Trenouth

by Bea Green

  ‘I agree with you, Elinor. I think it’s a good idea. I’d be very grateful if you would do this for us. For me, personally, I’d prefer a painting of the golf course. It’s so pretty.’

  Elinor cleared her throat.

  ‘Wonderful! I can work on it even with the restaurant open. It won’t be a problem. The other thing I wanted to mention is that this lighting will be great for when I’m painting but it’s not so good for the kind of intimacy and comfort people expect when they have a meal. Speaking as a client, I would consider maybe putting in lighting that’s a little more discreet and subtle.’

  José was looking decidedly unhappy at this suggestion.

  ‘See, idiota, I told you! Now do you believe me? She’s saying the same as me!’ said Elena angrily to her husband. ‘We have to make this room better or we’ll lose our business!’

  José turned to face Elinor with a rebellious look on his face.

  ‘We just don’t have the budget for big changes like that. That’s the main problem here.’

  But Elinor had thought about this at length and was one step ahead of him.

  ‘My uncle Leo has a lot of retired friends who used to be in the trade. I’m sure they’d be happy to do some work at a very reasonable cost. I could sound them out if you’re up for it.’

  ‘“Sound them out”?’ asked Elena, confused by the phrase.

  ‘I could ask them to look at it, once you’ve decided what you’d like done, and then you could see how much they would charge to do the work,’ explained Elinor. ‘I’m certain they wouldn’t charge much for it.’

  Elena started to look more cheerful, in direct contrast to her husband who sat dolefully next to her without saying a word.

  ‘Thank you, Elinor,’ said Elena politely, pointedly ignoring her husband. ‘I think it’s a great idea. I want also to buy some more tables and chairs for this room. Nicer ones.’

  Elinor nodded in wholehearted agreement.

  Elena and Elinor eyes met for a moment as José sat with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. They smiled at each other like fellow conspirators. They were both reading from the same page. Elinor could see Elena had the upper hand in her marriage, so no doubt José’s objections would be swept away by Elena’s determination to transform the café.

  ‘I believe there’s an Ikea in Exeter, which would be an economical place to go shopping for new tables and chairs,’ proposed Elinor, helpfully.

  ‘Would you come with me to choose them?’ asked Elena, tentatively.

  Elinor smiled.

  ‘Yes, I’d love to. I was also going to mention that you could see if Leo’s friends could do something to fix the outside of the restaurant for you. I get you can’t change the building but that black door could be replaced or painted over and you could use a better sign. You could also try growing a creeper to disguise some of the wall’s graffiti and holes. One of Leo’s friends is still working in his retirement as a gardener. I’m sure he’d have some helpful suggestions.’

  Elena clapped her hands together in delight.

  ‘Yes, that is a fantastic idea. I like that very much. Let’s do it!’ she said, lifting up her hand to smack it against Elinor’s.

  José said nothing. It really was quite funny to see how depressed he looked next to his enthusiastic, vivacious wife.

  Once more, Elinor studied the notepad where she’d penned all her ideas. She wasn’t sure why José and Elena’s business had grabbed her interest so much but she reckoned José’s superbly cooked English breakfast had something to do with it.

  As a true foodie, she couldn’t ignore the injustice of such skilful cooking going to waste in what was little more than a derelict shack. Although if this whole ridiculous crusade of hers was for the sake of honouring José’s cooking, she must surely be losing what little sanity she had left.

  ‘By the way, another thing that you might want to consider is to rethink the name for the business. The Hut is not a good name for an up-and-coming restaurant.’

  José put his hands up in protest.

  ‘Oh, no. That cannot change. No way.’

  Elena rounded on him, descending into Spanish in her agitation.

  ‘And why not, tonto? The Hut is a stupid nombre. You show off so much but this place is called The Hut. Una cabaña. Bah! It is not a good name for a restaurant. It is nothing.’

  ‘It is what the surfers have always called it,’ insisted José.

  ‘But we don’t just want surfers eating here, José. It’s not enough business. We want the golfers and the people who go to the caravans in the summer. You don’t have a proper restaurant if you only get hungry surfers coming here.’

  José stiffened, his pride offended by his outspoken wife.

  ‘Well, you could discuss that another time maybe,’ suggested Elinor hastily, not keen to get in the middle of a marital bust-up. ‘My next idea, and the last, you’ll be glad to hear, is that once you’re fixed up you might want to advertise your business at the clubhouse at Trevose Golf Club. You’re right next to the ninth hole. This would be an ideal pit stop for golfers for a bite to eat as they make their way around the golf course.’

  At this José brightened perceptively. It was clear he was finally beginning to see how this would heighten his prestige in the area.

  38

  Elinor had started painting a new mural at The Hut almost immediately, and two weeks into the project she could see she would only need another couple of days before it was fully completed.

  She’d enjoyed immersing herself in the project. Working in the dining area she inevitably attracted the interest of the diners, and she felt she’d become better acquainted with the surfing community as they dropped in to get a drink or some food. Even Richard Glynn, that notorious surfer-farmer, had exchanged polite pleasantries with her one morning, leading her to think that he’d been painted blacker than he really was. Not that she’d dare to suggest such a thing to Leo.

