Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit)

by Sue Moorcroft

  As he went across to Stephen, Paula and Howard came on to the terrace, arm in arm.

  ‘This is going to be the perfect end to what has been a simply perfect day,’ Paula trilled to no one in particular. She smoothed down the skirt of her dress – a profusion of brightly coloured flowers on a white background – adjusted the flower in her hair, pulled her shawl around her shoulders and gazed up at the leafy awning. ‘Oh, look, Howie. Aren’t those fairy lights adorable? So atmospheric. This really is the most wonderful honeymoon.’

  He slid his arm around her, pulled her to him and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Yuk,’ Jenny heard Nick mutter. ‘I think I’m going to throw up. And that dress – she looks like she should be in a vase.’

  Stephen glanced at Nick, and moved from Clare’s side to the Prosecco table. ‘We’re having Bellinis this evening,’ he called to Howard and Paula. ‘Can I make you one? It’s the real thing, peach purée and all that.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ Howard said. ‘We’ll both have one, thanks. And Mr Rayburn’s on his way, too. We overtook him while he was looking at one of the paintings. You could pour one for him while you’re at it.’

  ‘No sooner said than done.’ Stephen arranged three glasses in a row, spooned a little peach purée into each and picked up the bottle of Prosecco.

  ‘Nice dress, Paula,’ Clare said politely.

  ‘I’m glad you like it. It’s Howie’s favourite,’ Paula said, visibly preening at the compliment.

  Stephen finished pouring the wine and was carrying two glasses over to the Andersons as George Rayburn wandered out on to the terrace. Jenny went over to him at once.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Rayburn. I hope you were able to get some rest after today’s exertions.’

  ‘Indeed, I was, thank you. I sat in the shade just outside my room, and before I knew it, it was way past the time that I should have been here. I do apologise.’

  ‘Don’t think twice about it. This is a holiday as well as a class. Your sleep will have done you the world of good, and you’ll enjoy the evening all the more for it. Now, I think Stephen’s made you a drink. We’re having Bellinis, but if you’d prefer something else, you only have to say.’

  ‘No, I’m sure that it will be delicious.’ He took a glass from Stephen. ‘Thank you, dear boy. Don’t you worry about me, Jennifer. I shall go and talk to Paula and Howard. I’ve just been looking at the painting that I saw them studying earlier today. It really is a most interesting picture and I look forward to hearing what they thought of it.’

  As George walked across to the Andersons, Jenny turned and strolled back to Max, who was standing alone now. ‘Well, that’s all of us here now,’ she told him. ‘As I said, we’re a mixed bunch.’

  ‘Mixed or not, everyone seems to be very pleased with everything, with maybe one exception.’ He indicated Nick. ‘But I think that’s more to do with the girl than with anything else. She seems very pleasant, not to mention pretty, and it’s hardly surprising that both young men are smitten. No, you’ve obviously made everyone feel at ease, and very quickly, too. As I believe I’ve said before, I was lucky to find you.’

  ‘I’d say that I’m the one who’s lucky,’ she said, smiling up into his face. ‘I had to find a job for the summer, and this is way beyond my wildest dreams.’

  She was indeed the lucky one, she thought, being given the chance to finally discover what happened to her father.

  ‘I think we’ll have to agree that we’re both lucky,’ he said warmly, and she noticed that his eyes lingered on her face. ‘So, what did you do this morning after I left Stephen with you?’

  ‘I showed them how to do a quick watercolour sketch. By the way, I’m keeping all the drawings I do for you to see at the end of the week. Obviously, everyone will take the paintings home that they want to keep, but they might leave some of their work behind. Between what’s left here and what I do in the week, we should have plenty to use in the advertising.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ He looked across in Stephen’s direction and smiled. ‘I’m very keen to see how Stephen gets on. You’ve certainly got your work cut out with him.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘And with me, too, if I do decide to come to a few classes. I must confess I’m quite tempted.’

