to answer it.
She was just replacing the receiver when Roger Barnum walked into the office brandishing a large document that looked as if it had an appointment with the photo copier.
Kay watched in horror, unable to make a move in time to rescue her book, watching as Mr Barnum lifted the lid of the photocopier.
‘Whose is this?’ he barked, holding the book up and grimacing at it as if it might be infected. ‘Painting for Pleasure and Profit.’
Kay, blushing from head to foot, stood up to claim the book. ‘It’s mine, Mr Barnum.’
‘And what’s it doing on the photocopier?’ he asked.
Kay wanted to groan at the ridiculous question but she didn’t. She simply took it from him and mumbled an apology.
Mr Barnum sniffed. ‘I’d like to have a quiet word with you in my office, Miss Ashton,’ he said.
Kay nodded and followed him through.
‘Close the door and sit down,’ he said.
Kay did as she was asked.
Mr Barnum walked round his desk and sat down on an expensive-looking chair. It wasn’t threadbare like the office chair Kay had.
‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ Mr Barnum began, ‘your mind hasn’t really been on your work lately, has it?’
‘Well, no,’ Kay said. ‘My mother died recently and I’ve just lost a dear friend too.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, one has to get over these things – move on and all that.’
Kay blinked hard. Had she just heard him right?
‘People come and people go. It’s a sad fact of life and we have to get on with it.’
‘Right,’ Kay said. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘And this drawing of yours,’ he continued, ‘you mustn’t bring it into the office with you. I think we had an incident before, didn’t we? Something concerning that Mr Darcy. For the life of me, I can’t see what it is you women find so fascinating.’
Kay didn’t say anything.
‘It’s interfering. You must keep these things separate. Quite separate. Work is work. Play is play.’
‘But it isn’t play, Mr Barnum. It’s my passion.’
Mr Barnum’s eyes widened in shock at the word ‘passion’ as if it might leap across the table and do him some sort of mischief.
‘In fact,’ Kay said, enjoying having provoked such a response, ‘I’ve been thinking of playing a bit more. You see, I’ve just had a phone call and it seems I’ve got some money coming my way very soon. I was left a property recently and it’s just sold so I’ll be moving.’
‘Moving?’ Mr Barnum said.
‘Yes. To the sea. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea. It’s another of my passions. So you’d better accept this as my notice. I’ll put it in writing, of course, during my lunch break – which is now, I believe.’ She stood up and smiled at Mr Barnum. She was feeling generous with her smiles now that she knew she was leaving.
Arriving home that night, she flopped on to her sofa, kicking off her shoes and sighing. She felt exhausted. Decision-making was a tiring business, she decided, but it was a happy tired she was feeling. She’d handed in her notice! She smiled as she remembered the look on Roger Barnum’s face. It was the first time he’d actually looked at Kay – really looked at her. Usually, his eyes would just sweep over her as he handed her a pile of paperwork.
Perhaps, she thought, it was also the first time she’d ever really looked at herself. She was thirty-one now. She knew that wasn’t exactly past it by modern standards, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken either. Enough years had been wasted. In Jane Austen’s time, thirty-one would have been a very dangerous age for a woman. She would have been rapidly hurtling towards spinsterhood.
Life had to be grasped and what better time than now? What was it Peggy had said? Do something amazing!
‘I will!’ Kay said. ‘I owe it to you, Peggy.’
Getting up from the sofa to pour herself a glass of wine, Kay still couldn’t comprehend everything that had happened to her over the past few months. It was still impossible to believe that she was a relatively wealthy woman. She’d never had so much money and she was determined to use it to its best advantage.
She was going to move to the sea, that much was certain and, as a Jane Austen fan who was currently reading Persuasion for the seventh time, it seemed only right that she should focus her search on Lyme Regis. She’d already Googled it a dozen times, gazing longingly at the images that greeted her. The picturesque fishermen’s cottages, the high street that sloped down to the perfect blue sea and the great grey mass of the Cobb all seemed to speak to her.
Hey there, Kay! What are you waiting for? Come on down. You know you want to!
Having grown up in land-locked Hertfordshire, Kay had always wondered what it would be like to live by the sea. For a moment, she remembered a family holiday in North Norfolk. Other than two glorious sun-drenched days, the weather had been dreadful and Kay had had to spend most of the time trapped in the tiny chalet with her mum and dad who’d done nothing but row. Kay had done her best to shut herself away with an armful of second-hands books she’d found in a nearby junk shop. Reading about dashing highwaymen and handsome cavaliers had helped enormously but it was still a wonder that the whole experience hadn’t put her off the idea of living by the sea for good
But what exactly was she going to do in Lyme Regis? Was she going to buy a tiny cottage as cheaply as possible and live off the rest of the money whilst she hid herself away with her paintings and waited for publication? She’d never been a full-time artist and she had to admit that the thought of it panicked her. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she spent years striving for publication whilst eating into the money that Peggy had left her? She was a practical girl and the thought of running out of money was terrifying. She might have hundreds of thousands in her name but she also had a lot of life to lead and she was planning on living to a ripe old age. Besides, she’d always worked. Perhaps her job at Barnum and Mason hadn’t been the best in the world but she’d been proud to make her own way and pay her own bills. But what could she do in a house by the sea in Lyme Regis?
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said.
It had been decided that Kay could take the annual leave that was owed to her in lieu of her notice and that meant that she could get down to Lyme Regis this very weekend and not have to worry about being back home for work on Monday.
Finishing her glass of wine, she went upstairs to start packing her suitcase and she couldn’t help feeling that Peggy – wherever she might be – was smiling down at her in approval.
Chapter Three
Adam Craig had lived in Lyme Regis all his life or, to be more precise, a tiny village called Marlbury in the Marshwood Vale just a few miles north of the seaside town. He’d studied English at Cambridge and had worked briefly in London but he would never want to live anywhere else.
From the winding country lanes to the tiny stone cottages and the ever-present caress of a breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else coming close. He loved the rolling fields filled with lambs in the spring, the hedgerows stuffed with summer flowers, the tapestry colours of the trees in autumn and the slate grey sea in winter. Every season had its joy and he welcomed each one.
His parents had moved to California twelve years ago. His father had taken early retirement from his antiques business in Honiton and he’d been determined to give the wine business a go, buying an established vineyard in the Napa Valley. Adam had been invited to join them but had declined. The Dorset coast and countryside were in his blood