Selena stood back in the bright oak-framed conservatory to study her painting: the garden was corn-yellow, basking in a shaft of sunlight. Bluebells, tulips and daffodils crowded together in a mass of colour, tall trees behind, then the field stretching away into the distance. It was not finished yet, but it exuded rural tranquility. She had worked on it and its companion – the field of cows leading to Hilltop Farm – on and off for just over two weeks and she was pleased with her work. Claire would be delighted; the paintings would be popular in the gallery, celebrating exactly the sort of scenery that many people wanted to display in their own homes. She took several photos and sent them to Claire for their website with a brief affectionate message. She was in a hurry to start on her next picture; the spring weather was here and she wanted to be outside, to paint the front garden, the trees and the view of the farm opposite.
The last two weeks had been perfectly quiet, just as Selena had hoped; she had the luxury of time for herself, to paint and reflect and heal. Lesley had called round twice with eggs and stayed to chat for half an hour or so, but otherwise Selena had enjoyed the solitude.
She picked up her paintbrush, making a small adjustment, then her phone buzzed and she assumed that it was Claire commenting on the photos. She held it to her ear. ‘Hello?’
A low voice filled her ear. ‘Selena, I need to talk to you, please.’
‘Veronica…’ Selena caught her breath. She had blocked the number: it must be a different phone.
Veronica’s tone was flat. ‘I came to see you in the gallery, but you weren’t there. There are so many things I need to know and David won’t talk to me about it.’
‘Please, let’s just move on, if we can,’ Selena said.
‘The point is, he says that you tried to break up our marriage, but I’m so confused. It’s not making sense – what was his part in it all?’ Veronica’s voice shook. ‘There’s so much I don’t understand. How long have you known him? How did you meet?’
‘I can’t really talk about it. I’m so sorry – I just want some peace and quiet…’ Selena trailed off. Veronica had already started to ask more questions and Selena knew she couldn’t mention the baby. Her throat was suddenly swollen and her eyes filled with tears. She muttered, ‘I hope you can find some peace…’ and cut off the call, moving her fingers swiftly to block the new number, a landline.
Claire would be in the gallery, on her own and probably busy, so Selena wiped her eyes and texted her friend quickly to explain that Veronica was pushing for answers again. Claire’s response was immediate and soothing: Selena must simply stop taking Veronica’s calls and take time to focus on her own healing.
She put down her brushes and placed a cool palm against her forehead; in truth, she felt sorry for Veronica, who was frantically seeking answers to the questions that David clearly was avoiding. He had betrayed them both and Selena wished that she could say that. But Veronica was desperate to believe that her husband was the innocent party.
Selena needed a break; she’d make a cup of tea; it was almost lunchtime. She’d go for a walk in the afternoon and take her sketch pad. She wanted to make another rough drawing of the blackthorn tree, but this time in close detail: a thorny branch, a single blossom.
There was a loud rap at the front door; someone was banging the heavy brass knocker: it wasn’t Lesley’s usual soft tap-tap. Selena pushed her phone into a pocket and wandered through the living room, momentarily checking that the fire was still glowing through the glass doors of the wood burner, and into the hall. She opened the door to see a fresh-faced woman wearing round glasses, her shoulder-length hair a pretty pale lilac colour.
The woman leaned forward and offered a cheery smile. ‘Hello. You’ve just moved in recently, haven’t you? I called round to see how you were settling in.’
Selena was a little dumbfounded. ‘Yes, fine thanks…’
The woman thrust out a hand. ‘I’m Laura Fletcher. I live in Ashcombe. I heard an artist had moved in here, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.’
‘Ah, I’m…’ Selena was conscious that she probably had paint on her face. ‘Yes, I’ve come here to paint.’
The woman smiled broadly. ‘That’s wonderful. I’m so glad there’s a new face in the village. I hope it’s okay to pop in and give you a quick heads-up on the place – it’s not as if I don’t have plenty of free time. I’m not interrupting you mid-brushstroke, am I?’
‘Oh – not at all, er – would you like to come in for a cup of tea? I’m Selena Cain, by the way.’ Selena stepped backwards, not sure that she wanted a visitor, not yet. The cottage was her place of solitude, still filled with thoughts of her baby. But she knew she ought to make an effort to be sociable.
