---

 
 

If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portrait I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand...

Kenny Rogers

Previously…

Dawn held my hand and I noticed that she was shaking slightly. I squeezed her hand reassuringly as I glanced at Abby and raised my eyebrows slightly. We had got to the stage where we could communicate without talking and I knew she felt the same as me; that we really wanted them to come and live in the village.

Adrian walked back. His expression was unreadable. He sat down, picked up his glass and drank deeply.

‘Well?’ said Dawn, with exasperation in her voice.

‘What dear?’

‘Don’t what dear me, Adrian, what has happened?

‘Oh that. We’ve got the cottage at twenty-five thou’ less than the asking price.

‘You sod!’ She said, bashing him around the head with a napkin.

We all began whooping and congratulating one another, bringing frowns from the other diners, but what the hell, it’s not every day that you buy your dream home.

And now the story continues…

After congratulating each other on receiving the news that Dawn and her family would be coming to live at the Cove, we grabbed the protesting children from the beach and went to took them to see the cottage where they were soon going to be living. Protests died on their lips as they were as curious as anyone regarding their new home.

Needless to say, Timothy and Hayley loved the cottage and instantly were arguing where the beds were going to be in their room. In a few years time, I could see a problem arising when it would be necessary to separate them, but the garden was large and there was some thoughts about a possible extension–in keeping with the present building, of course.

The weekend flew by. The family stayed at Abby’s cottage as she had more room than me. The children took to Abby and were soon calling her Auntie. It was nice having lots of people around and I got a warm feeling, seeing how everything gelled. Meal times were a bit boisterous but full of laughter. Timothy and Hayley were well behaved kids and apart from doing everything at two hundred miles an hour, they were no problem. They went up to Jocasta’s several times for pony rides and Jo’s children, Jennifer and Phillipa took them under their wings, which was splendid. Early on Sunday evening, we booked a table at the Beachcomber Restaurant and invited all our friends. Apart from Dawn and the family, there was Jocasta, David, Jen and Phil, as well as Katie and Millie, so it was quite a large party.

It was a terrific having a meal with everyone who meant something to me; it seemed strange that until a few short weeks ago, I was effectively alone, without a friend to call my own and now, all these wonderful people were with me and sharing my life. I decided on a sea food platter–which was absolutely delicious–followed by a knickerbocker glory, which was yummy but filling. I didn’t have any wine–knowing what it would do to me. Instead I shared a jug of fruit punch with Abby and Adrian, who would be driving later. The rest of the adults had wine and the children, cokes.

After we had eaten–I felt a bit like a beached whale by this time–all the children went on the beach, leaving us oldies to talk quietly. The kids had been warned not to get their clean clothes dirty, but I think that they had some sort of instant deafness as before long they were rolling about in the sand.

The sun was sinking towards the horizon and the sea reflected the ridiculously large red-gold orb. It was still quite warm and the sea breeze,–such as it was–was warm and whispered over the thin strappy dress I was wearing. Over to the left, I noticed a trawler going out to sea from behind the harbour wall for some night fishing–its lights now showing dimly in the early evening dusk–followed by some inquisitive sea gulls. The sounds of the boat’s engines’ putt-putted across the water. I turned to David, who was also watching the boat.

‘Let’s hope the weather stays okay?’ I remarked.

‘Yes,’ said David smiling,’ I don’t fancy going out on the lifeboat after a meal like that.’

‘How come the local vicar is a member of the Lifeboat crew?’ I asked. ‘It strikes me as being rather unusual.’

‘Not really; I served as a chaplain in the Royal Navy for twelve years, and have always loved and respected the sea, so it seemed the natural thing to do when they were short of a crewman. I’ve been a member of the Penmarris Lifeboat crew for twelve years now.’ I realised there was a lot more to David Gotobed than I had thought.

There was much talk about Dawn and Adrian moving here and what needed to be done. Millie gave Adrian, old Mr Potts phone number and another number for a good firm of furniture removers. Dawn intended to speak to the village school on Monday, but there wouldn’t be any problems there, as it wasn’t really up to capacity, child wise. Katie thought that the move shouldn’t take more than a month as there was no chain, so it looked like all system go!

All too soon, Adrian was checking his watch and giving Dawn significant glances; it was time to go. Finally the sun gave up the ghost and dipped below the horizon and the air became a little cooler. Reluctantly the children returned from the beach and Timothy and Hayley began hinting that they wanted to have ponies of their own. I could see some indications of influence from the innocent-looking faces of Pippa and Jen, but said nothing, of course.

