He strode out into the hall, and she followed him more slowly. Just before he disappeared into the blaze of sunshine on the terrace he cast his glance in her direction and wished her a formal good-bye.
She answered mechanically:
“Goodbye…” And then, with a dimple appearing at one comer of her mouth, she added, “Richard!”
Tremarth paused for a moment as if in surprise, and then continued on his way out to his car.
Charlotte drove into Truro that afternoon and met the London train, and the slight gloom that had held her since the morning evaporated when she caught her first glimpse of Hannah’s cheerful countenance.
Hannah Cootes had been her friend since her schooldays, and there was virtually no difference between them in age. But Hannah looked several years older, and she was one of those people who always struck everyone else as ‘sensible’. She had an outdoor complexion, short dark hair, and because of the closeness of her work she invariably wore glasses. She painted miniatures, and was already acclaimed as quite a competent artist. Charlotte, who always itched to take her in hand and dress her just a little bit more smartly, as well as set her hair for her and get her to experiment with one of the more reliable brands of cosmetics, felt her lips curving in amusement when she realised that Hannah had left London in the same old paint-stained corduroy slacks she used when she was working, and for luggage she had only a single suitcase.
Charlotte took it from her and assured her that she was delighted to see her.
Hannah apologised for the working clothes.
“But it was as much as I could do to catch the train, let alone furbish myself up a bit,” she admitted. Then, admiring, her eyes flickered over Charlotte. “But you look wonderful, as always! Why you ever bothered to start a typewriting bureau when you might have been modelling clothes I can’t think.”
Charlotte smiled at her.
“There are any number of girls who look good in clothes,” she assured her admiring friend, “but typing other people’s letters is one sure method of earning a living. However, my future plans are somewhat different now, and I may not return to typing letters. I shall probably sell out my share of the partnership and invest it in something else.”
“Oh!” Hannah’s eyes were bright and questioning as they walked towards Charlotte’s small parked car. “Such as what?” she enquired.
Charlotte glanced round at her almost impishly over her blue clad shoulder.
“Tremarth?” she suggested. “I had an idea this morning, and I may yet make it work!”
On the way back to Tremarth there was so much to talk about that Charlotte did not pursue for the time being whatever plan it was she had formed for the house that had once belonged to her great-aunt. And when they finally arrived at Tremarth Hannah was so full of admiration for its attractive exterior that it seemed a pity to introduce such a purely commercial topic as making the place pay when the new arrival simply wanted to reproduce it on canvas.
“It’s a lovely old house,” she declared. “It’s a long time since I had a go at a really large canvas, but to-morrow I’ll set my easel up on the terrace and see what I can achieve. Luckily I’ve brought several canvases with me – ” it had been difficult to find a place for them in Charlotte’s tiny car – “as well as my oils. I can see that I’m going to have a heavenly time now that I’ve actually arrived!” and she sounded really enthusiastic.
Charlotte smiled at her affectionately and led her inside the house. Hannah’s enthusiasm increased and she practically dissolved into rhapsodies over the splendid hall fireplace and the panelling that was so remarkably well preserved.
“If this house belonged to me,” she declared in a reverential whisper, “I’d settle down and live in it, and I’d never return to London.” “Ah, but you’re an artist,” her friend reminded her, “and artists can settle down almost anywhere if they like the surroundings enough. I’m a very practical person, and I think the kitchen is a bit of a problem… But you’ll discover that later on!”
They ascended the stairs to the room she had got ready for Hannah. It was next door to the one she had selected for herself, and they both had magnificent views, looking directly out to sea, and had the added convenience and touch of intimacy of sharing a bathroom.
Hannah spent some time examining the furniture and assessing its value from the stand point of one who was fairly knowledgeable about such matters, and then they went downstairs to the kitchen to make a pot of tea Waterloo accompanied them, and since he and Hannah were old friends it was a very satisfactory day for the old dog. In the morning he had met a man he had liked – although Charlotte was considerably at a loss to know why he had actually fawned on him. And now Hannah had contrived to stay with them, as evidenced by the luggage she had brought with her, and that gratified Waterloo very much indeed.
Even Hannah, however, was brought up a little short when she saw the size of the kitchen. A coach and horses could have filled it with ease, and left room for a team of outriders. The paintwork was decidedly drab, and the vast kitchen dresser was crowded with china that was unashamedly dusty. The daily woman during her tours of duty had obviously had little time to devote to it, and as Charlotte lifted cups off the hooks she carried them fastidiously over to the sink and washed them under a running tap before drying them on a clean tea-towel.
Hannah nodded in an enlightened way.
“Yes, I see what you mean.” She perched herself on a comer of the big centre table. “But I still think it’s a wonderful place, and you’re lucky it’s yours. Miracles could be achieved with a lick of paint in this kitchen, and I’m not entirely a decorative artist, you know – I can stoop to working with an ordinary pot of house paint, and in fact I’m rather good at it. I painted every inch of the woodwork in my own flat, and if you’d seen it before I did it you’d unhesitatingly acclaim me as nothing short of a miracle-worker.”
“As a matter of fact I did see it,” Charlotte replied. “I happened to call one afternoon when you were up to your neck in high gloss paint.”
“Then you’ll agree that I’m no mean performer, and my services ought to be utilised here. How soon can we get hold of some paint, do you think?”
“We could go into Truro again to-morrow… or we could probably get some locally.” “Splendid! Then let’s try and see what we can do locally.”
But as they sipped tea and ate buttered scones with strawberry jam at the kitchen table Charlotte felt the need to point out to her friend that it might be a wasted effort if they made an attempt to improve the distinctly drab appearance of the kitchen. For one thing, it would involve a lot of paint, and if they were to do the job properly they would have to scrub and treat the woodwork first, and the whole enterprise would take several days of united effort. Unless someone was going to live in the house afterwards – and she emphasised the word live’ deliberately – it seemed hardly worth it to exhaust themselves simply because Hannah was rather skilled at transforming dingy paintwork.
Hannah helped herself to another scone and added a generous topping of strawberry jam to it, and then looked along the length of the table at her friend with rather more of an alert look in her eyes.
“But you kind of implied you had some sort of plan to live here,” she reminded her.
Charlotte looked diffident.
“If I did, it probably wasn’t practical. In fact, I’m reasonably certain it isn’t in the least practical,” she replied.
“But it was a plan? You had some sort of brilliant idea?”
“In a way – ”
“Can you possibly afford to live here without doing something to make the place pay for its upkeep?”
“You know perfectly well that I can’t.”
“Well, then… What was this brilliant idea?”