Wearing a colourful kaftan and a scarlet red turban, she clearly had both style and confidence. Two things that I, unfortunately, lacked. Much to my shame, I had to admit that when Leo had first mentioned his elderly clients, a whole different image had sprung to mind and looking down at my jeans and T-shirt, I wished I’d thought to change before setting out.
Pruners in hand, the woman placed her cuttings into the trug basket that lay by her feet and as I climbed out of the car and slammed its door behind me, she stopped what she was doing. She looked my way as I headed up the path to introduce myself, giving me a welcoming smile as bright as her outfit.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But I’m–”
“Tess?” The laughter lines around the woman’s eyes deepened as her smile grew wider.
“Yes,” I said, surprised she’d know that.
“Don’t worry. I’m not psychic. I recognised you from Leo’s description. You’re exactly as he said.”
I felt myself blush. Again comparing her stunning outfit to my rather scruffy choice of clothing, there was no telling if she’d meant that as a compliment or not. “He forgot these.” I dug into my bag and pulled out Leo’s lunch box and flask.
“Oh, sweetie, you’ve just missed him. He, Otis, and Hugo have gone on a mission.” She frowned. “They said they were off to get more gardening supplies, but now I’m not so sure.” She indicated my wares. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve snuck off for a bacon sandwich.” She laughed. “The number of times that husband of mine has gone against doctor’s orders.”
I looked back at the woman, not sure how to respond.
“Hugo’s meant to be following a strict health regime. Cutting out all the bad stuff he claims he can’t live without.”
“I see.” I might not have said it, but Hugo sounded like my kind of chap.
The woman’s expression softened. “Hark at me wittering on. I haven’t even introduced myself.” She put down her pruning shears and stepped forward to shake my hand. “I’m Marianne.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I stuffed Leo’s lunch back into my bag and accepted the gesture.
“Can I offer you a cup of tea? Coffee?” She raised her eyebrows. “Something a little more exciting? After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Deciding I liked Marianne, I chuckled. “Why not? A coffee would be lovely.”
Marianne let out a disappointed sigh, enough to tell me she’d hoped I’d choose something alcoholic. “Spoilsport.” Picking up her trug, she led the way round to the back of the house which opened out onto a large flat field, more than a garden. Tonne bags of boulders sat next to mounds of gravel and winding trenches had been dug. Bags of sand and cement sat next to a concrete mixer.
With some serious landscaping going on, Leo certainly had his work cut out. Marianne placed her basket of flowers onto the outdoor table. “Shall we?” Marianne said, indicating we go inside.
Following her in, my eyes lit up. I’d never seen such a cheerful kitchen. The cupboards were painted a citrus yellow and the walls a cornflower blue. A pine dresser displayed bold floral crockery and a glass vase of pink roses sat in the centre of the circular dining table.
“Sugar?” Marianne asked, as she set about organising the coffee.
“No, thank you.” My eyes were drawn to an oversized framed photo that dominated the wall above an ancient-looking chest of drawers and I moved to take a closer look. It was a work scene that showed Marianne stood at a ginormous table. Holding a pair of long-bladed scissors, she and a colleague were both laughing at something.
Convinced I recognised the second individual, I leaned in.Surely not? It can’t be.My eyes narrowed as they flitted from the Marianne in the picture, to the Marianne in the room, and back again. “Isn’t that…?” I said of her associate. Suddenly, not only did my host’s attire and home décor choices make sense, I realised that me turning up at the farmhouse that day had to be providence; a sign I’d made the right decision that morning.
Marianne appeared at my side. “Zane Rafferty? It certainly is.” Beaming, her expression was loaded with affection. “He was a brilliant man. A real artist. Not surprising when he took inspiration from the likes of Dutch painter Piet Montrian.” Marianne handed me my drink, and taking a sip of her own, admired the picture with me for a moment.
Zane Rafferty was a world-renowned fashion designer. The rich and famous adored his creations. Taken too soon, I recalled the global shockwave following his death. There was a massive outpouring amongst celebrities. Even royalty attended his funeral.
I remembered how Sal, also a big fan of his, had been so distraught she’d cried for a week. Growing up, she idolised the man. Not for his clothes. She thought them far too whacky. It was Zane Rafferty’s looks that Sal fell for. As far as my sister was concerned, he was the best-looking man on the planet. Tall, dark, and edgy, he had a fierceness in his eyes and the perfect chiselled jaw. Zane Rafferty could have hit the catwalk himself if he’d wanted to.
“I was his chief pattern maker.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed.
“I drafted his sketches. Translated them into patterns so his clothes could be brought to life.”
“I bet that wasn’t easy!” I said, recalling some of his lines.
Marianne let out a laugh, while I felt my cheeks redden, knowing I shouldn’t have spoken that out loud.
“Not always. His outfits could be a bit out there.”
