‘She was right, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Jennifer. Who else?’
Tony didn’t bother replying to this.
They were both sitting on bright blue plastic chairs in the waiting area of Newquay Hospital’s Minor Injuries Unit, waiting to be seen.
Thankfully, it was a Friday and still within GP surgeries’ opening hours, so the place wasn’t too busy.
Elinor was dressed in a loose jumper and a pair of baggy trousers. She’d given up on trying to get her long sleeved T-shirt on.
Because of the pain in her arm, Tony had insisted on cutting off her wetsuit with a pair of scissors. Normally this would have utterly distressed Elinor, as good winter wetsuits weren’t cheap, but she was too worn down to care any more. She’d sat quietly on the car seat as Tony fetched the scissors from his first aid kit and started to slice through the tight-fitting, rubbery material.
Elinor was feeling completely exhausted. Tony had given her some ibuprofen for the pain in her left arm but it was barely taking the edge off it.
Without consciously being aware of what she was doing, she leant against Tony and dropped her head against his arm in weariness. Tony didn’t move or object, so they stayed like that until the nurse called them through.
An hour and a half later, the pair of them walked tiredly out into the hospital car park.
It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and Elinor had a cast on her left hand and lower arm. The X-ray had shown that she’d cracked her wrist and the nurse had informed her it would probably take up to eight weeks to heal. No more riding the waves for the time being.
There might be no more surfing for the short term but Elinor could only be thankful it was her left wrist that had cracked, as she’d still be able to paint with her right hand. Without both surfing and painting, she knew she would have soon sunk into morbid depression.
‘Where now?’ asked Tony, as they sat in his car.
‘Trenouth, please,’ said Elinor, puzzled by his question.
‘They’ve said you have mild concussion so you shouldn’t really be alone for forty-eight hours, Elinor,’ said Tony wearily, as if talking to a troublesome child. ‘Is there anyone you’d like to call to stay with you?’
Elinor shook her head silently, cringing slightly at the rush of pain in her head as she did so.
‘What about Barbara?’
‘No. Please don’t call her. She’s got a lot on at the moment. Thursdays she’s at the day care centre all day and I know that tomorrow morning she was going to visit her sister in Penzance.’
Tony looked across at her with a frown on his face.
‘OK, then,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Look, I’ve got to be at Porthcothan tomorrow morning to help out at the surf school, but I can pack a bag and stay with you at Trenouth tonight. Tomorrow morning you can come and watch us at Porthcothan, or I can drop you off at The Ninth Hole with José and Elena for a few hours.’
Elinor nodded mutely.
Her head was aching badly, whether from the hammering she’d taken in the water that morning or from her two nights’ insomnia she wasn’t sure. All she wanted to do right now was curl up on a bed or a sofa and sleep...
Tony looked anxiously at her, started up the car and drove off. Elinor stared out of the front window of the car in a daze.
They arrived at Tony’s flat in West Hill, Wadebridge, half an hour later. Elinor wearily followed him into the modern, cube-like building and then up some stairs to the top-floor flat.
She could tell she wasn’t looking too good because of the concerned glances Tony kept firing across to her, as though he was expecting her to keel over at any moment.
‘Right,’ he said as he opened the front door. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the sitting room?’
He pointed down the corridor to a door at the far end.
‘In the meantime, I’ll rustle us up some food. You look like you could do with some nourishment.’
‘Thanks Tony, for everything. And I’m sorry for screwing up your day.’
‘Now I really know you’re not well! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so docile.’
Elinor smiled back at him weakly and made her way to the sitting room.
Apart from a unit filled with books across one wall, the decor in the flat was very minimalist. It really looked as though Tony spent hardly any time at home, which was probably the case given his wholehearted involvement in surfing.
After briefly studying the numerous photos on the bookcase, Elinor surmised he probably had a very active social life too.
She sat down on a comfortable leather recliner seat, tilting it so she was lying back and looking out at a view of Wadebridge from the large window. Then she swivelled around slowly on the chair, wanting to inspect the room out of curiosity once more, and suddenly noticed with amazement that her painting from the gallery was hanging up, in pride of place, above the fireplace.
