Page 41 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘That I understand why the walls in this house are such shocking colours.’ He picked up a canvas, peering at it for a better look. ‘They remind me of something actually, although I can’t quite put my finger on what.’
‘I thought that too, but I’ve just remembered. That orange one there reminds me of the wallpaper we had in our kitchen when I was little. It was outdated then, and I used to think it was hideous, but now I’d probably think it was very cool.’
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Classic seventies design.’ He too was looking at the back of the canvases. ‘Have you seen the dates on the back of these? They’re bloody well authentic. I actually really like them.’
‘Me too. As pieces of artwork, I can’t tell whether they’re good, bad or indifferent, but there’s something about them.’ She grinned back at her husband. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘Too right I am,’ he flashed back. ‘Sod the bloody paperwork. That can wait until another rainy day.’
Laying the canvas back on the table, Tom followed his wife back through the door. Behind him, forgotten, the kettle turned itself off with a click.
It took until lunchtime, with both of them working solidly to empty the remaining boxes. By the time they had finished, they had found another seven canvases, making twelve in total, along with more paints and equipment and bizarrely, several tubes of paper, which were printed with similar designs. The rolls were not unlike wallpaper but only about half as wide, and although one was severely water damaged, the others had survived pretty much intact.
Merry stood back to survey their morning’s handiwork. The room was now virtually cleared with only some larger pieces of furniture remaining. Most of what they had sorted through was utter rubbish, but the few gems they had found had made the work worthwhile. Merry was well aware that most people would have consigned the canvases to the rubbish heap as well, but she had never considered herself and Tom to be most people.
She wandered back into the main shop, which still required such a huge amount of work. In spite of the debris and the hanging plaster and sagging ceilings, she could see how the room would look in the future with its huge window transformed and flooding the place with light. They had wanted to sell ordinary everyday things alongside the slightly more unusual, and Merry had always had in her mind a strong theme of some sort to pull it all together; she just hadn’t known what. Today she had found her answer, even if, just for now, she was going to keep it to herself.
Tom was looking at the pieces of furniture, in particular a couple of old tables which were stacked against one wall. The patterned Formica on their top was chipped in a couple of places and the paint was peeling from them badly, but even from where Merry was standing, she could hear the cogs turning. She smiled to herself, knowing exactly what was running through his mind; it was one of the reasons why she loved him so much.
She slipped an arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I need food,’ she murmured. ‘Come on, I think we should stop for a bit.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll be right there, just give me a minute. I want to check something.’
And Merry knew exactly what that was too.
Her stomach gave a ferocious growl as she crossed the courtyard once more, trying to decide which she fancied more, cheese on toast or some lovely warming soup. She didn’t see the figure pass her gate, but she heard the cheery ‘Good afternoon’ from behind her.
She swung around. ‘Cora! Hello,’ she said, walking to the gate. ‘And hello to you too, Rupert. How are you both today?’
‘Wet,’ came a cheery smile. ‘Again. Still, it could be worse. It’s not freezing cold, and that’s something.’
‘Are you just going, or have you been?’ asked Merry, wondering how many times a day Cora walked the fields.
‘Just been. Homeward bound now I’m glad to say.’
Merry paused for a moment, a little shy, and wondering how much she should say. In the end, she decided that less was more. Cora didn’t need to hear about her massive wobble yesterday. ‘I wanted to say thanks for the cabbage by the way, it certainly did the trick, although I’m not really sure how you knew I’d be needing it…’
Cora said nothing, but simply stood and nodded.
‘…Well anyway, I made some cakes yesterday. Nothing special, just a few muffins, but as you’re on your way home, I wondered if you might like to take a few, to have with your tea.’
Cora beamed. ‘Particularly if they’re chocolate ones.’
Merry gave her a look. ‘They are actually…Do you want to wait here, and I’ll pop in and get them?’ She hurried back to the kitchen.
Relieved of her cakes, Merry was just saying goodbye when a thought slipped into her mind. ‘Cora, before you go, could I ask, do you know if the chap who had the house before us was an artist of some kind?’
‘That’s very perceptive of you.’
Merry laughed. ‘Not really…’ She was going to tell Cora about the canvases that they’d found, but something stopped her. ‘We found some boxes of old paints and brushes in the storeroom, artists’ materials. I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘Well, you wondered right. Yes, he was an artist, although I’m afraid I don’t know terribly much about his work. Christopher was his name; Christopher Marchmont. I expect you could find out about him, if you wanted to.’
Christopher Marchmont, CM, thought Merry to herself; so, in all likelihood, the paintings were made by him. She waved a cheerful goodbye to Cora and hurried back inside.
The fire made her feel drowsy, but as Merry sat on the sofa that evening, there was just one more thing she wanted to do before she went to bed.
It was late evening, and Robyn had been returned to them, safe and happy, and was now fast asleep. Beside her, Tom was leafing through a copy ofGrocermagazine, but she could feel he was struggling to concentrate. She pulled her laptop over, and waited while it started up.
