Page 3 of The Christmas Retreat
He did, however, soften the tone of his reply by saying that he understood my desire to continue with my studies, which I could well do in his own studio.
‘Maybe it won’t be so bad, although I hate to think of you going so far away,’ Milly consoled me. ‘But perhaps Edwin and I can come and stay nearby for a week or two in the early autumn, once we have made our move and settled in.’
Edwin had recently viewed a Cornish property, Smuggler’s Cottage in Lamorna, and declared it just what they wanted, so once Milly had been to see it, and approved, they might very soon be moving there … and I so wished I was going with them.
‘That would be wonderful,’ I said, for as well as missing my best friend, I had had a secret crush on Milly’s tall, languid and handsome elder brother for quite some time and of late, now he was not so much occupied with his work as a war artist (he had been unfit for active service), he had seemed to regard me as something more than just his sister’s younger friend …
Mind you, I found his ideas on the subject of Free Love rather alarming and, as Mama had sensibly said when I’d broached this topic to her, love was only free for men, for women would pay the price in social ostracism and children born out of wedlock. Papa, who was of an older generation, most certainly would not have approved, even though he had been as one with Mama over the subject of female emancipation.
‘I suppose it is a great opportunity to work in the studio of Cosmo Caradoc,’ I conceded. ‘But not for a whole three years, till I come of age! I will have to make that quite plain from the outset.’
Milly grinned, knowing my stubborn and opinionated nature. ‘I expect he will very soon be glad to get rid of you, and since you will be able to make your home with us in Cornwall, he can do so with a clear conscience.’
‘I wish I could just move there with you straight away. It would be such fun,’ I sighed.
‘Perhaps by the time we visit you, Mr Caradoc will have had quite enough of you and be happy to let you come back with us,’ she suggested. ‘I will be glad of your company, for although I intend living in Cornwall all year round, it seems Edwin now means to divide his time between there and London for the sake of his career.’
I knew Edwin was ambitious and aspired to be elected a member of the Royal Academy one day, so despite his bohemian views this was not altogether a surprise. Milly had begun to make her own way with her brilliant woodcut illustrations and could, as she said, work anywhere.
‘I will miss both of you so much,’ I said, blushing a little as I always did at the thought of Milly’s brother. ‘But I am determined we will not be separated for long. After all,’ I added, ‘I could always wind all Papa’s elderly friends around my little finger and I don’t see why Mr Caradoc should be any different.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Milly said doubtfully, ‘but nor do I want to be parted from you for three years – that would be quite unbearable – so if the worst comes to the worst, we will just have to aid and abet you to run away to Cornwall!’
1
Country Retreat
Monday 23 March 2020
It was a chilly March morning, but despite that, I’d opened the window to let in the pale golden sunshine and to air the sitting room.
My cat, Mrs Snowboots – so called because her four white feet stood out against her black coat – had taken advantage of the fine day to go out into the small front garden. She was timid and elderly, so wouldn’t stray on to the lane, which was little more than a tarmacked loop of track from the main road and served only my house and a farm at the other end, where it rejoined it.
I sat on the wide window seat and wished I could as easily open a window in my head to let out all the bad memories and thoughts …andthe flashbacks to the accident: especially those.
The click of the gate latch jerked me back to the present and I looked up quickly, wondering who my visitor could be. Mrs Snowboots quickly slid back in through the window, with an indignant hiss.
It certainly wouldn’t be Will, at any rate, now I knew that he didn’t so much have feet of clay, but of caked mud. I just hoped it wasn’t the police, coming back again to question me about the accident …
I shuddered, hoping I’d never have to relive that dreadful night again. The flashbacks and nightmares were more than enough to cope with.
But to my relief my visitor was neither of those, for round the lilac bushes came the familiar figure of Eli Graham, my neighbour, accompanied by his black and white collie, Dash.
Although he was my nearest neighbour, Eli lived over half a mile away, in the direction of the village of Mossing, and his arrival always sent Mrs Snowboots into flight. She was sheltering behind me now, still hissing like a sputtering kettle.
It was Dash she didn’t like, even though he only wanted to be friends. I suspected she’d had brushes with less friendly dogs in her previous life, before we found each other at the cat rescue centre.
I leaned over to open the window wider and, as my sleeve brushed the pot of blue hyacinths next to me, they released their heady fragrance.
Eli came to a stop a few feet away and Dash immediately sat down and leaned against his legs, looking up at his master adoringly.
‘What light from yonder window breaks?’ he said sardonically in an accent that was still Brummie, even after living in the Bedfordshire countryside for over forty years.
He was a tall, square man with ruffled short white hair, bright sky-blue eyes and a permanently weather-beaten complexion from working on his smallholding. He wore, as always, dungarees under a rough, tweedy jacket with sagging pockets.
I managed a smile, even if it did feel as if I was forcing cardboard into intricate origami.
‘Hi, Eli. I wasn’t expecting you – or anyone else, come to that.’
