Maura’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Well… yes. I’ve been to plenty of pottery shows where people have walked past my stand all day without buying anything. It can be hard to know what will sell.’
Fraser found that hard to believe. Maura was so talented – surely there was a queue of people waiting to snap up her work. ‘I have a captive audience, don’t forget. Most of the people who come on the tours jump at the chance to own their very own Edinburgh ghost.’ He paused, wondering whether to reveal just how many people had wanted to buy the Sea Witch. ‘In fact, there’s a bit of a waiting list. I’d like you to make some more, if you can fit them in.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, as her gaze dropped to the ghosts. ‘More of this design?’
He nodded. ‘Agnes is popular so it makes sense to stick with her for now. How long would it take you to make another forty?’
Blinking, she puffed out her cheeks. ‘Around six weeks, I think. But I could deliver the order in two batches, if you have people waiting. So the first twenty or so in three weeks, and then the rest by six weeks.’
Fraser did some rapid calculations. ‘That could work,’ he agreed. ‘And in the meantime, I’ll get these ones packaged up and sent off to their new owners.’ He picked up the nearest ghost and examined it, delighted all over again by its mournful brilliance. ‘You’re about to make a lot of people very happy.’
‘I hope so,’ Maura said, and he thought the praise pleased her. ‘I must admit, I have a soft spot for them myself.’
‘Me too.’ Fraser’s gaze travelled around the studio, taking in the full shelves. ‘Those are new, aren’t they?’ He indicated a pair of round plant pots embossed with a delicate leaf design.
‘They’re an experiment,’ she explained. ‘I’m exhibiting at ScotPot at the start of June and the theme is “season’s greetings”, which is supposed to be a celebration of nature throughout the year. So I thought I’d make four plant pots – one for each season. That one is spring.’
He could see the appeal immediately. Who wouldn’t want the whole set? ‘ScotPot,’ he repeated. ‘Is that in Edinburgh?’
She nodded. ‘It’s been held in the grounds of Craigmillar Castle for as long as I can remember. Quite a lot of people go along.’
Fraser pictured the dramatic ruins to the south-east of the city, the roofless medieval tower and crumbling walls standing tall amid lush parkland and ancient woods. It had been used as a location for the TV seriesOutlander, which had only added to its appeal. ‘Great venue,’ he observed as he studied the plant pot, admiring the perfect shape and intricate decoration. ‘What else will you take?’
‘Mugs, mostly.’ Maura reached to the back of the uppermost shelf and withdrew an exquisitely rounded cup that Fraser felt was far too elegant to be referred to as a mug. It was made of a darker clay than the ghosts and was glazed a deep shimmering blue. ‘I’ll make some plates to go with them. People seem to like matching sets.’
Fraser took the mug, turning it over in his fingers. ‘I bet they do. Can I buy this one? It’s perfect for my morning coffee.’
‘Of course,’ Maura said, sounding both surprised and pleased. ‘But you don’t have to buy it – take it as a gift from me.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Fraser replied firmly. ‘It’s beautiful cup and worth paying for.’
‘But—’
He held up a hand. ‘I’m afraid I have to insist, Maura. It’s very kind of you but I won’t get the same enjoyment if I’m reminded I manoeuvred you into a freebie every time I use it. How much would it be if I bought it at a show?’
Her expression remained reluctant and he suspected she wanted to argue. But he’d played his trump card by explaining it would diminish his enjoyment if he didn’t pay and, after a moment, she nodded. ‘The mugs are twenty pounds. Thank you. I’ll wrap it up with the ghosts.’
‘I don’t know you find time to make such lovely things, the ghosts, and still manage to teach,’ Fraser observed as she pulled out a sheaf of old newspaper and began to package everything. ‘When do you sleep?’
‘It’s mostly about juggling,’ she replied, flashing him a rueful smile. ‘Making sure the kiln is fully loaded before it runs, so that things get fired in a timely way. My regular students have all been coming for a while, so they don’t need to be taught that much but they do make a lot of pieces that I fire on their behalf. It can be a bit of a balancing act to make sure their work doesn’t get pushed out by my own.’
Fraser felt himself frowning. ‘I don’t suppose the ghosts help with that. Are you sure I’m not asking too much of you?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m glad people like them.’ She tipped her head and offered a wry smile. ‘It makes a change from mugs.’
Fraser’s gaze travelled to the shelves where Maura’s other pieces nestled together. Now that he understood how long the process of ceramics took, he appreciated Maura’s skill and dedication even more. How many people truly understood the hard work and time that went into her work? But perhaps that wasn’t the reaction she was striving for; in the performing arts, the goal was to transport the audience and make them forget they were watching a performance at all. The visual arts were all about emotional connection too – the almost instant, unconscious response that led to someone deciding whether they liked, or didn’t like, what they saw. In Fraser’s case, every piece on Maura’s shelves made him want to smile. But if he was honest, Maura made him smile more. It was a realisation that had troubled him the last time he’d seen her, when the long-forgotten memory of a school-days kiss had surfaced, stirring up some confusing feelings. He’d been glad then that the ghosts would take several weeks to make – it had given him time to put things into perspective.
Bumping into old school friends famously made people nostalgic, maybe even led them to rue missed chances, but in Fraser’s case, those feelings had passed and he’d been able to see Maura as a business partner once more. The fact that he found he liked and admired her just as much as her work was neither here nor there.
‘Okay,’ he said, forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand. ‘I’ll send payment for this batch. Will you let me know when the next twenty are ready?’
Picking up a small box, Maura began placing the wrapped ghosts inside. ‘Of course. I’ll get started on them as soon as I can.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. ‘And here’s the money for the mug,’ he said, laying a £20 note on the workbench. ‘Although I have a feeling you’ve undercharged me.’
Her impish smile told him he’d guessed right. ‘Mates’ rates,’ she said. ‘And don’t even think about asking the non-mates’ rate.’
With a shake of his head, Fraser accepted the compromise. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