In next to no time, the cases were put in the boot of Adrian’s car and everyone said goodbye. I had my usual little cry as I waved off Dawn and the family, but knowing I would be seeing them very soon, I didn’t feel too bad. There were more hugs as we bade our farewells to Katie, Millie, Jocasta and the others and then, Abby and I went hand in hand, back to her cottage.

After feeding the cats and doing a few chores, we made our way to bed. An enjoyable weekend ended up with a very enjoyable night as Abby continued doggedly and with some fortitude to continue my lessons in Vibrators 101. As she said rather breathlessly later, ‘it’s hard work, but someone has to do it!’

Monday passed by peacefully and without much in the way of drama–thank goodness, do I hear you say? I continued working on my portrait of Fifi and, I must say I was happy with the finished article. Whether Lady F would be satisfied, would be another question.

On Monday afternoon, Dawn rang. ‘Hi, Dawn, what’s cooking?’

‘Hi, Sam, I thought I’d let you know that I’ve spoken to the head mistress; she’s a real sweetie. Do you know her?’

‘No. I think Abby said that she has been here since she was a young girl and actually went to school there, but other than that, I know nuffink.’

‘Hmm, not sure about the accent there; at least you don’t talk Devon yet.’

‘Yes’m, I mean no’m’

‘Don’t start that! Anyway, the legal eagles are sorting out the house move and everything seems to be hunky-dory.’

‘That’s great news.’

‘Mmm; anyway, I have to go as I want to get a bit of packing done before the children come home from school.’

‘Will they miss their friends?’

‘Yes, that’s the only down side, but they aren’t that close to many of them and they have made all sorts of rash promises to the ones they are close to, about having them down for weekends, going to the beaches and riding the ponies that they haven’t even got yet!’

‘Ah, the perils of parenthood!’

‘Mmm; are you and Abby going to have children?’

‘We haven’t discussed it–yet–but I know that she loves kids too. We might adopt or foster if we can, but that’ll be after we formalise things.’

‘You mean marriage?’ said Dawn, excitedly.

‘Maybe; I need to get divorced before we even think of that. One step at a time, I suppose.’

‘True, anyway, must dash. Love you lots.’

‘You too, sis; see you soon.’

‘Bye.’

Abby had to go to Exeter that afternoon and would be staying over with friends. She was going to see a few shops that had shown interest in her pottery and hoped that she might get some commissions also. So for the first time in a long while, I was going to be alone. I decided I would sort out the cats for the night and then go home to my own cottage. I wanted to have a final look at Fifi’s portrait and make sure that everything was okay. At least I didn’t have to sort out a frame, as Lady F had told me that she would arrange that side of things herself.

Looking at Fifi, sitting proudly, with a haughty, Lady Fairbairn-type expression, I smiled. I was so pleased that I had given her a bit of a twinkle in her eye–it was just the pose that I had been hoping for. The paint was quite dry and I covered the portrait with a sheet and went to bed.

It seemed strange going to bed by myself; I had become used to having my lovely, warm, cuddly Abby close to me. I thought about doing a bit of homework with the vibrator, but it wasn’t the same without Abby. I went to sleep thinking of her and wondering how things would go with Lady Fairbairn on the morrow.

Next morning, I wakened and leaned across to give Abby a cuddle, then sighed as I realised that she wasn’t there. Somehow, my satin nightie had slid up towards my neck and wasn’t very comfortable. Sighing once again after seeing the time was nearly nine; I got up and went to the bathroom. Idly, I scratched my left faux breast as I sat down, hitching up my nightie and to do the necessary. I made a mental note that I should unglue my breasts tomorrow as they had been on for a week and were becoming a bit itchy and uncomfortable. I longed to have my own, homegrown breasts, but they don’t grow on trees–I giggled at the thought of lots of budding breasts dangling on trees, ripe for the plucking!

After a shower and wash of hair, I used my hairdryer and a brush to style it as well as I was able. I definitely needed to have some intensive hair surgery and I looked forward to going to the salon with Jo, and possibly Abby, very soon.

After donning my bra and panties, I applied some makeup being careful not to overdo it, on account of my appointment with Lady Fairbairn. I could just imagine what she might say, ‘Gels should not wear makeup in such dramatic fashion, what’s the world coming to? In my day––’

My next step was to have some toast and coffee. I didn’t get dressed because I did not want any clothes-type disasters on today of all days. After breakfast, I returned upstairs to dress.

