She’d nodded. ‘You shouldn’t work so hard,’ she’d said. ‘I bet you’re pushing yourself with this upcoming show as well as all these portraits your mum’s set up for you. You should take things easier.’
‘I’m fine,’ he’d told her, suddenly realising that his eyes were actually quite sore.
‘I could come over some time and make you a meal,’ she’d said.
‘I don’t need you to mother me, Faye,’ he’d said, biting his tongue as he realised how blunt he’d sounded. She’d only been trying to help, after all. He’d looked at her pale moonshiny face. ‘Sorry,’ he’d said.
‘It’s okay,’ she’d said and he’d felt absolutely wretched. Why was he always so mean to Faye? And why was she so sweet in spite of that meanness?
‘Let’s just get this session done,’ he’d said, distancing himself from her further by placing himself behind the canvas.
When Faye had left later that evening, he’d stared at himself in the studio mirror.
‘What’s happening to you?’ he’d asked his reflection. ‘Why are you behaving like this?’
The face that stared back at him was pale and blank, like one of his unpainted canvases and, as he stared into his dark eyes, one word formed itself slowly but surely on his lips.
‘Faye.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was a gloriously sunny morning at the beginning of August and Nina’s desk was covered with the morning mail. She was just in the process of opening it whilst Dudley was out at the city library when she realised she’d made a mistake. One of the envelopes had been addressed to Mr D. Milton and Nina had assumed it was to Dudley but, on opening it, she saw that it was actually addressed to Dominic.
To read or not to read – that was the question. Seeing that it was from a gallery in London, Nina hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity soon got the better of her.
Dear Mr Milton, it began. Thank you for your letter and for coming to visit us last week.
Nina blinked. Dominic had kept very quiet about going to London, hadn’t he?
It was a pleasure to view your work and, although we were unable to take your paintings for this autumn’s group exhibition, we would be keen to exhibit your work in our spring show.
She gasped. Dominic was going to exhibit at a gallery in London and, judging by the address, it was a pretty good one, too. This was big news, she thought, and he’d no doubt want to hear it straight away.
‘Olivia!’ she called, leaving her desk with the letter hastily stuffed back into its envelope. ‘I’m just popping to The Folly. I’ve got a letter for Dominic.’
‘Okay!’ Olivia called back from the kitchen where she was elbow deep in jam-making. ‘Tell him to get himself over here for a decent meal. He doesn’t look as if he’s eating enough by half.’
Nina smiled. Always the mother, she thought.
It felt funny leaving the mill without Ziggy in tow, but she’d walk him later. Right now, she had to get to The Folly as quickly as possible. A London gallery, she thought, wondering what Dominic would think about it all. It had been hard not to blurt the news to Olivia, but it was Dominic’s news – not hers.
This could really change things for him. Perhaps he’d want to move to London, Nina thought, her legs slicing through the long grass along the footpath. How would Olivia feel if that happened? There was a special bond between her and Dominic and it would break Olivia’s heart if her youngest left for the big city. Billy was already there and Alex came and went like a whirling dervish. Sure, they popped by for the occasional weekend or Sunday lunch, but it was never the same as living nearby, was it?
Then again, Nina really couldn’t imagine Dominic living anywhere near the capital. It might well suit Billy and Alex, but Dominic’s home was in the gentle Norfolk countryside. Then there was The Folly. He’d poured himself into converting the place and it was very unlikely that he’d ever be able to afford a four-storey Victorian folly within the M25.
Nina gazed up at the mellow red-bricked home as she turned the corner. It rose up out of the trees like something out of a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson. No, she thought. Dominic wouldn’t be leaving here for a good while yet.
There was no answer when she rang the old-fashioned bell that Dominic had hung up outside the large wooden front door. She waited a moment, realising that it would take a good while for someone on the top floor to reach the ground floor, but she was still waiting a couple of minutes and two more bell pulls later. There was no letterbox; all of Dominic’s mail went to the mill. Nina took a couple of steps back and gazed up into the air at the windows high above her.
