Out of Step (3 page)

‘Who cares? I shan’t tell him until I’ve landed a leading rôle, and then just watch him lap up the reflected glory!’

Nell privately thought that Paul was too keen on the centre stage himself voluntarily to rejoice in anyone else’s success, but she kept quiet.

‘Why on earth did we both choose to do Fine Art at university, Nell?’ Elly shook her head. ‘We must have been loony;
folie à deux!’

‘Not at all. You wanted to do interior design, and I wanted to paint. It was obvious.’

‘Yes, but look where it’s got us.’

‘Well, your business is doing pretty well.’

‘Maybe, but I should have done drama. I’ve wasted
so
much time.’

‘Does Paul know how you feel?’

‘Nope. He’s far too wrapped up in his school and his bloody sailing.’

‘And the boys?’

‘Oh, Will and Sam know I’ve been a drama queen all my life.’

Nell smiled.

‘But what about you, Nell? Isn’t it time you reassessed your life too? I know Sibyl would hate to lose you, but she worries about you wasting all your education, working behind her shop counter.’

‘I like it there,’ Nell said firmly. ‘It suits me. I’m not the up-shifting type. I’ve decided I want a life, not a career. Careers suck people dry and leave them no time to just
be
. But now you mention it, I am thinking of making some changes.’

‘Does Sibyl know?’

‘No, I mean personal changes. I want to sell my house and live in the country.’

‘Where exactly?’

‘Funnily enough, exactly where this Hayhoe man lives. Tell you what, if you’re determined to make his acquaintance, you couldn’t introduce a small neutron bomb into his cottage, could you? You know – the sort that kills people and leaves buildings intact!’

‘Nice place to live, eh?’ Elly was looking at her curiously.

‘The best,’ Nell said simply.

Elly did not have time to visit Bottom Cottage that weekend but when she came down from London a fortnight later, she persuaded Nell to go at least part of the way with her to direct her. Elly drove, and when they came to a ridge overlooking a deep valley with a stripe of river at its floor and a gleam of sea on the horizon, Nell made her slow down, and pointed out a cart track on their right.

‘OK,’ Nell said, ‘drive down through the tree tunnel… there’s a vantage point… yes, there on the left. Stop here. The cottage is at the bottom. Now look!’ She passed her binoculars to Elly, who obediently peered through them. It had been raining hard all week, making up for past
deficiencies, and everywhere this morning looked grey, even the yachts. The grey hills came down to the grey water. The grey trees stopped just short of the grey mud. A few new-fallen grey leaves covered the grey path between wood and river. She looked downstream at the greyly ebbing tide and a few grey birds poking about in the distance. The sky was especially grey.

‘Isn’t it paradise?’ Nell said.

‘It’s certainly exclusive, but it would be much too secretive and claustrophobic for me.’

‘Some people have no soul,’ Nell said cheerfully, putting on scarf, gloves and a woolly hat. ‘This is where I get out. Don’t be long though; it’s a bit nippy to be hanging about for ages.’

‘Right,’ Elly said, restarting the engine. ‘I’m not at all sure about the rest of this road though. Sure you won’t come?’

Nell shook her head.

‘How much d’you want for your drawing?’

‘Oh, I hadn’t though. Twenty?’

Elly drove slowly on down the track alone, bottoming out twice and having to choose her route with care. No one in their right mind would want to live here! she thought, except of course Nell (and maybe Sibyl?); the unworldly in thrall to the impractical.

At the turning place, she parked by a Land Rover and looked critically at the house. She saw it as a ‘Before’ photo in a renovation portfolio. She banged on the front door with her knuckles and then brushed flakes of paint off them, holding the picture frame under one arm. No answer. She tried again.

‘Can I help you?’ a voice said from behind her. A man and two small children were walking up the path from the river. The elder child’s wellington boots were making squelch-squelch noises with every step.

‘Are you Mr Hayhoe?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Oh good.’ He’s quite good-looking, Elly thought. Lots of curly brown hair. Mid-thirties, early forties? A bit thin. ‘I’ve brought this to show you.’ She held out the drawing.

‘Want to see!’ The boy with the sodden wellies rushed up and snatched it from her.

‘Gently, Josh,’ the man said. ‘It’s breakable, OK?’

‘Me, me,’ the small girl insisted, letting go of her father’s hand and bumbling forward.

‘Let Rosie have a look too,’ he said, squatting down beside them. ‘I’ll hold it for both of you.’

