by Lucy Coleman
‘It’s down to money. My work sells well, but if I don’t invest the time, then I simply don’t have pieces to send to the gallery. I’m running behind, but the summer months here are demanding. It’s not simply my own income on the line, but everyone else who has bought into this dream.’
The distant sound of voices in the hallway filters through for a few seconds before fading into silence.
‘My muse will return and the paint will flow,’ he says, turning back to gaze at the portrait of his mystery lady. Nico throws the flimsy cover back over the painting. ‘It has to, because until it’s complete I can’t rest. Anyway, this evening you are here to think about the beginning of your own creative journey.’ He throws the words at me with bold enthusiasm.
‘I think this might be a purple phase,’ I reply, then begin laughing. ‘I only have to turn my head and glance out of the window to find my inspiration.’ The deep, purply-red of a climbing rose drips decadently over a stone wall, an entrancing waterfall of colour.
‘Well, you had better take a snap quickly because the light is beginning to change. But you have a good eye, because I often think the garden is at its most vibrant just before dusk descends.’
I feel a sense of exhilaration as I head towards the window, until I pull out my phone to take the photo and I think of Aiden once more. Please, God, keep him safe.
12
Finding My Comfort Zone
It was a long night. Nico and I worked in silence, for the most part. I did discover that the village scene of his home town is a commissioned piece and his top priority at the moment.
I spent several hours going around in circles and every now and again Nico would appear at my shoulder, giving me little hints and tips. Sheet after sheet on the flip chart lay crumpled on the floor as I rejected every rough draft and I was becoming disheartened.
Eventually, Nico suggested I send him the photo I took earlier in the evening. When he returned from his workroom, he had with him a colour printout which leapt off the page.
‘Here. Pin that alongside your canvas and pick up a brush. Too much thought is a bad thing. It can stifle the flow. Your first attempt may frustrate you, as much as it fills you with elation as you finally get to express what you see in here,’ he’d tapped his head. ‘Just do it so I can relax and get back to work.’ His glance had been firm and I knew he was right.
And so I began.
When suddenly, at shortly after one a.m., my phone pinged, it shattered the companionable silence in which we were working.
Pit stop. Trouble now a hundred kilometres behind us. All good. Exhausted though. Adelaide here we come. Will ring you when we get there some time tomorrow. Love you, babe, and sorry if I panicked you.
If? He didn’t only panic me, he panicked Hannah. I sigh as I call her, feeling angry with him.
‘Aiden’s safe. He’ll reach Adelaide some time tomorrow but I’ll have to work out the time difference to see roughly when that will be.’
‘This isn’t easy for you, is it? It’s agony not knowing exactly where he is and what’s happening. Aiden’s supposed to be sightseeing, not getting himself into trouble. I feel for you, Fern.’
She sounds relieved on one hand, but cross on the other. As I am.
‘Well, I think we can relax now and get some sleep.’
‘What are you doing? Reading?’
‘No, I’m painting and it’s going to be hard to put the brush down.’
‘Wow, Fern! That’s really good to hear, although it is a little late. Sleep well. Hopefully tomorrow won’t be quite so fraught.’
I’m late down to breakfast, but when I finally dropped into bed in the early hours, I was asleep within moments, so this morning I feel well rested.
‘Hey, Fern,’ Ceana appears behind me as I load up my breakfast plate with croissants and jam. ‘Nico says you’ll help out when I head home. Thank you. It means I can go off without having to worry about anything.’
I can see she’s genuinely pleased.
‘It’s my pleasure. It’s nice to feel useful.’
Bastien appears in the doorway, calling out Ceana’s name to attract her attention.
‘Oh dear. Looks like we might have a problem. I’d better see what’s up.’ She gives me a weak smile and dumps her plate on the side table.
Bastien is the only tutor I’ve not really had a chance to talk to, but that’s mainly because he’s rarely around. I hear him – well, I hear the sound of a hammer on metal as it reverberates around the little dip in which the barns are situated, but that’s about it.
