‘Do you know absolutely everyone in this village?’ she asked with a chuckle.
‘Just about. What would you like to drink?’
‘Lime and soda would be nice. And I’ll have a glass of white wine with the meal, if I may.’
After their orders were sorted out, she said, ‘Have you lived here a long time, Will?’
‘All my life, apart from the three years I was at art school.’
‘Really? Never felt the urge to move on?’
He shook his head. ‘Not strongly. Cragley suits me fine. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for getting to know a place, really getting to know it.’
‘And it takes a lifetime?’
‘Seems to.’
They smiled at one another. Jenny wondered when she had last met such a happy, contented man. Never, probably.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Nowhere much. Nowhere in particular. Moved around a lot, I suppose, but always around London. The last few years I mostly looked after Mum in Dartford.’
‘Never married?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Me neither. But there’s still plenty of time for you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’ Jenny laughed. ‘My friends seem to think I’m an old maid now I’ve turned thirty. Anyway, it would take a very long time to find someone to suit me.’
‘Hard to please, eh?’
‘Very.’
‘That’s hard to believe.’
‘It’s true, though. Believe me.’
He gave her a sceptical look.
‘Anyway,’ she added, changing the subject, ‘Mum’s gone now. I still miss her terribly, but I had to decide what to do with the rest of my life.’
‘And this might be it? The craft shop?’
She smiled. ‘I don’t know for sure yet, but it might. I hope so. I’ve always been interested in craftwork, and the kind of art that isn’t … well, that isn’t difficult, if you know what I mean?’
‘Not pickled sharks? Or somebody’s unmade bed?’
She laughed. ‘No, not things like that at all! I don’t need controversy in my life. Or political statements, or ugliness. None of that. I like things of beauty, things that make me feel happy and full of wonder. I’m a very simple, straightforward sort of person, I suppose, and that doesn’t trouble me. I’m happy with myself.’
Will weighed her words carefully and frowned. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, ‘Have you ever thought of having a portrait painted of your dog or your cat? Can I interest you in one of my special offers?’
‘Oh, Will!’ She laughed so hard it hurt. ‘Do you ever take anything seriously?’
He just grinned.
‘But Cragley?’ Will added. ‘Why Cragley? I know it’s a perfectly charming little place – I ought to, after all – but even so...’
‘I found it on the internet.’
He stared at her.
‘Initially, that is. I did searches. Googled for suitable properties and places. Looking for somewhere like this became a hobby. It’s what I would do. Every evening for months after Mum died. It was a delicious game I would play when I came home from work to an empty house.
‘I found Cragley, and a few other places that way. Then I set out to see them in real life. As soon as I saw it, I knew this house in Cragley was just what I wanted.’
‘Really? Just like that?’ Will shook his head and stared at her with apparent admiration. ‘You’re a gambler.’
She smiled and wondered if that was true. ‘Desperate, more like it. Desperate to get on with my life.’
‘Have you done anything like this before?’
‘Opened a craft shop? No, of course not. I worked in a bank.’
She laughed when she saw the look of surprise on his face.
‘It’s very brave of you,’ he managed.
‘Adventurous, you mean?’
‘I suppose I do, yes. What happens if it goes wrong?’
‘I shall probably be very upset.’
‘And throw things?’
‘Probably, yes.’
‘That would do it.’
They grinned at each other.
‘I suppose it is a little risky,’ she admitted.
‘You didn’t rob the bank before you left?’
‘I thought about it. Seriously. But somehow it wasn’t me. I couldn’t find the right mask to wear. And the only gun I could find was the wrong colour. I just had to give the idea up.’
He laughed again and shook his head. ‘So?’ he insisted.
‘So in the end I just sold Mum’s house instead, and came away with the money.’
‘Chickened out!’
She nodded.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘unlike you, I’ve never been able to bring myself to sell the parental home. My parents couldn’t either.’
‘What does that mean, I wonder? So you live in your grandparents’ house, just as your parents did before you?’
‘That’s right. On my own, too. I just rattle around in the place.’
That seemed a sad note. She took notice. Like her, then, he was on his own.
‘There’s still time for you, too, Will.’
He looked at her and gave a wry smile. ‘Forty is no longer a distant horizon for me. It’s approaching fast.’
‘Still time to sell the house and see the world.’
‘I suppose that’s true, but I’m not terribly interested, to be honest. The only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do is paint.’
‘Family portraits?’
‘No. Those I do for a living.’
‘What do you prefer to paint?’
‘Come and see for yourself sometime. Come up to the house.’
She smiled and said, ‘I’d like that.’
***
Later, she rang her friend Lucy, who lived back in Kent.
‘Jenny! What a lovely surprise. How are you?’ Lucy stopped, considered and then added, ‘What’s wrong? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’
Jenny laughed. ‘Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Lucy, I know it’s late but I had to tell you. I’ve just been out for a meal with a lovely man.’
‘Really? Tell me more. I insist.’
‘Well, he’s an artist, and...’