‘That’s my bedroom,’ Josh said, jabbing his finger at the window and leaving a smudge on the glass.

‘And Rosie’s too,’ his father reminded him.

‘I’ve got my own room at home!’

‘Yes, well, we’ve only got two bedrooms here, haven’t we?’ He glanced up at Elly. ‘Sorry, these two monsters do rather seem to take things over.’ The children swaggered a little. He looked properly at the drawing. ‘This is very good. Did you do it?’

‘God, no! It’s by a friend of mine. She’s very talented but she’s no good at self-promotion, so I…’

‘Dad! My feet are cold.’

‘Rothie wants to do a weeee …’

‘Sorry,’ Rob said. ‘I’d better just deal with … Come on …’ He handed the picture back to Elly and followed his children through the front door. Elly brought up the rear, and waited in the kitchen/living room as the three of them went upstairs, boots and all. She saw that this could be a very stylish room indeed if a great deal of money were to be spent on it. The floor was still covered by its original flagstones. The stove was set in a broad chimney alcove under a thick wooden beam where an open hearth had once been. There was an inglenook – a little seat – on one side of the stove, and an old bread oven on the other. Facing the back door on the opposite wall was a wooden
staircase to the first floor, and next to it a large scrubbed pine table, but there all charm ended. There seemed to be no storage cupboards or work surfaces to speak of. The sink under the back window had only one basin and one draining board, and an old plastic drying rack that looked distinctly dirty. A few blackened pans hung on hooks from another beam. There were no curtains or blinds at the window, and any space on the walls which was not obscured by stuck-on children’s paintings appeared to be covered in childish scribbles in pencil and felt-tip pen.

A box of toys at the far end had overflowed, and bits of Lego and heads of Play-People crunched underfoot rather like extra large grains of … sugar? No, that
was
sugar.

Hmm, Elly thought rather grimly. ‘Needs some attention’? Or ‘Ripe for development’? How could one put it politely?

‘Nice and warm in here,’ she said, as Rob came downstairs again with both children.

‘Yes, we’ve got a woodburner. Sit down, Josh, or I can’t get these boots of yours off.’ He pointed it out.

In Elly’s limited experience, woodburning stoves had only three settings – too cold, too hot, and out – but she said, ‘Lovely.’

‘Pop upstairs and get yourself some dry socks, yes?’

‘I want
you
to come.’

‘Sorry,’ Rob said yet again. ‘Back in a mo.’

‘Hayhoe,’ Elly said as he came downstairs again. ‘Are you by any chance related to …’

‘Yes,’ he cut in, rather wearily, it seemed to her. ‘But unlike my father, no, I don’t act.’

‘Oh dear. You’re obviously very tired of that question.’

‘Just a little.’

‘My apologies. Does he ever visit you here?’

‘Hardly ever. He has a busy schedule.’ He pronounced it ‘skedule’ with some distaste, as though quoting. ‘And
before you ask, he eats wannabe actresses for elevenses.’

‘He does not,’ Joshua protested. ‘He has coffee and shortbread.’

‘Hungry!’ Rosie piped up, amidst the laughter.

‘Forgive me,’ Elly said. ‘I’m not used to being seen through so speedily.’ She waited for a standard compliment, but it didn’t come.

‘So, do you really want to sell this drawing, or was it just…?’

‘Oh yes, definitely.’ She hastily offered it to him again.

‘For how much?’ he asked, without taking it.

‘Forty pounds.’

He pursed his lips. ‘Bit steep.’

‘Daddy, Daddy, Rothie’s
hungry.’

‘All right, poppet. We’ll have something very soon.’

‘Pity Nell isn’t here,’ Elly said. ‘As well as being an artist she’s also a brilliant cook.’

‘Why didn’t she come with you?’

‘Shy, I suppose. Reluctant to trespass again.’

‘Oh … is she the woman who’s been down here a few times in a blue Citroën?’

‘The very one.’ A brilliant idea struck Elly, and she acted upon it instantly. ‘Actually, I think she rather fancies you, but for God’s sake don’t tell her I told you so! Look, don’t feel obliged to buy the pic. I’m not trying to do a hard sell. I’ll just write down her name and phone number, shall I? Then you can take time to decide whether you really want it or not.’ She put the drawing under her arm again, opened her shoulder-bag and wrote on a small notepad, tearing the page off and giving it to him.

