They turned between the hedges of Mistletoe Cottage, passing Grady’s red truck. He unlocked the front door and Laurel followed him indoors. Then a thought struck her. ‘I meant to split the bill. I can’t believe I let you pay for everything.’ She’d been on two dates since her divorce, pressed upon her by friends in Park Royal who thought dates a vital rite of passage at the end of a marriage. They’d involved her taking her turn at buying drinks in noisy bars and she hadn’t had to face any clash of expectations over a restaurant bill.

He turned to meet her gaze calmly, his hair tumbled by the wind. ‘How about you pay next time?’

She’d been about to press cash on him for her share of tonight’s expenses. On the other hand … the notion of ‘next time’ awakened a curl of pleasure inside her. ‘If you’re sure,’ she murmured.

Grady showed her down the hall to a red-tiled kitchen where he made her a coffee. Her mug bore the name of a garage in Peterborough; his bore the crest of Peterborough United Football Club. She began to unzip her coat but he stopped her with a shake of his head. ‘The workshop’s not on the central heating loop because it used to be outbuildings. It’s cold until the heaters get going.’

He opened a close-boarded door and they stepped into a long room, carrying their mugs. ‘This was the outdoor loo, wash house and coal hole,’ he explained, indicating the ribs that marked where he’d taken down walls between three windows. ‘But now it’s my workshop.’

In the middle of the space a sturdy, battered kitchen table served as a workbench, and it was scattered with tools, including a hand-held power tool. Racks and shelves covered the two narrow walls. A board about three metres long leaned against the house wall. ‘That’s what we’re painting,’ Grady said, as he switched on panel heaters.

Ignoring the board, Laurel was drawn down the room to a shelf full of gourds, shining dully under the overhead light, a few in their natural state but others looking as if a rainbow had come down to Middledip and found its home.

One had become a peacock, the gourd’s stretched and curved neck painted iridescent blue, ending in a neatly painted beak and knowing eye. The peacock’s tail was furled around the lower, bulbous part of the gourd, the geometric ‘eye’ of every feather painstakingly painted in shimmering shades of blue, green, aqua, jade, black and gold. She moved on to another gourd, painted with apple blossom, perhaps to reflect its squat, apple-like shape. The background colour was matte black and every blossom, leaf and stem stood out.