Escape to the Cotswolds. Natalie Kleinman
thousand pounds to the asking price, it was right at the end of the high street, as far away as it was possible to be from Emma and Tom and still be in the village.
There was a huge extension on the side that ran front to back. It didn’t quite blend in with the rest of the cottage. At least it had a sloping roof, but it was tiled and you could see it was begging for a new hairdo. The potential though was enormous. She could use it as a studio. She could even see it as a commercial gallery. In fact, it was so big she could use it as both.
All of a sudden new possibilities were presenting themselves. In spite of Harry not wanting her to work – how old-fashioned was that! – she’d had a job for years at one of the London galleries. Her passion so great that she couldn’t distance herself from it. Harry didn’t make too much of a fuss; it was the sort of genteel occupation he could accept for his wife.
At home she’d continued in the well-lit attic room to turn out a substantial number of paintings. Maybe at last the collection of pictures she’d produced over the years could find a proper home instead of being stacked against the walls. If everything went well she could have her own commercial premises and be her own boss. Holly had never dreamt of starting a business but the prospect was staring her in the face. She made it pretty obvious she was keen. She couldn’t have feigned indifference even if she’d tried; it wasn’t her way, and the owner, an elderly lady who was moving to live with her daughter, was completely frank with her.
‘Perhaps I should mention, my dear, that there are two more people coming to see it this evening. I’m not pushing you, but you seem like such a nice young woman, and all on your own too.’
Well, what would any normal person have done? Holly made an offer there and then.
‘That is a little less than I’d hoped for, I’m afraid. I think I’ll have to wait and see what the next people say.’
‘I understand, of course, Mrs Foster, but please come back to me anyway. If they do make an offer I’d really like the opportunity to match it.’
Holly wondered if she sounded over-eager. Well, she was and there was no way she could have pretended otherwise.
‘You remind me of my daughter when she was your age. I’d like to help you, if I can.’
Mrs Foster smiled at Holly. ‘Look, I tell you what; I won’t make any more appointments and if either of these other two is interested I’ll give you the chance to match the price. If you still want it then, it’s yours.’
For Holly the next few hours were interminable. Emma couldn’t believe it when she didn’t eat supper. Nothing ever put her off her food. And she was pacing. Nervous, or what! When she phoned Mrs Foster later in the evening her hand was shaking; her whole body was shaking.
‘One of the couples has topped your offer by £2,500 but I did tell them that I’d promised you first refusal. It’s up to you now.’
It wasn’t the full asking price, but it was pretty close. Still, she’d known what the asking price was. If she’d thought she couldn’t afford it, she wouldn’t have gone to see it in the first place would she. When it came to convincing herself, Holly was a pushover.
‘I can meet that offer, Mrs Foster. I’d like to go ahead if it’s okay with you. I’ll contact my solicitor first thing in the morning.’
‘All right, my dear. In that case it’s yours.’
‘Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. Goodbye.’ … ‘Emma. Eeeeemma! How do I go about finding a solicitor?’
And so began the nerve-racking process that every new buyer goes through. Holly was so anxious while she waited for completion that Emma, in spite of having told her she could stay as long as she liked, threatened to throw Holly out onto the streets if she didn’t stop wittering. Secretly Holly knew her friend was almost as excited as she was. She felt the weight of responsibility for Holly’s move to Cuffingham and her own part in it and was anxious to see her settled.
Oddly enough the twins didn’t seem to mind their godmother burbling on about ‘my cottage’ either. They’d long ago formed the opinion that she was a bit crazy. They even asked her occasionally if she had any news. Six-year-olds! She didn’t think it was because they couldn’t wait for her to leave.
***
It may have been late autumn but Holly obeyed the demands of the weak sunshine streaming in through Emma’s window. Bundled up against the bright but rather chilly day she set out to further explore her new surroundings. Harry would have loved this, she thought. Damn Harry. Charming, gorgeous Harry. But not for her. No, definitely no longer for her. She still thought about him far more often than was comfortable.
She could call him all the names she liked but she couldn’t get away from the fact that she missed him desperately. She’d learned to cover it well, particularly when she’d been house-hunting or sheltered in the company of her friends, but you can’t put a marriage behind you that quickly. Consequently it was on days like this one, when members of the Carter family were at work or school, that loneliness hit her with a very big L.
Turning into the high street, to follow what was fast becoming her favourite walk, her aim was to go through the village and out the other side. That way she’d get a quick peek at what she earnestly hoped was going to be her new home. Like so many places in the Cotswolds Cuffingham was charming. A river flowed through the main street with a bank on one side and a road on the other. Shops and houses faced each other across the ribbon of water.
Emma’s home was on the tarmacked side, so Holly crossed the footbridge to get to the bank. Another river ran behind the row of houses and shops on this side. It was as peaceful as it was beautiful and to Holly, as she left her old life behind and in spite of her pangs, it was becoming everything she’d never known she’d wanted.
She began walking through the village intending to search for treasure on the riverbanks beyond the cottages. She’d seen and made some fantastic creations out of things as mundane as a few bits of wood and twigs, or some leaves and feathers; bottle tops; old socks. Well, maybe not old socks. Holly knew herself well enough to realise that once she started it would be all-absorbing and hopefully sufficient to shake off the alien depression that had descended as she’d thought again of Harry.
There was a cool, almost chilly breeze, in spite of which she wasn’t walking quickly for fear of missing something. She hadn’t lived in Cuffingham long enough to take it for granted and hoped she never would. The sound of quacking alerted her to a pair of ducks on the river and she glanced at them with a smile, moving towards them to get a better look, already feeling her mood lifting. At least it was, until she was knocked off balance and sent flying. She landed on her back, her rucksack cushioning her fall, her lightened frame of mind changing to one of irritation.
‘Can’t you look where you’re going,’ she muttered as she scrambled to her feet. It was only when she looked up, way up, to find herself staring into a pair of piercing, very blue eyes strongly reminiscent of a young Paul Newman, that something stirred inside her. The actor had had eyes you could drown in but the ones that were returning her gaze held a strong hint of steel, and the face they shone out of may have been gorgeous but she could see he was very angry.
‘Can’t I look where I’m going? Just exactly what do you think you were doing? You were all over the place. I couldn’t have missed you if I’d tried, which, by the way, I did.’
Never one to turn down a challenge, Holly wasn’t going to let that pass, deciding that maybe he wasn’t so very good-looking after all in spite of thick dark hair glinting with auburn shades where it caught the sun. Oh no, she thought. Not hair envy again. The fact that she needed to crane her neck to look up at this giant did nothing to soften her reply. Rather, and even though she’d never desired to be of the Amazon race, she felt disadvantaged by her size and went on the attack.
‘Have you even stopped to look around? It’s a beautiful day – not that you would have noticed at the rate you were haring along,’ Holly said, allowing disapproval to creep