of the house; behind were espalier pear trees. The lawn fell down to the moat. From here it seemed as if the house were completely surrounded by water but in reality the moat was crescent-shaped, the furthest end of it under the tall trees in a dank wilderness. Between the moat and the Hall was a narrow strip of grass. Three doors opened out onto this. It was the most sheltered part of the garden, protected from the winds that always blew across Suffolk, straight from Russia. This narrow lawn led to another enclosed area. Tessa felt proud of the gardens. The Hallivands’ beautiful borders would not exist had she not spent nearly ten years in her wellies, chopping, cutting and digging. Gardens were the one thing Tessa still let herself be emotional about and she was actually smiling as she approached the rose garden.
Old roses with trailing stems and heavy flowers, dark red petals on the lawn. In June a deep musky scent only old roses have …
There was a door there now. Of course in August there would only be a few blooms, perhaps one or two on the Zépherine Drouhin …
There was concrete under her feet and what? … at first she couldn’t take it in: there was a swimming pool …
‘The peasants!’ shrieked Tessa. She couldn’t believe it, what about the Provence rose and the musk rose? The damask roses?
White concrete, flowers in tubs, a square of blue-bottomed swimming pool. Tessa felt sick. The Zépherine Drouhin still climbed the wall, but her garden, her special place, lying on the grass breathing in sweet rose air, her quartered roses of burgundy and darkest crimson, almost purple … There were glass doors and a patio with barbecue furniture. I’m going, she thought, but a car was coming.
A maroon Volvo estate turned into the courtyard. Tessa was storming across the orchard. The owner flounced towards her unstably on high heels. They met on the lawn in front of the house.
‘I’m so sorry, didn’t you get my message?’
‘No.’ Tessa was obviously furious.
‘How dreadful, it’s simply unforgivable.’
‘Yes, it’s unforgivable.’ This digs up roses, thought Tessa. It was tall and glamorous, hair unnaturally strawberry-blonde and shiny. It smiled determinedly. ‘You see, I had to go to Norwich, there was a snuff box in Elm Hill … Bernard’s at an auction … I phoned the hotel … It’s so awful when this happens, have you been here long?’
The owner wore silky peach and a face trying to be cheerful but visibly unsettled by Tessa, scowling, in black trousers and a tight T-shirt like a dark urban angel. But Tessa was less angry; she decided this person was not a malicious vandal, more an ignorant one with a high-gloss finish. It offered an elegant hand with pearly fingernails.
‘How do you do, I’m Mirabelle Hallivand, and you must be the artist, Tessa Fooks.’
‘Fulks, they always spell it wrong,’ and she smiled.
Mirabelle laughed and threw her head back, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Well, here we are … What a day … and the snuff box was a fake, I could tell at once … and you’ve been waiting, and the help’s off …’
‘I’d better start work,’ said Tessa; ‘I do have a schedule.’
‘Of course, but please, do come in and let me make you some tea.’
What Tessa noticed first as they stepped inside was the familiar smell; wet stone, damp rush-matting and woodsmoke. She always supposed people gave houses their particular odours, but St John’s seemed to have one of its own. The porch was not filled with gardening tools, flower pots and muddy boots; on the floor was an exquisite rug.
‘This is the great hall,’ said Mirabelle, opening a door in the panelling. There were tapestries on the wall. An ornate brass lantern hung from the rafters. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said Mirabelle, showing Tessa an enormous sofa.
There was a grand piano, Persian rugs on the stone floor and large Chinese vases. Mirabelle brought tea in fluted porcelain. She perched on an embroidered chair near the mouth of the huge fireplace.
‘So, you’re going to paint St John’s.’
‘Sketches, really, I finish them off later, they’ll mostly be for page decorations. Has the photographer come?’
‘Last week, he was most charming … It’s nice to have company, it gets isolated here.’ Mirabelle was extremely thin, like a whippet, and had a whippet’s habit of trembling. ‘Bernard has to go to auctions, you see, he’s a dealer.’
‘Got a shop, has he?’
Mirabelle laughed extravagantly. ‘This is the shop. It’s all for sale!’ Her gesture included the entire contents of the great hall. ‘It’s much nicer for clients to decide in a relaxed atmosphere.’
‘Do people come out here?’ Tessa was amazed.
A tremble ran down Mirabelle’s arm into her teacup. ‘We don’t sell to the popular market, our clients are very discerning.’
Tessa quietly estimated the cost of the rug under her feet. To think they had slept on this floor huddled by the fire.
‘I’ll have to start work now,’ she said.
‘So you like painting houses?’ said Mirabelle, keen to continue.
‘I like painting gardens.’
‘Well, we’ve got lots of those here,’ she laughed.
Tessa put down her drink. ‘I believe there’s a rose garden here, with old roses. I was looking for it earlier … some rather rare roses, I thought,’ and her brown eyes fixed on Mirabelle.
‘Ah … well, yes, there was.’ Mirabelle’s bracelets jangled. ‘I’m afraid there was a rather bad winter … well, in the end Bernard had the swimming pool.’
‘What a shame, I love roses.’ Tessa stood up and Mirabelle stood up too.
‘It happened before … me … you see, I’m the second Mrs Hallivand.’
The light through the church windows struck her sideways, emphasising wrinkles under her make-up. In her youth she would have had petal-pink skin but she hadn’t aged well.
She’s as old as me, thought Tessa. ‘I see,’ she said. Mirabelle’s eyes were the palest blue; curiously, the more uncertain they became the more she smiled.
‘Well … well, I shan’t keep you.’
‘Yes, I’m better working uninterrupted.’
‘I could show you the house, the photographer was very impressed.’
‘Not today, I’m already late.’
‘And if you wanted anything, you will ask, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Tessa opening the door. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hallivand.’
‘Oh, please, please, call me Mirabelle,’ and a tremble ran right through her, clanking all her jewellery.
