by Lucy Coleman
Nico, on the other hand, seems not to notice, so I try my best to keep up a reasonable pace as he follows behind me. The stout, rustic stone walls either side rise up high above us, punctuated only by stone archways with solid, dark oak wooden doors. Tumbling over the walls is a profusion of intertwining stems; many have shed their leaves, although a few still linger and some sport dark red, winter berries.
There are rambling roses still in bloom and, the further we climb, I notice winter-flowering jasmine and the splashes of colour are delightful. I can’t help but imagine what it must look like in spring and summer, when everything is burgeoning. Honeysuckle, climbing hydrangeas and the sturdy framework of a very old wisteria cover large areas of the walls.
I stop for a moment to catch my breath, tilting my head back. A church spire looms up, partially obscured from view by the high walls. Its tapering profile is visible enough to show that it’s a fine example of the rustic chapels of the area.
It’s not possible to see any roofs at ground level, but as soon as we turn the first corner – which I’d assumed was at the top of our walk – the lane opens out, and the incline is much easier to handle. About fifty metres in front of us is an open gateway. The hand-hewn, oblong stones of the staunch pillars support two oversized stone urns. Either side the top of the walls slope away from the pillars in an elegant sweep. Peering through the entrance, a very old stone-built manor house stands on level ground.
As we step through into the immense, flagstoned courtyard, the gardens around us are surprisingly formal and manicured. This beautiful setting has an air of exclusivity and elegance, rather than rustic charm. It’s a hidden treasure for sure, but so far off the beaten track I can’t imagine that anyone would stumble across it. No, people who come here are either regular patrons or have heard about its reputation.
‘This is amazing.’ I turn to face Nico, who is now standing next to me, eagerly watching my reaction.
As we approach the entrance to the restaurant, he holds open the door for me, leaning in as I pass. His voice is low and his eyes are playful.
‘I keep this in reserve for special occasions. And for special people. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a rather good bottle of wine. Unfortunately, I’m only going to be able to join you for one glass, but I want you to relax and savour the moment.’
‘Nico, you should have warned me. I would have made more of an effort if I’d realised this was an important day for you. And now the suspense is killing me. What is this all about? Have you sold another painting? Oh, my, you have!’
A satisfied little smile makes his lips twitch, but he says nothing.
I know the purchase of the upgraded van put a big dent in his bank balance, but it was a necessary investment. If his good news means that it’s covered, then that is indeed cause for a toast.
The sprawling restaurant is on two levels, reflecting the nature of the site. We are led down to the lower level and a quiet table looking out over a terrace. As the land falls away, I gaze out at the bell tower of the old church, which rises up to our right, and at the far-reaching views ahead.
‘Parfait, merci,’ I mutter, as the waiter pulls out a chair for me. He proceeds to lay a white linen napkin on my lap with a flourish.
Scanning around, all of the tables have a white church candle in the centre. It sits on a wooden plinth within a glass sleeve. In addition, on our table there is a posy of electric blue, winter-flowering irises in a small, cut-glass crystal bowl. Next to it, a bottle of red wine has been opened and is breathing.
‘Is it your birthday?’ I ask Nico, thinking that some thought has gone into this today.
The waiter returns with the menus, distracting Nico. They exchange a few words in French and there is much smiling and nodding of heads. When we are left alone, my patience runs out and I peer at him intently.
‘There must be a big cheque coming your way, Nico?’ Maybe enough to pay for the building work and materials for the recent renovations, I hope.
‘This isn’t about the retreat, or me, Fern. This is about you. Now, focus on the rather excellent selection of food on offer. All will be revealed very soon, I promise.’
It doesn’t take me long to make my choice and Nico indicates that we are ready to order. The very charming waiter dispenses a taster of wine for Nico. After a ceremonious sip, savouring the flavours, Nico nods his head appreciatively. Pouring an inch of the rich, red liquid into our glasses, the waiter retires, and Nico immediately raises his glass for a toast.
