of the evening they had spent curled up together, talking about everything and anything.
As she collected up the plates and stubs of candles she thought back to what they had talked about last night.
Ella wanted to talk about her plan to offer short painting courses for locals and holidaymakers. ‘The cliffs, the harbour, the church. There’s so much here for little children. We could go to the beach and find shells to paint or pebbles to paint on. That would be fun.’
‘Like your granny did for you? Revisiting your childhood?’
‘Oh.’ Ella was anxious. ‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘Not at all,’ Kit reassured her. ‘It’s lovely, and I think taking the little darlings from their parents for a couple of hours is a wonderful thing – for the parents.’
She flapped her hand and took another sip of wine. ‘What about you? When are you going to get on the cliffs and paint?’
‘I’ve got that portrait of Lindsay Cowan to finish, with her cat, dog and horse.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘She’s lovely, but what she sees as handsome, intelligent companions, I see as bloody pains in the arse. The cat is a toothless bag of bones, the dog stinks and growls at me and the horse farts and tries to bite me. But,’ he topped up his glass, ‘she pays well.’
‘When you’re done with her,’ Ella lifted her hands and began to draw in the air, ‘I want you to paint a huge canvas of a darkly rolling sea with stars twinkling and a lighthouse flashing across the waves. It’ll be perfect above the fireplace.’
‘One day,’ he put his glass down and kissed her knee, ‘that’s exactly what I shall paint for you.’
Ella’s hand was around his shoulders as he lay his head in her lap. The candlelight flickered warmly creating a cosy cocoon. ‘This is nice,’ she said sleepily.
‘We won’t be able to do this tomorrow. Your brother will be here and Adam will be back.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And the day after, you might find out what happened to your mum.’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think happened to her?
‘A million things. I have spent my whole life thinking about her and why she left. Sometimes I want her to come back and other times I hope she’s dead. It would be easier. I could build a picture of a mum I want. Not a phantom built from questions.’
Ella wondered if what she had said last night was true. She felt no anger towards her missing mother. Just a need to know why. She took the dirty plates and glasses from last night and stacked them into the dishwasher before putting the kettle on for a pot of morning tea. As she waited for it to boil, she tidied the rest of the sitting room, plumping cushions, opening the curtains to the early sun and picking up a chewed slipper and a rubber chicken, both toys left by Celia and Terry.
She heard both dogs yawning from their room next to the kitchen and went to let them out. Terry came out, then sat scratching like any human man under his armpits and Celia strode out as if she was wearing thigh-high boots.
‘Good morning,’ said Ella.
The Afghan hounds ignored her and, pushing through her legs towards the kitchen door, took themselves into the garden.
Leaving the back door open, knowing there were no escape routes from the garden, she took a tray of tea up to Kit.
He was propped up against his pillows, waiting for her.
‘And how is the mistress of the house today?’
Ella gave a little bob of a curtsey, and as she put the tray down and went to climb into bed, the phone rang.
‘Leave it,’ said Kit.
Ella picked it up. ‘Hello? Henry, where are you? Okay. Lovely. Can’t wait to see you.’ She smiled at a scowling Kit. ‘And Kit can’t wait, either! Bye. Love you.’
Kit watched her as she put the phone down. ‘I suppose this means I’m not going to see your ankles, Ruby?’
She grinned at him. ‘There’s always time for ankles, m’lord.’
‘Ow!’ Ella squeaked, putting the hot baking tray down quickly.
Kit, coming downstairs freshly shaved and smelling delicious, popped his head into the kitchen. ‘You okay?’
‘The tea towel was a bit thin and I burnt myself on the pasty tin.’ She ran her fingers under the cold tap. ‘I’m fine.’
‘They smell good,’ said Kit checking his watch. ‘Anything I can do?’
She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘I just want you and my brother to get on well. It would mean so much to me.’
She looked so anxious, cheeks pink from cooking, hair caught up in a bun with a pencil allowing curls to escape over her ears, and her singed fingers under the tap. Kit got a clean tea towel and went to her. ‘Here, let me dry your hand.’ He turned the tap off and gently wrapped her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers as he did so. ‘Of course I’ll like your brother. But will he like me?’
Ella began to laugh. ‘Well, he will if you take him to the pub!’
‘I think I can manage that.’
The rattle of a taxi in the drive heralded Henry’s arrival.
‘He’s here!’ Ella ran to the front door and opened it. ‘Henry!’ She charged out of the house and ran at him, smothering him in a hug and kisses. ‘I’ve missed my bro.’
‘Whoa, let me pay the driver,’ he said, disentangling himself as best he could.
As he got his bag from the back seat and handed the driver his fare, he saw a man he assumed must be Kit. He gave him a quick scan. Thirtyish. Checked shirt and shorts. Nice tan. Looked okay.
He put his bag into his left hand and extended his right. ‘You must be Kit. Henry.’
‘Henry. Good to meet you.’ It was Kit’s turn to run a discerning assessment of Henry.
Long legs. Expensive jeans and jacket. White open-necked shirt. Flash watch. But he looked okay.
Ella looped her arms through each of the boys’ and dragged them into the house. ‘Welcome to Marguerite Cottage.’
Inside the hall, Henry dropped his bag on the flagstones and looked around him. ‘Very nice, Ell’s Bell’s.’
‘Come into the garden. Tea? Coffee? I could make a jug of Pimm’s?’
Henry followed her through the lounge with Kit, and out through the double doors into the pretty garden. ‘You have landed with your bum in butter, haven’t you, Ellie? Very nice.’
‘Yes, I have.’ Ella replied, squeezing her shoulders to her ears and grinning in delight. ‘And I’ve got pasties for you. Homemade.’
‘Fancy
