‘I can’t make it up to you till you come back, Maxine. You will come back, won’t you?’
Maxine let a couple of seconds pass before she answered. She wanted to make sure he was properly anxious.
‘Max?’ He sounded quite fraught. Good.
‘Yes.’
His sigh of relief was audible.
‘Probably after the weekend.’ Which would be interesting with all of them under each other’s feet and rubbing each other up the wrong way. Maxine was almost sorry she was going to miss witnessing it.
‘Don’t leave it too long. I do love you and I really do miss you.’
Hmm. ‘Bye Gordon.’ She hit the red phone symbol and disconnected.
Judith cackled with laughter. ‘That told him.’
‘But I shouldn’t have to, should I?’
22
The next morning, Saturday, Miranda picked up her mobile and carefully keyed in the number on the little bit of pasteboard that she’d left on her counter by the coffee machine.
‘Dominic? How lovely to catch you. It’s Miranda Osborne. I think we met at your previous gallery.’
‘Miranda, of course. You bought that stunning Bouraine ballerina.’
‘You remembered.’
‘Difficult to forget,’ Dominic countered.
Indeed, thought Miranda as she gazed fondly at the figurine that had set her back the best part of four grand.
‘Now, much as I’d love to chat, I have a possible business proposition. I have in front of me a watercolour by an unknown artist but I think it has real quality. I’d like your opinion.’
‘Of course. Can you bring it into my gallery?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And is it a one-off or are there other works I can look at?’
‘There are but it may take me a day or two to get hold of them.’
‘No hurry,’ said Dominic. ‘Give me a ring before you come up to town – just to make sure I’m around. And you know where my new gallery is, don’t you?’
‘I’ve got your card.’
‘Great. Looking forward to seeing you.’
‘And I look forward to seeing you too.’
Miranda finished the call with the usual niceties and put her mobile back on the counter. She knew from Olivia and Heather that there were a whole stack of canvasses and watercolours in Maxine’s studio but she also knew that they were probably buried under her daughter’s possessions. She wondered if it was possible to extricate them. Only one way to find out. She rang Olivia and asked her if she was free to accompany her to Maxine’s place so the pair could liberate a few pictures.
‘Of course. I’ll cycle up to yours right now. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
‘I’ll make some coffee.’
Half an hour later the two women crossed the Cattebury road and headed down the side turning that led to Maxine’s house.
Miranda had never had cause to venture down this road and she was quite surprised by the size of the Edwardian villas set in big gardens with mature beeches lining the avenue. They weren’t the kind of house she would favour for herself but she could appreciate their appeal. Very Sunningdale, she thought. Olivia turned into number five and Miranda followed her. The drive had a big white van parked in it and she could see, through its open doors that it was partially filled with a large sofa, a couple of dining chairs, half a dozen packing cases and a nest of tables – how twee, she thought, she didn’t know people still had nests of tables. Maybe the prodigal daughter was moving out again and Heather and Olivia had got the wrong end of the stick.
She said as much to Olivia.
‘I don’t think so – I know Amy isn’t the most reliable of sources—’
Miranda snorted.
‘—but she had this from the builder himself.’
‘Even so…’
Despite the fact the front door was open, Olivia rang the bell. A harassed looking man in his sixties appeared.
‘Oh, Olivia.’
‘Hello, Gordon. I hope this isn’t a bad time…’
‘No – well, no worse than any other time.’ He looked at Miranda enquiringly.
‘This is my friend, Miranda. I was telling her about Maxine’s talent for painting and she’s interested in seeing her work.’
‘Really?!’
‘Yes,’ said Miranda, firmly. To judge by his stunned reaction, what Heather and Olivia had said about Maxine’s husband paying no attention to his wife’s talent was true. No wonder Max was so pissed off. She stuck her hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, er, Gordon. If I may?’
Gordon took her hand and shook it.
‘Dad! Can you move? This is heavy.’