  Another side benefit to painting The Hut’s mural, Elinor thought, was that she was also creating future publicity for her artwork and that was no bad thing. Not that she’d really managed to get entrenched into her art again but she was sure the day would come.

  So far she only had two finished oil paintings, which were hanging at the art gallery in Truro where Barbara predominantly exhibited her work.

  Barbara, who always sold her pictures for an astronomical amount of money, had insisted that Elinor put a high price tag on her two paintings too. Elinor didn’t think she had a hope in hell of selling either for an astounding ten thousand pounds, but as the exhibition was Barbara’s show to run she’d accepted her commands meekly.

  Tonight was the opening night at the Kestrel Gallery for Barbara’s exhibition, and both Barbara and Elinor had been handing out invitations like sweeties in the hope that a few of their friends and acquaintances would make the effort to turn up.

  Elinor suddenly heard a loud bang as the door to The Hut opened and shut again. Someone with a decisive, confident step walked up to her ladder but Elinor didn’t turn, in the futile hope they’d let her continue painting in peace.

  ‘Hello, Elinor.’

  Lost in her thoughts, she still would have recognised that deep voice anywhere. It was Tony.

  Elinor smiled to herself and glanced down at Tony from the top of the ladder where she was occupied in putting the finishing touches to a cloud. She was getting used to the constant interruptions that occurred when she was absorbed in her painting work but still resented them at times. However, she was always happy to have a chat with Tony.

  ‘Hi.’

  Tony was standing with his feet apart and his hands on his waist as he surveyed the mural.

  ‘You’ve done a good job on that wall.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Although I’m not sure I’m a big fan of you poshifying the place,�
� complained Tony. ‘You’re either going to scare off the surfers or else price them out.’

  Elinor glared indignantly at him.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Tony, it’s not me doing up this place. José and Elena want this done for the sake of their business.’

  She turned back to her painting in a huff.

  ‘And probably for the sake of their marriage too,’ added Elinor as an afterthought, as she carried on dabbing delicately at her cloud.

  ‘That doesn’t explain why a gang of retired men, looking suspiciously like Leo’s friends from the pub, have been buzzing about the place like wasps the last few days, fixing things up. I take it you had nothing to do with that either?’

  ‘I don’t owe you an explanation, Tony.’

  There was an ominous pause.

  ‘Really?’ said Tony with an edge to his voice.

  Elinor quickly peered downwards again and saw Tony looking up at her with a great deal of anger in his eyes. Her heart started to thump uncomfortably in her chest. Feeling her hands start to shake with nervousness she decided to stop painting. She wasn’t going to ruin her hard work because of Tony’s difficult mood.

  Damn Tony, she thought to herself, as she carefully put down her easel and paintbrush on the top step and walked slowly down the rickety steps of the ladder.

  Tony, who was standing right next to the ladder, didn’t move as she reached the bottom rung. She looked up at him sharply as she stepped on to the floor but her irritation was suddenly arrested by the intense expression in his dark brown eyes.

  She peeked around his broad shoulders and saw the café was empty.

  ‘Tony, what’s going on?’ she asked, trying to sound casually interested even though her heart was now pounding and threatening to burst out of her ribcage.

  Tony moved a step closer, pinning her against the wall behind her, and before she knew what was happening he had both hands on her waist and was bending down to kiss her lips. Just at the point that his lips brushed hers she put her hands up and pushed him gently back.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ murmured Tony, looking into her eyes.

  Elinor looked away.

  ‘No, Tony. I’m sorry but I can’t.’

  ‘Because of Mark, I take it?’

  Elinor stared at him in surprise, completely speechless for a moment.

  ‘Who told you about Mark? Barbara?’ she whispered eventually.

  Tony nodded.

  ‘Elinor, you can’t change the past but you can change the future. I’m sure Mark would’ve wanted you to do that too. To move on and be happy...’

  Elinor looked miserably at him, stubbornly shaking her head.

  ‘You don’t understand. In the days after Mark died I remembered everything about him. Every facial expression, every mannerism and every precious moment we had together. But what no one ever tells you is that the only reason “time is a great healer” is because you slowly, bit by bit, start to forget all those things about the person you loved. If I get involved with you Mark’s going to fade even more than he already has. I can’t let that happen.’

  ‘So you’re just going to deny your feelings and bury your natural instincts? How’s that going to help you?’ demanded Tony, frustrated. ‘I’m not completely stupid, Elinor. Working as General Practitioner you get to read people pretty well. I know what’s going on in there right now.’

  He pointed straight to her heart.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tony. Please just let it all go,’ pleaded Elinor pathetically, inwardly despising herself for her stubborn self-denial.

  ‘Honestly, Elinor, you drive me absolutely mental. I’ve no idea what weird shit is going on between us but I do know it’s driving me crazy. At least you know what I think now. You should relax and see where this takes us. It’s like surfing, you don’t know where you’re going to end up when you start the ride but you take the risk anyway. That’s not dishonouring Mark, it’s living life to the full while you have it.’

  Elinor lifted up her hands in a gesture of defeat.

