If You Love Me, I'm Yours Page 2

  When it had won, Daisy had plied Maud with alcohol at the local pub, which Maud should have instantly found suspicious as Daisy hardly ever bought a round of drinks, and then confessed to stealing her work. Maud was slightly mollified by the fact that it had won a prize and even she couldn’t turn down the opportunity of getting so close to one of Nate Ridgemoor’s paintings.

  The prize for her winning entry was one precious ticket to the private view. She grudgingly accepted that Daisy thought she was helping her to get out and meet new people. Then her best friend had called her that evening and put on what Maud could only describe as the worst acting she had ever heard, coughing and spluttering that she couldn’t drive her to the viewing, which was Maud’s stipulation for accepting the invitation, even though Daisy had been perfectly fine earlier in the day at work. Daisy thought Maud’s knickers were made of concrete as they were so tough to get into, and she was desperate for Maud to meet a man. She used every excuse to dump her alone somewhere, even if it meant her getting the train on her own at night.

  Daisy was one of the few people that Maud had confided in about her own love of painting, although even she hadn’t seen Maud’s latest work. The art she had submitted on Maud’s behalf was pretty enough, but it wasn’t her usual style at all. Nonetheless, the turbulent seascape had won a prize and the expensive invitation in her hand had arrived with a letter saying her work had shown promise and that she had been one of five entries selected to win tickets to the private view.

  Maud remembered how Daisy had danced around the simple room when they had arrived back at her bungalow and she’d realised that Maud wasn’t about to dive over the table to strangle her for being so deceitful. She’d tried in vain to entice Maud to bring some of the vibrant cushions she had strewn across her hand-sewn bedspread into the lounge, to brighten the place up, but Maud had remained resolute that it was unnecessary and would give her mother a heart attack when she visited.

  Luckily, Rosemary had never ventured into Maud’s bedroom or seen the serene forest mural on the wall. Daisy said she thought this was strange, but Maud just shrugged, as if the fact didn’t hurt, and mumbled that they didn’t have that kind of girly relationship. Daisy often wondered aloud if Maud actually wanted her mum to poke her nose around the house and take an interest in the way her daughter expressed her true personality, with the vibrant colours and fabrics she had hidden away. Daisy thought she wanted to shock Rosemary, but anyway, the moment had never materialised, as her mum was too focussed on how neat the kitchen was or if Maud’s clothes were ironed to perfection while she was wearing them.

  Maud kept her bedroom door firmly shut and her mum never expressed an interest in staying too long, before busily pronouncing she had somewhere else to be. Rosemary enjoyed Maud visiting her own house, but only at the most convenient times, preferably when there was someone else there for her to brag to about Maud’s teaching career, which made Maud cringe in embarrassment as she’d had the same job for ages now and hadn’t bothered to apply for anything else. Maud wished she had a brother or sister to confide in, but that was her fault too. She had been so messy and inconsiderate as a child that her mother had told her that she couldn’t cope with more children like her.

  Maud slid open the door to her wardrobe and ran her hand along her collection of rich, textural fabrics hidden inside. Sighing heavily, she slid the door further along and grimaced at the rows of bland tops, skirts and dresses. Her fingers itched to grab something frivolous, but the vision of her mother’s angry face and bugged-out eyes always stopped her.

  Maud hated her magpie tendencies to buy beautiful, sparkly clothes, as she’d never wear any of them. She just couldn’t walk past a shop window and not bring them home; she had to have them, even if it was just to look at. Reaching out and selecting a simple black dress, she stuck her tongue out at her reflection in the mirror in the en-suite bathroom and hung the offending dress up on the back of the door, before turning on the shower to warm the water up a little.

  Towelling her hair dry after an invigorating shower, she plugged in her hair straighteners and watched the tiny light on the side turn green. She had to get up half an hour early every morning to tame her hair and tonight she needed to get a move on if she was going to arrive on time. She was the only person she knew with straight, curly hair. Her hair was completely poker straight until it reached just below her ears, then it sprung into unruly curls. What the hell was all that about? She was sure her hair was rebelling and wished she had the courage to do the same.