I head over to the far end of the table where Kellie and Patricia are deep in conversation.
‘Morning, ladies. I hope you both slept well.’
‘Fine,’ Kellie looks up brightly.
‘Very well indeed, thank you,’ Patricia adds.
‘I won’t be gardening this morning, Fern,’ Kellie continues. ‘Patricia suggested I have a go at the pottery workshop. It sounds like fun. I’ve already committed to Taylor’s woodworking class this afternoon. We’re learning how to use a lathe and having a go at turning mushrooms. Sounds like a cookery class, doesn’t it?’ She’s excited, happy and I can see a playful smile hovering around Patricia’s lips.
‘Great, it will be interesting for you to try something different this morning as well, Kellie,’ I add, enthusiastically.
I’m sure Odile will be delighted to have another pupil and hopefully it will give Kellie a chance to chat with some of the others. Her guitar performance seems to have given her confidence a real boost. That hard-edged, aloof attitude she had when she first arrived is softening nicely.
‘And we have a new recruit joining us on weeding detail,’ Patricia says, looking across at me rather gingerly. She takes a small bite out of a piece of brioche and it’s a moment or two before she continues. ‘Stefan said he’d come along this morning to help out.’
I try hard to contain my smile. That’s great news and he will be wonderful company for Patricia. My little team of newbies have found their feet and soon it will be time to say goodbye to one of them. I can’t believe it’s Thursday already. But I feel like I’ve been here for a long time, as if I was destined to be one of the team. How ironic that I seem to be having a better time on my little adventure than Aiden is on his. This is therapeutic, and I feel that I’m recharging my batteries.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Nico’s eyes connect with mine and I’m worried I’ve interrupted his flow. I had no idea he was still in the studio.
He glances at his watch. ‘I’m going to be late for lunch and I have some prep to do for my workshop. I didn’t realise it was that time already.’
I move closer, studying the small area on the canvas that he’s been labouring over all morning.
‘How long will it take to finish it? The sense of depth really draws you in and I can imagine walking along that dusty pavement, past the flower shop and the park. Lucky person who gets to gaze at that every day.’
He raises an eyebrow, his face quite serious. ‘A wealthy patron and a Marquesa, too. She’s a wonderful benefactress I feel blessed to know. This commission will help fund the new venture here. But it won’t cover all the costs and I need to sell a few smaller paintings this summer, too.’
That’s quite a pressure Nico is under.
‘Can’t you simply sell one of your father’s paintings?’
There are so many canvases here and I remember Ceana saying his father’s work increased in value after his death.
Nico picks up a small piece of cotton cloth and begins to wipe his brush.
‘The ones he didn’t mutilate are unfinished. I have to rely upon my own resources now.’ He glances at me, rather cagily.
‘But the one in my room is truly amazing. That would surely fetch a lot of money, wouldn’t it?’
Nico tips his head back, rotating it in a circle, and I hear his neck click from the tension of several hours of pure concentration.
‘I keep that to remind me of many things, but mostly the pitfalls in life when someone loses their way.’
I can see his discomfort as he speaks. He’s clearly on edge and I wonder if he regrets taking me into his confidence. Naturally, I’m touched by his trust, as it must be so hard to talk about it, still. Obviously, it’s devastating when a father commits suicide, but it was hardly Nico’s fault. Sadly, mental illness and addiction often go hand in hand and it’s a battle many people lose. I return his gaze and it occurs to me that maybe he needed to hear himself say those words out loud.
‘I’d be more focused if I could finish the portrait by the lake first. I need to capture the form that is woven into my dreams and yet continues to elude me. I can’t help wondering if fate has sent me a new muse, Fern. You have that simple grace which I need so badly to create. Would you sit for me?’
I take a long, slow breath in. From his sketch, it’s clearly a younger and very beautiful woman, but it’s also a nude portrait. She sits partially hidden by the long grass of a lush meadow next to the rippling waters.
