She frowned. ‘Well, okay. But dinner will be at six. And I don’t care what you’re doing then, you’ll stop and join us,’ she said. ‘No one is allowed to miss dinner. I don’t have many rules, but that’s one of them.’
Amos gave a small bow. ‘Then I shall reappear just before, in case you need a hand with anything.’ He started to move away.
‘Oh, and just one more thing,’ said Flora. ‘What’s the print?’
Amos had almost forgotten he still had it tucked under one arm. He pulled it out, looking at it for a few seconds before turning it to face Flora.
‘One of yours,’ he said, smiling.
‘But how did you…?’ Grace came forward, a quizzical look on her face. ‘I don’t remember telling you that Flora was the artist and, as far as I’m aware, they’re signedDaisy Doolittle.’ Then she turned back to look at Flora.
But Flora shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t told him either… and now I want to know too. Come on Sherlock, how did you know that’s one of my paintings?’
Amos grinned. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He studied the picture for a moment. ‘It is signed Daisy Doolittle, but over in the other corner is a tiny set of initials – FJ – that’s you, if I’m not very much mistaken,’ he added, looking at Flora. ‘And then there’s the fact that you run a flower farm and, from what I’ve seen so far, many of your clothes are patterned with flowers too, so I’m guessing they’re a real passion of yours. And then there’s the painting itself, a bunch of daisies in a bucket, a simple enough subject, but it just looks like you, if I may say so. It looks like it was painted by someone with a smile on their face and a certain… lightness about them…’
Flora stared at Grace and then back at Amos. Her face was ever so slightly pink. ‘But that still doesn’t really explain it.’ She touched a hand to her cheek. ‘It’s a lovely thing to say, but it still could have been painted by anyone.’
Amos laughed and placed his free hand over his heart. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Guilty as charged. Every word of what I just said was true, but there is also the small matter of the pot of paintbrushes I noticed standing by your kitchen sink last night. Artist’s paintbrushes…’
Grace tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘And there’s me thinking you were psychic,’ she said.
Flora flapped at her friend’s arm. ‘Don’t be so dismissive, Grace,’ she said, turning back towards the house. ‘I’m not so sure he isn’t.’
Amos smiled as he watched them walk away. It wasn’t the first time he had been called that. He held great store by his intuition, that much was true, but mostly he just went through life with his eyes and ears open. People told you pretty much everything you needed to know without even speaking.
He continued through the yard until he reached the cottage and let himself in, propping the print up against a bowl of fruit on the table. Not only had he noticed Flora’s paintbrushes yesterday, but when he had visited Grace’s garden that afternoon he had noticed a huge pot of daisies on a little patio area where he could imagine Grace sitting. If she had chosen to place those particular flowers so close to where she liked to sit and think or relax then they must be very special to her.
Moving to stand in front of a section of wall which faced the door, he surveyed the bare brick which had yet to be rendered and painted. As long as he was here it would be the perfect place for the print. He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. He would see the painting whenever he came through the door and it would be a good reminder of why he was there.
6
Dinner was lovely; taken around a table dragged out under the trees on a triangle of garden that lay on the other side of the yard a little distance from the house. The food was simple but tasty, the conversation easy, and the setting amid the fragrant tubs of flowers idyllic. But even so, Amos excused himself as soon as he judged it polite to do so.
He had work to be getting on with and, as he began to gather together the tools he needed, he noticed that Hannah left the gathering with Fraser and Ned shortly after he did. Perhaps they too had sensed that Flora and Grace might be better left alone. Grace had appeared relaxed throughout the meal but Amos had caught a distracted expression on her face once or twice when she thought that no one was looking.
The task in front of him wasn’t difficult but Amos wanted to take his time. The cottage was essentially sound, but the brickwork badly needed repointing in places and the current warm spell of weather meant that now was the perfect time to do it. He took up his chisel and hammer and set to work.
He was some distance from where Grace and Flora were sitting but even though he was much too far away to hear what they were saying, he got the gist of it every now and again as he glanced across at them. He saw very clearly the moment when Grace revealed what had happened the evening before and earlier that day. Flora got to her feet and pulled Grace from her chair, wrapping her in a warm hug, before sitting her back down again and pouring her another drink. Amos looked away. He might not be able to hear what was being said, but they still deserved some privacy.
It was a good ten minutes or so before he glanced up again at the sound of someone walking towards him.
‘I’ve been waving at you the last five minutes,’ Flora said as she reached him, a wide smile on her face. ‘But something tells me you’ve been determined not to look in our direction.’
Amos dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘It would have been an intrusion,’ he replied.
Flora smiled. ‘Well, Grace wants to ask you a question. Would you mind coming over a moment?’
He hesitated, looking down at his clothes which were now covered in brick dust. ‘Are you sure that’s okay?’
‘Amos, neither of us are going to be bothered by what you look like.’
He put down his tools and rubbed his hands together.
‘Then I will be happy to oblige,’ he replied, following Flora across the yard.
Grace still had a glass in her hand when he reached her, but she immediately placed it down on the table and patted the chair beside her. Her face was blotchy and her nose a little red. Amos looked at her with concern.
‘I’m okay,’ she said in reply to his unspoken question. ‘It’s just… just…’ She threw up her hands, at a loss to find the words she needed.
