drank deeply. ‘Oh, that’s delicious. If I’d known today was going to turn out quite so warm I’d have worn something lighter.’ She stretched out neatly shod feet revealing fine wool stockings below a long skirt of navy serge then hooked one finger into the collar of her high-necked blouse.
‘My dear girl, undo a button or two before you suffocate. There’s no one to see you. Even if there were you would not get a second glance. Not while I sit here with bare feet and no corset.’
Visibly relaxing, Grace unfastened two buttons and pulled the fabric away from her skin. She rolled the glass against her perspiring forehead. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. It’s kind of you to say you’re glad to see me even though I’ve interrupted your painting.’
‘No you haven’t. I had stopped for a rest. Besides, you can’t leave without telling me why you came.’
‘I want to ask you a favour. I’ll understand if you prefer not to, but I was wondering if you might be willing to contribute to the summer fair?’
‘In what way? Money?’
‘No. Not on a stall either,’ Grace added quickly. ‘The same ladies have been looking after the same stalls for years, and – well –’ She gave a wry shrug. ‘You know how it is.’
‘I do indeed.’
‘So what I thought – I know it’s a lot to ask –’ She took a deep breath and her next words tumbled out in a rush. ‘Would you be willing to give one of your paintings for the raffle? It’s for a really good cause. All the money raised is going to the poor of the village.’
‘Grace, forgive me, but who are these people? The poor you speak of?’ She had listened to Henry’s baffled complaints. Now she wanted to hear Grace’s explanation.
‘There are a few elderly farm workers, and some old folks who don’t have children to look after them. But mostly it’s the families of miners who are too sick to work, and women whose husbands have died in accidents or of lung disease.’
‘I see.’ Dorcas thought for a moment. ‘I’ll give you a painting if you want. However, I have a better idea. Can you organize an awning for me? Or an open-sided tent? And two chairs?’
‘Yes, I’m sure I can. Why?’
‘What if I were to draw portraits, pencil sketches, each one taking ten minutes? We could charge – I don’t know – how about sixpence? That’s more than people would pay for a raffle ticket, yet it’s affordable to everyone. I’ll supply the paper. All the money will go to your charity.’
Astonishment, delight and gratitude chased across Grace’s features. Her eyes glistened as she shook her head. ‘I –I never expected – What a wonderful idea. It’s so kind of you.’
‘My dear, it’s little enough compared to what you are doing every day.’
Grace blushed. ‘That’s different. I’m not like you. I don’t have your wonderful gift.’ Setting down the empty glass she jumped to her feet and refastened her blouse. ‘I must go. I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’ She glanced round, and yearning shadowed her face. ‘It’s so peaceful here.’ Then the smile was back. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how grateful –’
‘Enough,’ Dorcas interrupted smiling, and waved her away. She heard the hinges squeak then the gate banged shut. No gift? ‘Oh my dear,’ she murmured. ‘If only you knew what a rarity you are.’
With a deep sigh Dorcas gazed at the garden she had first seen almost thirty years ago. It had looked very different then: overgrown and neglected.
She hadn’t wanted to come here. But an apparent conspiracy of events had forced her to leave her waterfront cottage in Falmouth.
The only child of feckless artists, she had been left at home the day they joined friends for a boat party. Too much wine and insufficient care had piled the boat onto rocks drowning everyone on board. She was fifteen, penniless and alone in the world when Zander took her in.
To help her come to terms with her loss he had allowed
‘My dear girl, undo a button or two before you suffocate. There’s no one to see you. Even if there were you would not get a second glance. Not while I sit here with bare feet and no corset.’
Visibly relaxing, Grace unfastened two buttons and pulled the fabric away from her skin. She rolled the glass against her perspiring forehead. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. It’s kind of you to say you’re glad to see me even though I’ve interrupted your painting.’
‘No you haven’t. I had stopped for a rest. Besides, you can’t leave without telling me why you came.’
‘I want to ask you a favour. I’ll understand if you prefer not to, but I was wondering if you might be willing to contribute to the summer fair?’
‘In what way? Money?’
‘No. Not on a stall either,’ Grace added quickly. ‘The same ladies have been looking after the same stalls for years, and – well –’ She gave a wry shrug. ‘You know how it is.’
‘I do indeed.’
‘So what I thought – I know it’s a lot to ask –’ She took a deep breath and her next words tumbled out in a rush. ‘Would you be willing to give one of your paintings for the raffle? It’s for a really good cause. All the money raised is going to the poor of the village.’
‘Grace, forgive me, but who are these people? The poor you speak of?’ She had listened to Henry’s baffled complaints. Now she wanted to hear Grace’s explanation.
‘There are a few elderly farm workers, and some old folks who don’t have children to look after them. But mostly it’s the families of miners who are too sick to work, and women whose husbands have died in accidents or of lung disease.’
‘I see.’ Dorcas thought for a moment. ‘I’ll give you a painting if you want. However, I have a better idea. Can you organize an awning for me? Or an open-sided tent? And two chairs?’
‘Yes, I’m sure I can. Why?’
‘What if I were to draw portraits, pencil sketches, each one taking ten minutes? We could charge – I don’t know – how about sixpence? That’s more than people would pay for a raffle ticket, yet it’s affordable to everyone. I’ll supply the paper. All the money will go to your charity.’
Astonishment, delight and gratitude chased across Grace’s features. Her eyes glistened as she shook her head. ‘I –I never expected – What a wonderful idea. It’s so kind of you.’
‘My dear, it’s little enough compared to what you are doing every day.’
Grace blushed. ‘That’s different. I’m not like you. I don’t have your wonderful gift.’ Setting down the empty glass she jumped to her feet and refastened her blouse. ‘I must go. I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’ She glanced round, and yearning shadowed her face. ‘It’s so peaceful here.’ Then the smile was back. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how grateful –’
‘Enough,’ Dorcas interrupted smiling, and waved her away. She heard the hinges squeak then the gate banged shut. No gift? ‘Oh my dear,’ she murmured. ‘If only you knew what a rarity you are.’
With a deep sigh Dorcas gazed at the garden she had first seen almost thirty years ago. It had looked very different then: overgrown and neglected.
She hadn’t wanted to come here. But an apparent conspiracy of events had forced her to leave her waterfront cottage in Falmouth.
The only child of feckless artists, she had been left at home the day they joined friends for a boat party. Too much wine and insufficient care had piled the boat onto rocks drowning everyone on board. She was fifteen, penniless and alone in the world when Zander took her in.
To help her come to terms with her loss he had allowed
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