Over his shoulder Miranda and Olivia could see two young people struggling through the hallway lugging a washing machine between them.
Miranda pulled Gordon out of the porch, onto the drive. They were followed by Olivia. Behind them there was a thump as the couple dumped the washing machine on the doorstep and leaned on it to take a breather.
‘God, this is heavy,’ complained the girl.
‘My daughter and her partner,’ explained Gordon. ‘Abi and Marcus. They’re moving their kit into a storage unit.’
‘Oh.’ Miranda brightened. So access to Maxine’s studio was going to be possible – if not today, it would be shortly.
‘We’ll get it done sooner if we get some help,’ said Abi looking at her father.
‘Not right now, Abi. Maybe when our visitors have gone.’
Abi glared at Miranda and Olivia – Miranda raised her eyebrows at the girl and stared coolly back until Abi dropped her gaze. Maybe the strain of moving all her possessions – again – was making her so graceless. Even so, she felt another flash of sympathy for Maxine.
‘Come and have a cup of coffee,’ said Gordon, ‘and then we can see if we can get to where Max kept her stuff.’ He squeezed past the washing machine which was partially blocking the front door, followed by Miranda and Olivia. Miranda rather deliberately ignored Abi as she went into the house. The three of them went along the tiled hall – nice period features, thought Miranda – into the big kitchen with its stunning view into the garden and the nature reserve beyond.
‘No coffee for us,’ said Miranda. ‘We’ve just this minute had one.’
‘Oh – right… well, you’d better come and see if we can get into the studio. Although I’m not sure where Maxine kept everything.’
‘I do,’ said Olivia.
‘Do you?’ He seemed amazed by the information. ‘I never paid much attention to what she got up to there.’
Miranda despaired for Maxine. Worse and worse. No wonder she’d taken herself off. Talk about being undervalued! ‘Just one thing, Gordon,’ she said, ‘could you not tell Max we called. We’ve had an idea but it may not come off and we don’t want to raise any hopes only to dash them.’
‘OK.’ Gordon sounded bemused. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘We do,’ said Olivia. ‘Mum’s the word. And it’s nothing sinister, honestly.’
‘I believe you. I know you and Max are good friends.’
The three tramped out to the garden and across the lawn to the wooden summer house-cum-studio. They stood on the deck in front of it as Olivia looked in through the door at the muddle of Abi and Marcus’s possessions.
‘Can you get to where you need to?’ asked Gordon.
‘I think so.’ Olivia squeezed in through the door and pushed a big cardboard box to one side. She then lifted a kitchen stool out of the way and handed it back to Gordon who dumped it on the grass. There was some huffing and puffing and after a minute or so she called, ‘Can someone take this?’ A canvas was waved from inside in the direction of the door.
Gordon took it and passed it to Miranda who gave it a glance before she stacked it carefully in a corner of the veranda. The paintings began to come out one after the other quite quickly and they had about twenty before Abi and Marcus returned to collect some more stuff.
�
��Do you mind?’ sniped Abi as she pushed past her father.
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he answered as he scuttled out of her way.
‘And what on earth are you doing with Mum’s paintings.’
‘Having a look,’ said Miranda.
Abi rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, but why?’
Miranda crossed her arms. ‘Because, although you may not be able to recognise talent there are people here who can.’
Abi narrowed her eyes. ‘Really? Well, I haven’t time to discuss the art world, so if you’ll excuse me?’ She went into the summer house and emerged a minute later hefting a large cardboard box which she passed to Marcus before she grabbed another one for herself and the pair headed back to their van. Gordon seemed to have wandered off to pull up some weeds in one of the flower beds. Poor Maxine, her family couldn’t be more uninterested in her painting if they tried. Miranda sighed.
‘I don’t suppose you can find some of Maxine’s watercolours,’ she said to Olivia.
‘I’ll have a go. I think her sketchbooks might be further in.’ There was more huffing and puffing then, ‘Eureka!’
