Cover

Also by Catherine Alliott

The Old Girl Network

Going Too Far

The Real Thing

Rosie Meadows Regrets…

Olivia's Luck

A Married Man

The Wedding Day

Not That Kind of Girl

A Crowded Marriage

The Secret Life Evie Hamilton

One Day in May

A Rural Affair

My Husband Next Door

Wish You Were Here

About Last Night…

A Cornish Summer

Behind Closed Doors

Learn more at:

facebook.com/AlliottCountry

Dedication

For my god-daughter, Jemima.

Chapter 1

Celia peered nervously through the rain-spattered windscreen at the towering hedges lining the narrow lane we were snaking along. Sodden trees formed a dark canopy overhead. She wrapped her vintage silk shawl more tightly around her bony shoulders and gave a mock shiver.

“Remind me again why I'm coming with you?”

I gave a small smile.

“You know very well. To paint the swirling seas and the billowing blue skies — your words, I believe, to persuade me to let you come in the first place.”

“I had an idea it would all be bathed in golden hues and honey-colored light, that's all,” she said petulantly, gazing out into the gloom.

“It is, for about ten days a year,” I told her cheerfully. “If we're lucky we'll catch one of them.” I gave her a bolshie grin and her eyes widened in genuine alarm.

“And — for moral support,” I reminded her. “Your words again. For which I'm super grateful. And don't worry, the weather will perk up. It's always a bit mercurial down here.”

“Yes, well,” she rearranged her shawl and slid her bottom forwards in the passenger seat beside me, setting her faded orange espadrilles on the dashboard. “Can't have you entering the lion's den on your own, can we? Might never see you again. And anyway, I've heard too much about this famous family to pass up the chance.” She narrowed her eyes contemplatively. “Actually, I might paint the old girl, Belinda, while you do Roger the Dodger. They won't know I only do landscapes, will they? I could do a Francis Bacon on her,” she said suddenly, sitting up delighted. “All naked and bloody and flagellated — the final reveal coming to light in a dramatic spin of the easel! Can't you just see her face?”

“She'd faint clean away,” I told her as I hit the brakes. A speed camera heralded yet another gray, damp little village with opposing rows of blank-faced stone cottages, punctuated by the ubiquitous pub at the end. “Roger, on the other hand, might like it.”

“Oh? Is he into bondage?” She glanced at me, encouraged. “Bit of a Max Mosley? The gentry often are.”

“I’ve no idea what his sexual predilections are, but he's certainly not the crusty old buffer you're imagining. He's quite open-minded.”

“Oh good. I'll twinkle at him.” She grinned. “See if I get a response.”

“Do not,” I said nervously, knowing Celia's charms of old. Twinkling was mild within her repertoire.