by Emma Davies
Amos nodded. ‘Perfectly.’
‘And so, nothing has really changed recently except that I’m getting older, Amos. I no longer want to be laughed at by everyone around here who knows what’s going on but never mentions it; the sympathetic looks, the shushed comments when I walk in the room. Nor do I want to feel like a stranger in my own home, having to watch what I do or say whenever he’s around for fear of igniting his anger, having his nasty words sully the fresh air I’m breathing. But more than anything, I don’t want to be with someone who considers me so worthless.’ She swallowed, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. ‘I think I’m worth more than that.’
It had taken Grace quite some time to admit that to herself, to sift through all the emotions that Paul provoked in her, and to understand that none of his behaviour was her fault. But years of believing herself worthless had left a mark that was not easy to erase. She turned to look again at Amos, who had almost stopped walking, trying to process her words. Had she shocked him?
‘I see,’ he said quietly. ‘I may not know you very well, Grace, but what I can say, is that everyone is worth more than that. Even Paul. He treats himself badly by his actions too. The difference is that he hasn’t been able to work that out, whereas you have.’ He lifted his head to meet her eyes.
‘Yes, I’ve realised that. Believe me, I’ve done a lot of soul-searching. But it’s not my job to save him either.’
‘No,’ replied Amos. ‘No, it isn’t.’ He squinted at the sun. ‘So, I can understand you not wanting to sell the house, but if you divorce, you’ll need to sell the house for financial reasons, is that it?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Not at all. Which is what’s so upsetting about all of this. The mortgage on the house was paid off years ago and Paul has pots of money stashed away in various places. He doesn’t need whatever the house would raise, and that’s not why he wants it sold. You see, the trouble with Paul is that he can’t bear to be rejected, even by someone he doesn’t want to be with anyway. His arrogance really is quite astounding! I always knew that when it came to leaving him that he would react badly and I would have to fight my corner. And my corner is my home, Amos. It’s the one thing, the only thing that Paul can use against me to make me hurt. But I’m not prepared to let that go, under any circumstances, and he knows it.’
She stopped for a moment, wondering whether or not to go on.
‘So, that’s what today was all about; Paul deciding whether or not he was going to call my bluff and, thanks to you Amos, I now have the proof that he has.’ She touched his arm. ‘Which is really why I need to apologise to you. For involving you in this at all. This hateful “game” that Paul seems determined we should play, it’s just too sordid for words.’
There was silence for a moment as they walked on. They were nearing Hope Corner and the turn in the lane which would take Amos down to the farm and Grace further on up to reach her house.
Amos frowned. ‘I was supposed to be inviting you round for tea. I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘With all this I’d quite forgotten what Flora said before I left.’ He smiled. ‘It’s such a beautiful afternoon and she said you’d be very welcome to call in after work and eat with them, have a drink, or whatever you prefer.’
Grace considered his words for no more than a millisecond. She really didn’t think she could face going straight home today.
‘Hope Corner Farm it is then,’ she said. ‘With any luck Flora will have made up a pitcher of Pimm’s. She throws loads of fruit in it, mint too, and we usually have it with homemade lemonade so I can still walk home afterwards.’
She grinned, and brightened her expression. She didn’t blame Amos for going all quiet on her, but she felt bad that she had caused it to happen. They would be at the farm in a few minutes, and enough was enough. No more talk about Paul or houses this evening. Tomorrow there would be quite enough time for all that.
Flora was crossing the yard as they approached the farmhouse, her arms full of flowers.
‘Hello!’ she called as she caught sight of them. ‘Perfect timing. The kettle’s on.’
By Amos’s side, Grace laughed. ‘When is it not?’ she asked, moving forward to admire the blooms Flora had picked.
Amos hung back, happy to see the easy banter between the two women and to let their conversation go at its natural pace. There were tough times ahead for Grace and she would need the comfort and security of her friendship with Flora more than ever. Besides, Amos had work to do. His errand for Grace, worthwhile though it was, had taken up a large chunk of his time and he had hardly earned his keep for the day.
The two women fell into step, moving off towards the house. He stood for a moment to let them pass ahead of him and then made off in the other direction to continue on his way.
‘Amos?’
He turned at the sound of Flora’s voice.
‘Aren’t you coming in for a cuppa?’ she said, and he could tell that she wasn’t just being polite.
‘I ought to get on,’ he replied. ‘But thank you. I’ll get some water in the cottage. It’s a little cooler now and perfect wall-building weather.’
Flora pulled a face. ‘Are you really going to start that now?’ she asked.
Amos nodded. ‘There are plenty of daylight hours yet. It would be a shame to waste them.’
She frowned. ‘Well, okay. But dinner will be at six. And I don’t care what you’re doing then, you’ll stop and join us,’ she said. ‘No one is allowed to miss dinner. I don’t have many rules, but that’s one of them.’
Amos gave a small bow. ‘Then I shall reappear just before, in case you need a hand with anything.’ He started to move away.
‘Oh, and just one more thing,’ said Flora. ‘What’s the print?’