The outline of her seems to call out to me, as if appealing for help. Nico isn’t doing this for money, but for his own sanity as this unknown female seems to haunt him. I wonder if she represents the one elusive element of his great passion in life. In the style of the old masters, this is about achieving his personal dream in a way that his father would have understood. It’s as if he feels he has to prove to himself that he can do it, once and for all, before moving on.
‘I need to think about that, Nico. Forgive me, but I can’t say yes to you at the moment.’
He closes his eyes for a second or two, nodding to acknowledge my hesitation.
‘Of course. Please, take your time. There is no pressure and I realise it’s a big ask. But, as an artist, I know that with your help I could finally put an end to the dream that seems to fill my head each night. Like a restlessness that won’t go away until the task is done. Right, that’s it for this morning. This afternoon it’s time to teach.’
For a moment I feared this conversation might have pulled him down, but his mood is light and it’s good to see him looking so content after his morning’s work.
I scan around, waiting for him as he pulls off his old, paint-splattered T-shirt and grabs the crisp cotton shirt hanging from the hook on the wall. I suppose in this context the body is just a form, whereas to me I instinctively want to cover up. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body, but maybe deep down I’m a bit of a prude.
How can I possibly pose nude in front of a man I hardly know, even in the name of art? A part of me wants to do it because I understand the enormity of the request and what it means to Nico. But no man, aside from Aiden, has ever seen me naked.
I study Nico’s back, those firm muscles as he slips on his shirt, and he turns, catching my gaze. But I don’t feel embarrassed as he gives me what I can only describe as a soulful look; one of acceptance. I envy his skill, as I would dearly love to capture that strength of body and character on canvas. I’ve never met anyone who is so alive, in all senses of the word. To see everything through the eyes of an artist is to see a very different world indeed.
‘I’m hungry, how about you?’ His tone is teasing. Is he flirting with me now? How would I know – it’s been a long time since I’ve really studied another man other than my husband, looking for the telltale signs.
‘Starving,’ I admit as we make our way out into the sunshine.
Walking towards the day room, Ceana approaches, walking quickly.
‘Nico, an animal got into the forge last night and did quite a bit of damage. Dee-Dee and I have been helping Bastien, but we both have sessions this afternoon. He needs to make the back wall good, but he can’t finish it off by himself.’
Nico frowns and I immediately interrupt.
‘I’ll help out. I bet John would join in, too, if I asked him. That means two less in your class though, Nico.’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, that’s fine by me.’
Ceana looks pleased. ‘That would be amazing, Fern. Thank you. If I can leave that in your hands then, I promised I’d help Margot in the kitchen.’
I watch as she studies Nico’s face for a moment and then glances across at me, a fleeting look of curiosity in her countenance. I hope she doesn’t feel I’m trying to usurp her position in any way, because I’m not.
To ensure there’s no misunderstanding, I follow her into the kitchen and work alongside her as she helps prepare a huge bowl of salad. We exchange some small talk and when she asks how things are at home, I tell her briefly about Hannah phoning to say she’s engaged. Then Aiden having to flee goodness knows what in the wilds of the Australian bush.
‘It’s hard when family are so far away, isn’t it? I get the same pulls. My mother is eleven years sober, but it’s still one day at a time. Childhood memories never seem to dull and every time the phone rings I fear what I’m going to hear. My father hasn’t been well and he’s the one who keeps her on track. But there’s not much I can do, other than be a listening ear. At least I’ll get to spend a little quality time with them. My cousin is getting married and it will be wonderful to have a good old Scottish celebration.’
The fact she has confided in me takes away my concerns. What I don’t know is how she feels about the time Nico is spending with me, but I have nothing to hide.
‘Of course,’ she says, leaning in towards me, ‘I’m not at all prepared. And a gardener’s nails aren’t really something anyone would put on show.’ She laughs.
‘Well, that’s something I can remedy. I have a manicure kit and some gel polish. We could sort that tonight, if you have time.’
