‘Well done. Look at all this work.’
‘I like yours, Minty,’ said Felicity.
‘What is it you like about it?’
‘The froth is soooo believable.’
‘Minty, can you give us any tips on how you painted the froth?’
‘Sure. I went for a mixture of zinc white, yellow ochre and cobalt blue to blend it into the water. Froth is much darker than one thinks it is. I know because home’s on the Derwent.’
‘Lovely river,’ said Rupert. ‘And you’re right about the colour, but I never saw it like that.’
‘Yellow ochre?’ said Lianne. ‘You didn’t give us any of that, Susie.’
‘I didn’t want to introduce too many colours but maybe I should have. I’m sorry.’
‘Whose do you think’s best, Miss?’
‘What’s interesting is how you all see things. Jane has used a lot more green than the rest of you, Felicity’s grey rocks are well observed, and then if we look at Louis’, he’s heightened the colours.’
‘That’s cos he’s a photographer,’ said Lianne. ‘They’re always enhancing things.’
‘Artistic licence,’ said Giles.
‘But Miss,’ nagged Shane. ‘Whose do you think is the best?’
‘All these paintings have successful elements and taste is personal.’
‘Boring, you just don’t want to say.’
‘It’s jolly chilly, Susie,’ said Felicity.
‘Let’s pack up then.’
‘I could murder a cup of tea,’ said Rupert.
‘What would you murder it with?’ smirked Shane.
‘Don’t be so cheeky.’ Jane prodded her finger into his back.
‘Ow.’
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ said Rupert. ‘You’re quite right, what on earth would one murder a cup of tea with?’ He roared with laughter.
Louis and Minty had already packed up their bits and bobs and as they sat in the back of the minibus, out of the cold, they watched and waited for everyone else to do the same. Then as the group balanced wet paintings on shivering knees, Rupert navigated the bumpy track with confidence – I’m so glad he’s taken control of the bus. Up the front drive we went and into the yard in front of the house.
‘Rupert,’ called out Louis from the back, ‘I don’t think you should park this close to the steps.’
‘But it’s where it was when we got in.’
‘I know but it spoils the look of the house.’
‘He’s right,’ I said.
‘And he’s talking at last.’ Rupert released the brake and parked a little further away.
I stood in the yard looking up at the wonderfully self-confident house. This pile was not in the least bit subtle. The porticoed front door raised up above the ground gave it the grandest entrance I’ve ever seen – how nice it is the Muchtons regard their home as something to share. If Zoe’s enthusiasm for public courses continues, many lucky people will beat a path here.
My eyes travelled along the windows of the top floor. ‘Hey Louis,’ I said as he was the closest. ‘Why do you think the curtains of the locked wing are shut?’
‘Don’t know,’ he shrugged.
‘Do you think they’re hiding something?’
I was joking but he snapped back, ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘So, I’m right?’ I wasn’t going to let a Frenchman intimidate me. And anyway, he might have been here before so perhaps he knew.
‘People with big houses don’t like to heat it all…’
I finished his sentence, ‘So the curtains are closed to keep it insulated.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Here,’ I reached out an arm, ‘I’ll take your bag so you can carry the easel.’
‘Thank you.’ He gave me the sweetest smile and my tummy turned.
Oh crumbs, I must not crush on Monsieur Bouchon.
An absolutely essential part of a Scottish home, no matter how big or small, is the drying room, and if you’ve been into one you’ve seen them all. A seemingly windowless dark cavern, which has, dangling off-centre, a dim light bulb with a grubby shade. These uninhabited stuffy places have a universal cheesy-feet-cross-damp-wax-jacket smell. There’s always a crusty insole in sight and a lonely glove to be found. And although spiders, mice and moths inhabit every other nook and cranny of the house, you’ll never find any in here – it’s far too hot with very little air. Slatted wooden shelves run up the walls, each haphazardly stacked with endless bits of outdoor kit, and, as is always the case, an enormous insulated water tank takes up most of the space. No hot cupboard (as they’re also known) is complete without a ‘pulley’, a long wooden railed device attached to a cord. It’s lowered, loaded with wet items and raised up into warmer air, muddy drips drip-dripping onto the floor. If you’re lucky you’ll find an out-of-shape coat hanger lingering in a dark corner. Despite the unpleasant components of this poorly lit dingy space it is excellent at drying out absolutely anything with rapid effect.
So, here I am in Auchen Laggan Tosh’s drying room obeying Zoe’s instruction for a tidy house, taking off my coat and welly boots. One thing’s for sure, they’ll be warm and toasty when I come to put them on again. Right now, though, I’m feeling cold, so I’m going to skip tea and scamper upstairs for a hot bath.
Zoe caught me on the landing. ‘Susie,’ she said, rather sharply, ‘Fergus would like a word.’
‘Okay,’ wobbled out of my mouth.
I couldn’t work out if she was exhausted or agitated, but either way her voice had definitely lost its lightness of touch.
‘He’s in our room at the minute but if you wait in the snug I’ll give him a call.’
I turned back downstairs, my feelings retracing their steps. I’d felt nervous before this week, apprehensive when I arrived, gradually more settled, reached a state of ease this afternoon and now, curses, I was feeling on edge again. Why did Fergus want a word with me?
‘Ah Susie,’ he said, striding into the library and pushing the door closed. ‘Do sit down, this won’t take long.’
The corners of Fergus’s mouth were twitching as if he was trying his best to hold back an almighty smile. This was a turn-up for the books. Maybe he had good news for me.
‘Right,’ he said and then took what seemed like forever to perch his bottom
