The final straw came when Serena needed Tom to look after Katie one Wednesday evening while she attended a meeting at the local college where she was hoping to teach a figure drawing course to help cover the rising cost of groceries.
“I can’t babysit,” he said. “Donna’s giving a dinner.”
“I’m not asking you to babysit, Tom. I’m asking you to look after your own daughter. To be a dad, for once.”
“I’m sorry,” he said hopelessly. “She’s invited someone who might be a good contact for me. I can’t take Katie. It’s just not going to work.”
“Too right,” said Serena. This arrangement wasn’t working out at all. There and then Serena decided she would no longer run her life for Tom’s convenience. The following day she started browsing the Internet for property in Cornwall.
And then—finally—she had a stroke of luck. Her brother Joe called. His high-flying wife Helena’s company was sending her to Hong Kong for a couple of years, and he was going too, meaning they would have no use for their house in the country.
“It’s all yours, Sis,” he said.
Serena and Katie moved to Cornwall just before Christmas. Sure, Tom protested that his daughter would be so far away, but he didn’t come up with an alternative. And when the day came for Serena and Katie to hand over the Fulham house to the nice young couple who had bought it, Tom was nowhere to be seen. Donna’s concierge service arranged for a removal van to pick up what remained of Tom’s chattels and take them to her sterile mansion, where even the books on the shelves had been chosen by an interior designer for their covers rather than their content. Tom had told Serena she could keep all the furniture. He even left behind his favorite leather chair, the one he’d bought with his first pay packet. She knew it had nothing to do with being fair, however. As she thanked him, Serena could hear Donna’s voice in her head.
“You think I’m going to have that filthy chair in my salon?”
That Christmas was not the usual festive occasion. Serena forced herself to go out and buy a tree for Katie’s sake. She bought a little chicken rather than a turkey for lunch. She had worried that Katie would be miserable spending Christmas day without her father, but the ridiculously extravagant gifts he sent seemed to make up for his absence. Then Katie spent New Year’s in London with Tom and Donna. Absolutely alone, Serena toasted herself with a cup of tea as the old year turned into the new. Alcohol was too risky while she was feeling so very down.
It seemed too much to hope that the New Year would be better, but she prayed for it all the same.
About a week into January, one of Serena’s new neighbors dropped by to introduce herself. Serena liked Louisa Trebarwen at once. Not least because she brought homemade chocolate cookies.
“I’m from next door,” said Louisa.
She didn’t have to introduce herself. Serena knew of her already. The house next door was called Trebarwen, and Serena had heard plenty about its chatelaine. Louisa lived in the enormous house on her own. She was in her late seventies but still slim, sprightly, and very elegant indeed. That afternoon she wore a neat skirt and a Hermès scarf around her neck. Serena glanced down at her own jeans and felt ashamed.
“Is this a good time?” Louisa asked.
“I … er … Of course.” Might as well let the woman in now, Serena thought. At least she could realistically claim unfinished unpacking as an excuse for the disarray.
But Louisa Trebarwen seemed oblivious to the mess around her. She perched on one of the high stools next to the breakfast bar and chatted about the weather while Serena made tea in the pot she never used.
“What a lovely painting of your daughter!” Louisa admired the little picture on the sitting room wall. “Where did you find the artist? I’ve been looking for someone to paint my two for the past five years. This is the first portrait I’ve seen that doesn’t look as though you had it done by one of those caricature chaps in Leicester Square.”
“Thank you.”
“So, are you going to tell me who painted it?”
“Actually”—Serena looked down at her shoes a little shyly—“it was me.”
“You painted that picture?”
“I did.”
“Wow. I mean, Helena told me that you had been to art school, but … gosh. It’s like an old master.”
“That was the idea,” said Serena. “I spent a bit of time in Florence after I graduated, getting to learn the traditional techniques.”
“Well, it was certainly time well spent,” said Louisa with real admiration. “I’m in awe.”
