The House in the Clouds

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘A bag of inspiration,’ Edward said.

  ‘Exactly. Everyone should have one. Because you can get so much from the past whether it’s your own or other people’s. That’s why I love a good charity shop or a jumble sale or village fete. They’re treasure troves waiting to be plundered and you never quite know what you’re going to find,’ Abi enthused. ‘And old things are so special. They have heart and soul. They’ve lived a life – several lives sometimes. So often, our modern designs seem so empty and lifeless. They’re very often created by a committee instead of one person with a beating heart full of passion and a vision for what they want to create.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, I’m wittering on now. Boring you to tears no doubt.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s good to hear someone who is passionate about what they do.’ He glanced at the dresser again. ‘And you made a living from all this?’ He turned back to face her and Abi couldn’t tell if his question was serious or not. ‘Your business,’ he added when she didn’t reply.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I made a living from all this.’

  They stared at one another for a moment.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘That sounded rude, didn’t it?’

  ‘Just a bit, but I’m used to it.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘I’m afraid a lot of people – usually men – find it hard to believe that a creative woman can make money from what they perceive as doodling and colouring in.’ She gave a tiny smile, remembering many a dinner party when she’d been cornered by some bore who mocked what she did. The irony was that she was very often earning a lot more than they were and having a great time doing so.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m just surprised.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not expressing myself well. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, you see.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ she asked, noticing how awkward he suddenly looked standing there in her living room.

  ‘Talking to creative people,’ Edward said, his gaze lowering. ‘My world is a very dull one full of facts and figures and, well, I don’t normally get to meet people like you.’

  ‘I’m very ordinary, I assure you.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re not. You’re – well, you’ve got something. You see things other people don’t see. People like me. Like with that old bit of wallpaper I was going to throw out. I glanced at it, sure, but I didn’t really see it. Not like you did.’

  ‘I don’t think it takes much skill to see a pretty piece of wallpaper,’ Abi said.

  ‘But it’s not just the seeing, is it? You see something and then you create something else.’ His gaze had softened now and he was nodding. ‘I bet you were one of those kids in art class at school who just picked up a paintbrush and produced something wonderful whereas I’d be paralysed by that piece of shiny white paper in front of me.’

  ‘Yes, but I bet you were one of those kids who couldn’t wait to use the computers whereas I’d find all sorts of excuses not to use one.’

  He gave a little smile. ‘I guess we have unique ways of working.’ He cleared his throat, suddenly looking awkward in her space again. ‘I’d – er – better get back. Things to do.’

  She nodded. ‘Edward?’ she called as he reached the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Let me know if you find any more wallpaper, won’t you?’

  He grinned. ‘I promise not to bin anything beautiful without consulting you first.’

  She watched as he left and then she turned to look at the dresser which she loved so much and which had caused such fascination in Edward. There hadn’t been anything as frivolous as a dresser in Aunt Claire’s house. Plates and mugs were put neatly away in cupboards. The very idea of having them out on display would have been preposterous. But Abi loved arranging her pieces and she’d collected so many over the years. Once she’d filled all the shelves in her small London apartment, she’d vowed to stop buying, but that decision was impossible to fulfil and so she’d simply hired a carpenter to build more shelves, getting creative and placing them above door frames and up the stairs. She’d also begun double stacking on her dresser, placing smaller jugs and cups in front of plates and saucers. There was so much space she’d overlooked and the jumbly, jostly look she created was reassuringly beautiful. It was almost alive, she thought, filled as it was not only with china but with postcards she liked, photos she’d printed out, bottles for single flower stems and shells picked up from beach walks.

  She’d also realised that, if she stopped collecting, she may just stop inspiring herself for who knew where the next nugget of inspiration would come from whether it be an old chipped piece of Staffordshire pottery or the latest Emma Bridgewater design. Everything fed into her imagination and that was necessary and priceless. Discovering new pieces was an important part of her creative process.

  Perhaps that’s what she needed to do now, she thought, knowing that she hadn’t created anything new for a good long while. She’d been so caught up in creating a new home for herself that her art had been forgotten. But maybe a spot of shopping was just what she needed to get things moving again.

  With that in mind, Abi grabbed her car keys and headed out in search of inspiration.

  * * *

  Edward saw Abi’s car as it left Winfield and breathed a sigh of relief because at least he wouldn’t run into her for a little while. Not that they did run into each other all the time. With Winfield being the size it was and with them both being busy people, they rarely met at all, but Edward’s face was still glowing with embarrassment at his earlier encounter. What was wrong with him? He just wasn’t good around people especially people like Abi who were so naturally easy and open. There was a part of him that wondered why he’d chosen her as the co-owner of Winfield, but perhaps, subconsciously, he’d known he needed somebody like her in his life.

