Chapter 53
Yvonne’s expression was everything Daisy had known it would be. Complete and utter disbelief.
‘How?’ she said.
‘Would you believe it? The dog ran straight to him in the park. If Shaun wasn’t there, I might have lost him altogether.’
‘What are the chances?’ Yvonne said. ‘Goodness me.’
‘Shaun, this is Yvonne,’ Daisy said, stepping back to do a better introduction. ‘She’s the person who actually knows how to drive this boat properly.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Yvonne said, though her focus was firmly on Shaun as she stepped forward and shook his hand. ‘So you’re the one who saved Daisy in the marsh?’
‘I think “saved” is a bit of a strong word,’ Shaun said humbly. ‘I just pulled her out of the mud.’
‘Trust me, you saved me,’ Daisy said. ‘Ask Yvonne. I’ve spent the last few days wondering how I could get hold of you and there you were, ready to save me again in the park.’
‘Almost like fate.’
His smile twisted, and Daisy couldn’t help but feel a swell of butterflies in her. It wasn’t because of Shaun, per se. Not that he wasn’t good-looking, but he was a bit too clean-cut for her. The butterflies were about something more than that. They were about the idea of fate and not just because she had found Shaun. She was doing the journey her father had done, in his boat, with one of his old friends who even possessed two paintings of his. Fate, it seemed, was all around her.
‘This is beautiful,’ Shaun said, shifting the attention away from himself as he took a step towards a painting hanging on the wall. It was the one she’d painted after being rejected by an art gallery, and other than her recent dog portrait – which had been inspired by her father’s work – it was the most vivid and abstract piece of art she’d ever created. She’d thought about putting it into the auction to raise money for the boat licence and propeller, but it didn’t fit in with the theme of the others, and so for a long time, she’d wondered what to do with it. She even toyed with the idea of giving it away, assuming that by hanging it on her wall, she would constantly be reminded of her failures. But that hadn’t happened at all and while Daisy often thought of the snobby art curator when she looked at it, it didn’t make her feel like a failure. Instead, it reminded her what she was capable of, and how to never let a person derail her dreams again. When she looked at it like that, there was no way she could get rid of it.
‘I absolutely love it,’ Shaun continued, lifting his fingers up to the glass. ‘Who’s the artist?’
Other than having people ask to see the September Rose, there was one question that Daisy loved above all others. She loved the way answering it made her feel, and – hopefully – the look of awe that appeared on people’s faces when she responded.
A look she was hoping to see when she smiled at Shaun and said, ‘Me. I’m the artist.’