Amos had almost forgotten he still had it tucked under one arm. He pulled it out, looking at it for a few seconds before turning it to face Flora.
‘One of yours,’ he said, smiling.
‘But how did you…?’ Grace came forward, a quizzical look on her face. ‘I don’t remember telling you that Flora was the artist and, as far as I’m aware, they’re signed Daisy Doolittle.’ Then she turned back to look at Flora.
But Flora shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t told him either… and now I want to know too. Come on Sherlock, how did you know that’s one of my paintings?’
Amos grinned. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He studied the picture for a moment. ‘It is signed Daisy Doolittle, but over in the other corner is a tiny set of initials – FJ – that’s you, if I’m not very much mistaken,’ he added, looking at Flora. ‘And then there’s the fact that you run a flower farm and, from what I’ve seen so far, many of your clothes are patterned with flowers too, so I’m guessing they’re a real passion of yours. And then there’s the painting itself, a bunch of daisies in a bucket, a simple enough subject, but it just looks like you, if I may say so. It looks like it was painted by someone with a smile on their face and a certain… lightness about them…’
Flora stared at Grace and then back at Amos. Her face was ever so slightly pink. ‘But that still doesn’t really explain it.’ She touched a hand to her cheek. ‘It’s a lovely thing to say, but it still could have been painted by anyone.’
Amos laughed and placed his free hand over his heart. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Guilty as charged. Every word of what I just said was true, but there is also the small matter of the pot of paintbrushes I noticed standing by your kitchen sink last night. Artist’s paintbrushes…’
Grace tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘And there’s me thinking you were psychic,’ she said.
Flora flapped at her friend’s arm. ‘Don’t be so dismissive, Grace,’ she said, turning back towards the house. ‘I’m not so sure he isn’t.’
Amos smiled as he watched them walk away. It wasn’t the first time he had been called that. He held great store by his intuition, that much was true, but mostly he just went through life with his eyes and ears open. People told you pretty much everything you needed to know w
ithout even speaking.
He continued through the yard until he reached the cottage and let himself in, propping the print up against a bowl of fruit on the table. Not only had he noticed Flora’s paintbrushes yesterday, but when he had visited Grace’s garden that afternoon he had noticed a huge pot of daisies on a little patio area where he could imagine Grace sitting. If she had chosen to place those particular flowers so close to where she liked to sit and think or relax then they must be very special to her.
Moving to stand in front of a section of wall which faced the door, he surveyed the bare brick which had yet to be rendered and painted. As long as he was here it would be the perfect place for the print. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. He would see the painting whenever he came through the door and it would be a good reminder of why he was there.
6
Dinner was lovely; taken around a table dragged out under the trees on a triangle of garden that lay on the other side of the yard a little distance from the house. The food was simple but tasty, the conversation easy, and the setting amid the fragrant tubs of flowers idyllic. But even so, Amos excused himself as soon as he judged it polite to do so.
He had work to be getting on with and, as he began to gather together the tools he needed, he noticed that Hannah left the gathering with Fraser and Ned shortly after he did. Perhaps they too had sensed that Flora and Grace might be better left alone. Grace had appeared relaxed throughout the meal but Amos had caught a distracted expression on her face once or twice when she thought that no one was looking.
The task in front of him wasn’t difficult but Amos wanted to take his time. The cottage was essentially sound, but the brickwork badly needed repointing in places and the current warm spell of weather meant that now was the perfect time to do it. He took up his chisel and hammer and set to work.
He was some distance from where Grace and Flora were sitting but even though he was much too far away to hear what they were saying, he got the gist of it every now and again as he glanced across at them. He saw very clearly the moment when Grace revealed what had happened the evening before and earlier that day. Flora got to her feet and pulled Grace from her chair, wrapping her in a warm hug, before sitting her back down again and pouring her another drink. Amos looked away. He might not be able to hear what was being said, but they still deserved some privacy.
It was a good ten minutes or so before he glanced up again at the sound of someone walking towards him.
‘I’ve been waving at you the last five minutes,’ Flora said as she reached him, a wide smile on her face. ‘But something tells me you’ve been determined not to look in our direction.’
Amos dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘It would have been an intrusion,’ he replied.
Flora smiled. ‘Well, Grace wants to ask you a question. Would you mind coming over a moment?’
He hesitated, looking down at his clothes which were now covered in brick dust. ‘Are you sure that’s okay?’
‘Amos, neither of us are going to be bothered by what you look like.’
He put down his tools and rubbed his hands together.
‘Then I will be happy to oblige,’ he replied, following Flora across the yard.
Grace still had a glass in her hand when he reached her, but she immediately placed it down on the table and patted the chair beside her. Her face was blotchy and her nose a little red. Amos looked at her with concern.
‘I’m okay,’ she said in reply to his unspoken question. ‘It’s just… just…’ She threw up her hands, at a loss to find the words she needed.
‘You don’t need to explain,’ said Amos. ‘It’s understood.’
