Chapter 23
Without the painting group meeting that week, I lost a bit of focus.
I hadn’t realised how much I had come to rely on it. To get me out of the house, to give me something to do which was entirely for me, and of course the company of other people who had become my friends.
I spent my time cleaning, rekindling my damaged relationship with Ivan, refilling the fridge, finishing off the ironing and catching up with the latest box set on television I had been watching before I went away.
How did that brave New York detective with the glossy perfect hair, designer suits and four-inch stilettos actually manage to chase after the criminals so fast, I wondered.
And some of her male counterparts seemed to go to work in sharp suits and silk ties, which was odd considering they always ended up in disused warehouses or abandoned buildings full of rusty machinery.
I wondered what the actual FBI or CIA thought of those programmes.
The weekend came round again, and I had the house straight, the grass mowed and I was looking forward to the painting group on Tuesday.
Anita called for me and we walked down to the village hall together, our art materials in folders and bags. There was a cold breeze, and the verges were filled with cow parsley and wildflowers, which gave off a fresh green scent that was England in the spring.
‘I’d give anything to be back in Santorini, wouldn’t you?’ Anita said, shivering in her wool jacket. ‘Do you remember what it was like? Trying to go out with as few layers on rather than how many. Not having to think about it raining or taking an umbrella, or a warm coat.’
‘I do,’ I said wistfully, dodging a water-filled pothole at the edge of the lane, ‘but it’s nice to be home again. I’m beginning to like living here, even though it’s taken me a while.’
‘I’m so glad you moved in. The couple who lived at High Winds before you were always complaining about something.
The state of the road or the late delivery of the post. And I don’t think they ever really understood that having moved to a rural area, there would be farming going on around them.
They told me they had moved from living in Hereford because of the noise.
But when one buys a house called Cathedral View, surely one would expect to hear church bells? ’
‘I hope Beryl and Effie will be there today,’ I said, ‘I’ve missed them. In fact, I’ve been thinking of inviting them over for afternoon tea one day. You too of course.’
‘They will say yes, I’m sure. They never refuse an invitation, and they are always up for a laugh. I intend to be more Beryl in future. I think it might be fun.’
‘Me too,’ I said, and we grinned at each other.
When we got to the village hall, we could see there were already people inside, amongst them the unmistakeable figure of Dennis ordering everyone about.
‘Come along, ladies, get those easels into a circle. Cassandra will be here soon, and we want to show her we are keen and expecting to start on time. Ah, jolly good, it’s Anita and Maggie!’
‘Meg,’ I said.
‘Absolutely. Now then, I suggest those of us who went on the painting holiday get our work out to show everyone. I’m sure everyone wants to see what we got up to. Well, some of us. Others didn’t do much at all, did they?’
‘Do you mean me, Dennis?’ I said rather boldly, which was very unlike the old me. ‘I was enjoying it as much as anyone. But you have to remember I was just the new girl. I think that’s what you called me.’
‘No need to feel like that,’ he said, ‘it was just a joke. I was saying to Sally only this morning, true creativity and the art of aquarelle is a great leveller. I would have liked to talk more about it but she was emptying the cat litter tray so I don’t think she heard me.’
‘What did he say?’ Anita murmured.
‘No idea,’ I said.
‘Dennis, you do talk in riddles sometimes,’ said a loud voice from the doorway, and we turned to see Beryl and Effie laden down with bags and folders, trying to push past each other to get through the door first. ‘If you mean watercolours, why not just say so? You’re just like my cousin Patrick.
He liked to use a lot of big words. He worked for the Foreign Office in the seventies; no wonder there was an oil crisis and a three-day week.
Hello, everyone! We are back! The sailors are home from the sea and didn’t we have fun? ’
Gwen came out from the kitchen where she had been rearranging the mugs on a tray, and Maureen, Janet, Polly and Irene all clustered around us as though we were celebrities.
‘How is your wall, Gwen?’ I asked.
Gwen looked very annoyed. ‘Don’t talk to me about walls!
Do you know John Patterson hasn’t even started on the repointing yet.
It was raining so much and he said the mortar wouldn’t dry properly.
Then he claimed to have man flu and his wife said he was feverish and had got through a whole bottle of Night Nurse that week.
Which is marvellous stuff, but my friend Kathy saw him in the bakers on Thursday morning buying doughnuts so he can’t have been all that bad, can he?
