She’d forced herself to paint for the last two days and it had been hard work. Like pulling teeth. The new picture was there – not coming quite as easily as that first painting but it was OK, the inner confidence and vision were still there. That was a huge consolation. It kept her busy, but nothing stopped her glancing round at the spot where Tess used to sit or drifting into the kitchen at six o’clock. The cottage seemed so empty. So quiet. She missed the pitter-pattering of Tess’s feet on the hard stone floors in the kitchen or the jangling of her lead when she’d grown impatient with Ella’s tardiness and a walk was overdue.
It was only because she was so sick of her own irritability and inability to settle at anything that Ella had decided to venture to the gallery this afternoon for something to do. Googling Margery Duffle had nearly put her off. She’d known Margery was a big deal, but not quite how big a deal her ‘little’ gallery in Great Missenden was.
Ella had very nearly turned tail when she walked in through the door. There were some amazing pictures on the wall. An Alison Ronson, for God’s sake. She’d been shortlisted for the Turner Prize last year.
‘Your pictures are superb, but especially this one.’ Margery Duffle prowled around the easel upon which she’d placed Ella’s reservoir picture. Looking at the finished painting with its palette of hazy greens, opalescent blues and silver lights made Ella’s heart ache. Capturing the essence of a picture often seemed like knitting with mist, almost impossible to transfer the exact impression onto canvas, but this time she’d done it. And even better, she knew she could do it again.
‘I love the other two as well but this is simply my favourite. What do you think, Jamie?’
Margery’s nephew, who happened to be in the shop when Ella arrived, screwed up his face in silent contemplation. ‘No disrespect, the secret bower one isn’t really my thing but I think the picture looking in through the window of the pub is brilliant.’ He laughed, dark brown eyes dancing. ‘The way you’ve captured all the different characters. There are so many stories there.’
‘Typical journalist,’ said Margery with a touch of pride. ‘Always the story.’
‘Always,’ he nodded. He dug in his pockets, rifling through several before he dug out a handful of scruffy cards. ‘Jamie Milburn.’ He passed her one of the small squares. ‘Journalist. I write a column on pros and cons of life in the country. Whether it’s all it’s cracked up to be. Bucolic bad or rural idyll. Your picture of the water and this one of the pub sum up the opposites for me. I wouldn’t mind doing a feature on you. Artist in the country.’
‘I wouldn’t mind either,’ said Margery. ‘Great publicity.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be the best advocate,’ said Ella with a half-hearted shrug. Everything seemed so much effort at the moment. ‘I only moved out of London a couple of months ago. Housesitting. It’s not permanent. I’m still coming to terms with not being able to get a decent cup of coffee within five metres of my house.’
‘Perfect. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.’
A twinge of disloyalty shot through her. ‘The upside is, I do know people I can go and have a coffee with.’ She thought of Bets. ‘And people who would know if I hadn’t been out for a coffee for a few days.’ Like Doris and George. ‘And that’s worth a hell of a lot more.’
‘Really? Where do you live? In a village? Outside? How far is the nearest town?’
‘Jamie,’ Margery interjected gently. ‘If you could save that for another time. Ella and I have business to discuss.’
‘Sorry, M. Nice to meet you, Ella. I’ll liaise with M about that interview. See you next week.’ He sauntered out of the door.
‘Sorry about that. My nephew. Charming boy. Too charming by half but he does write clever, insightful and slightly satirical pieces. He likes to make fun of the Chelsea Tractor brigade that come out and play at being in the country. He’s rather naughty sometimes.’ Margery smiled indulgently. ‘Now where were we?’
By the time Ella left, they’d agreed an exhibition for the autumn and in the meantime Margery would hang all three paintings in her gallery and put them up for sale. As Ella belted herself into Magda’s little car, she repeated the figures out loud. Two thousand pounds! Margery had put a price tag of two thousand pounds on the reservoir picture. She really thought it was good enough.
