Escape to the Cotswolds

Biased as he was, her father hadn’t been entirely convinced it was something she’d be able to make a living out of. Nevertheless he agreed to let her have her way, rather liking her independence of spirit.

‘We all have to start somewhere, Holly,’ her dad had said, almost apologetically. ‘I don’t buy a new painting every week and I don’t suppose anyone else does either.’

In spite of his somewhat mixed attempt at reassurance, no one was more astonished than he when one sale was followed by another and then another. Not only was Holly’s work good, it was saleable. She wasn’t a ‘name’, didn’t become an overnight success, but she was doing very nicely thank you.

Then she met Harry. They’d both picked the same bench in Trafalgar Square after she’d been to visit the National Portrait Gallery and he was whiling away the time before a meeting. He never did make that meeting and after a whirlwind romance they were married in grand style – Harry’s choice not hers – and she moved into his flat. There was no room for her to paint so she continued working at her parents’ home until they offered to help with the purchase of a house.

‘Can’t stand the mess, eh?’

‘No, Holly, but art has been your passion since you were tiny. Not that you’re much bigger now.’

‘Watch it.’

‘Anyway, this way you’ll have everything you want at your fingertips. Your mother and I are prepared to put up half the money if Harry can do the rest.’

With the proceeds from the sale of his flat Harry was able to fulfil his side of the bargain and six months after the wedding they moved into a spacious town house. Harry was adamant that she didn’t work and Holly, quite impressed by his macho attitude, had at first acceded to his wishes – though later she’d taken a job at a gallery to prevent herself climbing the walls out of boredom. However, he considered painting was what people did for a hobby and was content enough for her to continue but, as a contribution to the family coffers, no, definitely not.

By the time she took the job at the gallery he considered her earnings to be ‘pin’ money. Holly, in love and anxious to please her husband, gave up selling her own work. After all, she told herself, it’s not as if I do it for the income. She couldn’t and wouldn’t give up painting though, which under her current circumstances was just as well, since her future now depended upon her being able to support herself. She hadn’t been in the market for a few years now. Aware that fashions are always changing she just had to hope that what she did was still in demand. Emma and Holly had discussed it, naturally.

‘It’s not as if you’ve been out of touch. You’ve been working in the business for years.’

‘I know, Em, it’s just that I …’

‘And as far as I know you’ve subscribed to every magazine going.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘You’ll have to make a name for yourself, locally at least. But you’ve got the talent. You just need to be a bit pushy.’

‘Oh and you can just see me doing that, can’t you.’

‘The only way you’re going to find out is to try. And I’ll be shoving you from behind.’

‘I can feel it already,’ Holly had said, rubbing the small of her back with the back of her hand. There was no doubt about it though, Holly thought, looking across at the cottage as she passed it on her way out of town. If she got it, it had the potential to be a business as well, always supposing she could get planning permission.

Reaching the riverbank her wandering thoughts were matched by wandering hands, sifting, sorting. Several treasures were now nestling at the bottom of her backpack along with the tissue Holly always carried since the loss of a beautiful piece of bark, fragile and with its intricate patterns already, in her mind, incorporated into a montage of which it would be the central feature. Sadly it was just a crumbling mess by the time she got it home.

She could never be sure what she’d find that might need protecting. As she sifted and searched her mind ran free. On the whole she was a pretty positive person and she was beginning to realise that her positivity was returning now she was no longer with Harry. It had come as quite a shock to discover how much of her own personality she’d suppressed trying to be the wife he’d wanted. She’d allowed herself to dream of one day being an artist of note but she’d made absolutely no effort to pursue that dream.

Now though, she was ready to go for it. She was also realistic enough to know that even if she ultimately gained the recognition she so craved the journey would be long and possibly bumpy. Definitely bumpy!

She thought again of Emma, despite the distance between them her friend had been her prop through the troubled years. She too was an artist but had a pragmatic side to her nature. With a husband and two small boys, teaching suited her very well. She had a pretty decent income and holidays to match those of her children.

‘All that lovely time off,’ she said, but Holly knew how hard her friend worked. Schools weren’t the only places where teaching went on though and Holly’s gallery, if she got the cottage and the requisite permission, was large enough to use as a classroom. Why shouldn’t she teach adults? She could make some money at the same time as providing something for which she hoped optimistically if a little naively there would be plenty of enthusiasm.

It isn’t as if I won’t have time to do my own painting as well. Thanks to Mum and Dad – Holly felt the familiar lump rise to her throat when she thought of the tragic accident that had taken them both from her – there’s a financial cushion until I get myself established. A regular income would help though, even a small one.