‘Really? That would be amazing. Hair I can handle. One twist and it’s up on my head, stick in a sparkly comb and I’m wedding ready. Thanks, Fern. Now all I have to sort is the right thing to wear.’
Margot looks across at us. ‘Salad finished, ladies?’
We focus on the task in hand, giggling like two schoolgirls who have been caught out.
‘We have hungry people waiting,’ Margot points out, as if we didn’t know.
13
Hard Work is Good for the Soul
‘Hi, Bastien. John and I have come to help. Just tell us what you need doing and we’ll have a go. And Margot made up this lunch box for you. She isn’t too happy that you didn’t stop to eat. I really couldn’t understand the message she was giving me to pass on, but I’m sure you can guess that it sounded like a stern telling-off.’
He shrugs his shoulders, probably relieved that she didn’t deliver it in person.
‘Merci, Fern. She is a tough woman, but kind. Like a dog, yes?’
John and I start laughing as Bastien steps forward to take the box and smiles appreciatively. I think we get his meaning. A good heart and a dispenser of tough love.
‘Is problem that is not easy to solve.’ He walks us over to the gaping hole in the back wall of the half-open barn. The farm building is enormous, like a light aircraft hangar, and was probably used to store hay bales in the winter. The other side of the central dividing wall is the woodworking unit. ‘The sheep pen backs onto here, this wall. Maybe fox, or deer, wandered into forge and sheep in the pen got spooked. They kicked down planks here and wall collapsed.’
Looking out through the hole, the sheep aren’t in the lean-to pen now, so I guess he’s moved them to safety.
I watch as John wanders along the back wall, tapping on it with his fist at regular intervals.
‘The framing and braces are sound, but a few of the cross members have been knocked out,’ he says, giving Bastien a nod. ‘I see what you’re doing, but in my opinion it’s going to take several days to put that pile back together and some of it is beyond repair.’
We all stand gazing at the heap of splintered wood which has been neatly stacked up ready for reuse. Bastien has made a start, but it’s a huge task. Suddenly, Taylor walks up behind us and lets out a loud, ‘Jeez. Wh
at a mess!’
‘I think the only answer is to replace the cross members and see if there are any other materials hanging around you can use. This stuff came down easily because it’s not in great shape.’
Taylor seems to agree with John.
In the end, Bastien and Taylor go off in search of some sheets of corrugated metal, leaving me to be John’s assistant. It doesn’t take him long to get organised and we sift out the chunkier bits of wood into a separate pile.
‘Right, Fern, I’ll just grab that ladder and move it over here. Then, if you can get ready to pass me the hammer and some nails, we can make a start.’
He doesn’t seem at all fazed by the old, albeit stout-looking, ladder and in no time at all he’s pointing at pieces of wood for me to hand up to him.
‘We’ll soon have this frame sorted. If they can find eight sheets of something substantial, we can be done in time for dinner.’
‘Not bad for a painter and decorator, John,’ I reflect, looking up at him in awe.
He chuckles. ‘I lost me wife a few years back. Grand old soul she was, but she liked to keep me busy. Said I couldn’t get into any mischief if I always had a job to do. Renovated the whole house together, we did. Side by side. Then we built a summer house in the garden and a tree house for the grandkids. And, you know what, she was good with a drill that one. Not faint-hearted, for sure. Miss the old girl, every single day of my life. She made me the man I am.’
‘What a team you must have been, John. True soulmates.’
He nods. ‘She’s still with me. I sense her around me all the time. Keepin’ an eye, like.’ He winks at me.
We plough on and when the guys return, they’re carrying a large metal panel.
‘Lots more where these came from,’ Taylor confirms. ‘Shouldn’t take us long to carry them across.’
I help wherever I’m needed and there’s lot of banter. John is such a happy man, always joking. I’m not sure Bastien’s English is good enough to understand some of John’s more obscure cockney terms, but he laughs in all the right places.