‘What are we toasting?’ I ask, quizzically, as I hold my glass aloft.
‘An offer. I sent photos of some of your canvases to the Marquesa and she agrees that you have talent. In fact, she has offered you space in her very prestigious gallery in Seville.’
‘What?’ My hand starts to tremble and I place the glass back down on the table, for fear of spilling the contents.
‘Three pieces. The choice is yours, but she is definitely taken with the purple rose garden. That’s quite a compliment. But I know your first piece is always special. Sometimes you cannot let it go. I need a decision from you by the end of February, at the very latest, as that’s when the next crate of paintings is due to be sent to the gallery.’
I’m speechless, so I simply stare at Nico, unable to process his words. His reaction is to break out in laughter.
‘What? You didn’t think you had talent? You didn’t realise I saw that the instant your brush touched the canvas? I’ve mentored a lot of students in my time, but none compare to you, Fern.’
To my horror, I burst into tears. I don’t know what to say.
It’s a meal I will never forget and an afternoon that will stay with me forever. Tears and then laughter and then exhilaration. Nico warned me there are no guarantees; some paintings sit on the walls of the gallery for their allotted time, only to be taken down unsold. Others sell within hours.
‘It’s rather like life itself, when everything suddenly comes together in the right way,’ he’d told me. ‘Right painting, right buyer, right time.’
I’d studied his face and saw how much it meant to him, because he knew what it meant to me. I was no longer some hapless dauber. A gallery owner, who looks at art as an investment, was taking me seriously. None of this would have happened without my mentor, the man who saw something in me and gave me the confidence to fly.
Fern Wyman, an actual artist. A woman who was able to pick up a brush, daring to show the world what she saw through her own eyes. I felt a surge of emotion so incredibly empowering that I could barely contain myself. I wanted to jump up and scream at the top of my lungs, ‘Yes, I did it!’ but I didn’t, of course. I sat there, discreetly wiped away my tears and smiled brightly back at Nico. The tender look on his face had been one of pride and immense satisfaction. And when Nico reached out for my hand, all I remember was the warmth of his skin as our fingers touched.
18
Santa Arrives a Little Early This Year
It’s delivery day. A whole vanload of new kit arrived this morning. The treatment rooms and fitness centre are now complete, all that’s left is to do a final clean through and sort out the furniture and furnishings. So, the former craft room is now stacked high with boxes, all waiting to be unpacked and put in situ over the next few days.
One week today the first visitors will arrive to test out the new facilities and we have to be ready to welcome them. I still haven’t had a chance to chat to the new guy, Pierce Mansford-Smythe. Shortly after he arrived, Pierce, who hails from Ireland, and Ceana, headed off together to attend a four-week course in London. They aren’t due back until the weekend.
Staring at the mountain of boxes, the task ahead is daunting.
‘It was bad enough helping to carry these in, let alone move them again,’ Kellie declares. ‘Some of that stuff is heavy. I suppose there’s more space to unpack it in here, though, and half of it will be staying, anyway. What’s next, Fern?’
In Ceana’s absence, I’m in charge of t
he day-to-day organisation as we plough forward. Everyone is standing around looking to me for direction.
‘Well, if Taylor and Bastien would like to begin unpacking the exercise equipment, I’ll mark out the floor where it’s all supposed to go. If Dee-Dee and Odile are happy to carry through this stack of supplies, perhaps you and I can make a start on getting the new craft room sorted, Kellie. Is everyone okay with that?’
Taylor’s head suddenly appears around the side of a tower of boxes, catching my eye. ‘Fern, it might be a good idea if we moved these lightweight boxes back against the wall. They’re bulky suckers and we’re going to need a lot more floor space when we start assembling the equipment.’
I survey the mound of boxes and realise he’s right.
‘Good point, Taylor. Probably a third of them are the interlocking floor mats, anyway.’
He grins at me. ‘Are you saying they need to go down before we erect these extremely heavy pieces of equipment?’
There’s a little ripple of laughter.
