Page 64 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘Mrs Carrington-Noble is praying on some fancy weddin’ to marry their empires. Upkeep of this place ain’t cheap.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Not that I likes to tell tales.’
Lexie put on a mock-serious face. ‘No, of course.’
Hmm. It surprised her that people with heaps of cash would still worry about it. But then, money didn’t grow on trees for anyone.
Maybe Carrington Paints could still work with the Fortescues’ interior design business somehow. Of course, there was the trifling issue of Ben’s aversion to Cynthia. But who didn’t enjoy a bit of trifle?
Tom interrupted her thoughts. ‘Like I said, I don’t like to gossip … ’ He lowered his voice, gossip clearly imminent. ‘But it’s best to keep yer ’ead down in this place. The mistress ain’t keen at ’avin’ an unknown nipper on her patch – especially not such a purdy young thing. Just be careful.’
Lexie shivered. Did one of those nut-grass tentacles just twitch? ‘Right, well, anyway.’ Lexie stood up. ‘Haven’t we got some roots to dig up?’
‘Yup. These root systems are terrible if you let ’em take hold. Now, what does that remind me of?’ He gave her a wink and eased himself up too.
‘I wonder.’
Lexie helped Tom with weed-extraction services for the rest of the afternoon. It was strangely cathartic, and it gave her time to think.
Her unrequited London striptease had left her feeling flesh-crawlingly cheap; it was time to start proving her worth. Not to the likes of the Carringtons, but to herself. She was a creative woman with bags of ideas. She ought to let the poor things out before they suffocated.
There’d been a time when she’d trusted her instincts, travelled the world and forged a new career from the contents of her backpack. She’d taught herself so much and earned her own good living – not just as someone’s employee. Yet something even more artistic was brewing.
Mingling with Ben and the other entrepreneurs at the paint conference had given her hope that her concepts were good. It was encouraging, inspiring; like little seeds being planted. Could she dare to help them grow?
Perhaps the first step was to stop cowering in someone else’s spare room, drowning in boxes of paperwork she was too scared to look at. It wasn’t just other people she needed to organise anymore.
And it sounded like she might need her own wings again soon. If Her Highness kept digging, she might unearth more than one reason to evict her. In the long run, she’d be forced to take flight and leave Ben and his new wife to make their nest anyway, even if the thought made her queasy. Feather by feather, Lexie would have to get ready to fly.
Chapter 32
Oh, those unnerving eyes – they were definitely watching her. At least ten pairs of them, looking down their snooty noses, trying to make her feel inadequate from their lofty, gilt-framed positions.
She stopped on the staircase, laden with paint pots and brushes, and stared back at the paintings. Actually, no. She wasn’t having it. She had full permission to be here, overalls and all. They could just bugger off. And anyway, didn’t the moving eyes in theScooby-Doocartoons belong to the bad guys?
‘You don’t belong either,’ she whispered at them. ‘You probably died centuries ago.’ She poked her tongue out and was sure the effeminate posers looked a little more shocked than before.
‘Nice horse,’ she added, before stealing up the rest of the staircase and back to her room.
Lexie breathed a sigh of relief as she closed her bedroom door with her back.
Her newest friend Grace was waiting on a sofa, looking like the world’s most stylish decorator in her AlexaChung overalls, her beautiful caramel locks tied in a messy bun and swaddled with a spotty headband.
Lexie would ordinarily have felt a bit crap next to her, in the tatty blue overalls she’d borrowed from Tom, complete with knee patches lovingly stitched on for him by Mrs Moon. But Grace had a way of making everyone feel at ease, like an excited child with sunshine for a smile.
‘Paint!’ Grace jumped up and gave a little dance. ‘I’m seeing this wall in La La Lexie, which would definitely be a shade of yellow.’
Lexie guided her friend back to the sofa and sat her down, placing her hands neatly onto her knees. ‘We’re not painting any walls; we’re just mixing. Getting ideas for a potential new range of colours, which Ben hasn’t even agreed to. Now, I don’t want you getting dirty.’
Grace pouted. ‘You wouldn’t have invited me here if you were in the mood for playing it safe. You’re ready for rebellion, I can tell.’ She looked at Lexie’s hair, which now had even more streaks of riotous blue dye. ‘That’s if you haven’t rebelled already.’
Lexie coughed and busied herself arranging pots of the Carrington Paints range on top of dust sheets and taking some shots for social media. ‘In my mind’s eye I see souks lined with spices, heaped in wicker baskets in a hazy sunlight. I want warmth. I want to almost smell the paprika and cumin when I look at these new colours.’
‘But what you’ve got is Mangy Mustard and Just-About-Ginger.’ Grace screwed up her nose. ‘I see why the Carringtons need you – and not just to help with their online world. There’s no point in polishing a poop. The company must have been stuck in the dark ages before you came along. Or maybe the dull-shades-of-crap ages.’
Lexie laughed.
‘All your work with their new website, blog and social media stuff has been making them pretty cool. Although they absolutely need better colours.’
Wow. Were people starting to see the business in a brighter light because of her efforts? Lexie wondered if the mean mother would hate her a bit less if that were true. Or maybe a bit more. She shuddered. It wasn’t worth thinking about it right then; bridges should be crossed when you got to them. Or never. Never was good.