“Oh, please … It’s not so good. I knocked it out in a couple of hours.”
“No, Serena. You must not belittle your talent. You really have something. Will you paint my babies for me?”
Serena started to shake her head. It was one thing painting her own daughter for herself, but she couldn’t imagine painting Louisa’s children. She hadn’t painted properly in a long while. When she’d left work to go on maternity leave, Serena had told herself that she would soon pick up her paintbrushes again, but the reality was that she simply didn’t have time. Before the baby was born, she’d spent all her time getting ready for the new arrival. And after the baby had been born … well, finding a moment to sleep became a far greater priority.
Later, Serena wanted to go back to work, but Tom insisted there was no need. He’d had a promotion. He was earning enough to support them both. Besides, if Serena went back to work, they would have to get proper child care, which would all but wipe out the money she earned anyway.
“And I don’t like the idea of my daughter being looked after by strangers,” he’d added. “That’s not going to happen to you.” He’d kissed Katie on the head.
He seemed to have forgotten about that little promise. How could Serena be expected to support herself now without going back to work and leaving Katie in the care of a stranger?
“I would pay you.” Louisa interrupted Serena’s thoughts.
“I really couldn’t accept any money,” Serena said, fearing that she would only have to give it back when Louisa saw the result.
“But you must. Serena, I hate to be presumptuous but Helena has told me all about your situation. That terrible feckless husband of yours going off with another woman.”
Serena blushed.
“I know it hurts, my dear.” Louisa placed a hand on Serena’s arm. “It happened to me. And because it happened to me, I know there is no place for moping around. You have to pick yourself up as quickly as you can. And that means earning some money of your own. I am willing to pay you a thousand pounds for your trouble. Please don’t turn me down.”
Serena opened her mouth to protest.
Louisa misread her hesitation. “Was that insultingly low? How about one thousand five hundred? Two?”
“Mrs. Trebarwen …”
“Call me Louisa.”
“Louisa, I can’t take your money. Heaven knows I would love to. I can’t deny I need it. But this little painting of my daughter—it was a fluke. I don’t know how I managed to get such a good likeness. I’m out of practice. This was my first attempt after having not picked up a paintbrush for years. It was lucky. I suppose it helped that I know the subject’s face better than I know my own. I promise you would be disappointed if I tried to do portraits of your sons.”
“My sons?” Louisa Trebarwen gave a little giggle. “Who said anything about my sons? Darling, I don’t want portraits of those great ugly lummoxes. They both grew out of their looks a very long time ago. Serena, you’ll have to get used to me. When I refer to my ‘babies,’ I am talking about my dogs.”
Dogs were an altogether different matter. Serena could easily paint dogs. Later that same afternoon, when she had picked up Katie from school, Serena dropped by Trebarwen House to meet her new subjects. Louisa was delighted to meet Katie, and Katie was instantly smitten with Louisa’s beloved pets. They were two rather regal-looking greyhounds, called Berkeley and Blackwater Bess.
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bsp; “I got them from a greyhound rescue charity,” Louisa explained. “They both raced when they were young, but now that they’ve retired, they’re actually the ideal companions for older people like me. They don’t need half so much exercise as you would imagine.”
As if on cue, Berkeley opened his mouth and curled his tongue in an extravagant yawn.
“How would you like to paint them?” Louisa asked. “You’re the artist, so I’m giving you free rein.”
Serena thought for a moment. “How about I paint them together, standing at the top of the steps leading down to the garden with a stormy sky in the background. A cloudy sky would be the perfect way to highlight the sheeny gray of their coats.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Louisa.
Serena set to work that very day. While Louisa took Katie all over the house and even let her ride the delicate old rocking horse that had carried Trebarwen children since the nineteenth century, Serena got out her somewhat outdated digital camera and took a few snaps of the dogs. Then she headed outside and took some more snaps of the garden to help her make a start on the portrait’s composition. There was little hope that the dogs would stand still on the step for real. It was hard enough to get them to stand at all. They really were the most amazingly lazy creatures.