  She certainly fascinated him, he had to admit. Her apartment was already so completely a home and so very her. While she’d retained the white walls which gave it that lovely light, airy feel, she’d also filled the place with colour in a way that Edward knew he’d never be able to do. He was still getting over the trial of shopping for curtains and cushions for his flat in London. He’d walked into a huge department store and had been completely baffled by it all. There was so much choice. Too much. And it was made even harder when you didn’t know what you liked in the first place. He’d walked around for a bit, getting progressively hot and uncomfortable and, when an assistant had approached him, he’d hightailed it out of there. In the end, he’d hired somebody to sort everything out for him. It had cost a small fortune, but it had taken the pain out of the whole process.

  What would Abi make of that, he wondered? Would she be appalled? She probably wouldn’t understand how painful a task he’d found it because, to her, interior design was a joy.

  Sitting down at his desk, he opened his laptop and was just about to contact a former colleague when a massive crash was heard from the room above him, startling enough for Edward to leap up from his chair and slam his laptop shut.

  ‘What the blazes?’

  He left his room and had just started climbing the stairs when one of the workman’s heads popped over the banister above him.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Edward asked.

  ‘All good here, but it’s going to be a bit noisy for a while. You’re not trying to work down there, are you?’

  ‘No, not trying to work,’ Edward said, resigning himself to taking the rest of the day off which wasn’t such a punishment, was it? After all, the sun was shining. Sighing, he returned to his apartment, tidied his desk, ate a hastily put-together salad sandwich and then grabbed his car keys. He had an idea for exactly what he should do. It was one of the things he’d promised himself when he’d moved to Winfield only he’d been putting it off. But if not now – on one of the warmest days of the summer so far – then when? His gear was in the car, always ready for him to grab an opportunity. But opportunities had rarely been grabbed during what
he now referred to as his London Years, and he hadn’t had a chance since he’d bought Winfield. No, that was a lie. He’d had umpteen chances, but he hadn’t grabbed them, had he? Well, today he was well and truly going to grab one.

  It was as he was leaving that he saw his walking stick by the door and hesitated. He hated taking it with him as it was like predicting the pain he’d be in and he was hopeful that what he was about to do would actually alleviate it like it used to. But was it better to be safe than sorry? He thought it was and so he grabbed it on the way out.

  He knew exactly where he was going, taking the road out of Winfield and heading further into the countryside, passing rolling fields, hot and blonde under the summer sun, climbing steadily until he reached the top of the downs with views that stretched for miles before dropping down a winding road into a shaded valley. There was nobody around here. In fact, he’d only passed a couple of hikers and one dog walker in the last three miles which was just as he’d hoped for he was after a little bit of privacy for what he wanted to do. He only hoped the place was as he remembered it. That was the thing with memory – it was so easy to gloss over reality, editing out the bad bits and remembering only the good. Perhaps he’d done that over the years with this place.

  Parking his car by an ancient church whose front was obscured by a large yew tree, Edward got out and opened the boot, pulling his gear onto the ground a moment later.

  Suddenly, he became nervous. It was years since he’d done this. Would he still have the nerve? Well, there was only one way to find out, he supposed as he looked up and down the lane, making sure a walking party wasn’t about to appear. But there was nobody about so he closed the boot and locked the car before picking up his bag, heading for the public footpath sign a little further down the lane. It was shaded there and a little overgrown. Edward’s legs sliced through the long grasses which threatened to swallow up the path completely, using his bag when he came across a patch of hungry-looking nettles.

  After a couple of minutes of walking, the footpath dipped into a wood before opening out into a field the colour of dark honey. The path then skirted this field before ending at a stile which the young Edward had climbed over many a time, excitement fuelling him on as he entered the lush green meadow beyond, catching that first, tantalising glimpse of the river. Now, he felt no less excited than that young boy as he saw the water sparkling in the afternoon sunshine. How beautiful it looked. Just as he remembered it. It was one of those rare and wonderful chalk streams that were so clear and pure that you could see all the plant and animal life.

  He looked anxiously around the field and up and down the stream as if anticipating company but, as before, there was nobody around and so he began to undo the buttons of his shirt, revealing a dark v-shape where he’d already caught the sun that summer and tanned arms too which had been exposed while walking the downs. Next were his boots and trousers, but he kept his boxer shorts on. Skinny dipping was one thing when you were a young boy, but quite another when a grown man. Anyway, as a galleon-like cloud passed over the sun, he made the decision to put on the wetsuit he’d brought with him.

  It was a bit of a struggle to get it on, but he was relieved that it still fit him. He’d been anxious after spending so many years sitting at his desk. He did his best to keep himself fit with his gym membership and walking, but he’d worried that his job might have meant an increase in his weight. Luckily, it hadn’t and, doing up the zip, he sighed in relief. He then wriggled his feet into his waterproof boots which fitted oh-so-snuggly and prevented all manner of cuts and bruises when navigating one’s way down a wild stretch of water.

  Next, he reached inside for the bottle of sun cream and covered his face with the cool lotion remembering, as he always did whenever he applied sun cream, the time he’d spent a day swimming in the river, thinking he was safe with the water covering his body. He’d woken the next morning not only with the world’s worst headache, but with skin that looked as if he’d jumped into a vat of red paint. Ever since that day, he never ventured forth without his factor fifty.