A minute later, looking red-faced and tousled, Olivia emerged back into the fresh air.
‘Got two,’ she said, brandishing them.
‘Great,’ said Miranda. ‘Let’s have a look at them.’
Ignoring the fact she was wearing pristine white jeans she sat down on the step of the veranda and patted the wood to indicate Olivia should join her. Then, together, they began to flip slowly through the heavy watercolour paper in the first of the spiral bound books. There were a number of studies of the little town and the nature reserve but there were some stunning portraits too; one of Belinda leaning on the bar of the pub, another of Abi, and another of an old man with leathery skin, startlingly blue eyes and bad teeth.
‘God, that’s Bert Makepiece to a T,’ said Olivia.
‘Even I recognise him and I’ve only met him a couple of times. I almost expect the picture to talk, it’s so lifelike. I think, on balance,’ said Miranda, ‘I shall take the watercolours up to London and leave the oils and acrylics. Partly because the sketchbooks will be easier to carry and partly because I think, she’s a better watercolourist than oil painter.’
Olivia nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘How many sketchbooks were there?’
‘Quite a few – maybe a dozen.’
‘So if Maxine comes back before I can return these,’ she tapped the books with a perfectly manicured fingernail, ‘she’s unlikely to notice they’re missing.’
‘It’s possible,’ Olivia conceded.
‘Then I’ll risk it. I’ll try and get up to town in the week.’ Miranda closed up the sketchbook. ‘Fingers crossed we’re right about her talent.’
*
It was about three o’clock when Abi and Marcus drove away to their storage unit with a van full of possessions. Abi’s heavy hints to her father that he might like to lend a hand with the unloading had failed to get picked up. And why should he? thought Gordon, as he watched the van turn out of the drive from the sitting room window. He had enough to do, what with his mother and the housework. He needed to get the vacuum cleaner out and give the ground floor a once-over in case Maxine pitched up – the kids had tramped through all sorts of muck as they’d shifted all their worldly goods through from Maxine’s studio; he didn’t want to give her more grounds for complaint. And then he’d have to think about supper. God, this housework malarkey was never bloody ending. Not that he was going to admit it to Maxine – she’d use it as yet another stick to beat him with.
He turned back and looked at his mother enjoying a postprandial snooze on the sofa. A whole month since her fall and still no word from occupational health about doing an assessment to see if it would be possible for her to move back to her home. He’d better get onto it on Monday morning and chivvy them up. Gah, another thing to do. And he’d have to go shopping. When was he going to get a chance to get back on the golf course? he wondered.
He left his mother snoring softly and went into the kitchen to think about the next meal. He opened the fridge door and looked at the contents as he tried to remember what he’d planned for supper that night. Oh yes, he was going to do macaroni cheese and a salad. And it was going to be quick to make, wouldn’t need peeling, easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy – result. In fact, he could make it in advance, leave his mum in front of the TV for an hour and slip off down to the pub for a sharp half before coming home to heat it up and make the salad. Not that he’d tell his mum where he was off to because she wouldn’t approve – no, he’d tell her he was off for a walk. And, with luck, Abi wouldn’t be around either because she’d smell a rat and probably guess the truth. The last thing he wanted was her banging on about his drinking habits. She’d already remarked on the decreasing level in the whisky decanter and the number of wine bottles in the recycling. He was beginning to think that he ought to take a leaf out of Maxine’s book and bugger off to get away from the nagging. Not that he could do anything like that till she got back, not with his mother to consider. And, even then, such a course of action wasn’t really possible because Maxine would go bat shit. And he didn’t want to risk that – not again.
Two hours later the mac-cheese was in the fridge together with a bowl of mixed salad. Gordon left his mother with the remote control and set off across the nature reserve. He assuaged his conscience with the knowledge that he hadn’t really lied about going for a walk because that was what he was doing right now, wasn’t it? The fact that he was only going to be walking for about a quarter of a mile was neither here nor there.