‘Dommie!’ she called. ‘Dominic?’
There was no reply so, not wanting to return with the letter, she tried the front door. It was unlocked.
‘Hello?’ she cried, opening the door and entering the front room. ‘Dominic? Are you there?’ She walked forward and peered up the staircase that led up the tower. ‘I’ve got some post for you.’
She could have just left the post on the dining table and returned to the mill but, for the second time that day, curiosity got the better of Nina and she found herself walking up the stairs, her feet clanging musically on the spiral metal steps.
Up and up she went, but there was no Dominic, and Nina soon found herself on the top floor with the large picture window framing the barley field and the woods beyond so perfectly. She stood looking out at the view for a moment, noticing the curve of the river and the oak tree where she’d sat with Justin. She smiled, thinking of the ease of their conversation and wondering if she’d ever see him again. He hadn’t been back to Norfolk since that night when he’d kissed her on the bridge and, although they’d been swapping the occasional text, it wasn’t the same as face-to-face conversation, was it? And a text kiss just wasn’t the same as the real thing, Nina couldn’t help thinking.
She’d replayed that scene on the bridge a hundred times, each time wondering what he’d been thinking. Why hadn’t he kissed her on the mouth? There was a part of her that was a little irked by his gentlemanliness and she couldn’t help imagining what it would have been like if he’d kissed her properly in the inky darkness of a summer night, the sound of the rushing water beneath them. But had she really wanted that? Nina’s mind was still reeling between her vow not to get involved with another man for a good long while and Janey’s advice to let go and have some fun.
She shook her head and wondered what Justin was doing now and where was he doing it? His texts were always so short and vague and gave little away.
Can’t make it back this weekend.
Got to go away again.
Last-minute booking. So sorry.
What did it all mean, she wondered? He was always talking about going away and last-minute bookings. Was he some sort of secret agent or just an estate agent? Nina sighed. She realized now that it hadn’t been such a great idea to tell each other so little about themselves although, on reflection, he knew a lot more about her than she did him.
Putting Justin out of her mind once again, Nina turned back into the room. It was quite hot up there, but two of the smaller windows had been left open to allow the movement of air and to combat the ever-present smell of turps.
Her feet creaked over the bare floorboards. The walls of the room seemed to be closing in on themselves as there were canvases stacked up against them, and jars and brushes littered every available surface. Nina smiled. It was quite beautiful as messes went, she had to admit.
She walked into the centre of the room, looking around at the family of canvases that greeted her there. It wouldn’t do any harm to have a little peep – just to see what Dominic had been up to over the last few weeks. He wouldn’t mind, would he?
She crossed the room to the most promising-looking pile of canvases, wondering what she’d find there. There were far more paintings than he’d had sitters, but perhaps he made more than one painting of each lady, as Dudley wrote at least three different versions of each chapter of h
is novel. There was only one way to find out.
She blinked and turned to look through the neat row of canvases behind her. There was Edna Bowridge looking sweet in her pearls; Felicity Makepeace in her sexy silk number, and then there was another lady with friendly eyes and a pretty smile who must have been Maisie Myhill, but whom Nina hadn’t met. Dominic had certainly been kept busy over the summer.
Next to them were a series of sketch-like paintings on hardboard. They were all of scenes around The Folly painted at different times of day, from the early morning summer mist to deeply burning sunsets. Each one was jewel-like in its beauty.
A little table stood against the wall in this part of the room and there was a sketch book on it. Nina’s fingers trailed over it for a moment before opening it up, and what she saw made her gasp. Page after page, sketch after sketch.
‘Faye!’ she cried, her eyes widening in wonder at the beautiful drawings which, Nina guessed, must have been done from imagination rather than from life – for here was Faye dancing in the barley field, her arms stretching high above her, and here she was, sitting in the walled garden in what looked like a ballgown.