  She opened her mouth to urge him to yield to temptation, but Maria appeared at the patio doors.

  ‘La cena è pronta,’ she announced.

  ‘Dinner is ready,’ Jenny translated. She smiled round at the group. ‘Shall we go and see what’s waiting for us?’

  Chapter Six

  Jenny sat back in her chair, cupping her mug of coffee. She glanced round at the empty table, and felt very pleased with herself – she was the only person who’d stayed behind on the terrace after lunch. Everyone else, including Max, had gone back to the part of the house or garden that they were painting.

  She’d set them the task of practising how to mix watercolour with pastel and coloured pencil, something she’d demonstrated that morning. They’d had time to start practising before the end of the morning, and she was thrilled that they were all so keen to get going again.

  And she was also very relieved that she’d persuaded Maria to serve a lunch that was more in keeping with the eating habits of the British than the Italians. When Maria had come to her that morning and suggested an Italian-style lunch of antipasti followed by two pasta dishes, one after the other, and ending with tiramisù, she’d had a horrible vision of the whole class finishing their lunch and taking to their beds for a never-ending afternoon siesta.

  Using all of her tact, she’d got Maria to scale down the lunch to a comparatively modest prosciutto with melon, followed by a dish of farfalle pasta lightly tossed in a basil pesto, accompanied by a classic Orvieto white wine, and finally a large yellow peach, some pecarino cheese and coffee. It had proved to be ideal – delicious, but not so heavy that it dulled their enthusiasm for the afternoon’s activity.

  She glanced at her watch. They would have started on their work by now. She’d let them have a little longer, and then go and see how they were getting on. She’d leave Paula and Howard’s work till last as she’d seen their drawings that morning, and she’d give George’s work a miss for the same reason.

  Finding out what each of the group had chosen to paint was going to be one of the most interesting parts of the week. Their choice of location spoke volumes about their character and interests, and, to a certain extent, about their ability.

  She was particularly interested in seeing what Max had chosen to draw.

  It was so hard to know what to make of him.

  If it hadn’t been for what her mother had repeatedly told her about him and Peter, she would have taken him at face value. He came across as a man without guile, charming, easy-going, ready to be pleased – a man whose business success hadn’t gone to his head in any way. Under different circumstances, he was a man she could easily have fallen in love with.

  But her mother’s words were always there, burning away in the back of her mind, stopping her from being taken in by his attractive exterior, forcing her to keep an emotional distance.

  Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t the only person who found Max to be excellent company. Several of the group had initially been less than keen on him joining them for dinner – Nick for example, and even Clare, although she’d been less vocal about it. But George had seemed delighted at the prospect of Max’s company, and Howard and Paula even more so. In fact, she’d been amazed at how enthusiastic the Andersons had been about Max joining them, given that they always seemed so complete in themselves and had never appeared particularly eager to join the others.

  However, any reservations about him joining them, and any fears that conversation might be awkward in the presence of the man who owned the property, had clearly been swept away the night before. Even Nick had visibly been won over.

  Furthermore, if any doubts had lingered overnight and resurfaced in the morning, they would have been instantly wiped away at t
he sight of Max rolling up with Stephen after breakfast, carrying an easel and watercolours.

  ‘I thought I’d better not miss any more lessons,’ he’d told them, and she’d seen from their faces how pleased they were that he’d enjoyed their company so much that he’d come back for more.

  He’d placed his chair and easel next to George, sat down and smiled round at them all. As he’d completed his visual tour of the group, she couldn’t help being aware of his eyes on her. She’d felt hot under his gaze. Her stomach had fluttered, and for a moment or two she’d felt disorientated.