He pushed open the door to the Talbot and made his way to the bar. The place was almost empty but seeing as how the pub had only been open for about fifteen minutes it was hardly surprising.
‘Hiya, Ella, and how are you?’
‘Good thanks. The usual?’
‘Please.’
Ella began to pour a pint of bitter. ‘You’ve managed to escape from the burden of being a house-husband.’
‘Only temporarily. Got to go back to cook supper in an hour.’
‘Very domesticated. Three ninety, please,’ she said as she put the pint on the bar.
Gordon winced as his burned fingers made contact with the change in his pocket. He gingerly grabbed a handful and held the coins in the palm of his hand as he counted out the right money with his good hand and passed it over.
‘Ooh, that looks nasty,’ said Ella seeing the red weals on his fingertips. She took it in hers as she looked more closely at his burns. ‘I bet that hurts. Ooh, you poor man. How did you do it?’
‘In the kitchen.’ He gazed at Ella. It was a long time since he’d been shown such sympathy. Maxine was great on the practicalities of basic nursing, but not given to much in the way of compassion. ‘Get over it,’ was more her mantra than ‘ooh, you poor man.’
‘Ella, could you collect some tonics from the cellar for me, please.’ Belinda’s voice cut across the moment from the far end of the bar. Gordon snatched his hand back and Ella rang up the sale.
‘Of course, Belinda,’ she said.
After she’d disappeared down the steps Belinda took her place behind the beer pumps.
‘And how’s Maxine?’ she asked, rather pointedly in Gordon’s opinion.
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘I hear she’s gone to stay with her sister.’
Gordon nodded as he sipped his beer. ‘Yes,’ he answered.
‘Back soon?’
‘Probably.’
‘Good.’
‘My sentiment entirely.’
Belinda leaned on the bar. ‘I wouldn’t want the punters to get the wrong end of the stick and you know what this town is like for gossip…’
‘I do indeed.’
‘But they tend to notice things like married men making doe-eyes at the barmaid. And, by barmaid, I don’t mean me.’
Gordon could feel his face flushing which was partly due to a slightly gu
ilty conscience and partly due to being angry at the insinuation. It was true he liked talking to Ella but that was all it was. ‘I wasn’t.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
The cellar door opened and Ella appeared at the top of the steps with a tray of shrink-wrapped bottles.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Belinda.
‘Where do you want them?’ Ella stared at the shelf of mixers which was, very obviously, full. There was certainly no room for another two dozen bottles of Schweppes.
‘Put them on the side for the time being. They’ll be needed later on.’
Gordon moved away from the bar and took a window seat. How could Belinda accuse him of making doe-eyes? OK, maybe he did spend a lot of his time at the pub talking to Ella if she was on shift but that was all it was – just chat.
23
Maxine dragged her case down the stairs of Judith’s house which was surprisingly echo-y now so much stuff had been packed away. It was time to go home, the vast majority of the packing had been done and what was left the removal men could easily deal with. Besides, regardless of the difficulties that she’d run away from, Maxine was missing her home, her family and her friends. Also, it would be her art club evening in a few days and she couldn’t really abandon them again. Despite the hard work, she’d had fun with her sister but she felt the gin and the take-aways were taking their toll on her waistline and, even though she’d had her painting things with her, she hadn’t had a single chance to pick up a brush. If she was at home, even with Anthea’s demands, she’d be able to escape if only for an hour or two.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ her sister said as the case thumped off the last step and onto the ground floor.
‘Thank you for the gin, the shoulder to cry on and the chance to get away. I dread to think what I might have done if I’d stayed put.’
‘The trouble with you and I is that we’re too patient for too long.’
Maxine recognised that what her sister said was accurate about herself, but Judith… patient?!
‘The things I put up with from Mike,’ she continued. ‘Honestly, looking back, Trina’s welcome to him.’
Homes and Hearths in Little Woodford Page 18