Laura was already inside the door, gazing around the hall. ‘I’d love a cuppa, thanks, Selena – just ordinary tea, builder’s, two sugars and milk. Isn’t this a beautiful old cottage?’ She glanced at the stonework for a moment, taking in the dark wood, then she rushed forwards, impatient to see the rest of the house. ‘The hall is so original… and look at this lovely sitting room. And it’s so cosy with the fire on. Mind you, you need it in here, all these thick stone walls.’ Selena led the way to the kitchen and Laura added, ‘Our old cottage has been renovated over the years too, but, oh, look at this lovely kitchen, and the conservatory. I live with my dad. He’s been widowed for a year and he’s been finding it a bit tough. Our place is poky by comparison.’ She settled herself in a chair at the table and watched Selena fill the kettle. ‘So, are you here by yourself or with family?’
Selena shook her head, a little overwhelmed. She was unsure how to explain the real reason why she had fled to Somerset so she said, ‘By myself – it’s a painting retreat.’
‘Oh, how glorious,’ Laura said. ‘Please promise me I’m not interrupting your work…?’
‘I was about to stop for a break.’ Selena tried a welcoming smile as she poured hot water onto teabags. ‘It’s perfect timing.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me calling in on the off-chance,’ Laura raised her eyebrows. Selena placed a mug in front of her and a packet of chocolate biscuits. Laura ripped the packet open and took one. ‘My favourites – make sure I don’t have more than two.’
‘Not at all.’ Selena sat down at the table. ‘So, tell me about the village? How long have you lived here?’
Laura waved a hand. ‘I came here just before Christmas – I’m a comparative newcomer. My dad retired to Ashcombe after being a history teacher in Minehead. He has lived here for over ten years, a year by himself, bless him.’ She paused for a moment, her expression filled with sadness, then she reached for another biscuit. ‘Before I came to Ashcombe, I lived in Bristol and I taught at a primary school. I loved it. But then my contract came to an end – it was a temporary post, covering for someone on maternity leave. And my mum had passed, and my dad was so lonely. He’s always forgetting to take his blood pressure tablets; he’s a bit self-absorbed and doesn’t get out enough, and I was jobless, so – here I am, back in the family nest.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I’m just itching for a project, though. I help out here at the local primary whenever I can, which is one reason for me visiting you, actually. There are no art teachers there… Do you think you could find time to pop into the school, maybe do a workshop with years five and six?’ Laura raised dog paws, begging. ‘The pupils would be so grateful. And you’re going to love it here. Ashcombe’s lovely.’
‘Well, I’ve come here to paint,’ Selena explained again. ‘I share a little gallery in Manchester with a friend – she’s my flat mate – and I’m hoping I’ll have lots of paintings finished by the end of June. But I don’t see why not. I’m staying for a few months and I might be able to spare the time…’ Selena examined the paint on her hands, imagining herself standing in front of a classroom full of lively youngsters. She wasn’t sure that she was ready for that, not yet, but here she was again, agreeing to please others.
They sat quietly for a few moments drinking tea. Selena watched Laura gaze around the room, her eyes busily taking in every detail. Then she helped herself to biscuits, chattering about the weather, the friendly people in the village, how Selena would soon become part of the community. Selena nodded, trying to listen, but her thoughts kept sliding back to her life in Manchester, to the future she’d hoped for, the precious life she had lost. It felt strange, the idea of becoming sociable again, making new friends, and the possibility of visiting a school made her skin prickle with apprehension. But Selena reminded herself that she’d intended to try harder, and the arrival of this bubbly visitor gave her the perfect opportunity.
Then Laura drank the last mouthful of tea and her eyes widened with sudden interest. ‘Can I see some of your pictures?’
‘Come through to the conservatory,’ Selena scraped her chair back, smiling warmly. ‘I’ve completed two, more or less, and a pad load of sketches. Come and see.’
Selena led the way into the bright room where two easels stood holding canvases. Laura gasped. ‘Oh, these are lovely – you’re so talented.’
‘I’m glad you like them.’
‘You’ll have to come up to the cottage and have tea…’ Laura was full of enthusiasm. ‘It’s been great meeting you, and I do hope I can organise a date for you to pop into the primary school. I’ll talk to the class teacher, Scott, and we’ll catch up again soon.’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’ Selena gazed at the woman in gold-framed glasses with lilac hair, who was wearing patched jeans and a casual jacket. She was warming to her. A local friend would be nice.
‘Do you drink?’ Laura asked and noticed Selena’s anxious expression. ‘I don’t mean like a fish, I mean the odd drink at a pub. Only, we could meet at The Royal Oak for a glass of something. Maybe this Saturday – what’s that? The twenty-third. At half seven, how would that be?’
‘That would be lovely – shall I drive there?’
‘No, it’s only a short walk from here. Give me your number. I’ll meet you in the bar. The Royal Oak does great cider – I’m quite partial to a pint of Badger Spit.’