‘An artist? Oh, heaven! How absolutely perfect!’
Jenny thought she wouldn’t go that far, but Will Renfrew was certainly a lovely surprise. She couldn’t deny it. She didn’t even want to try.
Chapter Eight
Tom wasn’t enthusiastic. Not at all.
‘I don’t have the time,’ he said.
‘No? It is a big job, I suppose. That will be why Harry Cummings hasn’t been yet.’
‘He still hasn’t been?’
Jenny shook her head.
‘Well, it’ll be a good while now before he shows up. He’s just started a really big job. He’s building a coble for a man from Tweedmouth.’
‘Oh? He’s got a boat to build, has he?’
‘At last. He’s over the moon.’
‘I really will have to look for another joiner, in that case,’ Jenny said with disappointment. ‘I’ve been waiting long enough.’
She turned to make her way back inside the house.
‘Have you seen Hannah?’ Tom called after her.
‘She’s helping me in the kitchen.’
‘Helping you? Hannah?’
‘Yes, Tom. Helping me.’
It wasn’t literally true. Hannah wasn’t actually helping at that very moment, but she had been. Earlier, they had finished decorating the last of the bedrooms together. Now Hannah was perusing some of Jenny’s catalogues. She was interested in seeing what might be available for the shop.
‘I like these candles,’ she said, looking up as Jenny came into the kitchen. ‘They’re beeswax. That means they won’t smell, doesn’t it?’
‘Not of wax, and they won’t be smoky. They’ll be nicely scented.’
Hannah consider
ed the photographs. ‘I like the shapes,’ she decided. ‘Big and chunky. I’m tired of skinny candles. They’re all you ever see.’
‘The ones you’re looking at are church candles.’
‘Are they? Will you order some?’
‘Will they sell? That’s the question? What do you think?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘There’s plenty of churches around here. They might.’
Jenny smiled. ‘Let’s order some then.’
‘You can see how they go?’ Hannah suggested.
‘Right.’ Jenny hid another smile that was threatening to appear. ‘Why don’t you do the order, Hannah? Do it online. Do you know how?’
Hannah nodded and sprang to start the computer up, intent on candle-ordering the modern way.
Jenny began putting away pots that had dried in the rack, not troubling to hide a little smile of satisfaction. Hannah was here so often now, and she was eager to do so much. What a change. What a welcome change! She would have to start paying her a wage soon if this carried on.
‘What are you going to call it?’
Jenny was startled out of her reverie. ‘Pardon?’
‘The shop. It has to have a name, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes! You’re right. I thought “Good Times”. What do you think?’
‘Not bad. Better than “Happy Times” anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘You can’t guarantee happiness, can you? But goodness you can do something about. Just stock good things.’
‘Do you know, Hannah, I never would have thought of that. What a wonderful explanation. Thank you. “Good Times” it is, then.’
Hannah ducked her head in acknowledgement. Her fingers rattled even faster across the keyboard. She was pleased. Jenny smiled. She could tell.
‘What did he say?’ Hannah asked a few moments later.
‘Hm?’
‘My dad. What did he say when you asked him?’
‘Oh, he’s too busy. He said he hasn’t got the time.’
‘He said what!’
Jenny turned to find Hannah staring fiercely at her.
‘Is that really what he said?’ Hannah demanded.
Jenny nodded.
‘The lying, lazy, old has-been! He does nothing. Every day he does nothing at all. He just hangs about the house.’
‘He looks after you and James,’ Jenny said gently. You mustn’t forget that. It can’t be easy for him.’
‘Looking after us?’ Hannah said with a snort of derision. ‘Thank you very much!’
‘I meant since your mother passed away. It can’t have been easy for him.’
‘It hasn’t been easy for me and James either. Anyway she died. She didn’t pass away.’
Hannah got up and headed for the door. Jenny listened to her feet clattering down the stairs. Oh, dear! she thought unhappily. What have I done now?
***
Will Renfrew had told her he lived in his grandfather’s house, as had his parents before him. What he hadn’t said was how grand it was. Tweed House was very impressive indeed.
‘My goodness, Will! You didn’t say you lived in a stately home.’
‘It’s only a minor palace, this one, not one of Grandfather’s better efforts. Come on in.’
It was a three-storey, stone-built, detached house set back in a large garden. Ancient sycamore trees guarded the perimeter. A gravelled drive led up to the stone pillars supporting the porch over the front door. Ancient roses rambled and climbed over the south-facing wall, and even in November were flowering still, determined to make the best of what remained of the year, determined to put on a good show for a new visitor.
‘I would have worn my best frock if only you’d described in more detail where you lived,’ she said, allowing Will to lead her into the hall.
‘You look very nice as you are,’ he assured her. ‘Far too good for Tweed House.’
‘Will! You say the nicest things.’
She turned to admire the plaster work on the ceiling and the panelled walls.
‘Like it?’ Will asked with a smile.
