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 explained further. ‘It might be a phenomenal purchase price, but I do have to consider the extensive renovations, then furnishing it, plus bringing that huge garden back to its former glory. I am going to need decent money to do it justice. That’s really my problem here. I would prefer to keep some of my interests invested to keep them working for me.’ I shrugged.
We both sat quiet, contemplative, and then I continued. ‘But Bea you should see it.’ And my voice warmed to the idea once again. ‘There’s something so wonderful about it. The garden reminds me of Enid Blyton’s Magic Far Away Tree. It has dreamlike qualities like an enchanted forest. I did know Mr Carmody was a landscape architect, although I can’t remember giving it much thought. He has left a wonderful legacy behind. That place is crying out to be filled with people. I’ve been giving thought to a few ideas, but the one that keeps coming to mind is a luxurious inner city B&B.’
I began to visualise, describing it to Bea as I went. ‘Imagine coming up that drive, and seeing the house for the first time; a mix of contemporary and antique furniture, and fabulous, luxurious comfort; peace and quiet guaranteed, but only minutes from the cafe precinct and city centre,’ my voice began to race, ‘stunning gardens with beautifully maintained flowerbeds; a kitchen garden; breakfast on the terrace with views of the river; and relaxation by the pool.’ And then I came back to reality. ‘However, I’ll have to do my figures. It might be one big dream. As I said earlier, this is going to cost serious money.’ Thoughtfully, I tapped my fingertips on my top lip.
Reclining in resplendent comfort, Bea draped an arm over the back of the chair. ‘Do you know anything at all about running a B&B darling?’
‘Nope, but I intend to learn. After all, I do know about running a business, and at the end of the day, it’s another business. Plus Mum…’ there was that Mum word I used whenever I was stressed or needed comfort. I roamed over to the French doors and looked out to the back garden. ‘Plus I have to work out what to do with my life.’ Neither of us said anything for a few moments, and then with my eyes still on the garden, I continued. ‘I really thought I would have been a mum by now.’
Shrugging, I turned and looked at Bea. She looked thoughtful. I watched her face. Rising from the chaise, she beckoned. ‘Come with me.’
Taking a green tasselled key from the drawer of a small French dresser, she unlocked the large storeroom next to her studio. Pushing the door open, her hand reached for the light switch as she gestured me in front of her.
‘What…?’ I was taken aback, my eyes blinking in disbelief. And then with mouth agape, I stared. It was an Aladdin’s Cave crammed full of French antiques. My eyes lit up as they scanned the tightly packed room, making out a Louis XV style console, half a dozen ornate mirrors, two commodes, a sideboard, a pair of wing back chairs, and what appeared to be a Napoleonic chandelier.
With a flourish of her hand, Bea gestured. ‘Some things of your father’s he thought you may want some day. Each of these treasured pieces he selected for you on my last trip to France.’ Her hand smoothed over the worn patina of an armoire, her face now alive with memories. ‘When I came home after… after that sad time…’ I knew she was referring to my father’s death, ‘… I mentioned that there were some antique pieces of his being shipped, for whenever you wanted them. And then when you moved into the warehouse I asked again. Remember?’
I did remember Bea asking, and I distinctly remembered Davis taking me aside, firmly stating that we didn’t want anything old, only new shiny modern stuff for us.
I glanced around once more. I had thought this room was full of art supplies and old canvases. My eyes settled on a console where atop it sat a pair of gilded candle holders, highly decorated and forming branches of flowers, next to them a clock in marble, gold and bronze.
‘Oh,’ I gasped. ‘Look at this gilding.’ My hand smoothed over the gold work on the clock.
‘I believe that’s called ormolu,’ Bea explained.
‘Oh,’