‘How soon can you get here?’ she asked, with a warm voice that was instinctively reassuring. ‘Are you anywhere close by?’
‘I’m not far at all. I could be there first thing in the morning.’
‘Well, if you’re not far, how about supper tonight?’
‘Oh.’ After a moment’s hesitation, I decided I might as well get it over with rather than potentially wasting a night here. ‘Okay, yes. Thank you. That would be lovely.’
‘As you enter Middlebeck, go straight past the pub, a hundred metres or so, and the turn-off is on the right. You won’t miss it. Once you’ve reached Riverbend, you can park in front of the main house, then follow the signs to the studio and let yourself in.’
‘Right. Thank you.’
‘Thankyou. I’m very much looking forward to meeting you.’
It was just after five. At the grander places I’d visited over the past few years, I’d learned that supper would not be served any time soon. Deciding it was best to give Harriet an hour to prepare for my arrival, I poured a mug of tea from the flask I’d made earlier, then tipped some kibble into Muffin’s bowl after a firm nose nudge reminded me thathersupper was due ten minutes ago. I sent an apologetic reply to the potential Sheffield client, with links to some websites they might find useful, then killed half an hour looking up Sherwood Forest dog walks before swapping my jeans and jumper for a navy trouser suit and cream blouse. Stuffing my dark-blonde hair into a bun, I added a swipe of mascara, slipped into brown ankle boots and was about as ready for Riverbend as I was going to get.
2
I chugged past the pub, craning my neck until I spotted the turn-off Harriet had mentioned. It was a one-track lane tucked between thick hedgerows, that I probably would have missed in the dark if it hadn’t been for a wooden sign lit up by solar lamps, pointing to ‘Riverbend’ in turquoise script styled to look like a river. My headlights caught glimpses of trees lining the road as we bounced over potholes and puddles, but it had started raining a few minutes earlier so I couldn’t make out what lay beyond them. Just as I’d convinced myself I must have missed another sign, a brick wall loomed up ahead, the lane continuing through a high archway. Concentrating on not scraping the sides of the motorhome on the wall as we crept through, when I did look up again, the house standing in front of me took my breath away.
‘Wowzers, Muffin. Take a look at our new home.’
I stopped for a moment, taking in the Juliet balcony above curved steps leading up to a broad front door. It was more of a hall than a house, but the squat – almost square – shape and the fairy lights entwined in the clematis clambering up the wall made it appear more homely than grand. An enticing glow shone through the rain from several floor-to-ceiling windows and my stomach gave a soft growl at the thought of the supper we might find within.
I could just about make out another signpost to one side. Parking up on the large semicircle of gravel in front of the house, I hopped out to take a closer look. More fairy lights wrapped around the hand-painted arrows pointing to the boathouse, kitchen garden and the studio. I released Muffin from her seat belt, clicked on her lead and we dashed through the downpour, around the corner to where another sign for the studio pointed up an external flight of wooden stairs with patterned pots of greenery perching on every step.
‘I guess this is where we’ll be staying,’ I said as we climbed towards the turquoise door, lit up by a carriage lamp fixed onto the wall above it. Harriet had said to let ourselves in, but if this door led straight into the guest suite, then I wasn’t sure how she would know that I’d arrived. Instead, I gave a tentative knock, followed by a louder one a short while later. When that yielded no result, I resorted to following her instructions, twisting the large, brass handle, opening the door and stepping inside, Muffin tugging on the lead in anticipation of getting out of the rain.
Oh, boy.I froze, one step inside the door.
I really hoped this wasn’t the guest suite.
Partly because one frantic glance revealed no bed, wardrobe or any other bedroom-type furniture.
Mostly because the room contained half a dozen technicoloured, feathered, sequinned and seemingly otherwise naked women.
The flutter of trepidation that always accompanied an initial client visit, already magnified by the strangeness of this particular project, expanded into full-blown flapping. I’d have immediately turned and fled, if it hadn’t been for Muffin yanking the lead out of my hand and scampering past the naked bodies to the huge, curly-haired dog lumbering to its feet in one corner.
Everyone stood there in stunned silence, the only sound two dogs spinning around each other, wuffling in delight.
‘Can we help you?’ a tall, thin woman painted from head to toe with rainbows said, after what felt like an eternity of them staring at me and me trying not to stare at them.
‘I’m so sorry to interrupt. I must be in the wrong place. I’ll… try another door.’
I most definitely would not try another door. Who knew what I might stumble upon behind that one?
‘Are you the journalist?’ another person asked, folding her arms across a stomach slathered with silver glitter. ‘I thought you were coming next week. I don’t mind you taking my photo as long as you don’t print my name.’
‘Ooh, Kelly. You don’t need to be ashamed of people seeing you like that. You look fab!’ A completely blue woman, like a naked Smurf, tutted.
‘I know that!’ Kelly replied, tossing her silver bob. ‘But if my boss knows I’ve been here, it’s another excuse for him to fire me, and I’m on a final warning after the Christmas party.’
‘That’s outrageous!’
‘He can’t fire you for being here! It’s hardly a crime. Oy, journalist lady. You’d better make sure this article is an accurate account. It’s about time people stopped being so judgemental.’
‘That’s a good point!’ the tall woman added. ‘How can we trust that you’ll not misrepresent us?’
‘Um…’