Materials wouldn’t be a problem. They were readily available along the riverbanks or at garage sales or car boot sales – any number of sources. As far as the fundamentals went she already had more than enough basic equipment, at present in the same storage facility as her mother’s table, though there were some things she would never share. In any case she was sure people would get their own paints and brushes, or whatever, once they decided (hopefully) they liked it enough to carry on. With very little expenditure, she could set up a business at home. It’s not called cottage industry for nothing.

Turning for home and walking more quickly now, she made her way back through the village, excited about her plans and praying some of them at least would come to fruition.

***

‘So what are you going to wear this evening?’

Holly looked up from the floor where she was playing with Jake and Jamie.

‘Wear? Why?’

‘Duh! Kate and Charlie’s. Drinks and nibbles. Mind you, Kate’s nibbles always constitute a feast. No cooking for me tonight, except for the boys.’

‘Emma, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Drinks and nibbles. Tonight. At Ka … Have you looked at your text messages today?’

‘No, I put my phone on silent when I went down to the river and forgot all about it.’

‘Well you’d better go and sort out your glad rags. We’re going to a party.’

Holly was suddenly very still. She loved people but she loved them in small intimate groups, preferably when she knew most of them as well. A party sounded like something else. She’d met one or two of Emma and Tom’s friends on previous visits, and even since she’d come to stay, but a party?

‘Why don’t I just stay and babysit? I’m quite happy to stay at home.’

‘Did you hear that, kids? Holly wants to babysit.’ They looked indignant. ‘Haven’t you heard the term child-minding, Holly?’

Holly smiled at her godsons. ‘I guess I lost a bit of ground there, eh boys? But I’d sooner stay with you than go to some old party.’

‘No chance,’ said their mother. ‘Kate would be mortally offended. She especially asked us to bring you with. Go on. Go and pick something pretty. We’re due there at eight.’

Reluctantly Holly did her bidding but as she went upstairs she felt the excitement begin to bubble up within her. After all, it had been a long time since she’d been to a party. She tried on several combinations before finally deciding what to wear. She dressed with care, the smart navy trousers a change from her usual jeans, hugging her tiny hips atop ridiculously silly high heels – she needed all the help she could get. She chose a lacy cream-coloured top and loose-knit cream cardigan – its one detail, a single large button just above the waist, was the reason she’d bought it. Ornately carved, it set off the simplicity of the rest. She hoped to be able to take it off when she got there, but winter was fast approaching and the evenings were quite chilly. Well, cold if she was brutally honest. The lacy top was pretty though so she thought she might just have to suffer goose pimples.

***

Standing outside Kate and Charlie’s house, flanked by Emma on one side and Tom on the other, Holly’s heart was racing. Some of it was caused by apprehension but that was tempered by anticipation. She might prefer small groups but essentially Holly was a people person. All of a sudden she couldn’t wait to get inside and meet some.

Unbelievably, the first person she saw when they opened the door was the guy who’d bumped into her that morning. Well, not the first person exactly. Naturally Kate and Charlie were the first, greeting her as they did Emma and Tom, as if she was an old friend. She remembered meeting them on a previous visit to Emma and was really pleased to see them again. But behind them in their large entrance hall was the doctor chap.

Holly drew herself up to her full five foot two inches plus three for the shoes – she liked to think she was big in character, if not in stature – and moved forward to be introduced as her escorts disappeared into the room beyond. Doc was standing with two other men and a girl about the same age as her. They all looked up as Kate took her over to meet them and it was obvious from the expression on his face that her acquaintance from earlier in the day was about as delighted to see her as she was to see him.

‘This is Holly, guys. She’s new to Cuffingham. She’s staying with Emma and Tom until she finds a place of her own,’ Kate told them. ‘Holly, this is Phoebe, Gordon, Adam, and Steve. Oh, there goes the bell again. Look after her for me, will you, while I answer the door.’

Phoebe, Gordon, and Steve all smiled encouragingly at her. Adam looked as if he’d rather be on another planet, or that she would be. Also, unless she was mistaken, he was a bit red in the face.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Holly. Adam’s just finished telling us how he crashed into you this morning.’ No wonder his face was red! ‘Not that you match his description at all. I was expecting a real firebrand, but you seem perfectly benign. I presume it was you? We don’t get too many new people in Cuffingham at this time of the year.’

Holly smiled back at Phoebe gratefully.

‘I guess that would be me then, though I didn’t realise it would be more dangerous in a country village than in London. I lived there all my life and I’ve never been mugged before.’