Page 70 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘Says the girl who gave her money and worldly belongings to a commune to live a simpler life.’ But Lexie couldn’t help a smile. For once, she really hoped her sister’s thing with Billy-Bob was just a fad. Because Sky had never seemed like a sausage-free, hessian-dress kind of a person.
Could she talk Sky out of that stupid commitment ceremony within the next week? Or was it time Lexie learned to live and let cry …
Chapter 35
She wasn’t going to steal anything, exactly. Ben probably wouldn’t mind, and surely his mother wouldn’t even notice. They had tons of furniture. And some of it was so drab, it was crying out for a makeover. She’d be doing them all a favour, and she’d absolutely put it back when she was done. Only then it would look a bit brighter.
Lexie was stalking around the living room at Nutgrass Hall, still in her paint-splattered overalls after her mixing experiments with Grace. Inspiration was bubbling after their paint-themed discussions. Even Cory was showing the spirit of adventure with his new surf-shop idea. His passion was almost infectious, and the three of them had enjoyed thrashing out the beginnings of a business plan for him, with Sky cheering them on from the laptop screen. All this paperwork wasn’t half as scary as Lexie had thought.
Better still, she’d found a box of vintage magazines among the stuff she’d been clearing out with Grace. She knew hoarding things wasn’t always bad. Some of the beautiful images had danced off the page. She could imagine them découpaged on furniture. Pieces she would bring back to life with her own handmade range of chalk-style paints, then paste eye-catching pictures to. Just as Aunt Jasmine had crafted her own sunflowery versions on Penny the camper van’s cupboards once upon a time.
It was hot work, all this scoping out, and Lexie had peeled down the top half of her overalls, revealing her thin yellow vest top. Her paintbrushes were tucked into her waistband like a western gunslinger, and an indie rock tune about world domination was blasting through her earphones.
Just as she was bending over to inspect a side table, a piercing voice made her jump.
‘Well, I say!’
Lexie froze, mid heist.
‘Is that a …tattoo?’
Bloody buggering bollocks. There was only one voice as condescending as that around these parts, and it only ever turned up when it was particularly inconvenient. Her stupid music must have drowned out the peacock alarm. Lexie pulled out her earphones and whipped herself around to face Mrs Carrington-Noble. She straightened herself up, hiding the body art she still didn’t feel worthy of and hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her baboon-bottom paint stains.
‘I will thank you to keep your skin and its garish pond plants to yourself while you’re under my roof.’
‘It’s not a … ’ Lexie’s voice trailed off. She was sure she wasn’t usually such a wet jellyfish, but Ben’s mother was so unnerving. Appearing from nowhere like a mystical beast, eyes narrowed for the pounce.
‘And where do you think you’re going with my occasional table?’
Surely it was always a table? But Lexie had the feeling it was not the time to split hairs.
‘Er. Borrowing it?’
Mrs Carrington-Noble’s eyes darted towards Lexie’s fingers, which were involuntarily twitching over her waistband.
‘Paintbrushes. I might have known. Does this have anything to do with those dreadful paint-mixing photos you’ve been posting all over social media? Because if you change anything in this house by one single shade … ’
Lexie waited for the full force of the threat, but it didn’t arrive. The older woman took a step backwards and grabbed an armchair for support. Being that mean must be draining.
‘My things are precious, Alexis.’
‘Actually, it’s just Lexie.’
‘This table is a Louis the Fifteenth antique.’
And what was Ben, a Queen Anne dining chair? But Lexie dared not say that.
‘And you do not have permission to touch my walls.’ She pointed an angry finger at one, as though someone as meagre as Lexie might need clarification.
‘Noted,’ said Lexie, trying to be polite to the woman who was ultimately her boss, but feeling a veiled hint of sarcasm creeping up. ‘I know you prefer beige.’ Oops.
Lexie tried to keep a straight face as the pale skin on her opponent’s face began to quiver.
‘This room is Emperor’s Ivory.’
‘Of course.’ Lexie nodded sagely. Why wouldn’t it be?
Mrs Carrington-Noble let out a huff of frustrated air and began rifling through her overpriced handbag. ‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to seek your approval on my colour schemes. I will conduct my affairs as I see fit, and my members of staff will keep their ideas to themselves.’
