Escape to the Cotswolds. Natalie Kleinman
value, but she liked it. I can use it for sweets, she thought. Or peanuts. Having salved her conscience by convincing herself that it would be of some use after all, she walked across the road and sat down on a bench facing the river, taking out the smoothie and a small packet of nuts she’d also brought with her.
While she was munching she began mentally revising a part-planned leaflet and decided on a logo depicting Artemis killing a wild boar with a spear – the hunter overcoming her prey. A bit gruesome really but, hopefully, artistic! She realised also that advertising would have to come before props. There would be no point in buying six chairs if she had nobody to sit on them. Reluctantly she dragged herself away from the river.
On her way home she stopped at a shop selling art materials. They also did printing so she went in to get an estimate for a two-colour flyer and an idea of how long it would take to produce. Then it was off home to finish the leaflet design so she could get it into production and distributed as soon as possible. The chairs would have to wait.
Once the idea had taken hold it wasn’t long before Holly had tweaked the design to her satisfaction, so she turned her attention to another of her favourite things – cooking. She enjoyed what was just another aspect of her creativity. Her kitchen was the kind one dreams about but never dares hope to have.
Mrs Foster had had it refitted five years earlier, long before she’d decided to go and live with her daughter. Cooking had been her hobby too and no expense had been spared in kitting out the hub of the cottage to a very high standard. Its size, relative to the rest of the place, was huge, spanning as it did the whole of the back of the original property, now butting up against and giving access to the extension that had been added later. Holly couldn’t be at all sure it wasn’t the kitchen that had sold her on the house in the first place, with its quarry-tiled floor and fitted range.
‘I don’t know how she could bear to leave it,’ Holly had gasped at Emma soon after she’d first seen it. ‘It’s like something out of a showroom, what with all the appliances and white goods hidden behind the cupboard doors.’
‘I bet you can’t wait to get your hands on it. I still dream about your dinner parties in London. You gave up on the catering idea pretty quickly, didn’t you?’
‘Don’t remind me. Just another thing Harry didn’t want his wife to do.’
‘Seems to me he just wanted to compartmentalise you.’
‘I don’t think it was that. I really believe it would have been a blow to his ego if I’d had any kind of job other than the one at the gallery. That suited his vision of status – my status. And it was fine to have dinner parties at home but anything commercial was out of the question. He had this romantic idea of me playing housewife. It didn’t occur to him for one moment that I’d be bored out of my mind. Fortunately the attic was well lit and I could use it as a studio when I wasn’t at work. Just as long as I didn’t try to sell anything. Harry always referred to it as my hobby.’
‘And you with more talent in your little finger than him in his whole body.’
‘I’m not sure some of his girlfriends would agree with you,’ Holly retorted, feeling like she was scratching at an old scab.
***
Holly opened one oak door after another but many of the cupboards were empty. She came to the conclusion that she must plead with Emma for a trip to the retail park. Her fridge was full and the local general store had supplied many of her needs, but she was used to having all the ingredients she needed to hand and all the equipment required to cook them in. She piled such things as she did have onto the huge central reservation with its drawers and units underneath a spacious granite top. Running her fingers over the cool surface she thought about how lucky she was.
Holly opened the door to the garden, at right angles to the one that led into the studio. She couldn’t resist taking a quick peek into the studio and imagined what it would be like when it held more than just her mother’s table. She gave her head a little shake, as she did most times when she thought of her beloved parents and the cruel fate that had taken them from her.
The outside area must at one time have been quite beautiful but English cottage country gardens didn’t look after themselves and Mrs Foster hadn’t employed a gardener other than to cut the grass. Holly picked some of the herbs that were growing outside the back door, thus far her only attempt at cultivation, and sighed. So much to do. For the time being though it would have to wait.
Back in the kitchen she set to with a will, using the few implements and pans she had and grateful for the large foil containers she’d bought locally. She spent the whole afternoon cutting, preparing, and cooking while listening to music on her iPod. Finally she left everything on the granite top and settled down in her very comfortable armchair – offering up silent thanks to Mrs Foster – to make a couple of calls while she waited for things to cool down enough to put in the fridge or freezer. She began with Emma and, finding her at home, invited her and Tom over for the meal she’d promised her as soon as she’d settled in.
‘Do you want to come in the evening by yourselves, or would you rather make it Saturday and bring the boys for lunch?’
‘Every single moment of Saturday’s already accounted for but tomorrow’s Friday, they don’t have to get up early for school next day, and since it’s half-term they’ve got time to catch up on sleep. Is that too soon? What if we bring the boys in the evening, if you don’t mind eating early?’
‘I’d love that. Can Tom manage six o’clock? Will that be early enough for the twins?’
‘I’ll make sure he can. And if they start to fall asleep we can each carry one home.’
‘What!’
‘Only kidding. Do you know how much a six-year-old weighs? Perhaps we’d better bring the car. See you tomorrow.’
Holly’s next call was to Kate. Since the party they’d become firm friends and it had become part of nearly every day for them to have a natter. Phoebe too.
‘Phoebe and I are going to Bath next Thursday if this glorious weather carries on. We were wondering if you could come with us if you’re free.’
Holly jumped at the offer and Kate arranged to pick her up the following week.
Kate was a kept woman. She and Charlie had been married for about six years but Kate was a homemaker, not a working wife. The kind of situation Harry had wanted for Holly – but where it hadn’t suited Holly at all Kate thrived on it. Holly was really looking forward to a day out with her and Phoebe. She had no idea what Phoebe did for a living or how she managed to run around the country on a weekday – somehow the subject had never come up – but she was glad to have the opportunity to get to know them both better.
She’d left friends in London, of course she had, but Emma had always been her best mate and until recently she’d been too far away to see very often. Most of the people in London had been joint friends, hers and Harry’s and, while there were one or two she would miss, leaving the rest behind wasn’t the wrench it might have been.
Things had cooled off in the kitchen and Holly portioned and packed, keeping something out for dinner before putting the rest in the freezer. She hadn’t had a proper meal for two days and she ate her supper on her lap and curled up for the rest of the evening with a good book. Life was, she figured, pretty wonderful.
***
After nearly flooring Holly again outside the post office Adam had hurtled off down the street to the safety of his Land Rover. Once inside he gripped the steering wheel, though he didn’t start the engine. Bloody woman. Why does she have to reduce me to a blithering idiot every time I meet her? For the truth was that although Adam did have patients to see he was only on his daily round and there was no need at all for him to rush. It was panic that instigated his flight.
He had to face the fact that Holly had made a profound impression on him. After his disastrous engagement he’d learned to face the world with an outward air of assurance that had now become more real than