Page 81 of The Christmas Retreat
I found Wilfred Frick, one of the young men I had met in the Blue Parrot, there on the same mission.
We chatted once our works were completed to our satisfaction, and when he suggested I accompany him to the Star and Stone Inn for lunch, where we were sure to find several more friends, I decided to risk Cosmo’s wrath and go with him.
We met several more artists there, including Gwendolen Sutler and Effie, and afterwards some of us went on to visit one of the studios, where we continued the interesting conversation and then later had a strange tea of fried fish and bread, quite the sort of thing we used to get when we visited other young artists’ studios in London, with Edwin or Papa.
I felt very at home in that atmosphere. I am not and never will be grand enough for Triskelion.
I showed some of my day’s work to the others, but although they expressed some interest about my working in the studio of Cosmo Caradoc, I did not let myself be drawn on the subject of Cosmo’s changing style.
I got back, tired and happy, just as Maudie and Bea were goingup to change for dinner and did not tell them where I had been and what I had been doing, nor did they evince any interest.
Washing and then changing my old skirt and blouse for one of my two dresses was the matter of a moment, giving me time to write this to you.
I’ll ask Efa to post it in St Melangell when she goes home for the night as usual.
She is walking out with the son of the publican at the Star and Stone, by the bye, and I saw the young man today and had to agree with her that he looks very handsome and good-natured. I am sure he will make her a good husband when they set the day.
I have two more days of freedom – other than going to church, I suppose – and tomorrow plan to try painting in oils en plein air. I will take two small canvases and have contrived a way of carrying them face to face by pinning bits of cork in the corners to stop the wet surfaces touching one another. I’m sure there must be a better way, but feel I have been quite ingenious.
Oh, I feel so much more like my real self, I can’t tell you!
Your affectionate friend,
Arwen
25
Wrong Call
‘A call for me?’ I exclaimed. ‘You mean, on the landline? I can’t imagine who that could be, because the only people who know where I am are Evie’s PA, Liv, who is away over Christmas, and my old neighbour in Bedfordshire, and they both only have my mobile number.’
‘It was your boyfriend, Will Day.’
‘Ex-boyfriend, as I’ve already told you,’ I said through gritted teeth, feeling everyone’s eyes on me.
‘Oh, yes, silly me. That’s what I meant,’ Verity said apologetically. ‘He did sound terribly sweet – and very concerned about you. He’d been unable to reach you by phone or email, so he went out to that cottage you shared and found you’d sold it and moved out without letting him know.’
I stared at her. They seemed to have had a good long chat about my private affairs!
‘We didn’t “share” the cottage, it was mine, and I cut all ties with him just before the first lockdown,’ I said. ‘He did send me a couple of maudlin texts about a year later, then more recently an email, but I changed my mobile number andblocked him from my emails. And I had the landline to the cottage cut off as soon as it was sold.’
‘Then I wonder how he found out you were here?’ Evie asked with bright-eyed interest. ‘Liv wouldn’t have told him, even if she wasn’t away.’
‘No, and neither would Eli, my old neighbour,’ I agreed. Then suddenly remembered something.
‘Just before I came here, Liv rang me up and said someone from my publishers had rung up the flat to find out if I was there. She said it was a girl on work experience, in a fluster because she’d been told to send me my annual Christmas present and she’d only just remembered. She’d been unable to contact me by phone and her email had bounced. So Liv gave her this address.’
‘That must be it – but how devious of him,’ said Evie.
‘At the time, I just thought it was an intern getting her wires crossed, because I’d already had my annual card and gift of a gardening book from the publishers.’
‘Obviously, whoever rang was an accomplice,’ Kate said, her crime writer’s mind stirred. ‘It seems almost that he is stalking you, Ginny.’
‘It certainly does, especially since I’ve already made it plain I want nothing more to do with him.’
‘Oh, I don’t think he’sstalkingyou, Ginny,’ said Verity. ‘He just seemed to think if he could only see you and tell you face to face how sorry he was, and how big a mistake he made—’
‘No way! He’s the long dead past. I’ve moved on,’ I said. Then, as my eyes met Rhys’s intent ones, I thought that the past, in the form of Will and Annie, seemed determined to come back and haunt me!