It stood out magnificently against the brilliant white wall of the room and it suited the minimalist decor. The colours in the painting gleamed like jewels against the background light provided by the large windows of the sitting room and the looseness of the brushstrokes on the canvas were nicely juxtaposed with the angular, geometrical lines in the room.
Despite how beautiful the painting looked in its new location, she felt shocked and mortified that Tony had spent ten thousand pounds on one of her paintings. She wondered why he hadn’t told her.
She got up and walked back to the kitchen.
‘Tony, why didn’t you tell me you’d bought my painting?’
Tony looked up from the saucepan where he was stirring some soup. Two plates with buttered bread were on the kitchen table.
‘I didn’t realise I was obliged to let you know,’ he commented, smiling to himself.
‘No, but... You know, if you’d let me know you wanted it, I could have sold it to you for so much less.’
‘And rob you of your publicity at the gallery? That wouldn’t have done your artistic career any good. You need to take a leaf out of Barbara’s self-promotion book.’
‘Well, anyway, I’m very honoured you thought my work was worth ten grand, Tony.’
‘You should be. It’s not every day I splash out that kind of money. Still, it’s a lovely painting and I’m very happy with it.’
Elinor giggled.
‘I’m open for commissions if you want any other pictures painted.’
‘Don’t push your luck, young lady. One’s enough for me. The soup’s ready now. Come on, let’s get some food down us.’
Tony looked at his watch.
‘Lunch at half three. We’re going for continental times today.’
Eating the lentil and bacon soup delicately, savouring every mouthful, Elinor felt the strength returning to her body. It really was extraordinary the impact wholesome food could have on you when you hadn’t eaten for near enough eight hours. And yet, as her stomach worked to digest her lunch, overwhelming tiredness hit her.
Elinor reached for a piece of bread and noticed Tony watching her worriedly, having wolfed down his soup and bread earlier on.
Looking at Tony’s empty bowl and plate Elinor felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t the only one who’d been hungry.
‘Elinor, you look completely and utterly drained. Why don’t you have a nap in the spare bedroom and we can head over to Trenouth later? I’ve plenty of work I can catch up on here.’
‘That would be wonderful if you don’t mind too much. I’m so overtired I’m not even sure I’ll be able to nap, but a rest would be appreciated. I haven’t slept well since Leo left for London and it’s beginning to catch up with me.’
‘Why’s he in London?’ asked Tony, frowning as though this was a thoroughly inconsiderate thing for Leo to do.
‘He’s visiting a friend of his and he’s also trying to get a book I found at a book sale valued and sold.’
Elinor reached out for her plate and grabbed a piece of buttered bread with her right hand.
‘I bought the old book because I liked the few lines written in the front of it,’ she recounted, before taking a big bite of bread. She chewed and swallowed it quickly, eager to finish her tale. ‘And now it turns out that the book expert, here in Wadebridge, thinks the written lines and the painting on the edges of the book are by William Blake. And so it turns out the book might actually be worth something.’
‘I’m sure you weren’t expecting when you came to Cornwall to be painting with a well-known local artist. Or to be learning to surf, for that matter, or to be finding a valuable book completely by accident...’
Tony paused for a moment, lost in thought.
‘And also taking part in a prestigious art exhibition in Truro,’ he added.
Elinor laughed with a mouth full of buttered bread, wincing slightly at the ache in her cranium.
‘No, I hadn’t expected any of that. Cornwall’s such an amazing place. The strangest things have happened to me since I’ve moved here. And I haven’t even told you about the tunnel Leo’s found in Wine Cove or the helicopter we found outside our house one morning.’
‘Well, you can save that for later,’ said Tony firmly, standing up as Elinor finished her last morsel of bread and taking the dirty dishes to the sink.
Elinor drank the remnants of her glass of water and then stood up as well. Tony walked her to the kitchen door.
‘Right, let’s get you some rest. See the door that’s open at the end of the corridor? That’s the spare bedroom. Make yourself at home.’
Elinor nodded her thanks but before she walked out of the kitchen she couldn’t help turning back and wrapping her arms around Tony’s back in a quick, appreciative hug as he stood washing the dishes at the sink.
She walked gratefully down the corridor and into the spare bedroom. Within five minutes of folding the duvet around herself and lying back on the soft pillows, she felt herself drifting off.
For the first time since Leo had left for London she was feeling safe and secure.