‘Um… and that’s a yes, sorry,’ I smack my hand to my forehead, dramatically. My brain has been going at a hundred miles an hour trying to relieve some of the pressure from Nico. He’s been number-crunching for the last two days, hoping that now the bills are in he will be within budget. His absence has been worrying and whenever I have caught sight of him, he’s been frowning more than he’s been smiling.
Since Ceana left, this whole thing has come together more by luck than judgement, because I’ve had to think on my feet. As an ardent planner, it’s fallen into my lap piecemeal and I’m being reactive, not proactive, which is the least effective way of getting anything done.
‘Listen, you look frazzled, Fern. We’ve got this, haven’t we, guys?’ Taylor declares, firmly.
There’s a mutual nodding of heads and a chorus of, ‘Of course!’
‘You haven’t stopped since Ceana left. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and disappear into your artist’s cave? We’ll begin work in here and Kellie can make a start setting up the new craft room in the cottage on her own. Can’t you, Kellie?’
I turn to look at her and she beams at me. ‘You bet.’
You bet? They’re spending so much time together she’s starting to take on Taylor’s accent and mannerisms. I smile to myself. But I’m touched that Taylor can see I need a break, because I do. It’s been a roller-coaster of concern. I worry that Nico is taking on too much and that, coupled with the anxious excitement of choosing the final of my three paintings to send off to the gallery, has been tough. I’ve agonised over the decision and at times it’s driven me to tears. Plus, Ceana leaves a big hole because she keeps everything running smoothly and, unwittingly manages to make it look easy, even when it isn’t.
‘All right!’ I hold up my hands in mock surrender. ‘I get the message and I’m grateful, to you all. I’m thrilled about this gallery thing, but it’s just come at the wrong time.’
‘No,’ Kellie says, firmly. ‘It has come at the right time, Fern. You deserve this, and we can pull together to sort out a pile of boxes. It’s going to take a few days, but we’ll have everything looking perfect before next Monday.’ Then she stands back, surveying the enormous mound and grimacing. It’s enough to make everyone laugh.
‘Well, good luck. Some of the boxes have flat-pack furniture in them for the treatment rooms. That huge box is a professional massage table, so we can leave that for Pierce to sort out. But if you can trolley it across to the number one treatment room in the cottage, Taylor and Bastien, I’m sure he’d be very grateful and it would be one less box in here.’
‘No sweat.’ Taylor looks in Bastien’s direction and he nods, flexing his muscles to make me laugh.
‘You’re all going to feel like you’ve had a good workout at the gym by the time this lot is sorted,’ I throw over my shoulder.
I love painting when it’s still daylight outside. Sometimes the artificial light at night exaggerates the colours on the palette. The bulbs in the studio are supposed to mimic natural daylight, but it’s not the same. Until I picked up a brush, I had no idea of the difference it can make.
The final canvas I’ve decided to paint in preparation for the exhibition, is an abstract piece. Crazy, because it’s my first attempt at just letting go and following my instincts.
Nico has shown me how to prepare my own canvases now, and is going to teach me how to stretch them, once they’re finished. But when it comes to painting, it’s not like taking a class, as he doesn’t believe that an artist should be influenced by someone else’s techniques. So, he simply observes me from time to time. We might end up having a whole conversation based around the angle at which a brush is held to build a lip on the outer edge of each stroke. It has the effect of creating its own natural little shadow and discovering that was quite a revelation for me.
Tackling an abstract painting simply reflects the fact that I’m still discovering who I am, when it comes to finding my preferred style. So today, I’m going to be working with cartridge paper and watercolours, because Nico said that’s the best way to experiment. He asked me whether colour was going to be my lead, or shape, or texture? Or all three? I’d looked at him as blankly as the sheet in front of me is right now. It’s an exciting moment, for all that, and I don’t intend to hesitate.
Time passes quickly. I have no idea how late it is, but it’s already twilight outside when there’s a knock on the studio door. I turn in surprise, calling out ‘Come in’ and wonder who it can be.
