Page 21 of Desert Barbarian

'I've seen enough,' Clare said. 'Enough, that is, to know I want it.'

'I think you ought to look round first before de­ciding,' the agent pressed her uneasily. 'You'll need a surveyor's report first, anyway.'

Clare opened the gate without taking any notice of him, walked slowly up the narrow rose-fringed little path, which was paved with black and white tiles. A bird-table stood in the centre of an uneven lawn. Blue-tits flew busily around a string of nuts hanging from a tree. Hidden behind high hedges, the garden had a dreamy air, like the' garden in a fairy tale. The lead diamonds of the windows glittered in the sunshine.

Suddenly from behind a row of runner beans strung to a string trellis, a head popped up; very short straight fair hair poking out from beneath a wide-brimmed Mexican straw hat, piercing blue eyes and a brown complexion.

'God! I'd forgotten about you coming…' said a deep, horrified voice.

Clare stared, her eyes narrowing. The estate agent smiled uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other, as though his client embarrassed him.

'This is Mrs Cunningham, the owner.'

'Jess Cunningham,' Clare cried in a triumphant voice. 'Fancy it being your cottage!'

The owner came slowly out of her hiding place, star­ing at Clare. 'I don't think I…' She broke off with a gasp. 'Good lord! It's Clare. Clare Sebastian! Do you mean that you and Arturo are thinking of settling down in England? My dear good woman, you'll hate this place. It's far too remote. You aren't cut out for country life.'

The agent gave a muffled groan of despair, but Clare merely laughed.

'Arturo is dead, Jess,' she said simply. 'Dead three months ago. I'm just getting married again.'

The artist pushed back her straw hat with a gesture of profound amazement. 'Do I know the new one?'

'I don't think so,' Clare said lightly. 'He was my first husband. We're remarrying.'

The artist stared at her in a fascinated silence, then said with a shrug, 'Well, I hope he likes country life, because there's nothing to do around here but paint or catch fish. It suited me for years, but I've just got a commission to go out to India and paint the illustrations for a book on Indian wild life, fascinating stuff. It will take the best part of two years to do the job properly, they think, so I have to sell. Anyway, I think I've had enough of Sussex. When I come home I'll buy a house somewhere more remote—Wales or Cornwall, perhaps.'

'It sounds fascinating,' said Clare. 'Will you show me round the cottage, Jess?'

'Of course. Come along in and have some coffee.'

Clare introduced Marie to her, and Jess shook her hand with a friendly smile. Marie realised that she was older than she had looked at first. Her casual clothes, old blue jeans, white shirt and a vivid green handkerchief knotted around her brown throat, had made her look young, but in fact she was more or less the same age as Clare.

They entered the cottage and went first into the tiny kitchen, a rectangular room with deal panelling on the walls and blue Dutch tiles set into the worktops. Every­thing was very modern and bright, scrupulously clean.

'This is the only room I've spent money on,' Jess shrugged. 'The rest I left as I found it. It suited me.'

There were three small rooms downstairs besides the kitchen. One was a square sitting-room, rather dark and old-fashioned, with heavy dark furniture and ornate wall­paper. The second was a tiny room with white walls which contained only an easel, a camp stool and a stack of canvases facing the wall. 'My studio,' Jess said calmly. 'It was originally a larder, hence the white walls. I stripped off the shelves and enlarged the window. It faces south, so the light is good.'

The third room was a dining-room, containing just an oval table and chairs and a large Victorian sideboard on which stood a silver fruit bowl and some candlesticks.

'As you see, it only needs a little money spent on it,' the agent said optimistically.

Clare eyed the furniture with horror. 'It needs a great deal of work,' she said firmly. 'And that's what it's going to get.'

Jess eyed her. 'Going to take it, Clare?'

'Yes,' Clare said certainly. 'I knew that the moment I set eyes on it. The interior is a mess, but the house itself is adorable. I know James will love it.'

'James? Where is he, anyway? In London?'

'He's been ill,' Clare told her. 'Very ill. That's why we want a quiet cottage to live in—James needs some peace.'

'What about upstairs?' asked the agent. 'Shall we take a look up there?'

'Of course,' said Claire, moving towards the narrow, rather crooked stairs with eagerness.

'I'll make the coffee,' Jess Cunningham said. She smiled at Marie and asked, 'Like to help me make it?'

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