‘Eleanor Chant, eh? Well… thanks.’ He stuffed it into a pocket in his faded cords.

‘Well, mustn’t hold up your …’ Your what? It was eleven o’clock.

‘Breakfast. We’re a trifle disorganised this morning.’

‘… Breakfast, then. Sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Bye.’ She got into her car and drove off up the track, thinking: Well, well, well! I hope I’m right. Could be just what Nell needs after the ghastly Martin – an intelligent, non-macho, well-spoken New Man!

Nell jumped up and down to keep warm. It was far too cold even to do any preliminary sketches as she had planned, and she was cross with herself for having agreed to come at all. When Elly finally drove up and stopped beside her, she saw her drawing was still lying on the passenger seat.

‘Told you so!’ she said, picking it up as she got in.

‘Aha! But it’s not the way you think,’ Elly countered, raising both eyebrows in an ironic glance.

‘What isn’t?’

‘Well, I may be wrong, but I got the distinct impression that Mr Rob Hayhoe liked your picture so much that he hasn’t bought it on purpose.’

‘You
what?’

‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s going to use it as a ploy to get you to go down there instead of me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll bet you ten, no twenty, quid that he phones you within the week.’

‘What, to buy the drawing?’

‘No, dumbo! To ask you out! The man clearly fancies you. He realised who you were at once. He’s probably been fantasising about this beautiful capricious, unknown painter for weeks.’

‘What a load of old balls!’ Nell said. ‘Twenty quid? You’re on.’ They shook hands.

‘Mmm,’ Elly said. ‘Easy money, that.’

‘What d’you mean? How can he phone? He hasn’t got my number. He doesn’t even know my name.’

‘Ah well … actually he does.’ She grinned triumphantly at Nell. ‘Sorry and all that, but I had to write them both down for him. He absolutely
insisted!’

As was her habit on at least two mornings a week, Nell dragged herself unwillingly out of bed in order to go swimming. She knew that when she got there she would enjoy every minute of it, but at this early hour, with the day hardly begun and the world outside barely light, it needed considerable willpower. In October there were only the regulars at the leisure centre, so the pool was uncluttered with fair-weather swimmers, and you could do serious lengths and get some real exercise. Today, taking a brief pre-swim shower by the side of the pool, she noticed there was hardly anyone in so far, and then caught sight of a sleek auburn head and thought: Oh good. Anna’s here.

Anna Smith had newly arrived in her job teaching biology at Nell and Elly’s old school in Boxcombe. She was six years younger than Nell but keen to be friends, and willing to be fearlessly candid to that end. In her first week at swimming she told Nell all about the married man she’d been having an affair with in London, whom she called ‘the Boss’ to ‘protect the guilty’. Last week she’d had an unkind tale about the stupidity of the Boss’s wife, also referred to under a nickname.

‘So Ermintrude goes to this party,’ Anna had said, ‘and what does she do? She says to this poor unfortunate woman, “Oh I remember you at X’s party last week. You were wearing the same dress as Y.” Talk about tactless!’

Nell had felt rather uncomfortable about this, but enjoyed the stories nevertheless.

Today, as was her custom, Nell did ten lengths straight
off before stopping for a chat. When she’d finished, she found Anna lying face upwards, supporting herself with the back of her head on the tiled edge, and with the water lapping at the little pearl earstuds she always wore. She was doing leg exercises.

‘Hi,’ Anna said. ‘How’s things?’

‘Fine,’ Nell said, gliding towards her, smiling.

‘Guess what? I’ve had some really good news. The Boss says he’s missed me so much since I moved down here that he’s decided to buy a place nearby so we can still meet! Isn’t that great?’

‘Amazing. So you didn’t leave London to end the affair?’

‘No way! I just got the chance of a permanent job and felt I had to take it. It was one hell of a wrench.’

‘He obviously thought so too.’

‘Lovely man,’ Anna said contentedly.

‘Will his wife know about the new place?’

‘Unfortunately yes. He’s officially buying it for family holidays, but he’ll get down here without Ermintrude and kids whenever he can. So, how about you? Still feeling restless?’

‘Even more so, if that’s possible.’

‘Have you begun looking for your dream house?’

‘Worse than that. I’ve found it, but some wretched man got there before me.’

‘On his own?’

‘Sort of. I believe his children visit him at weekends. Why?’

‘And the house is everything you’ve always wanted?’

‘Absolutely.’