years, and as he had no family, he asked me if I would act as executor of his affairs.’
‘No family at all?’
‘No. His ex-wife was an American lass and that is where she now resides. Mr Carmody was an only child and he had no children. His loves were his dog and his garden.’ He looked at me.
I nodded. ‘Yes, I met Wilbur the labrador. I told Mr Carmody, I would gladly take Wilbur for him, but unfortunately our home at the time was unsuitable. I believe he went to an old friend of Mr Carmody’s. I know how traumatised he was by it. It was terribly sad.’
‘That is correct, but it was never meant to be long term.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Now, Mr Carmody was most grateful that you kindly made that offer. He was moved by your generosity.’ He exhaled. ‘Which leads me to this next point. Mr Carmody left strict instructions that if you were to purchase the house, at what we shall call a special price, then he has one wish.’
Baffled, I looked at him closely.
‘The dog comes with the house.’
I gave a small laugh. ‘Mr Scott, as soon as I get myself settled I will gladly take Wilbur. It would be a pleasure.’
Mr Scott leant back in his chair. ‘I see Mr Carmody was right about you. He said you were a generous person. The thing is he wants you to have the house. But he also wants to assist a struggling business. Perhaps you have heard of it. It’s called Silverback Acres.’
I shook my head.
‘It’s a sanctuary in Tasmania for old dogs whose owners have had to go into care. The people that run it are a retired couple and are self-funded. Mr Carmody has bequeathed the money from the sale of the house to Silverback Acres. Although he was impressed with the sanctuary, he thought Tasmania would be too cold for Wilbur.’
‘I’m still not quite following. If Mr Carmody wanted to assist Silverback Acres then surely he would want top dollar for his property. The price you’ve mentioned is about a fifth of what that property is worth.’
‘Yes, but you’ve missed one important thing.’ He paused briefly. ‘He wants the dog to spend his old age on his property.’
‘Oh I see.’ I leant back in my chair. Mr Scott sat quietly. I looked at my hands while I thought, and then I looked up. ‘I would have gladly taken Wilbur for him you know.’
‘I do know Mrs Riding.’ And he pushed the papers towards me. I looked at them, but did nothing. Mr Scott sensing my hesitation raised his eyebrows in question.
‘Mr Scott, I have been in the real estate industry for many years. I know paying this small amount of money for that property does not seem right.’
‘I wouldn’t call one million dollars a small amount of money.’
‘I think you know what I mean.’
He nodded. ‘Mr Carmody said you were honourable. I have a question. Can you afford this sum, because I can work something out for you?’
I blinked rapidly and held my hands out. ‘That’s not it. I can afford it. It’s just that…’
‘Let me help you here Mrs Riding. Mr Carmody wishes to bequeath one million dollars to Silverback Acres. He wishes Wilbur to live out his life on the property he loved. He thinks highly of you.’ He paused watching my face. ‘I know this is a lot to take in. Why don’t you give yourself a few days to think it over and get back to me?’
With her arms folded, head on an angle, Bea stood back and surveyed her latest canvas. ‘So tell me how you feel?’ she asked, her attention still on the artwork.
‘Mother,’ I said with mock seriousness, my eyes averted, investigating a small table filled with a mecca of paints, sketch pads, picture frames and paper weights. ‘That’s so unlike you. Tell me how you feel. You’ve either been taking a course in psychology, or watching far too much midday television.’ I gave her a look.
In turn, she flashed me the briefest of glances over her shoulder. Narrowing her eyes, she indicated the canvas, her bangles jangling. ‘More vermillion up here don’t you think.’ She turned back to me.
I had used sarcasm to hide my wild ride of emotions. I picked up a tube of midnight blue paint, closely examining it. Bea leant across and removed it from my fingers. Arms folded, she looked at me for an answer.
I shrugged. ‘I feel numb one moment, and the next I’m overcome with emotions I didn’t know I had. By Davis’s email earlier it looks like the settlement is all but done. I have to sign a couple of documents and that’s it.’ I cut my hands through the air. ‘We’re over.’ And there was that odd feeling again, one of nothingness. We might as well have been discussing a stranger.
Typical of Bea, she swiped her hands together as if dusting them off. ‘Well, that’s that then.’ I was unsure if she meant my marriage or the painting. She leant against the bench. ‘Actually, when I asked how you felt, I was referring to the house you’ve been talking about. I think I have an idea how you feel about the other. What’s your gut feeling here? Is this a house you really want?’ She wiped her vermillion stained hands on an old hand towel.
‘Yes I do. I think… no… I know it’s a life I want. I’ve surprised even myself. From the moment I walked through that gate, I felt an immediate connection to it. I really can’t tell you what happened… I walked in there and said this is it.’
There was no denying the feeling of peace, like a floaty gossamer cloak that had settled over me. I looked at my mother. ‘Bea it’s hard to explain. It was as if I belonged. Everything that had happened in my life, had led me to that point.’
She sighed. ‘I understand, that can happen in life, with people and places.’ She smiled wistfully and I knew her thoughts were of Papa. And then her blue eyes continued to regard me. ‘Peach you always had that pleaser gene that I was worried about. You did things because you thought you should, rather than follow your heart. You’ve done it all your life and I saw you do it time and time again with Davis. However, this time it seems as if you are following your heart.’
I shrugged and gave a small smile, feeling she was right. ‘Not to mention the phenomenal price. I can’t get my head around it.’
‘You must do whatever makes your heart sing,’ she said, flopping onto a cushion strewed, cream calico day bed, next to the loudly snoring Josephine, Bea’s latest in a long succession of pugs. Poor Josephine still snored loudly, even though she’d had an operation on her nasal passages, such is the problem with flat faced dogs.
For a person that used vibrant colour every day in her paintings, Bea’s colour palette for her home was whites and creams, even down here in her studio. She said it allowed her a tranquil blank canvas with which to showcase her spectacular artwork.
I put both of my hands up. ‘Hang on, it’s not that easy.’ I perched myself on a stool opposite her and folded my arms across my chest.
Reclining, Bea raised her eyebrows in question, and shrugged her shoulders. She was never one to think too hard about anything. She went with how she felt, although there was no doubt in my mind my mother was a very strong woman.
I
