you can get some great grants for video work. What are you thinking of doing? Have you told Patrick? Is it a solo project?’
Ella winced at Britta’s flurry of enthusiastic questions. ‘There’s no project. I went to the gallery.’ She sounded accusatory but Britta missed it.
‘What, in London? Why didn’t you call me? We could have met up for coffee.’
Ella swallowed. Her next words would be the equivalent of lighting a match and watching everything go up in flames but she couldn’t pretend everything was all right. Her hand stilled on Tess’s ear and the dog nudged her hand, giving it a swift lick. For a moment, she let the silence hang between them before saying, ‘You knew.’ The bald words dropped like stones down a well. One by one, impossible to take back.
‘Knew what?’ Britta’s tone changed, her voice immediately guarded. Ella didn’t have the energy to play games.
‘That Patrick was selling my pictures. You took it, didn’t you. Cuthbert in his Cavalier hat.’
Typical Britta; she didn’t miss a beat or try to excuse what she’d done. ‘He said he missed you and wanted a souvenir.’ Ella could imagine Britta’s insouciant, elegant shrug of her bony shoulders. Maybe she hadn’t known what Patrick was doing. Difficult to believe, although she desperately wanted to.
Britta’s next words robbed her of that hope.
‘He wanted to know what you were doing. He said he wouldn’t sell that one.’
‘That one.’ Ella swallowed, the hard knot pressing into her throat. Damn. She’d really wanted Britta to be innocent. To be as in the dark as she’d been. But the throwaway line confirmed that Britta knew full well that Patrick was selling Ella’s pictures.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you what? Does it matter that he sold them? I mean, no disrespect, but you’re selling the images anyway? What’s the difference? People buy them all the time in the books. Babes, you are very good at drawing. You’re good at everything, sculpting, modelling, painting. You’ve got it. Technically those pictures are brilliant.’
‘Shame you never said that before,’ snapped Ella.
‘Are you mad at me?’ Britta’s voice held a hint of amazed disbelief.
‘Too flipping right, I’m mad. I’m furious.’
‘Oh.’
That was all she had to say. Just ‘Oh’. That was it?
‘I have to go, Britta.’ She hastily ended the call. She just didn’t have the energy to explain to Britta how much it mattered or, more satisfyingly, any desire to do so.
Tess put a paw on Ella’s hip and her head nudged at Ella’s chin. The shift in weight made it hard for Ella to keep her balance. Tess’s head nudged her again. Silly dog. Managing to regain her balance, she ruffled Tess’s ears. ‘You agree with me, don’t you?’ Tess’s steady gaze immediately lifted her spirits. Britta had let her down. She’d told her how she felt and it was done.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Ella as she pulled the cake tins out of the oven when the timer went off. The last time she’d peered through the glass in the oven, the two sponges had risen rather well – in fact spectacularly well, like a pair of volcanoes. Since then they’d sunk and now each featured a definite dip in the top.
‘Hmm, if I cut the tops off and cover everything with icing, they could be ok. What do you think, Tess?’
Tess’s tongue was hanging out.
‘Stupid question. You’d eat both in one gulp, wouldn’t you?’
As the cakes cooled, she turned her thoughts back to Devon. She really wanted to do something for him for a change. With a sudden burst of energy, she sat down at the kitchen table and opened up a spreadsheet. She needed some more information. Thank God for the internet and Google. She scrolled through several websites, checking her facts. Making Pets Well With Marina was produced by a company called Vet Magic Productions. With a little more digging, lo and behold, it turned out that Marina part-owned the film production company. That made things really murky. Ella picked up the phone again. Why was she doing this? Some forlorn hope of rescuing Devon from Marina? Making sure that he had a choice? She didn’t want him to be in the dark the same way that she had been for all this time.
By the end of the afternoon, after several calls including one to Bets to find out how long Devon and Marina had lived in the house and one to the registered offices of VM Productions, Ella had struck gold with a very chatty receptionist who’d been only too happy to tell her how long the programme had been running and the history of the show. It turned out that the first two series of the programme – which was now in its tenth series – had been filmed in a studio before they’d moved to the current location. And more recently they were doing the regular segment on the news magazine show on ITV.
With all the information she had, Ella set up a spreadsheet, typing in estimated figures. She was guessing, but even on the conservative side with the time period and number of series she created a compelling set of figures. In the last three years, eight ten-week series of Making Pets Well With Marina had been filmed in the consulting rooms at Marina and Devon’s house. Eighty programmes equated to a lot of filming time. According to Ella’s spreadsheet, that was an awful lot of studio fees that someone should have paid.
Ella snapped shut her laptop and nibbled at her fingernail. Marina had seemed so sincere and heartbroken the other day. Maybe she shouldn’t interfere . . .