  But she’d pulled herself together – she’d had to – and, trying to avoid looking at him more than she needed to, she’d begun to demonstrate the art of painting landscapes. Gradually, she’d settled down, and she’d felt quite relaxed by the time it came to showing them the different ways of applying watercolour and how to mix it with other media. After that, they’d spread out in the garden and begun to work on their own sketches. She’d given them time to make a good start on their basic outline, and had then gone from one to the other, looking at each picture and making constructive suggestions.

  As soon as she’d reached Paula, she’d stopped and stared at her drawing in amazement.

  If she’d had to predict that one of the group would be flowery and superficial, that person would have been Paula. And she would have been completely wrong. Instead of a pretty little confection that bore no relationship at all to the object she was painting, Paula’s work revealed her to be a true artist.

  ‘If you decided to take art really seriously, Paula,’ she had told her, ‘you could be very good. You have real talent.’

  Paula had blushed and simpered. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t – could I, Howie?’

  She’d felt a sharp irritation with a woman who clearly had ability, but who couldn’t decide upon anything without first checking with her husband. Before she said anything rude, she’d swiftly moved on to Howard.

  Whatever he’d earlier said about his work being rubbish, his picture, too, showed above average skill. But whilst it was technically good, it was more pedestrian than Paula’s and it lacked the indefinable quality that she’d glimpsed in Paula’s work.

  ‘Both of you are very good,’ she’d told them. ‘Is this the first art course that you’ve been on?’

  ‘We did art at school – that’s where we met,’ Howard had said. ‘We went our separate ways afterwards, but happily our paths crossed a few years later, and the rest is history,’ He’d smiled affectionately at Paula and turned back to his painting.

  ‘You must have had an excellent teacher,’ she remarked. ‘I look forward to seeing the rest of the painting you do this week.’ And she moved away to look at George’s work.

  If Paula and Howard’s technical ability was at one end of the spectrum, George’s was at the other. Despite clearly making a great effort, he couldn’t draw and he didn’t have a natural feeling for the medium.

  He’d glanced up at her as she’d been studying his work, trying hard to find something to praise.

  ‘Trouble yourself not, Jennifer,’ he’d said with a sigh. ‘Not even this comfortable chair, which you have been so kind as to find for me, can help. I’m under no illusions about my skill, or rather my lack of skill, so you may cease your mental strain and express an honest opinion.’

  She’d laughed. ‘You’re too hard on yourself, Mr Rayburn.’

  ‘And you are too kind, dear lady. Watercolours were my wife’s passion. Our home is full of them. Sadly, though, I doubt that I shall be adding to our collection with a creation of my own: the talent of the many artists who’ve captured life in watercolour seems to have quite passed me by.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Agnes. She passed away a few months ago. It had been her dream to come on a course like this. Indeed, we’d found the details of this course before she died and we’d already started to plan our trip. Unfortunately, it was not to be. I decided, however, to do the course for both of us. It’s what Agnes would have wished.’ He’d stared at his sketch and smiled ruefully. ‘But I’m not too sure what she’s making of my attempts so far.’

  ‘She’ll see them for what they are – an expression of your love,’ she’d said gently. ‘I’m so glad you decided to make the trip, Mr Rayburn.’

  He nodded. ‘So am I, Jennifer. I feel that this will bring closure to the sadness of recent months. But not to the happy memories – I shall always have those.’

  Closure. George was not the only person on the course who was looking for closure, she thought, moving away. Hopefully, their time in Italy would achieve what both she and George wanted it to – no, what they both needed it to.

  She’d started to look for Clare, but had suddenly realised that it was time for lunch.

  She finished her coffee and stood up. They had had long enough to settle back into their work. She’d start with Clare, and that would probably be the quickest way of also finding Stephen and Nick.

  Poor Clare. On the one hand, it was flattering to have two men interested in her; on the other, it could become quite tiresome, and this was pretty much what Clare had told her that morning. But the more she got to know Clare, the more confident she was that she would sort things out without causing too much pain for anyone.

  She started to cross the terrace and make her way to the spot where she thought she’d find Clare. Yes, she’d do the trio next, and she’d save Max till last.

