Page 5 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
Lily shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose so. We can talk more about it when you get here.’
‘Okay. I shouldn’t be long.’
Putting her own timekeeping troubles to shame, Lily was on her third coffee by the time Steve finally showed up. As he walked into Finchley’s, he held up two carrier bags from the art shop up the road and shrugged.
‘Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You know what us artists are like. Shall I get you another coffee?’
‘I’ll have an orange juice. Otherwise I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight.’
Steve dropped his goods down on the chair across from Lily and went to order the drinks. Lily glanced into the bag. A few packs of paint brushes and some oil paints. She gave an uneasy smile. He had gone for the expensive brands again. Perhaps now she was unemployed, she ought to ask for her credit card back. They would certainly have to talk about a little downsizing, at least until she could get another job.
Steve came back over. He set the drinks down, then leaned over and kissed her cheek before sitting down opposite. ‘So, all that country timing caught up with you, did it? Isn’t that what he called it last time?’
Lily sighed. ‘You know, I had a look back at my diary. It was only the third time in the last year. Once was due to a bus driver’s strike. Admittedly the other was when I overslept after you switched off my alarm—’
‘I don’t think blaming me will solve anything.’
‘I’m not blaming you. It’s just a fact. And the third was yesterday. A little harsh, don’t you think?’
Steve shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was just an excuse. How much did you get in severance?’
‘Six months.’
Steve nodded. ‘Well, that’s pretty good. And if you get a new job soon, you can double down. Maybe I can afford a bigger studio—’
‘I was thinking of taking a couple of months off.’
Steve frowned. ‘Why?’
Lily shook her head. ‘I don’t know, perhaps because for the last four years I’ve worked roughly seventy hours a week and haven’t taken a single holiday in all that time.’
‘Yeah, but what would you do?’
‘Maybe I could do an art course or something. Perhaps you could teach me.’
Steve suppressed a sigh. ‘I’m pretty busy with the new project. Look, I have an idea. Why don’t we go away for the weekend? You know, book a posh place in the Lake District or something, somewhere inspiring. After that, you’ll feel better.’ He leaned over and patted her hand. ‘I know job hunting is hard. You might have to downsize a little, but with Davidson’s on your resume, you’ll get something easily.’
‘But maybe I want to take a break.’
Steve let go of her hand and sat back. ‘Are you really thinking about this clearly? This is London. You can’t just sit around unemployed. You have rent to pay. And what about me?’
Lily bit her tongue. She didn’t want to say it, because she knew they would have an argument, and right now she wanted nothing less. But the words gnawed at her like a rat biting her shoe.
‘Perhaps you could sell some of your work?’
Steve stared at her. ‘So you’re making this about money now, are you? I’m an artist, Lily. It’s not about money.’
‘It is when it’s about mine.’
Steve rolled his eyes, then looked from side to side while giving a fishlike pout. Lily had always found him so handsome, but she hated it when he did this. It took twenty years off him, regressing him into a petulant twelve-year-old who had found cress sandwiches in his school lunch instead of tuna-mayo.
‘So you think I’m sponging off you, do you? I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that.’
‘Steve—’
He pushed back his chair and stood up. Then, almost as an afterthought, he picked up the bags of art supplies and waved them in front of him. ‘I’ll take this back. Right now. Will that make you happy?’
‘You don’t have to—’