A week later, Serena had completed a number of preliminary sketches and let Louisa choose the composition she liked best. Then it was time to transfer the sketches onto canvas. Serena asked Louisa how big the painting should be. She would order the canvas online.
“Hmmm. Actually, I was wondering if you could paint over this?” Louisa asked as she produced a Victorian portrait of a rather dour-looking man.
“But that … I can’t …”
“It’s not a family portrait,” Louisa explained. “I think I found him at a fête in 1973.”
Louisa quickly became a friend. Serena set up her easel in the drawing room of the big house so that she could look out on the garden as she filled in the background. Louisa was always happy to have Katie around. Katie was delighted to have so many dusty old rooms to roam in.
“I rarely see my grandchildren,” she sighed. “My eldest son’s wife doesn’t like me. God knows if the youngest will ever breed. He doesn’t seem to be able to commit to any one woman for more than a month. He takes after his father. Couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants for a minute, that one …”
It was odd, but listening to Louisa’s stories about her feckless ex-husband was strangely comforting. Serena liked Louisa very much, and the knowledge that she too had been a victim of infidelity reassured Serena that it happened to the best of people. It didn’t mean that she was a loser.
And so for the first time since Tom had walked into the kitchen and announced that he wanted out of their marriage, Serena felt as though she had reason to smile. Katie was happy. Serena had a great new friend in Louisa. And then there was her work. She had forgotten the most important reward of painting: a sense of flow that pushed all other concerns to the back of her mind if only for a little while.
The portrait of the dogs turned out very well. Though she was usually her own harshest critic, Serena allowed herself to be pleased with the result of her hard work. She had been right with her initial thoughts for the piece. The stormy sky was a perfect backdrop for the regal silky gray of the dogs’ glossy coats. Serena thought perhaps that even the dogs’ faces had turned out better than she’d hoped. There was individuality to them. Louisa could tell at once which was which.
“I love it,” she said. “You are an absolute marvel.”
She enveloped Serena in an extravagantly perfumed hug. “I will hang it above the fireplace right here in the drawing room.”
“Really?” Serena was stunned. That would mean moving a painting of Louisa’s two sons as small children. “But that’s such a wonderful picture. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’m bored to death of that old thing. And my beautiful babies need a truly regal setting.”
“Well, okay,” said Serena.
“Help me hang it now?” Louisa asked.
The following weekend, Louisa’s elder son, Mark, dropped by.
“What happened to the painting of me and Julian?” he asked the moment he stepped into the drawing room. “Where did you get that bloody awful dog picture? How much did it cost you? Tell me it isn’t—”
“It’s Berkeley and Blackwater Bess,” Louisa told him proudly. “Since my real children only visit when they want something, I decided to have my new babies on the wall instead.”
“Mother. For heaven’s sake.”
“It’s rather wonderful, don’t you think? The girl who moved into the cottage painted it. She trained in London and Florence.”
“I don’t care where she trained. I can’t believe you would take down a portrait of your own children and put a picture of your bloody rescue greyhounds in its place!”
“Well, you will be able to put yourself and your brother back up there when I’m gone,” said Louisa. “And don’t worry,” she added. “The dogs may have replaced you above the fireplace, but they haven’t replaced you in my last will and testament. Yet. You’ll have to keep visiting for a few more months, at least.”
“Years, more like,” said Mark, barely disguising his annoyance. “I have no doubt that you will outlive us all.”
CHAPTER 4
It turned out that Mark Trebarwen was wrong. Just over a month after that exchange, Louisa passed away in her sleep. It was Serena who found the body. She and Louisa had been planning to drive down to St. Ives together, to see a new exhibition at the Cornish outpost of the Tate. Thank goodness Katie was safely in a holiday rental in Newquay with her father, who had actually bothered to turn up to do his share of the half-term “babysitting.”
Serena was devastated. Like Louisa’s sons, she had assumed that she would have years yet in which to get to know her lovely neighbor. It was just too sad to lose her so soon.