Grace held his look and swallowed. ‘I’ve obviously been telling Flora what’s been happening, and I’m upset and cross and… well, I’ll deal with all that later, but for now what’s worrying me the most is what happens next. What I do in practical terms. There’s so much to think about, and what’s worse is that I don’t want to think about it at all.’
‘The house?’ said Amos.
‘Yes, the house,’ she replied. ‘And if there’s a possibility that I am going to lose it, I want to know how long I’ve got. You spoke to the agent, Amos, did he say anything?’
Amos thought back to their conversation, wishing he had tried to probe a little harder. ‘Not a great deal, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to say too much myself, thinking it would make him suspicious, so all he really said was that he’d been asked to deal directly with your husband. He didn’t give any indication of whether the house would be going on the market, just that he was there to provide a market valuation.’
Grace narrowed her eyes. ‘I see. Well Paul would certainly instruct them if he was going to sell. Evan Porter has handled all Paul’s other transactions; the ones he doesn’t think I know about…’
‘One thing he did mention though… I commented on the house being such a lovely place that folks would be queuing up to buy it… and he agreed, but a little cautiously, I thought. Apart from the size of the property, which would put it beyond the financial reach of a lot of folk, he said the extent of the gardens isn’t to everyone’s liking and it could take longer to sell as a result.’
‘Well, that’s hopeful at least,’ said Flora. ‘It could take ages.’ She looked across at Grace. ‘Still, better not to have to sell it at all… The pig, after all you’ve done for him, Grace, you’d think he’d have the common decency to leave you the house.’
‘Paul wouldn’t know the meaning of the word decency,’ replied Grace. ‘He has chased all my friends away over the years and made it difficult for me to have any kind of life outside of the house, and now he wants to take away the one thing that brings me any pleasure.’
Flora paused for a second. ‘What will you do if he does decide to sell? Will you do what you threatened?’
Grace sighed, looking more resigned now than anything. ‘Yes, I will…’ She broke off, taking a deep breath. ‘In fact, it’s already done. If I wanted to stop it, I should have called my solicitor by five o’clock this afternoon, but I didn’t, so…’
‘Grace, you could have used the telephone if you needed to, you only had to ask!’ Flora looked horrified.
‘No, no. I had no intention of calling. Paul went ahead and sent the agent despite my threat, so now it’s in the hands of my solicitor. Dominic, Paul’s Head of Programming, will probably already have received an email by now, detailing some of his “activities” – what Dominic may or may not decide to do with that information is his business. And Paul will reap the consequences of his actions. I want nothing more to do with it.’ She turned to look at Amos. ‘You didn’t know I was such a cow, did you?’
He stared at her, his pulse racing as a rush of fierce protectiveness swept over him.
‘I don’t think that at all! Grace, you…’ He stopped himself. What he wanted to say would have been quite inappropriate, and his thought surprised him, sneaking up on him unannounced until that very second. ‘None of this is black and white,’ he said instead. ‘But I don’t think you should chastise yourself for what you’ve done; you’ve still been treated appallingly. Let’s hope that Paul sees some sense and decides not to put the house on the market after all. At least that will be of some comfort to you.’
Grace’s hands were clasped in her lap, one thumb rubbing across her knuckles. ‘Except that that will be the point at which my fight really begins.’
Flora leaned forward. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Because, as I said to Amos earlier, Paul does not like to lose, especially to someone he considers beneath him. Even if I get to keep the house, he’ll still find a way to make life difficult for me. I’m not foolish enough to think that he would openly offer me a generous settlement in a divorce – and actually I’d rather not have his money at all. He’ll fight me financially every inch of the way. You said it yourself, Amos, it’s a very fine house, and it costs a fortune to run. I have a small income from my job at the shop a
nd some modest savings which I started scraping together once I’d begun to read the writing on the wall, but it won’t last long. Even if I do get to keep the house, I really have no idea how I’m going to continue living there.’
Flora’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, Grace. I had no idea…’
Grace gave a weak smile. ‘So you see, I’m rather going to have my work cut out for me…’
‘But there must be something you can do. You’ve done nothing wrong, and it’s just not right that Paul should win like this.’
‘But I have no skills, Flora. My age is against me, and a lifetime of cooking, entertaining and keeping house so that Paul could impress all his showbizzy friends has left me qualified for absolutely nothing.’
Amos looked across at Flora. His thoughts had been whirling at ninety miles an hour for the last couple of minutes and he wondered whether Flora’s had been heading in the same direction. They were sitting in the middle of a farm that had undergone a total transformation in a matter of months, and Flora herself had been its instigator. If anyone was capable of making something out of nothing, it was her. He would wait just a moment more to see if she would say anything. Her lips were currently pursed, and her brow furrowed in frustration; she was definitely thinking about something. She caught him looking at her and raised her eyebrows.
‘Penny for them, Amos?’
He dipped his head. ‘No, you go first. What was it you were going to say?’
‘Me? I wasn’t going to say anything. I was just thinking.’
‘And?’
Flora raised her eyebrows even further. ‘Well, if you must know, I was about to tick you off, Grace.’