She smiled. Faye was not the sort of girl who you’d see in a dress unless it was a very special occasion, so it was very telling that Dominic had chosen to picture her wearing one.
She closed the sketch book and walked over to the easel and that’s when she saw the painting of Faye that Dominic had been working on. Nina knew she shouldn’t be there; shouldn’t be looking at it, but – like with the sketch book – she just couldn’t help herself. Her eyes scanned the dark hair, the childlike stare of the eyes and the pale pink skin. Faye was truly beautiful and Nina couldn’t help but gasp at the vision that met her eyes. She knew at once that the artist who had painted such a picture and had filled such a sketch book must surely be in love with the subject. It wasn’t just her imagination and it wasn’t just wishful thinking. Dominic was falling in love with Faye all over again – she truly believed that.
Goodness, Nina thought with a smile. Had her little matchmaking plan really worked its magic?
Chapter Twenty-Six
It wasn’t the response she’d expected. July had turned into August and things were moving ever-closer towards the anniversary party. Olivia was sitting, looking down at the tablecloth, a scowl threatening to wrinkle her immaculate make-up. She was in serious danger of being displeased with Dudley. It didn’t happen very often, but she felt that it was about to happen right now.
‘I’m not having Harry Barclay sitting anywhere near us,’ Dudley growled, his face flaming red.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Olivia summoned up the courage to speak her piece, ‘he used to be your best friend.’
‘That was before he groped your bottom at our wedding reception.’
‘Dudley – that was twenty-five years ago, and you know he’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. It must have gone to his head.’
‘My fists should have gone to his head, too,’ Dudley said, his face threatening to split like an overripe tomato.
‘Well, he’s been invited now. We can’t uninvite him.’
Dudley looked down at the printed list of guests, ready to assemble into neat little groups that wouldn’t upset or offend anyone. Olivia watched as he surveyed the names, a smile replacing her frown as she thought of how Dudley had leapt to her honour at their wedding reception all those years ago. He could be so demonstrative sometimes. She wondered, briefly, if there might be a repeat performance at their anniversary party, but soon thought better of it. If Harry Barclay’s hands strayed a second time, it would be the last for sure. Dudley wasn’t a violent man, but Olivia shuddered to think what might happen if Harry raised Dudley’s hackles again. No, she’d better listen to him.
‘I suppose we could sit him near Aunt Harriet. Harry and Harriet might make a nice pairing,’ Olivia said with a little laugh.
Dudley looked up from the paper. ‘I’m not sitting my aunt near the marquee door.’
‘Dudley – nobody’s sitting near the marquee door.’
‘Then where do you propose we put Harry?’
‘Give that here,’ Olivia said, snatching the sketch of the marquee Dominic had drawn for them. ‘Look!’ Olivia pointed with one of her pink talons.
Dudley harrumphed. ‘I’ll still have to look at him.’
‘You’ll have to look at everyone, Dud, that’s the point of having a top table.’
‘I still don’t see why you invited him.’
‘Because he’s your oldest friend,’ Olivia stressed.
‘That’s no excuse,’ Dudley retorted. ‘I didn’t invite Hannah Forbes, did I?’
Olivia’s eyes shot wide open. ‘That’s different.’
‘Nothing different, as far as I can see.’
‘Oh, Dudley. She practically ravished you! How could you expect me to want to invite her?’ Olivia looked across at her husband, astonished that he’d even suggest such a thing. ‘You’re laughing!’ Olivia suddenly noticed that Dudley was chuckling to himself. ‘What’s so funny? ‘Cause there’s absolutely nothing funny about Hannah Forbes. I could smell her cheap perfume on you for weeks afterwards. I was surprised she even needed that mistletoe as an excuse. She’d been dying to get her claws into you for years.’
‘But she was your chief bridesmaid,’ Dudley said, still smiling.