  Finally, it was time to greet the water and he walked towards a drop in the riverbank where there was a mini pebble beach. Here, he waded into the water. It wasn’t very deep at this point, even in the middle, and he walked upstream where he knew it got deeper.

  After the initial shock, the water felt glorious. He’d forgotten how good it felt to have the silky cold of another element envelop him. There was nothing else in the world quite like it. Indoor swimming pools just couldn’t compete with this. There was a freedom he found in wild water that wasn’t perhaps afforded him in his normal day to day life. It was something which you surrendered to completely and where the mind yielded to the body. He liked that. He liked the fact that he became a physical being in the water and that it allowed him to forget everything else that was going on in his life. He soon found that everything was slipping away beautifully – his worries about Winfield and his anxiety about his future work – it all melted away as he focussed on his strokes and his breath.

  He swam, warming his muscles as he moved upstream, pushing against the gentle current until he came to a deeper part of the river where he stopped and corkscrewed around so that he was floating on his back, weightless as he gazed up at the sky. And there it was: that sense of peace that was hard to put into words, but which often comes from strong exercise followed by total relaxation, and he found that nothing relaxed him so much as being in the water. The old him had slowly dissolved away – washed away perhaps. Swimming was a kind of meditation, he thought, and the only sort other than walking that he was happy to participate in, for Edward wasn’t one for joining classes. The last thing he’d want to do was to stretch out amongst a group of chanting strangers. Besides, where else but a river could you be at eye-level with the moorhens and frogs? Certainly not in any indoor class.

  He floated there for a while longer, the warmth of the sun on his face and the cool embrace of the water on his body. He would have happily stayed there until dusk, but he thought it wise to get back and check on the progress of the builders.

  He climbed out up the bank and took off his wetsuit before sitting on the short summer-burnt grass, feeling the beat of his heart. It was one of the best feelings in the world – second only to that first icy plunge into wild water when the body was shocked into existence. And he smiled as he noticed something. His pain had gone. His time in the water had worked its magic once again and he knew its effect would last for at least a couple of hours. In fact, swimming was the only time when he was completely pain-free. Physically, that was.

  The emotional pain – as much as he wished – never left him.

  Chapter Nine

  Abi hadn’t really expected to see any of her old work colleagues once she’d left her company and then moved out of London, but Dana had always been someone who surprised her from the moment she’d walked into Abi’s first shop and asked if there were any jobs going. She’d been by Abi’s side ever since those early days, growing in confidence until she was putting forth suggestions for designs and new lines in the collection. Since Abi had left, Dana had been more instrumental than ever in realising the vision of the company and that pleased Abi intensely.

  For her friend’s visit, Abi had made some flapjacks earlier that morning and, after picking her up from the station in Lewes, the two of them sat on a bench Abi had recently bought for the garden, tea and flapjacks on a tray beside them. She’d placed the bench just outside the French doors so that she could enjoy it on summer mornings when she was having her breakfast.

  ‘I still can’t believe you’re here,’ Abi said, looking at her dear friend, noticing that she’d had her long dark hair cut into a neat bob. It had used to spiral over her shoulders and Abi had loved it, but it looked sweet yet professional this way.

  ‘And I still can’t believe you’re here!’ Dana said. ‘This place is amazing, Abi. To have all this space!’

  ‘It’s a bit of a change from Lo
ndon,’ Abi agreed.

  ‘The garden is wonderful.’

  ‘It will be,’ Abi said. ‘I’ve just had the paths put in and the raised beds built and I’ve cheated with the grass. Had it all rolled out instantly. It was incredible to watch the transformation. Just got to get more plants in now.’

  ‘I can see you’ve got your trademark sunflowers,’ Dana said, nodding towards the giants at the far end of the walled garden.

  ‘Yes, the recent rain has really given them a boost.’

  Dana smiled. ‘I often wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t doodled that sunflower that day.’

  Abi smiled back, touching her silver locket. ‘I wonder the same thing too!’

  ‘What if you’d drawn a sausage dog instead?’

  ‘Do you think that would have launched a career?’ Abi asked.

  ‘Possibly not!’

  ‘I guess I got lucky. I drew from the heart. I drew something I loved and I suppose that’s what resonated with people.’

  They sipped their tea and nibbled their flapjacks, looking out over the garden together, watching as a pair of goldfinches landed on a silver birch, their light twittering song filling the air with joy.

  ‘So, how’s work?’ Abi asked at last.

  ‘Good!’ Dana said all too quickly and with far too bright a smile on her face to be convincing.

  ‘Dana?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing! Everything’s fine. I just miss you, that’s all. It’s not the same without you there.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Dana licked a finger and picked up a few stray golden flapjack crumbs from her plate before answering. ‘I didn’t know whether to tell you or not.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’ve pulled the handbag range.’