  She couldn’t have a perm as her hair wanted to be straight and it didn’t take hold. The bottom section could be straightened, but as her hair was thick and golden-blonde, this took forever to get right. She grabbed the irons, narrowly missing scorching her hand, and began the laborious process of taming the curls into submission.

  Chapter Four

  Nate growled at his friend, who laughed with good humour then ignored him. He knew that Elliot was well used to his best mate being annoying and impossible before a gallery showing. To be honest, Nate admitted to himself that these days he was pretty much always that way. He’d been told that he had one of those auras that told everyone within a ten-foot radius to bugger off, but for some unknown reason, women lapped it up. They clamoured for his attention as if he was a rock star, and it would drive a less amiable friend than Elliott completely nuts. Luckily, Elliott had grown up around Nate and his madcap family and he knew that, although Nate looked mean and moody and could be a complete ogre, the rest of the time, he was daft, friendly and fiercely loyal. Elliott understood all too well that Nate had withstood some tough breaks in life. He’d witnessed it first hand.

  Elliot glanced at his watch and called out good-naturedly, ‘come on, you oaf, we need to get a move on.’

  When Nate didn’t budge, Elliott cuffed him on the shoulder. ‘Look, I know you hate all this publicity for your work and your crazy sister barrages you with appointments and adoration from your public, but really… we are now running late and you know how aggravated Dotty gets when she can’t tick every planned item on her itinerary.’

  Nate wanted to sulk some more, but it was practically impossible when faced with the eternal sunshine that was Elliott. You couldn’t keep the bastard down, however hard Nate tried. Sighing theatrically and wishing he could be anywhere else but at his own gallery opening, he knew he couldn’t disappoint Dot after all her hard work. He’d watched her try to paint her own art and it made him mad that she couldn’t, when he found it so easy. He would do anything for his slightly bonkers sister, even when she was prancing around with her hair standing on end and wearing tights the colour of mustard flowers.

  He noticed Elliott do that impatient jiggle thing he did when he was anxious or needed to pee and smiled in sympathy. El had been in love with Nate’s impossible sister for as long as he could remember, but Dotty was completely clueless and adored him ‘like another brother,’ making Elliott turn puce whenever she said it, which was often, the poor bastard.

  Kicking Elliott’s shin as he passed to wake him out of his daydream, and hearing him yelp with a sense of satisfaction, Nate decided he might as well enjoy himself, for his sister’s sake if nothing else. She had worked on this project for months, even though he knew it broke her heart each time he produced another artwork, while her own studio remained untouched. He had heard her lug loads of boxes up there last month, and then refuse to let anyone in, so he assumed that she was trying a new medium and he didn’t intrude. He understood what it was like when an artist was working and he respected her enough to leave her alone with her muse.

  Elliott was rubbing his sore leg and looked up. ‘Ok, tiger, let’s go!’ He aimed a swift kick at Nate, who deftly darted out of the way. ‘Your sister will hang my guts up as a sculpture if I don’t get you down there soon.’

  Nate chuckled as he descended the stairs, before Elliott realised he had been left behind as usual and swiftly kicked the door shut behind them. Nate heard him yel
p in pain as his foot connected with the door and smiled in satisfaction, as it was Elliott’s fault that he hadn’t been allowed to stay in his studio and immerse himself in his latest painting, until everyone in the gallery beneath the studio had got bored and gone home.

  Chapter Five

  Maud wiggled uncomfortably in her black dress. She knew it flattered her curves and skimmed her ample bust and hips, but it was just plain boring. She wished she could be glamorous and sophisticated but, with her small waist and big boobs and bum, she couldn’t pull off the current androgynous waif look. She had found the courage to wear her favourite black high heels, which she had delicately painted with tiny red roses creeping up from the base of the heel up to her ankles. It was her little act of rebellion, but she hadn’t quite managed to wear the siren red lipstick she’d added to her evening bag. She wished she could listen to her inner butterfly and don something seductive and beautiful, but it was firmly caged and fluttering against the bars. The little black dress said nothing about her except that she was dull and unexciting.