  ‘OK. I understand what you’re saying. I’ll think about it but you shouldn’t rush me into something I’m not ready for.’

  ‘Fair enough. Let’s leave it for now,’ said Tony, not looking particularly happy about it. ‘Shall I see you tonight?’

  Elinor smiled, pleased to be distracted from other more sensitive topics.

  ‘Yes, of course you will, you idiot. I’ve two paintings up for sale. For a colossal price too.’

  ‘I know. I’ve already had a look online at the gallery’s website. Crazy amount of money artists sell their work for nowadays.’

  ‘Not if you’ve made a name for yourself like Barbara has. I think she wanted to make sure my work didn’t look like cheap tat next to hers,’ laughed Elinor disparagingly.

  Tony nodded absent-mindedly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, and then smiled sadly at her before he walked back to his table, picked up his rucksack and headed out of the café.

  Oddly, Elinor felt the sudden urge to cry as he left.

  39

  Elinor stood next to Barbara, her champagne glass held awkwardly in her hand and her smart high heels starting to make her calf muscles ache. Barbara was dressed in a smart black trouser suit whereas Elinor, by contrast, was wearing a tight-fitting sequin dress she’d borrowed from Elena for the occasion. The silver dress was loose, of course, on Elena but stretched comfortably to fit Elinor’s ample curves. Elena had insisted she looked great in it so, against her better judgement, Elinor had taken her at her word.

  She was listening politely to the conversation of five guests who’d surrounded Barbara shortly after making an appearance at the Kestrel Gallery’s opening night. As the five had made their way determinedly towards Barbara, Barbara had bent her head and quickly whispered in Elinor’s ear:

  ‘These are a group of pretentious interior designers but they quite often buy my work for their clients...’

  She’d then straightened up and smiled gaily as she greeted them with a double kiss, introducing Elinor to them as her ‘fellow artist’.

  Out of the corner of her eye Elinor could see Leo, looking proud as punch, strutting about the gallery talking to people he recognised. He was dressed in a smart grey suit and tie. Elinor had wondered where he’d fished it out from, but Leo had explained how Barbara had hauled him over to Plymouth to buy a smart suit years ago. She hadn’t wanted him to bring down the tone of her exhibitions with his everyday casual clothing.

  This had surprised Elinor, as snobbery wasn’t something she would normally have associated with Barbara, but she could see now that underneath her eccentric ways Barbara had a hard-nosed business acumen that evidently contributed to her commercial success.

  She zoned back into the conversation just as Barbara said, ‘Do have a look around and let me know what you think. I do value your feedback very much and it makes a real difference to any future work I do.’

  The others all nodded as if they all knew their opinion was going to be very important to Barbara and turned as one to stroll about the gallery.

  ‘Phew! That wasn’t too difficult. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to shake them off. To be honest with you, Elinor, the biggest danger in these events is that you can get completely monopolised by one set of people and never get a chance to speak to anyone else.’

  Elinor nodded, reeling at the hidden complexities of the art world. She’d made a decent living back in the days when she’d been a full-time artist, as she’d worked on commissions for people and sold her work online. But this prestigious exhibition was on a whole other level of promotion and publicity.

  The gallery owner came up to Barbara with a middle-aged couple in tow, beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘Barbara, let me introduce you to Mr and Mrs Coults. They’ve just bought two of your paintings and were very keen to meet
with you.’

  Since this introduction didn’t include her in it, Elinor moved back politely and left Barbara to carry on the cordial conversation while she wandered anonymously amongst the shoals of people drifting in and out of the gallery rooms.

  She walked to a large room at the back of the gallery and glanced briefly over to where her two paintings were hanging optimistically on the dark green wall. Her eyes narrowed as she saw what seemed to be a red dot attached to the plastic sign next to one of them. Thoroughly surprised, she moved to have a closer look.

  There was no denying it.

  There was a circular red sticker placed on the sign next to her painting. It had sold!

  Elinor felt the elation fizz inside her. Ten thousand pounds! Even with the thirty per cent fee due to the gallery that would still leave her with seven thousand pounds in its entirety. For someone like her, who’d been out of work for a year, this was an absolute fortune.

  Her mind was buzzing but in the midst of her excitement she also started to wonder who’d conceivably buy the work of an unknown artist at such an extortionate price.

  She immediately thought of Leo and her heart sank. She really hoped he hadn’t been deceived into paying such a ridiculous price for her painting. Surely he’d know that she would have painted anything for him, for free, after his kindness to her? Feeling troubled, she started to look around to see if she could find him.

  She tracked him down in one of the rooms, chatting to Frederick, another of his innumerable friends. She hurried up to them.

  ‘Leo, please tell me you didn’t buy my painting?’

  Leo turned to her eagerly.

  ‘Have you sold a painting?’

  ‘Yes, it appears so. So it wasn’t you after all? Really?’

  Leo shook his head.

  ‘No, it wasn’t, I’m afraid, Elinor. Although, as you know, I do think they’re fantastic paintings.’

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ exclaimed Elinor, bending down, a hand above her knee and another clutching at her heart in relief. ‘I was so worried you’d gone and squandered a fortune on it!’