Lesley showed Selena around the house through the spacious kitchen and up the narrow staircase, along the landing with two bedrooms and a family bathroom, insisting that she’d be most comfortable in the master suite. Selena agreed: it was a bright room with a new en-suite shower room above the kitchen that overlooked the back garden, and the pretty white wallpaper with tiny daisies was much more uplifting than the cold, gloomy second bedroom. Lesley explained that the spare bedroom had been two small rooms in the seventeenth century, but now it was one long room which seemed to be in perpetual shadow despite the bright curtains and duvet, because it was situated over the chilly lounge. Keeping the fire on downstairs would soon warm the space for any visitors Selena might have, Lesley reassured her.
They came back downstairs and Lesley made herself and Selena a cup of tea while showing her where everything was in the kitchen. She had already stocked the fridge with basics and had bought two bottles of wine, one red, one white, as a welcome present. A bunch of daffodils had been placed in a clear vase on the window ledge and there were fresh vegetables in a wooden rack. Selena cradled her mug in her hands, feeling the heat warm her fingers. The kitchen was cosy; a bright red oil-fired Aga belted out heat as they sat at the wooden table, an opened packet of biscuits between them.
‘So,’ Lesley said. ‘What do you think of the oak conservatory?’
Selena smiled. ‘It’s perfect. I can’t wait to move my art materials in there. It’s going to be a really good space to work in.’
‘And there’s a sofa and a small TV in there too, so you could make it your main living space, with it being so warm and so bright.’
‘I might.’ Selena sipped her tea. ‘So, do you own the land around here, Lesley?’
‘My great-grandfather owned all of it, as far as you could see, years ago – but over time, a lot of the land was sold off to local farmers. Sloe Cottage was built for farm workers, but my husband and I run it as a holiday cottage now.’
‘It’s a lovely home,’ Selena said. ‘When was it last occupied?’
‘A family rented it over the Christmas period.’ Lesley frowned. ‘It’s been used more as a short-term stay, Airbnb. You’re the first person who has stayed longer than a fortnight in years.’ She offered a cheery smile. ‘So, anything you need, just pop over. We’ll keep you supplied with eggs – we have dozens of chickens.’
‘Oh, that’s so kind of you.’
‘Hilltop Farm used to be much bigger, but we keep a cottage garden and a couple of horses in the paddock now Ian and I are retired. One of the fields beyond this cottage is ours too – usually we let other farmers keep their sheep and cows there, but you’re welcome to use it if you need to paint. There’s lots of wildlife around here – rabbits, squirrels, foxes. You might even see deer.’
‘Oh, lovely.’ Selena was already imagining photographing animals, sketching and painting them. ‘And what about the village? There’s a pub and a shop, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, The Royal Oak and a mini supermarket in the Post Office. Ashcombe’s a very friendly place and just a short walk from Chitterwell.’
‘Chitterwell?’
‘Oh, yes, this area around here, these two cottages with the farmland, is called Chitterwell – the village itself is Ashcombe.’
‘Okay.’ Selena gazed around the kitchen. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to cooking my first supper here tonight.’
Lesley scraped back her chair. ‘Then I’ll leave you in peace. Don’t forget – Ian and I are just across the road if you need anything.’
‘Thanks,’ Selena said. ‘I think I’ll use the rest of the afternoon to unpack my things.’
‘Right-ho. Now…’ Lesley counted on her fingers ‘Today’s the second of April, so you’re all paid up until the end of June, with the option of staying on longer if you want to. And, of course, do feel free to have visitors.’
‘My friend, Claire, will come down – she’s my business partner in Manchester.’
‘It will be nice for you to have some company – the village is fairly quiet, although Taunton’s busy, and only twenty minutes away if you need a bit of life…’
Selena wondered if Lesley was about to ask if she had a partner, but her expression clouded over and for a moment, she was lost in thought, then she smiled again.
‘Well, I wish you a wonderful stay, Selena.’
‘Thanks.’ Selena held out a hand. ‘It’s great to be here. I’m going to enjoy it so much.’
Several hours later, Selena had moved her belongings into the cottage. Her art materials had been set up in the conservatory and her clothes had been put away neatly in the main bedroom. Her photographic bag was on the table, containing a digital SLR that took sharp pictures of her paintings for the website. She glanced at the two bottles of wine Lesley had left on the table, but she wasn’t ready to drink alcohol yet. She’d save them for another time, perhaps when Claire came down to visit.
Selena glanced at the kitchen clock; it was past six and she had a slight gnawing sensation in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She sighed; a sandwich would do, maybe she’d make something small later. She rubbed her fingertips against her temples, chiding herself; she intended to build up her strength again, both physically and emotionally, and that meant regular meals, immersing herself in the rhythm of work and taking long walks in the spring sunshine. She needed this time alone to get over the feeling of loss that still rested on her shoulders like heavy hands. Thoughts of David made her feel foolish now; she had ignored the warning signs that he’d never leave Veronica. And the memory of losing the baby made her eyes fill with tears. The miscarriage had left her feeling lonely, empty and fragile. But she would build up her strength here in Sloe Cottage.
Selena picked up her phone. The camera was a good one, bought specifically for taking landscape pictures that would support her painting. She took a photo of the kitchen, the red Aga, the daffodils in the window, and sent it to Claire with the message:
With greetings from Sloe Cottage.
She received an immediate reply:
It all looks lovely. I’m off to the wine bar soon – but I can’t wait to slum it in the countryside.
