heard her coming. On the canvas a butterfly was taking shape, and then she noticed that there was one flitting around a bush just in front of him. How could he stand here so still, just watching a butterfly?
“Mark,” she said sharply, “I want to talk to you and mother about something.”
He remained standing with his back to her, and she could sense his annoyance at the interruption, but when he turned towards her, his face was expressionless.
“Butterflies are so delicate,” he told her mildly, laying his brush and palette on the low hedge. “We’ll go in and have a cup of tea together.”
“I have no time for tea,” she told him.
“Well, I have,” he said evenly, following her up the garden.
Agnes had the cups on the table and was making the tea as they came into the kitchen.
This kitchen has become more cluttered over the years
, Martha thought as she viewed her mother’s sewing machine in the corner with half-finished work draped over it, knitting needles stuck in a ball of wool on the windowsill and sketches finished and unfinished propped up in different corners.
“This place could do with a good tidying,” she told them.
“Don’t even think about it,” Mark smiled. “Agnes and I know where to lay our hands on everything.”
“You’re two of a kind,” she told them.
“That’s why we live in such harmony,” Mark told her.
“Nothing allowed to interfere with your creative talent, you mean,” Martha told him.
“The creative muse is disturbed by discord,” Mark smiled, “so we don’t upset each other.”
“Aren’t you so lucky that you can keep it all outside the door. Some of us don’t have that choice.”
“Well, I suppose with neighbours like the Conways it isn’t that easy,” Mark agreed.
“It’s as a result of them that I’m here,” Martha told him.
Agnes, having poured the tea, had put the teapot back by the fire and joined them at the table.
“You know that Mark and I will do anything we can to help,” she told Martha, handing around a plate of scones.
“If that’s the case, why have you not offered the meadows here to us?” Martha demanded.
“But we have …” Mark began and stopped at a warning glance from Agnes, but Martha had seen the exchange of looks and cut in.
“How do you mean, you have?”
“Well, Peter was here after the fire and we told him,” Mark said decidedly.
“You did what?” Martha demanded.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Martha! Peter was here that night and, of course, we offered him the meadows.”
“But that decision is not Peter’s to make,” Martha told him.
“Don’t be ridiculous, what decision was there? We have uncut meadows and you need hay, so there was no decision involved, just plain common sense,” Mark said.
“You should not have discussed this with Peter behind my back. He is not in charge of Mossgrove, and I’m having problems enough with him without you two making itworse.”
“Did you ever think, Martha, that you might be making a problem out of nothing?” Mark asked her.
“It’s none of your business. I will pay you for the meadows, the same as you got from the Nolans last year.”
“You will not,” Agnes put in firmly. “We don’t need the money. Family is family, and there is no way that Mark and I would charge you and Peter for the use of land that will probably be his anyway.”
“How do you mean, his anyway?” Martha exclaimed.
“Are you going to hand this land over to Peter?”
“More than likely, unless I get a sudden urge in my declining years and take unto myself a wife, which I don’t plan to do,” Mark smiled.
“So you would give the land to my son and not to me?” Martha demanded.
“We’ll see,” Agnes put in quietly, “and anyway, it’s nothing that’s going to be done today or tomorrow.”
“Well, when it is being done, I think that you would do well to remember that a daughter and sister is closer than a grandson or a nephew,” she told them.
“We
“Mark,” she said sharply, “I want to talk to you and mother about something.”
He remained standing with his back to her, and she could sense his annoyance at the interruption, but when he turned towards her, his face was expressionless.
“Butterflies are so delicate,” he told her mildly, laying his brush and palette on the low hedge. “We’ll go in and have a cup of tea together.”
“I have no time for tea,” she told him.
“Well, I have,” he said evenly, following her up the garden.
Agnes had the cups on the table and was making the tea as they came into the kitchen.
This kitchen has become more cluttered over the years
, Martha thought as she viewed her mother’s sewing machine in the corner with half-finished work draped over it, knitting needles stuck in a ball of wool on the windowsill and sketches finished and unfinished propped up in different corners.
“This place could do with a good tidying,” she told them.
“Don’t even think about it,” Mark smiled. “Agnes and I know where to lay our hands on everything.”
“You’re two of a kind,” she told them.
“That’s why we live in such harmony,” Mark told her.
“Nothing allowed to interfere with your creative talent, you mean,” Martha told him.
“The creative muse is disturbed by discord,” Mark smiled, “so we don’t upset each other.”
“Aren’t you so lucky that you can keep it all outside the door. Some of us don’t have that choice.”
“Well, I suppose with neighbours like the Conways it isn’t that easy,” Mark agreed.
“It’s as a result of them that I’m here,” Martha told him.
Agnes, having poured the tea, had put the teapot back by the fire and joined them at the table.
“You know that Mark and I will do anything we can to help,” she told Martha, handing around a plate of scones.
“If that’s the case, why have you not offered the meadows here to us?” Martha demanded.
“But we have …” Mark began and stopped at a warning glance from Agnes, but Martha had seen the exchange of looks and cut in.
“How do you mean, you have?”
“Well, Peter was here after the fire and we told him,” Mark said decidedly.
“You did what?” Martha demanded.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Martha! Peter was here that night and, of course, we offered him the meadows.”
“But that decision is not Peter’s to make,” Martha told him.
“Don’t be ridiculous, what decision was there? We have uncut meadows and you need hay, so there was no decision involved, just plain common sense,” Mark said.
“You should not have discussed this with Peter behind my back. He is not in charge of Mossgrove, and I’m having problems enough with him without you two making itworse.”
“Did you ever think, Martha, that you might be making a problem out of nothing?” Mark asked her.
“It’s none of your business. I will pay you for the meadows, the same as you got from the Nolans last year.”
“You will not,” Agnes put in firmly. “We don’t need the money. Family is family, and there is no way that Mark and I would charge you and Peter for the use of land that will probably be his anyway.”
“How do you mean, his anyway?” Martha exclaimed.
“Are you going to hand this land over to Peter?”
“More than likely, unless I get a sudden urge in my declining years and take unto myself a wife, which I don’t plan to do,” Mark smiled.
“So you would give the land to my son and not to me?” Martha demanded.
“We’ll see,” Agnes put in quietly, “and anyway, it’s nothing that’s going to be done today or tomorrow.”
“Well, when it is being done, I think that you would do well to remember that a daughter and sister is closer than a grandson or a nephew,” she told them.
“We
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