And he took off without another word.
Insufferable! And what made it worse was that he was right. Holly knew she’d been in a little world of her own, aware only of the increasingly warming caress of the sun and the ducks on the river. She’d been so engrossed that it was she in fact who hadn’t been looking where she was going, thus putting herself in the path of the stranger who obviously didn’t have any soul or he too would have been enjoying the day.
Guilt-fuelled frustration made it worse because she wasn’t even able to defend herself. She’d readily have admitted fault if he’d apologised for knocking her over, but there was no way she would now; even if she could; but she couldn’t because he’d gone. Rushed across the footbridge, jumped into a parked Land Rover, and raced off, leaving her standing like an idiot.
She’d been bowled over and given the brush-off in less than three minutes by someone she suspected was the most gorgeous man in the village, or possibly even the world. The strange feeling she’d had in the pit of her stomach the moment she’d looked up into those amazing eyes began to subside.
Who was he anyway? Holly had registered at the local surgery and, although she hadn’t yet met the doctor, she knew from Emma that he was softly spoken, cuddly, and about a hundred years old. She was sure the practice only had one doctor. Maybe this one was a locum. Good job if he was. At least she probably wouldn’t have to bump into him again.
A little shaken by the encounter, Holly carried on walking, though with perhaps slightly more caution. It was a lovely crisp day and now she’d shaken off her misery over Harry she certainly wasn’t going to let some pompous, full-of-himself doctor upset her again. And if that was anything to go by she was pretty willing to bet he had a terrible bedside manner!
The lovely weather had lured others out into the sunshine and every single person she met smiled at her. That kind of thing just didn’t happen in London, not in her experience anyway, and it made her feel good. She allowed her mind to wander – though not her attention. She wasn’t looking to run into another crashing boor!
Holly found herself reflecting again on what she might be able to do when (and if) the cottage finally became hers. Though modest, she was also innately honest. She realised of course that being a grade A student didn’t qualify her to run a business. Many things can be taught but talent is something that, if you are lucky, you are born with, and hers had been nurtured.
Her work at college was outstanding and nobody envied her success. Holly was unassuming and only too ready to help any of her fellow students if she could. It came as no surprise that she achieved a BA (Hons) First Class and her framed certificate – one of the few things she’d brought with her from London – was second only to her mother’s table (at present in storage) as her most cherished possession. But could she turn her talent into a successful commercial reality?
Before marrying Harry she’d lived with her parents, selling her work to pay for her keep, something her parents objected to but which her pride insisted upon.
‘But I want to. How else am I even going to begin to repay you for putting me through uni?’
Biased as he was, her father hadn’t been entirely convinced it was something she’d be able to make a living out of. Nevertheless he agreed to let her have her way, rather liking her independence of spirit.
‘We all have to start somewhere, Holly,’ her dad had said, almost apologetically. ‘I don’t buy a new painting every week and I don’t suppose anyone else does either.’
In spite of his somewhat mixed attempt at reassurance, no one was more astonished than he when one sale was followed by another and then another. Not only was Holly’s work good, it was saleable. She wasn’t a ‘name’, didn’t become an overnight success, but she was doing very nicely thank you.
Then she met Harry. They’d both picked the same bench in Trafalgar Square after she’d been to visit the National Portrait Gallery and he was whiling away the time before a meeting. He never did make that meeting and after a whirlwind romance they were married in grand style – Harry’s choice not hers – and she moved into his flat. There was no room for her to paint so she continued working at her parents’ home until they offered to help with the purchase of a house.
‘Can’t stand the mess, eh?’
‘No, Holly, but art has been your passion since you were tiny. Not that you’re much bigger now.’
‘Watch it.’
‘Anyway, this way you’ll have everything you want at your fingertips. Your mother and I are prepared to put up half the money if Harry can do the rest.’
With the proceeds from the sale of his flat Harry was able to fulfil his side of the bargain and six months after the wedding they moved into a spacious town house. Harry was adamant that she didn’t work and Holly, quite impressed by his macho attitude, had at first acceded to his wishes – though later she’d taken a job at a gallery to prevent herself climbing the walls out of boredom. However, he considered painting was what people did for a hobby and was content enough for her to continue but, as a contribution to the family coffers, no, definitely not.
By the time she took the job at the gallery he considered her earnings to be ‘pin’ money. Holly, in love and anxious to please her husband, gave up selling her own work. After all, she told herself, it’s not as if I do it for the income. She couldn’t and wouldn’t give up painting though, which under her current circumstances was just as well, since her future now depended upon her being able to support herself. She hadn’t been in the market for a few years now. Aware that fashions are always changing she just had to hope that what she did was still in demand. Emma and Holly had discussed it, naturally.
‘It’s not as if you’ve been out of touch. You’ve been working in the business for years.’
‘I know, Em, it’s just that I …’
‘And as far as I know you’ve subscribed to every magazine going.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘You’ll have to make a name for yourself, locally at least. But you’ve got the talent. You just need to be a bit pushy.’
‘Oh and you can just see me doing that, can’t you.’
‘The only way you’re going to find out is to try. And I’ll be shoving you from behind.’
‘I can feel it already,’ Holly had said, rubbing the small of her back with the back of her hand. There was no doubt about it though, Holly thought, looking across at the cottage as she passed it on her way out of town. If she got it, it had the potential to be a business as well, always supposing she could get planning permission.
Reaching the riverbank her wandering thoughts were matched by wandering hands, sifting, sorting. Several treasures were now nestling at the bottom of her backpack along with the tissue Holly always carried since the loss of a beautiful piece of bark, fragile and with its intricate patterns already, in her mind, incorporated into a montage of which it would be the central feature. Sadly it was just a crumbling mess by the time she got it home.
She could never be sure what she’d find that might need protecting. As she sifted and searched her mind ran free. On the whole she was a pretty positive person and she was beginning to realise that her positivity was returning now she was no longer with Harry. It had come as quite a shock to discover how much of her own personality she’d suppressed trying to be the wife he’d wanted. She’d allowed herself to dream of one day being an artist of note but she’d made absolutely no effort to pursue that dream.
Now though, she was ready to go for it. She was also realistic enough to know that even if she ultimately gained the recognition she so craved the journey would be long and possibly bumpy. Definitely bumpy!