Selena rested her head in her hands; Claire would be out until the early hours, drinking and laughing. Selena had lived the same lifestyle once, meeting friends, enjoying late-night parties, not long before she’d met David; she wasn’t sure that lifestyle would suit her now, probably not ever again.
A missed call on her phone caught her eye; it was Veronica again. Selena had done the right thing in coming to stay in Somerset. She didn’t want to wallow in the memories of betrayal and she wasn’t ready to answer Veronica’s many questions. She wasn’t running away; she was allowing herself time and space to heal. With that thought uppermost in her mind, she blocked Veronica’s number then she burst into tears. Thoughts of the baby she had already begun to love filled her with an almost unbearable sense of loss.
Selena took a deep breath. She would explore the cottage; she gazed towards the door that led to the bright oak-framed conservatory beyond the kitchen, where her art materials were laid out. But, instead, she went in the other direction, through the lobby, past the pantry and into the living room. The light outside was grey, but inside the room glowed orange with the warmth from the wood fire and one small table lamp. Selena moved to the mustard-coloured sofa and sank into its depths, then she stretched out her palms towards the wood-burning stove, warming them, and opened the doors, picking up a log, throwing it onto the fire. The log crackled and flames licked.
Grace stretched out her palms, warming them, and picked up a log, throwing it onto the open fire. The log caught, sparks flying up the chimney. Her father was dozing in his chair after a long day at work so she smoothed a lock of hair from his eyes. A tired sigh shuddered from his lips as she wandered quietly away.
It was cool outside in the garden, the skies starless, the moon a thin crescent that hung low. Grace inhaled the fragrance of damp grass and something else, a sharp scent – a vixen was nearby, probably with her cubs born in March. She stood by the blackthorn tree, fingering the sharp spikes, then she went to the well, staring into the darkness. She whispered to herself, ‘Rose petals and honey, I could make a love potion from them, that would bring him to me. But perhaps if I just say his name and ask for him to appear…’
Grace mouthed one word like a charm, the moon slipped overhead and, for a second, she saw traces of silver reflected at the bottom of the well. She gathered her apron and strolled towards a clump of nettles at the edge of the garden. The tips would be new and fresh. With strong fingers, she pinched the leaves, dropping the nettle tops into her bunched apron. Above her, an owl fluttered its wings as it flew towards a tree beyond the gate, settling on a branch in a rustle of leaves.
Then she was alerted to a noise down the road, heavy rhythmic footfall: she saw the shape, a man walking down the lane towards the gate. She recognised the swagger; even though it was dark, she knew the silhouette, the tight breeches, the bright white of his shirt. Grace held her breath as Nathaniel Harper passed: he was on his way home and he was merry. He must have spent the evening in The Royal Oak.
He paused by the gate and she heard him call, ‘Good evening to ye, Mistress Grace.’
Grace replied quietly, ‘Master Nathaniel.’ She was not sure if he had been mocking her with his courteous address, the tone of his voice too familiar, but he was still there, leaning against the gate, watching her.
‘Next week is the May Day revelry on the village green. I hope you will not refuse a dance with me.’
Grace waited, unsure what to say, then she murmured, ‘Good night to you, Master Nathaniel.’
He laughed, a soft sound of contentment, and walked away. ‘Good night, Mistress Grace,’ came back on the night air and she realised her heart was beating fast.
Grace brought the ends of her apron tightly together, the nettles enclosed in the folds, and dashed back towards the house. She rushed inside, shutting the door, into the warmth of the room. Her father was still asleep in front of the grate, one side of his face burnished red in the warm glow. A single light from a candle flickered.
She slipped quietly into the back room, dropping the new leaves into water from the jug, then into the vessel to be crushed with a pestle. She brought her work to the table, pounding and grinding the nettle leaves while her father snored quietly. As Grace crushed the leaves to a pulp, her mind was not on her task. She was thinking about May Day, about wearing the cream dress her grandmother had embroidered with little blackthorn flowers; she was imagining herself dancing in the warm embrace of the handsome farmer’s son. She saw herself smiling up at him, wearing a garland of flowers, the music of the pipe and tabor resounding in her ears.
Selena opened her eyes and blinked into the firelight, suddenly awake. The logs in the wood-burning stove blazed as she placed several more inside and closed the doors, hoping there would still be embers to coax to life in the morning. The room was dark, shadows lurking, one small lamp glimmering in the corner. It was late, past eleven; Selena had dozed for several hours. She would get up tomorrow, eat breakfast and start painting.
She stretched out her arms and sighed, easing herself from the sofa, switching off the lamp. The room was suddenly pitch black and Selena felt her way to the door, leaving it ajar as she padded on soft feet into the lobby. The air was icy as she wandered towards the light that came from the kitchen. Selena climbed the stairs to the landing; she was tired but full of optimism. From nowhere, a little folk tune was buzzing in her mind, the joyful sound of pipes, the beat of a drum. She began to sing in a whisper:
‘I have been wandering all this night,
And some time of this day,
And now returning home again,
I've brought you a branch of May.’
Selena passed the second bedroom, pushing open the door into the master, and gazed at the pretty white flowers on the wallpaper, her pyjamas already laid out on the bed, her toiletries arranged in the ensuite. She placed her phone on the bedside table and picked up her toothbrush. Downstairs, she heard the door to the lobby close with a soft clunk.