The doctor called Louisa’s sons and told them the bad news. They arrived the following day and arranged the funeral with great alacrity. It was well attended. Louisa had been well loved. She would be much missed.
Serena met Julian Trebarwen, Louisa’s younger son, for the first time at his mother’s wake. She had noticed him as soon as he’d walked into the church, but it had seemed the wrong moment to make his acquaintance. Though Louisa had often said that Julian took after his father, there was plenty of his mother in his face. His eyes were the same, gray-blue and intelligent. Despite what she had heard of his fecklessness, Serena couldn’t help but feel instantly warm toward this man whose smile reminded her so much of her friend. When she happened upon him alone in the kitchen, she introduced herself and offered her condolences.
“Drink?” he asked, topping up her glass without waiting for her answer.
“I don’t know if I ought to. I mean …” She was thinking, This is a wake. I shouldn’t get tipsy.
Julian drained his own glass and poured himself another. Serena put it down to grief.
“Mark told me it was you who found her,” said Julian. “What a terrible thing for a neighbor to have to go through. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Serena. “She wasn’t just a neighbor. She was a friend. I feel honored to have known her.”
Julian Trebarwen gave Serena an appraising sort of look. “I’m sure she was very glad to know you too.”
Inappropriate as it seemed to be thinking such a thing at a funeral, Serena wondered if he hadn’t just given her the glad eye.
Alongside her sadness at losing a friend, Serena felt a great deal of curiosity about the future of Trebarwen House.
Everyone in the village wanted to know what was going to happen to the place. It was the only topic of conversation in the grocery store, the post office, and at the school gates. There were so many beautiful things at Trebarwen. Louisa had spent a lifetime collecting wonderful art and ornaments. Serena wondered if Louisa’s sons understood the significance of some o
f those pieces. Would they appreciate their worth?
She needn’t have worried. Mark Trebarwen intended to know the value of every last stick in that house.
“Do you want any of it?” Mark asked his younger brother as they sat together in the grand drawing room after the wake.
“I’d love some of it, but I don’t have room for knick-knacks in my two-bedroom house.” Julian laid great emphasis on “two-bedroom,” to remind his older brother of the difference in their circumstances. “I don’t need more stuff. I need the money.”
“Me too,” Mark admitted. “Eldest looks like he’s going to fail his A levels, which means I’ll have to pay for a crammer. In any case, the inheritance tax is going to be crippling. I don’t see how we’ll be able to meet it without selling something. I’ll call Nat Wilde at Ludbrook’s. Get him to come down and take a look over the house. But I’ve got to go back to Singapore this weekend. Can you be here to let him in so he can tell us what’s worth putting up for sale? Sooner the better.”
Julian nodded. Though he had the feeling that Mark’s reasons for wanting cash had very little to do with inheritance tax or his son’s education. More likely, he wanted to fund a divorce from his hideous horse-faced wife. In any case, it wouldn’t be such a hardship for Julian to stay down in Cornwall for a few more days. It would mean at least that he wouldn’t have to deal with Mia, his most recent ex. She was taking the end of their relationship very badly, turning up in the middle of the night to try to persuade him to take her back. He had to admit he had been tempted. Mia may have been high maintenance, but she was very good in the sack, and Julian missed that. It was hard to maintain a sensible distance when Mia turned up in some low-cut top, specifically designed to showcase her fabulous tits. But she was as mad as a box of frogs, and there was a very real danger that if he took her to bed again, she would stab him to death as he slept. Julian needed to find a replacement shag as soon as possible to prevent him from slipping back into that crazy situation. As that thought crossed his mind, so too did a picture of the girl from the house down the lane. Serena. She wasn’t at all bad-looking, and there had been no bloke in tow. Was she single? Divorced? Perhaps he should give her a call. Take her to the pub on the pretext of recompensing her for having had to deal with the corpse of his mother. See what happened next.
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