Selena scribbled her phone number on a piece of paper. ‘I have a lot to learn about living in Somerset, but that would be lovely. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Saturday.’
Laura said, ‘My dad probably won’t even notice I’ve popped out – he’ll be in his office, on the computer. He’s currently researching the Romans’ time in Somerset. This morning at breakfast he was telling me all about how they mined lead, built villas and founded the city of Bath. I’ve persuaded him to do a talk with the primary children too, telling them about it all.’ She led the way back to the door. ‘But I’m so glad we’ve met. And thanks for the tea and the choccie biccies – I’m afraid I finished off half the packet.’
‘That’s not a problem — I was supposed to stop you, wasn’t I?’ Selena opened the heavy door and gazed into the garden. The trees by the gate were swaying in a strong breeze.
‘I’ll walk off the calories on the stroll home,’ Laura joked. ‘And you must come round for a cuppa to meet my dad. We live in one of the cottages near St Bart’s, that’s the church. He has such an extensive knowledge of the area and the history. He drives me mad with it sometimes, but I’m so glad he has a hobby.’ She hugged Selena spontaneously. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you.’
‘It has. I’ll see you on Saturday.’ Selena watched as Laura hurried away, through the wooden gate, turning left towards Ashcombe with a final wave of her hand. She waved back and was about to close the door as a gust of wind blew dust into the hall, a swirl of tiny particles landing by her feet.
Selena pushed the door closed and wandered back into the living room. She paused to sit by the fire, opening the doors of the wood burner, adding another log, feeling suddenly alone. Her phone buzzed in her pocket: it was Claire. Selena held the phone to her ear. ‘Hi.’
Claire’s voice came back to her quickly, a little breathless, as if she was in a rush. ‘How’s life in the sticks?’
‘Great…’
‘I have to say, I’m loving the paintings. The photos you sent are wonderful.’
‘There will be plenty more where they came from. I’m enjoying it here.’ Selena was filled with the desire to spend time with her oldest friend who knew her best. ‘When are you coming to stay?’
‘Well, I thought I’d drive down in a couple of weeks’ time, on the first and second of May – the second is a Monday, a bank holiday, so I won’t need to close the gallery. I can take some finished paintings back with me, if you like.’
‘Perfect.’
‘Selena…’ Claire’s voice had changed from excited to concerned. ‘I got your text from earlier. So Veronica phoned you again?’
‘Apparently she came to the gallery to look for me.’
‘Did she? I must have been too busy to notice,’ Claire said.
Selena exhaled sadly. ‘I feel sorry for her. David is playing us off against each other…’
‘I know. She should know the truth about him though.’
‘I don’t want anyone to know about, you know, the miscarriage… it’ll take me some time to get over it.’ Selena heard the wobble in her voice.
‘Of course,’ Claire replied quickly. ‘So – what are you up to now? It’s been so busy in the gallery; I’ve been rushed off my feet.’
‘I feel guilty.’
‘Well, don’t. You’re not to worry. You’re painting cows and trees in the wilds of Somerset and I can cope here. If I can’t, I’ll buy in some help. I’m thinking of taking on an assistant anyway. An extra pair of hands would free me up to come and visit – and we can afford it.’
‘That’s a good idea…’
‘Oh, I’d better go.’ Claire’s voice became suddenly softer. ‘Some more customers have just come into the shop. We’ll talk later. Take care. Lots of love…’
The phone crackled and was silent. Selena leaned back into the softness of the sofa and closed her eyes. It was comfortable, relaxing with her feet stretched out, her legs warmed by the blaze. She exhaled and thought about David, recalling sadly that his declarations of eternal love had only ever come from momentary passion; he’d never shared her serious plans for a future together. She knew she would have coped much better with his betrayal and the sense of being second best if she hadn’t lost the baby. Then, from nowhere, her face was covered with tears and again she was filled with the familiar aching emptiness.
Selena snuffled, curling into the soft cushions of the sofa and a tendril of hair fell across her cheek. She stayed where she was, immobile, wet-faced, thinking. Then a touch, delicate as slender fingers, moved the strands back, a light brush of wind. Selena opened her eyes and sat up straight, putting a hand to her hair, smoothing it quickly. A gust of wind blew around her shoulders, a draught from the window, and she shivered. She leaned towards the fire and stretched out her hands: they were chilled, her skin goose flesh. Selena frowned; she would go back to the warmth of the kitchen, make a sandwich and then pull on her jacket and boots and go out for a walk. The fresh air outside, the trees and the farmland, were calling to her.