Ella should have been elated but a sense of sadness dogged her. She didn’t want to go home to an empty house.
As Ella pulled up outside Lime Tree Cottage, having done a detour to the big supermarket on the outskirts of Amersham, stopped in Chesham and visited a couple of charity shops, she spotted Bets coming along the pavement with Dexter skipping along beside her. Her heart sank. She tried to compose her face as she stepped out of the car. The last person – no, the second last person – she wanted to see at the moment.
‘Hi, stranger.’ Bets’ grin was strained, her usual mile-wide smile dim and her cheeks a little pasty. ‘Ready for our walk? Isn’t it a gorgeous day? Summer is just around the corner.’ All this was said with forced cheer.
Ella faltered. Damn, she’d completely forgotten that they’d arranged today. Bets was dog-sitting Dexter for Devon. Was he in London again? She couldn’t remember. They were going for a walk. To Ashridge for a change.
‘Ella?’ prompted Bets as she ground to a halt. ‘Are you OK?’
Ella couldn’t say anything; it was as if something were lodged in her throat. No more walks with Tess’s black body zigzagging in front of her, tail swiping ninety miles an hour. No more Tess dancing around at her feet, giving that funny little yip of excitement when she saw Dexter.
Her face crumpled. Unbidden, the tears welled up as she tried hard to stifle a sob. She didn’t want to make a fuss. Embarrass herself. Be stupid. It was just a dog. It shouldn’t hurt this much. But it was constant. Every time she walked into the kitchen. When she came home. When she came down in the morning. It was stupid. She’d been heartbroken when she first came here about Patrick and losing the baby. Losing her direction. Not knowing what to do. This was completely different, so how come it hurt just as much?
‘Ella.’ Bets immediately drew her into her arms. ‘Whatever’s wrong? Hey, sweetie.’
That instant kindness set her off in earnest and she began to sob while trying to muster up incoherent words. ‘T-tess. Sh-she’s g-g-gone. Mm-um came. T-t-o-o-ok h-her.’
Bets held her tight as noisy sobs racked her body and Ella fought against the crushing weight, heavy on her chest, trying to drag air into her lungs.
‘Hey, slow down. I can’t understand you. What’s happened? Is Tess OK?’ Bets held her arms straight and gave Ella a little a shake. ‘Slow down. Breathe.’
Ella nodded, swallowing hard to try to stop the involuntary convulsions gripping her diaphragm. She felt Dex nudge her hand, as if he were trying to offer comfort too. It brought a fresh twist to her heart.
With an unladylike sniff because she had no tissues and didn’t actually care, she held out her hand and let Dex nose at each of her fingers.
‘What’s happened?’
Ella took several deep breaths, eventually managing to slow her body’s runaway emotions down. All the while, Bets rubbed her back, hugging her gently and waiting patiently without probing or hurrying her for an answer. Ella loved her for that.
‘It’s OK. Sorry.’ She took Bets’ hand and squeezed it in gratitude. She wanted to apologise to her, for thinking she was somehow inferior, she wanted Bets to know how much she valued her. ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ Bets nudged her. ‘I haven’t done anything.’ She wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘Apart from stand in as hanky. I think you’ve made me a bit soggy.’
‘Thank you for being such a good friend even when I didn’t think I wanted one.’
Bets shrugged, a blush tainting her cheeks.
‘Tess has gone home. Back to Mrs Bosworth.’ Saying it out loud made her feel silly. Tess had gone back to where she belonged. It wasn’t as if she’d died or anything. She wasn’t even Ella’s in the first place. It had always been temporary.
‘Oh, Ella. I’m so sorry.’ Bets hugged her again. ‘Poor you. That must really suck. I’d be devastated.’
Ella smiled mistily at her.
‘You don’t think I’m being stupid, then?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I really miss her.’
‘Well, of course you do. I’m so sorry. That’s no consolation, is it. When did she go?’