Dee-Dee pops her head around the door. ‘Sorry to bother you, Fern, but you have some visitors.’
I stare at her, wrinkling my brow as I wonder if it’s another delivery. ‘Visitors?’
‘They asked for you by name. I took them into the day room as I wasn’t sure you could just walk away from, you know, whatever paint you’ve mixed up there.’ She glances first at my mixing palette and then at the array of paint tubes scattered all over the side table. The floor is littered with more than a dozen sheets of paper, most of them already dry.
‘Oh, it’s fine. I’ll just clean my brushes up, though, and pop the lid on. I’ll be ten minutes, tops. You said they, did they say what they wanted?’
‘No. Sorry, I didn’t like to ask any questions in case it was personal. I did say you were working and might not be able to break off. I know Nico has a do not disturb rule when he’s in here. Look at you, working away as if you’ve done this all your life.’
I feel myself colouring up; my cheeks warming as I smile back at her.
‘I’m still feeling my way along. Should I change?’ I glance down at my old T-shirt, which is now almost as paint-splattered as the ones Nico often wears.
‘No. It might be referrals wanting to know more about the retreat. I’m sure a bit of paint isn’t going to put them off and it does make you look like the real thing if they’re artsy folk.’
Dee-Dee hangs around while I clean up, wandering up and down to stop and stare at each of the canvases in turn. Then we head across the courtyard together, the lights of the day room glowing out into the gathering darkness. The cold air hits me and I shiver as I struggle to pull on my jacket.
She turns to look at me for a moment.
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. And don’t forget to grab something to eat. It’s really not a good idea to work through dinner. I expect Nico will be back soon, too, so maybe you two can eat together? The others have gone into town for a late supper and I’m about to sink into a relaxing bubble bath. Catch you tomorrow.’
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s just after eight p.m., but the dark nights make it feel much later and I realise that I am hungry. Looking across to the parking area I make out the shape of a car I don’t recognise. I’m cross with myself for not grabbing the iPad in case I need to check availability, but I know we don’t have any vacancies until the middle of April at the very earliest. As I push open the door to the day room and step inside, my stomach drops to the floor and zips back up int
o my chest, threatening to knock me off my feet.
‘Surprise!’ Hannah shouts, hurrying forward to throw her arms around me. Owen isn’t far behind and Liam stands behind them both, looking a little unsure, despite my obvious delight.
I draw in a sharp intake of breath and then expel it at force, so it comes out like a half-sob, half-laugh. ‘What on earth are you all doing here?’
Hannah, Owen and I are hugging, our smiles lighting up the room. I wave my hand for Liam to join in.
‘This is so amazing. I simply can’t believe it!’
‘Well, the mountain wouldn’t come to us, so we decided to go to the mountain. Besides, we come bringing a whole pile of presents from Mum and Dad. It would have cost them a fortune in postage,’ Owen declares, rather lamely. And we begin hugging all over again before I reluctantly peel myself away to stand back and gaze at them in astonishment.
‘Oh, it’s beyond good to see you all. It’s wonderful. Amazing. Unbelievable.’ I throw a hand up to my forehead, hitching back my hair as I try to take it in. ‘I feel like I’m dreaming,’ I add. ‘Sit down. I want to hear everything, about… everything.’ I know I sound like a crazy woman, but that hit of unfettered joy makes me feel like I’m going to burst.
Hannah holds up her hand and I glance down at her ring.
‘Oh, Liam, that’s perfect. I’m sorry Aiden and I weren’t there when it all happened. But we will make it up to you both, I promise.’
There’s a bang as the door clicks shut. We all look up to see Nico standing there hesitantly, looking as if he might turn and walk straight back out.
‘Nico, this is my family, come and meet them.’
He breaks into a genuinely welcoming smile and strides across.
‘This is my brother, Owen.’
Nico shakes Owen’s extended hand, vigorously.
‘Always a pleasure to shake the hand of a soldier,’ Nico says. I can see that Owen is surprised and pleased.