‘Very much. Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘A bit over-done for modern tastes, perhaps, but I like it. I must do. I’ve never moved out, and I’ve not changed much.’
He took her through into a large room that was now the kitchen, but that she guessed from the ornamentation around the upper walls and ceiling hadn’t always been where the cooking was done.
‘You have altered things around a little, though?’
‘Yes. This was the dining room. The original kitchen isn’t much of a place. Cold and dark. So I converted this room into what the Americans call a kitchen-diner. This is where I live most of the time.’
Jenny nodded and turned around, fascinated.
‘It’s a very big house, Will.’
‘Too big. Too big for me. I’ll show you the rest of it later. Now would you like something to drink? Wine, tea, coffee?’
‘Coffee would be good.’
‘You’ll stay for some lunch?’
‘Oh … I hadn’t thought … That’s very nice of you, Will. Thank you. I’d like that.’
She had come to see his work but now she was here she looked forward to seeing the rest of the house.
‘Your grandfather must have been a very wealthy man?’ she suggested.
‘Yes, but I’m not,’ Will said quickly, with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘House rich, perhaps, but cash poor.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean … I just meant how wonderful to have been able to design his own home, a house like this.’
Will poured the coffee before he responded. He did it carefully. She guessed he did most things carefully. It was his nature to look after things, to take care. The house was in good hands, but not, perhaps, enough of them.
‘He was an interesting man, from all accounts, my grandfather. Not that I ever knew him personally. But he must have been, from everything I know about him. He had two careers. In the first he was a ship owner, part of a syndicate, and he made a lot of money. In the second he was an architect and developer, at the wrong time, and lost a lot of money. Pretty much all he left to his children, one of whom was my father, was this house.’
‘What did your father do?’
‘He’d inherited the architecture gene. But he wasn’t as ambitious or as good as his own father. So he made a comfortable living as an architect, but his practice was a local one. Porches, kitchen extensions, garages, I should think. That sort of thing.’ He shrugged and added, ‘It paid the bills. He and my mother had a very happy marriage, and a good life together.’
‘How wonderful to know so much about your family. It must come from staying in one place so long.’
‘Probably.’
‘And has the architecture gene been passed on again?’
‘Alas, no.’ He shook his head and said, ‘Come on! Let me show you what I do.’
Will had a studio on the first floor. It was a big, cluttered room full of light from huge windows and colour from the vibrant acrylic landscapes that adorned almost every square inch of space on one wall.
Jenny shook her head in wonder. ‘Gorgeous, Will!’ she said, gazing with awe at a spectacular and large painting of sunset on Cheviot. ‘You must have been there at the time?’
He ducked his head in appreciation of the comment.
‘At that very moment?’ she pressed.
‘I was. All night, in fact. Most of it, at least. It was mid-summer, when the darkness doesn’t last long in this part of the country.’
She nodded and moved on, looking at other paintings in the collection. She liked what she could see. Landscapes were no longer fashionable in the galleries that displayed contemporary art, perhaps, but there would always be painters, good and poor, who would continue trying to do them justice. It was obvious that Will was one of them. She suspected he was good at it, too.
‘Do they sell?’ she asked.
‘Some do.’
‘Not enough?’
He shook his head. ‘We struggle to make a living in our own lifetime, most of us painters. But in a hundred years’ time there will probably be dealers and collectors making millions out of these.’
She knew that was quite likely to be true. It seemed so unfair.
‘But your portraits sell?’
‘Oh, yes! Enough to allow me to keep this dilapidated old house, and to live in the style to which I am accustomed.’
She smiled. Will, again. He was always so modest and self-deprecating. He couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was his way of warding off and coping with disappointment. Or perhaps he was just happy and content anyway. He had a good life, after all.
‘I admire you, Will. I really do. You’ve found a way of living the life you want, and doing the things important to you.’
He inclined his head again, happy to concede the point.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘let me astonish you with my culinary skills. Lunch calls!’
Chapter Nine
‘Has Harry Cummings been yet?’
Jenny looked up, smiled and shook her head. ‘Not yet, no.’
‘And you still want the shop sorting out?’
‘Of course I do, Tom! I need to make a living, and right now I can’t even get started. I allowed myself a few weeks to get settled and sorted, but I’m running out of time now. And money.’
Tom looked thoughtful. She wondered if he’d come up with the name of another joiner for her. Somebody that wasn’t busy, which could only be because he wasn’t a very good joiner. She didn’t care. She wasn’t proud. Not now. She needed somebody – anybody! Much more delay and she’d have to go and buy a hammer and saw, and try to do it herself.
‘I’ll do it,’ Tom said.
‘What?’
‘Refurbish the shop. I’ll do the work for you – if you want me to, that is.’
The offer came as quite a shock. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Immediately, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he serious?
‘I thought you didn’t have the time, Tom?’
‘Aye, well.’ He looked at her and shrugged. ‘Hannah’s persuaded me that I have. She says you’re struggling. It helps that you live next-door, of course – less travelling time.’
A Place of Her Own Page 4