  ‘So why did you decide to come on this course, Clare?’ Jenny heard Max say as she rounded the corner of the house.

  So much for leaving Max till last, she thought as she caught sight of his broad shoulders in front of her. He was sitting on his painting stool, his back to her, and looked as if he was studying his work. Clare was a little way along, parallel to him.

  Jenny paused, and then moved into the shadow of a mulberry tree. Standing still, she watched him.

  He changed his position, looking at his work from a different angle. A hint of muscle rippled beneath his thin shirt. His tanned forearms gleamed in the light of the sun, and with every movement of his head, streaks of gold played in his hair. She caught her breath – he really was something – and she found herself smiling with pleasure at the sight of him.

  ‘Are you asking me that because you can see how pathetic my work is?’ Clare asked him, giggling.

  Jenny pulled herself sharply together. She stepped further into the shade and glanced across at Clare.

  ‘Not at all, and I’m sure they’re not.’ There was laughter in Max’s voice as he got up and went over to Clare. Standing behind her, he looked first at the view she was painting, then back again at her picture.

  ‘On the other hand …’ They both laughed, and Max returned to his stool.

  ‘My turn now.’ Clare stood up and went across to have a look at his picture. ‘Mmm. I see what you mean,’ she said with mock gravity. ‘It certainly helps to be able to see the view you’re painting for real.’ Smiling broadly, she returned to her work, sat down again and stared at her drawing. ‘You’re right,’ she said with a loud sigh. ‘It’s rubbish. Even I can see that.’

  ‘Jenny can say what she likes about everyone being able to learn, but I’ve yet to be convinced.’ Max sounded amused, not critical of her, she noted with relief. Her cue to move forward.

  ‘Did I hear someone say Jenny?’ she asked, going up to them.

  Max looked round at her. A warm glow stole through her at the unmistakable pleasure in his eyes.

  ‘You did, indeed,’ he said with a lazy grin. ‘I was telling Clare that my feeble scratchings are proving that not everyone can be taught to paint.’ He gestured to his picture. ‘There’s the proof. And I’ll be amazed if there’s any improvement between now and the end of the week.’

  A bolt of excitement shot through her.

  ‘Are you coming to all of the classes, then?’ she asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could. Extra time like this would be an unexpected bonus.

&nb
sp; He sighed theatrically. ‘I doubt if I’ll be allowed to. I fully expect to be flunked as soon as you see today’s offering.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘You should see my pathetic attempts, too, Jenny,’ Clare called to her. ‘I wish I could draw like you, but it’s just not gonna happen.’

  Jenny moved across to Clare and looked down at her work.

  ‘I know you won’t believe me, Clare,’ she said after a moment or two, ‘but your work shows promise, and I’m confident you’ll see a marked improvement by the end of the week.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Clare said dubiously.

  ‘You were telling me why you came on the course, Clare?’ Max said, swivelling around. ‘I know I shouldn’t be distracting you from your masterpiece, and certainly not when Jenny’s looking at it, but I’m really curious as to why you – and all the others, too – have chosen to come here. Don’t mistake me – I’m glad you did – but why?’

  ‘A moment of madness in my case, I guess. I’m training to be a nurse, and the government gives us a bursary every year. It’s not a lot of money, but it means I’m not totally broke. My mates decided to go to Corfu, but can you see me on a beach all day with this hair?’ She pointed to her red curls.

  ‘Not very easily, I must admit.’

  ‘And anyway, a beach holiday would be dead boring, so I decided to do something totally different. I didn’t want to do anything practical as I do practical things all day long, and when I saw your ad, I thought to myself, that’s it, I’ll do something creative. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘And are you finding it fun?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Actually, I am. I’m really enjoying it.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘I guess that was a silly question – you’d say that anyway. But I hope you mean it.’ She paused. ‘If you could change one thing about the week, what would you change?’