‘Day before yesterday.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
Ella pulled a face. ‘I . . . don’t know. I should have. I thought I was being stupid.’
‘No! Never. People get so attached to their pets. When they lose them, it’s so tragic. I hate it. We all do. Honestly, we should have bereavement counselling to deal with people at the practice. I might suggest that to Devon. Although he’s coming round. He actually went to visit someone whose dog had to be put down. That’s a first.’
‘Don’t talk to me about him,’ sighed Ella. ‘I’m still furious with him.’ Which was a whole lot better than feeling sad. It helped her survive the disappointment of what might have been there. ‘I am being silly because I always knew she was going to go. I got so used to her, I forgot.’
‘So where’s she gone? And who did she belong to?’
‘Someone my mum knows.’ Ella explained the full story.
‘Your mum sounds a bit heartless,’ said Bets with a frown.
‘No. That was my fault.’ Ella managed a rueful smile. ‘I did lay it on a bit thick when I went home the other week about what a pain it was having a dog. I was winding them up because I’d discovered they’d been meddling. Unfortunately, Tess finishing off the beef didn’t do her any favours in Mum’s eyes. Bless her, Mum thought she was doing me a favour by returning Tess early.’
‘Do you still want to come out for a walk with us?’
‘I was going to do some painting.’
‘That doesn’t sound terribly enthusiastic.’
Ella shrugged.
‘Some fresh air might do you good,’ said Bets tentatively. ‘And company.’
Ella took a deep breath. She’d spent the last two days in the studio, looking up out of the skylight imagining the fresh breeze on her skin, the brilliant spring green of the trees and the warmth of the sunshine.
‘Do you know what, a walk sounds like a good idea.’ She couldn’t mope for ever. ‘Let me grab a coat and change my shoes.’ As she hurried up the path to the front door, she called over her shoulder. ‘By the way, I’ve got some news.’
‘Really? What? What?’ Bets’ enthusiasm was boundless. With a weak smile, Ella grabbed her coat. Bets would get a buzz from her news about the exhibition, which begged the question. Where would she be in autumn? Somehow she couldn’t imagine going back to London. Ella lapsed into thought for a minute.
The garden had really blossomed since she’d first arrived. The trees and shrubs around the front gate had burst into life – light and shade, leaves and flowers all interwoven into elaborate patterns and shapes that brought to mind William Morris designs. There was always so much to see, to inspire. How had she ever thought that living out here would be stultifying? She’d gained so much by living in Magda’s cottage. Far more than she’d lost.
With a lift to her spirits, she turned to Bets. ‘What is it they say – better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.’
‘Hmm.’ Bets wrinkled her nose.
‘I’m really going to miss Tess, but I gained so much by having her for a short time. Who knows, one day I might even get a dog of my own and I never thought I’d say that.’
‘Blimey. You really are a country girl. Do you know what you’re going to do when Magda gets back?’
A flash of inspiration hit with a punch of absolute certainty. ‘Yes.’ Ella beamed. ‘Yes, I do. I think I’m going to stay.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I got a lawyer friend of Dad’s to speak to Patrick and he’s transferred quite a lot of money back to me. Apparently, he’d just signed a big merchandising deal on my behalf. I won’t ever get all the money back but it’s a start. I was incredibly stupid leaving everything to him, so now I’m taking charge, with a bit of help from Dad, and I don’t need to worry about getting a full-time job and if Margery can sell my paintings, even better. So, I’m going to see if Geoffrey and Audrey will rent me the other barn conversion.’
‘Yessss!’ Bets punched the air, ‘You can be my neighbour. That will be so fab.’ She squealed and gave Ella a big hug, much to the bemusement of Dexter who then decided he’d had enough of being sensible and started to jump up, bumping his nose in between them as if trying to join in.
‘And if that’s not available, I’ll try and find somewhere else round here to rent. I’m going to stay.’