He says he will start next week, so I could have come with you after all. I do feel cross about that.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I was delighted to go in your place. I’ve brought you a little snow globe of Santorini and a tea towel,’ I said, handing it over.
Gwen flushed with pleasure. ‘How lovely. I shall keep it for the best.’
‘And where is Cassandra?’ Dennis said loudly, looking at his watch. ‘Honestly, why is she always late? Her sister wasn’t like that. Jillian was always very prompt.’
‘Calm down, it’s only two minutes past ten,’ Beryl said, ‘and I’ve just seen her car pulling into the car park.’
Cassandra came into the hall a few moments later, carrying with her a big canvas bag.
‘Ah, there you all are,’ she said with a pleased smile, ‘I have been hearing such good things about you from Jillian. She said it was one of the best groups she’s ever had—’
‘That’s not what she said to me,’ I murmured.
‘Or me,’ Beryl agreed, ‘She said it was like herding kittens at a sheepdog trial.’
‘—and she’s hoping some of you will go back next year. I’m sure the people who went will agree it’s well worth going. And she’s coming over to visit me in November so you will get a chance to meet her and hear all about it.’
We all nodded and smiled and said positive things about Hotel Costas and then we were encouraged to show the pieces of work we had done while we were there.
While people were milling around looking at the landscapes and pictures of Costas, Cassandra sidled up to me.
‘I have a message for you,’ she said out of the corner of her mouth. For a moment it almost seemed like I was in a spy thriller, and she was going to say something about the goose flying backwards across the moon.
She handed me a pink Post-it note with a dog doodled in the corner.
‘Someone from your holiday group rang me. He had been researching art groups in the Begley area and eventually he found me on Facebook. He said to give you this.’
I unfolded the note and inside was a mobile phone number.
‘Who was it?’ I said, feeling quite faint for a moment.
Cassandra shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, I was busy unloading the shopping and the ice cream was melting.
And my husband was shouting from upstairs.
He was being quite rude actually. I keep telling him where the spare toilet rolls are but he never listens.
This person said you’d know who it was. Something about wrenches.
Which seemed very odd to me. Ah yes, I’ve just remembered.
Mr Mole. That was it. And if this is an undesirable, then feel free to chuck it away.
If he rings again I will say I was mistaken and I don’t know you. ’
I looked at the number again. Mr Mole. It had to be Will. It couldn’t be anyone else. I felt a slow smile spreading across my face and I immediately put the number into my phone so I wouldn’t lose it.
Cassandra clapped her hands. ‘Now then, everyone, let’s settle and think about what we are going to do this morning. I have brought along a garden trug and some shears which might be fun to paint. Something rustic and simple.’
‘Just like me.’ Dennis chuckled. ‘I’m rustic and simple.’
* * *
I really couldn’t concentrate after that and I made as good an effort as I could with Cassandra’s trug, which ended up looking like a supermarket basket with some huge scissors balanced unconvincingly on the top.
Beryl came over to see what I had been doing and stared, unimpressed.
‘Something tells me you are not exactly in the groove this morning,’ she said, ‘and I saw our esteemed tutor passing you a note earlier on. Which took me back to my days in boarding school, when the class bully would pass on a note saying no one likes you and you have stupid hair. Well obviously neither of those things are true in this case so perhaps you’d like to share? ’
‘Honestly, Beryl, you are so nosey,’ I said, laughing.
‘No, I’m incorrigible, and I have it on the best authority, from Henry Kissinger. And if anyone knew it would be him. So now, tell me what’s going on.’
Anita came sidling up with Effie hot on her heels.
‘What are we talking about?’ Effie said. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ I said, trying not to laugh.
‘Cassandra passed her a secret note, and I want to know what it was.’
‘I want to know too,’ Anita said, ‘we all do, and there’s no use just telling Beryl. It’s part of the Old Ducks creed. Two people can keep a secret only if one of them is dead.’
I sighed. ‘Cassandra had a phone call from someone looking for the Lower Begley painting group asking her to pass on a mobile number to me. Which is what she did. From a Mr Mole.’
‘Mr Mole? Oh, I remember, that discussion we had about mole wrenches. Will, it has to be him,’ Beryl said, her face brightening. ‘We told you he wouldn’t just disappear.’
‘You told me he would pass like a kidney stone,’ I said.