‘Yes, well, that was an error in judgement on my part,’ Olivia conceded and then she sighed. Planning the party was supposed to be as much fun as the party itself, but this was awful. She wondered why she was so anxious for her sons to marry. Did she really didn’t want to go through this charade three more times?
‘So, what are we going to do about Harry Barclay? Dudley said.
‘Oh, if it’s really bothering you that much,’ Olivia began, ‘stick one of the floral displays in front of him so you don’t have to look at each other.’
Dominic had opened the large picture window in the studio and the evening breeze had cooled the room. He could hear the sound of swallows wheeling over the field and the soothing rustle of the poplar leaves. All was calm. Apart from Faye.
‘I feel so stiff,’ she complained, rolling her shoulders back and stretching her neck from side to side.
‘You’re working too hard in the garden,’ he said. ‘Mum’s taking advantage of you. You should tell her you’re not up to all that manual work. She should have got a man in to do all that digging you’ve been doing.’
‘Oh, you’re so old-fashioned, Dom!’ Faye said with a giggle. ‘I can manage perfectly well. I don’t need a man. I can handle a spade as well as any man can.’
‘Yes, but you’re overdoing things,’ he said, his face full of concern.
Faye stared at him, seeing a look in his face that she hadn’t seen for years.
He cleared his throat and looked away. ‘We can do this another time,’ he continued, ‘if you want.’
‘No, no!’ Faye said quickly. ‘I want to do it now. It’s just—’ she rolled her shoulders again and, before he could stop himself, Dominic had crossed the room and was gently massaging her.
‘You’re all knotted up,’ he said. ‘It’s like you’ve got rocks under your skin.’
Faye sighed. ‘Oh – right there,’ she said. ‘Just – there!’
Dominic continued to massage, his long fingers finding the tender places between her shoulder blades. ‘I think you need to see a professional and then give Mum the bill.’
‘No – I’m fine,’ Faye said.
‘I don’t think you’re being paid enough to do this sort of damage to yourself.’
Faye turned around and Dominic’s hands dropped to his side. His dark eyes looked anxious.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I might just have been overdoing things a bit – that’s all.’
‘Yes, well, you don’t want to do yourself in completely,’ Dominic said and they gazed at each other for a moment longer than was necessary; as if totally aware that th
is was the first proper conversation they’d had in years and that it might be leading somewhere.
Faye blinked hard and Dominic cleared his throat again and turned away. ‘Let’s make a start, shall we?’
Faye didn’t fidget that much during the session. She seemed to be more relaxed now and Dominic had picked up speed with the painting. The dreadful awkwardness that had hung so heavily between them when she’d first arrived at The Folly seemed to have disappeared. They were finally comfortable in one another’s presence and yet, perversely, Dominic couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable because of that. Sitting just a few feet in front of him was his first love and one of the best friends he had ever had – and he had thrown that all away. Discarded it, as if it had been a piece of cheap rubbish.
He shook his head. He couldn’t be thinking about all that now. He had to finish the portrait. But it was too late. Faye had been watching him.
‘Dom?’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
He pursed his lips together. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, holding it all back.
‘Do you want to talk about something?’ Faye said, moving forward in her chair ever so slightly.
‘Don’t move!’ he shouted.
‘Sorry,’ Faye said, inching back. ‘It’s just, I thought you looked like you were trying to say something.’
‘What could I possibly have to say?’ he said, his abrupt tone shocking even himself.
Faye blushed and Dominic silently cursed himself, because her colouring had changed, just as he was about to apply the finishing touches.
It was half an hour later that he put his brushes down and Faye stood up, stretching her arms above her head and yawning.
‘Is it finished?’
Dominic nodded. ‘As much as it can be,’ he said.
‘Can I see it?’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
Faye walked towards the easel. ‘I’m actually quite nervous,’ she said, inching closer to the canvas and to Dominic, who was hovering behind it like an anxious parent. ‘Oh,’ she said a moment later, the word dropping out of her mouth suddenly and almost silently.
A Summer to Remember Page 23