Being more or less a business meeting, I slipped on a cream silk blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and a below the knee black skirt. It was still too hot for tights, so I just put on some black sling-back shoes. The overall effect was smart, efficient and just this side of what a gel like me ought to wear in “the presence”. After placing a fine gold butterfly necklace around my neck, with matching earrings for my erm, ears, and gold watch on my wrist, I was nearly done. A quick final brush of the hair, a spritz of smellies and I was ready to face the drago–I mean, Lady Fairbairn. The painting was in the hallway and after picking it up together with my bag, I let myself out.

Abby had lent me Dolly, her ancient, but much loved, “clockwork-driven” 2CV as she had taken a bus to Exeter, not trusting her old friend to get her there in on time.

After placing the painting carefully on the back seat, I got into the car, wincing slightly as a loose spring on the seat, bit my delicate nether regions. On the third attempt, Dolly burst into life and we chugged slowly up the hill to Lady F’s lair–I mean mansion. I almost decided to get out and walked as we neared the top of the hill because Dolly was wheezing as if she had overdone it with the cigarettes and she sounded like she was losing the will to live. However, at almost the last gasp, she made it to the top and we turned left. Soon we had arrived at Lady F’s pile and went through the impressive ornamental gates, onto the wide gravel drive and then, after a while, the huge Georgian house came into view. I couldn’t get over how imposing and intimidating the place seemed to me and I gulped at the thought of my coming meeting. I stopped outside the imposing front doors, wondering if I should really use the tradesmen’s entrance. However, before I could think any more about that, the huge doors swung open and Jenkins, the butler, hove into view. He descended the steps and opened the door for me. That was nice; it made me feel more special than I am. I wondered if he did that for royalty. I had to ask.

‘Erm, Mr Jenkins?’

‘Jenkins will suffice, Madam.’

‘Oh right; erm, Jenkins, have you opened any car doors for royalty?’

‘Yes, Miss, on occasion.’

‘Umm; high royalty?’

‘The highest, Miss.’

‘Gosh.’

‘Would you come this way, Miss? M’lady is in the drawing room. Would you like me to carry your articles, Miss?’

‘No thanks, I can manage.’

‘Very well, Miss, please follow me.’

The above might have sounded a bit haughty and Jeeves-ish, but he said it all with a smile and a friendly expression. Perhaps you have to work at being a haughty butler and he missed that lesson at Butler School.

I followed him along apparently endless corridors, full of portraits of long-dead ancestors and the occasional stuffed animal head staring vacantly into space.

Eventually, I recognised the door to which I had been led on my last, eventful visit here. Without knocking, Jenkins opened the door and announced, ‘Miss Smart, M’lady.’

He ushered me through and just gave me an encouraging smile and a disconcerting wink, before leaving me in the lioness’s den.

She was sitting by the window, gazing out on an ornamental knot garden, using what looked like lorgnette-style opera glasses. Fifi was lying next to her, looking thoroughly bored. Her only indication that she had seen me was a minuscule twitch of her tail, followed by a worried glance at her mistress for committing such a faux pas.

I gently put the painting, still covered up, against the wall and walked over to her.

‘Sit down, gel. I am searching for moles.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Moles, gel. Are you deaf?’ she said, without looking from her task. ‘Young gels, can’t hear a thing. I blame those damn’ disco things. Blastin’ music out all hours of the night. Not in my day. Tea dances, much less noise then, and you could hear y’self think.’

‘Erm, moles?’ I queried, trying to get her off the subject of deafness and discos.

‘Yes, yes. Can’t get rid of ’em. Tried traps of course, bait, things like that, still the blighters keep comin’ and messin’ with me plants. Can’t shoot the buggers if you can’t see ’em.’

She put the glasses down with a sigh and then looked at me.

‘At least you’re dressed sensibly. You know that young gel of mine, the one who I can’t sack for bein’ late? She had the audacity to come in to me bedroom this mornin’ with her uniform skirt three inches above her knees? In my day that was a hangin’ drawin’ and quaterin’ offence. Now I have to give the damned gel a written warning. I blame Wilson; he was prime minister in the sixties. Should have put those Cockroaches in prison, not give them bloody medals.’

‘Do you mean The Beatles, M’lady?’

‘Whatever. Anyway, no time for that. Have you brought the painting?’

‘Yes, m’lady,’ I said getting up, ‘would you like to see it?’

