paint Fudge,” said Amy wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I would happily turn down the famous mother of a famous man for Mrs Locke’s cat. And in any case, beggars can’t be choosers, and I don’t seem to be getting any interest in my cottage.”
“You will,” said Judy, “but I will be sorry to see you go. Oh well, I’ve got a professional visit to make, but Paula and Fudge await your call.”
In the second week of June the weather turned fine. The portrait of Fudge was met with delight by Mrs Locke and was followed up by a request from one of her neighbours to have her cat painted too. These small commissions occupied Amy’s time and helped to fill the coffers, but she still felt restless and unsure about her future. Then, the following week, three things happened almost together. The first was that the estate agent called her to say that there was a buyer for her house who wanted to proceed as quickly as possible. The second was that she was contacted by someone she had known in London. His name was James and he was a few years older than Amy, but she remembered him from their artistic social group as someone who liked a laugh and a joke with his mates but was serious about his work. He had a live-in studio in a Victorian warehouse but was struggling to make the monthly payments on his own, so he had been doing the rounds of other artists he knew to see if anyone was interested in sharing the studio. Hearing about this just after finding a buyer for her house made it seem like it was fate to Amy. She quickly got in touch with James and they made a provisional agreement by which Amy could share the use of the artist’s studio for a contribution towards the costs. James pointed out that it wasn’t really ideal for two people to live there, but she was welcome to stay until she could find a flat of her own. Amy did a quick sum in her head and reckoned she would be able to pay her way In London with the money she had left and could stay with James until her cottage was sold. All this was subject to her taking a trip up to check the place over, which she was ready to do that coming weekend.
And then something else happened to throw her into disarray again. She was out on a morning walk on the hill above Montford, going through her plans in her head, when she caught a glimpse of the sun winking off a car that was just pulling up the drive of Wolfston Hall. Unfortunately it was at such an angle to the house that she couldn’t see who – or how many – got out of the car. Well, if it was Hunter and Loretta back she could deal with it – she would be moving off into her exciting new life soon enough. Nevertheless, when there was a knock at the door of her cottage the following morning she found herself opening it with nervous anticipation. But the figure on the doorstep was not the broad shouldered, long-limbed figure of Hunter Lewis, but a very smartly dressed, upright woman of about seventy with alert grey eyes, a pleasant smile and an air of great self-confidence.
“Are you by any chance Amy Montford?” asked the lady in a voice with a gentle and rather pleasant hint of an American accent.
“Yes,” said Amy warily.
“Good. I would like to meet you in your village pub at...” she looked at her watch, “shall we say one o’clock? I have a business proposition for you.”
“Yes, I could be there,” replied Amy slightly nonplussed and trying to place the person. For a moment she thought that this might be the person who was going to purchase her house, but then another idea dawned on her. “Could I have your name, please?” she asked.
“Of course,” said the old lady in a brisk tone. “I am Marilyn Lewis. I look forward to our lunch.” And then she turned on her heels and was gone, leaving Amy feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
***
Chapter Five
Amy had a couple of hours before her appointment with Marilyn Lewis to wonder what on earth the business proposition could be. Was
“You will,” said Judy, “but I will be sorry to see you go. Oh well, I’ve got a professional visit to make, but Paula and Fudge await your call.”
In the second week of June the weather turned fine. The portrait of Fudge was met with delight by Mrs Locke and was followed up by a request from one of her neighbours to have her cat painted too. These small commissions occupied Amy’s time and helped to fill the coffers, but she still felt restless and unsure about her future. Then, the following week, three things happened almost together. The first was that the estate agent called her to say that there was a buyer for her house who wanted to proceed as quickly as possible. The second was that she was contacted by someone she had known in London. His name was James and he was a few years older than Amy, but she remembered him from their artistic social group as someone who liked a laugh and a joke with his mates but was serious about his work. He had a live-in studio in a Victorian warehouse but was struggling to make the monthly payments on his own, so he had been doing the rounds of other artists he knew to see if anyone was interested in sharing the studio. Hearing about this just after finding a buyer for her house made it seem like it was fate to Amy. She quickly got in touch with James and they made a provisional agreement by which Amy could share the use of the artist’s studio for a contribution towards the costs. James pointed out that it wasn’t really ideal for two people to live there, but she was welcome to stay until she could find a flat of her own. Amy did a quick sum in her head and reckoned she would be able to pay her way In London with the money she had left and could stay with James until her cottage was sold. All this was subject to her taking a trip up to check the place over, which she was ready to do that coming weekend.
And then something else happened to throw her into disarray again. She was out on a morning walk on the hill above Montford, going through her plans in her head, when she caught a glimpse of the sun winking off a car that was just pulling up the drive of Wolfston Hall. Unfortunately it was at such an angle to the house that she couldn’t see who – or how many – got out of the car. Well, if it was Hunter and Loretta back she could deal with it – she would be moving off into her exciting new life soon enough. Nevertheless, when there was a knock at the door of her cottage the following morning she found herself opening it with nervous anticipation. But the figure on the doorstep was not the broad shouldered, long-limbed figure of Hunter Lewis, but a very smartly dressed, upright woman of about seventy with alert grey eyes, a pleasant smile and an air of great self-confidence.
“Are you by any chance Amy Montford?” asked the lady in a voice with a gentle and rather pleasant hint of an American accent.
“Yes,” said Amy warily.
“Good. I would like to meet you in your village pub at...” she looked at her watch, “shall we say one o’clock? I have a business proposition for you.”
“Yes, I could be there,” replied Amy slightly nonplussed and trying to place the person. For a moment she thought that this might be the person who was going to purchase her house, but then another idea dawned on her. “Could I have your name, please?” she asked.
“Of course,” said the old lady in a brisk tone. “I am Marilyn Lewis. I look forward to our lunch.” And then she turned on her heels and was gone, leaving Amy feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
***
Chapter Five
Amy had a couple of hours before her appointment with Marilyn Lewis to wonder what on earth the business proposition could be. Was
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