  The only occasion that she felt truly alive was when she closed the door on the summerhouse at the bottom of her garden. This was the reason she had bought her bungalow, as it was squirreled away at the bottom of the ample garden, behind a wall of hedges and through a little gate.

  Nancy, the lady who had sold Maud the bungalow, had been steadfastly refusing offers for her home, until she met Maud and agreed to the sale on the spot. Maybe she had seen the wistful way that Maud had drooled over the detailed artworks that were hung on the stark white walls and proudly displayed everywhere.

  Nancy had been relocating to live closer to her family, but confided in Maud that she was loath to leave her haven. Maud had immediately understood why when she had been shown through the gate at the bottom of the garden. It seemed, at first, as though this belonged to the house backing onto the bungalow, because of the hedges. The house specification from the estate agents had said that the bungalow had a 200-foot lawn. Surely that would mean thousands of hours walking up and down with a lawnmower? The only reason she had entertained viewing the property was because it was so close to Daisy’s flat and she would be able to walk home after a night at the pub. Maud’s social life was so non-existent that she wanted to hold onto the bit she did have. Unfortunately, there were no smaller properties in the vicinity that weren’t sold within minutes to a local building firm. Maud was sure they would have snapped up Nancy’s pretty bungalow if she had agreed to the sale. The garden was ripe for development, if you couldn’t see the beauty in the varied plants and trees. The thought of several flats sitting in this relaxing space made Maud cringe.

  On stepping through the front door when she was viewing the place, Maud had immediately been enchanted by the paintings and discovered that Nancy was a local artist. They spent an hour chatting over tea and prettily iced biscuits that had magically appeared on the table on a dainty porcelain plate, before Nancy had taken her hand, led her to the bottom of the garden and disappeared through the little gate.

  Maud had fleetingly wondered if Nancy was one of those tree huggers her mum was always complaining about, who wandered round patting plants and talking to them. Maud was partial to the odd chat with a pretty ivy plant she had on her desk at the school, so she couldn’t say much about it. It hadn’t seemed like the old lady was coming back, so she’d reached out and pushed the door with some trepidation, hoping an irate neighbour wouldn’t emerge from the foliage and bash her over the head with a branch, or that there wasn’t some sort of weird swingers’ convention going on and the little old lady would jump out of the hedge half-naked with a strange man. You just never knew these days.

  Maud found Nancy on the other side of the hedge, beaming at her. She stood on a porch, in front of a wooden building that filled the whole width of the garden. The front was made of glass with double doors that were open and hinting at the treasures held within. Maud’s feet carried her forward as she gasped in awe at the artist’s studio before her. Her mouth hung agape in shock, before she realised she was probably dribbling. She snapped it shut and wiped it with the back of her hand. Reverently, she moved towards the door. ‘Is this part of the house sale?’

  Nancy beckoned her inside as a warm smile touched her lips. ‘I get the feeling you’re an artist?’

  Maud almost jumped out of her skin as if she’d been stung. ‘Me? No. Not at all!’

  Nancy’s eyes twinkled with mischief and she rubbed her chin and kept looking at Maud’s bright red face. ‘Hmm. My art is coming with me when I move, but I’m happy to leave the furniture as part of the sale. I pretty much use the house as gallery space, so everything is white and simply designed. It helps the art to stand out.’

  Maud stumbled and grabbed the handle of the double doors to steady herself. ‘But I’m not an artist. Though I love art… I do paint…’ she admitted gloomily.

  ‘I thought so,’ said Nancy, eyes sparkling, as if that sorted everything out to her satisfaction.

  ‘My little paintings are nothing. They’re useless…’ stammered Maud, cheeks flushing that this vivacious woman would offer this gem of a property to someone who could most certainly never do it justice.