‘That’s what you’re here for isn’t it, gel, get it out, get it out!’ I was tempted to add the words, ‘As the actress said to the bishop,’ but decided her ladyship might be offended.

Lady F stood up and came over to me. Fifi followed her, possibly sensing that this had something to do with her.

I fetched the painting, lifted it up and on to a high backed chair. I then removed the sheet and stood back.

I looked at neither Lady Fairbairn nor Fifi, I just gazed out of the window, noticing a small mound of earth being pushed up in the middle of the closely cut and perfect lawn. Then I saw some tiny pink paws and a nose popping up in the middle– I turned round hurriedly and watched Lady Fairbairn who was just staring at the portrait.

Had I made a mess of it? Should I have done better? Had she spotted something not quite right?

She looked at me for a moment and then down at Fifi. She scratched one of one of Fifi’s ears making the dog go slightly gooey-eyed with pleasure.

‘Well done. Got her to a T,’ she said in a slightly hoarse voice. Did I see a slight glimmer of a tear in her eyes?

‘Damned fine portrait, worth ten thousand, any day. Well done.’

‘Erm, we agreed five thousand, m’lady?’

She looked at me appraisingly.

‘Mmm, honest too. Like that in a gel…I’ll pay you ten thousand and no arguing. Got more money than I need, might as well use it.’

‘Thank you, M’lady. I have is something else for you.’

‘What, speak up?’

I had put the informal drawing I had made of Fifi behind the portrait and I produced it, like some sort of conjuring trick.

‘Oh!’ she said as she saw the drawing of Fifi, all cute and cuddly, stretched out on the floor, fast asleep.

‘I don’t want anything for the drawing; it’s just something I quickly did when I saw her sleeping like that.’

She looked up at me and whispered, ‘Thank you!’ This wasn’t the Lady F I had grown to know and fear slightly. I looked away, not wanting to embarrass her in such a delicate state. Fifi was sniffing the painting and drawing and I wondered if she recognised her likeness in them. Judging by the fact that her tail was wagging and she was panting slightly, I think she did!

I heard a blast like a foghorn and turning round saw Lady F with a lace handkerchief in her hand. She was evidently getting herself back together, so while I waited for her to compose herself again, I wandered across to the window to observe another mound of earth on the lawn, but no sign of the little mole. I was thankful for that as I didn’t fancy seeing a stuffed mole join all the other stuffed animals that dotted the rooms and corridors of this house!

‘Samantha?’

I looked around, noting that she called me by name and not gender for once. ‘Yes, m’lady?’

‘I will send Jenkins with the cheque tomorrow, but I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘Anything, m’lady.’

She walked over to the Adams fireplace and picked up a photo in a gilded frame, and then she brought it over and handed it to me.

It was a photograph of a young man in an army uniform, with a nurse standing beside him. They made a lovely couple. He was tall dark and handsome and she was slightly shorter, thin and very pretty. They were smiling at the camera and looked very happy. The photo was old and had been colourised.

‘My husband Tremaine and I, during the Korean War. We had just got engaged, I was 17.’

I looked at her, she had not changed as much as you would expect, and she was not that unlike her photo, especially when she was smiling as she was now.

‘Could you, could you use this as a basis for painting us–as we were then?’

I studied the photo. ‘Yes, m’lady, I think I can. Have you any more photographs of both of you. It would help give me a better idea of how it should be painted.’

‘I’ll get Jenkins to go up in the attic, I’m sure we can find some that will assist you. I will make sure that he delivers them with the cheque.’

She looked at her watch.

‘I must go now,’ she said, all businesslike, ‘ I must tell the vicar what I want in the sermon on Sunday, he’s getting very modern and needs my guidance as to what should and what should not be said.’

She held out her gloved hand.

‘Goodbye, Samantha and thank you again.’

‘I am pleased that you like them, m’lady.’

I looked down at Fifi, who had gone to sleep in front of her portrait and smiled.

‘Yes, I am very happy with your work and I will make it my business to tell my friends and acquaintances.’

She went to a red rope in the corner and pulled it. In seconds, Jenkins opened the door and entered.

‘Miss Smart is leaving now, Jenkins.’

‘Yes m’lady.’

Jenkins moved aside and went to leave.

‘Goodbye, Samantha, I look forward to seeing the new portrait.’

‘I will do my best for you, m’lady.’

‘I’m sure you will, but I think that I would prefer oils, not acrylics next time. Goodbye,’

I felt myself going slightly pale at that, but she was smiling, so I didn’t think she was too upset with me.

---

To Be Continued...

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.