  Nancy took her hand and rubbed some warmth into it. ‘Even if they are, if you enjoy painting, then you will put this space to good use. The previous four people who wanted to buy this place planned to rip it apart. The most recent one said he would add a hot tub and a secret sexy area!’ Nancy made a gagging sound and Maud burst out laughing, the tension ebbing away as wonder filled her bones. Could she really own a place like this?

  ‘You never thought of making this into a sexy area, then? Maud giggled, blushing at her own audacity.

  Nancy gave her a mischievous wink, until they were both snickering again and Maud walked over to run her hands over the beautiful wooden easel, which was set up to catch the afternoon sunlight across the neighbour’s garden.

  Watching Maud reverently stroke the easel, with its chipped wood and years of splattered acrylic paint, as if it was priceless, Nancy had a look of determination on her face. ‘If you buy the bungalow today, I’ll drop £3,000 off the asking price. I told the agent it was overpriced anyway.’ She held up a hand to halt Maud’s protestations.

  ‘I don’t want to have to pay for storage for this lot and my son has kindly set me up with a full studio at my new house. He says all of this is ancient junk. I was reluctant to move on, but now I can see he has a point.’

  Maud was aghast. ‘But…’ The equipment looked expensive to her and there must be hundreds of pounds’ worth of paint tubes and furniture. The little writing desk in the corner and comfy couch in the other looked well-used but expensive too.

  Nancy smiled and ignored her protest. ‘Like I said, I haven’t sold to the other buyers as they would rip the heart out of this place and the offers were way too low. I know I’m getting doddery and I have to move, but it doesn’t mean I will just abandon this place to its fate without finding someone special for it.’

  Maud blushed. No one had called her special before. Obviously satisfied at the young woman’s response, Nancy clapped her hands together, then patted Maud’s arm affectionately. ‘I can see the passion burning in your eyes, but there is something holding you back. Maybe you’re a frustrated artist or maybe you can’t paint for toffee, but my gut is telling me that you will love the place and that’s enough for me.’ She sighed as if she was becoming tired and Maud began to worry that, although the woman before her was sprightly, perhaps this beautiful bungalow was too much for her now? ‘My son has been ringing me daily and telling me off for not accepting the first offers, so today I will be able to shut him up gently,’ said Nancy, sounding pleased with the outcome. ‘All of the traipsing around after estate agents and people viewing the house is starting to drag me down, and I can finally start the next chapter of my life. It might even be inspiring for my work.’

  Nancy explained how she had been selling her work in gallerie
s across the world for many years and she cherished her easel and little studio, but finally she could see that her son was right. She had made her own decision, though, and she’d found a new guardian for this haven she had created.

  ‘Will you take it?’ she asked as if it was a simple decision that Maud could make just like that.

  Maud mumbled and stared at her feet, totally embarrassed by this woman’s generosity, or insanity, she wasn’t sure which. ‘I was looking for a flat, really.’ Maud didn’t want to look up into the eyes that seemed to be able to see into her soul, while her own parents couldn’t. She hesitated for a moment before defiance set in. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said resolutely, feeling a ball of fire light up in her stomach at her bravado, loving this new emotion.

  Nancy’s eyes twinkled merrily and Maud was pleased to see her satisfaction at the way her day had turned out. She waited patiently as Nancy leaned down to open the delicate little cupboard under the desk and revealed a row of jars, housing an array of paint brushes, and row upon row of acrylic paints, next to beautifully sharp drawing pencils.

  ‘Show me what you can draw.’

  Maud thought back to the day she had met Nancy and how, although she had moved away, they had become unlikely friends. Maud’s own grandmother was much like her mother, uptight and prissy, so it was a revelation to have someone who didn’t think she was unable to make a decent decision about her own life, and she had blossomed under Nancy’s watchful eye. They had both discovered video chatting on the computer and spent hours talking about their latest work from their screens. Maud’s little studio was her secret and an act of rebellion against her parents. They didn’t know anything about it and she hadn’t found the courage to bring her work into the house. She did spend every spare moment in the studio, though. Her studio. She still felt astounded that she had her very own artist’s studio.