Hearts On Fire Episode 04
Wisteria Pemberton stepped into the familiar annexe and sighed.
She loved it here at Villa Davide. She loved the entire month of painting far away from her overbearing husband and demanding son.
It was nice being with her old school friends, too.
It was a shame Connie wasn’t here this year, but unsurprising.
She’d noticed guests last year looking put out that the three women spent so much time together.
If she were honest, whenever guests had asked for Connie’s help, what they received was rather brief and not that helpful.
The annual trip had become a reunion for three old school friends.
Still, Connie was with her husband in Africa on safari now, so she hadn’t done badly.
“Wizzy, have you any sun cream? I can’t find mine.”
Charlie’s question from the adjoining bedroom was no surprise. Charlie could never find anything.
Wizzy opened her case, pulled out her toilet bag and instantly put her hand on the factor fifty.
She walked through to Charlie’s room. There were clothes everywhere.
She held out the tube.
“Here you are.”
She watched as Charlie squeezed half a tube over herself.
“What do you make of that Julia woman?” her friend asked.
“I think she seems rather nice,” Wizzy replied.
Julia had a lovely face and a quiet voice with a precise way of speaking that Wizzy had warmed to.
Julia, she was sure, was someone she could talk to and who would listen.
“A wet hen if you ask me.” Charlie handed back the tube and started to rub the cream in. “Won’t be a patch on Connie.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Did you look at her website? I’ve never seen anything like it!”
Wizzy watched as Charlie moved the slick of cream about, knowing she’d be asking for tissues soon.
“Acclaimed and award winning, my foot,” Charlie continued. “Did you see that picture of the beach at St Andrews? It was all flip-flop!”
Wizzy suppressed a sigh. She’d liked that painting.
It looked like someone had forgotten to move their foot out of the way when they’d taken a photo.
“I think that was rather the point, Charlie.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Charlie glowered at her arm. “I don’t know what cream that was, Wizzy, but it won’t rub in.”
Wizzy held out a tissue.
“You’re an angel.”
Hardly, Wizzy thought.
She was more like the undervalued but indispensable lady’s companion that you read about in Regency romances − paid a pittance and inhabiting the wings rather than the limelight.
But her husband Donald refused to leave Britain. The only way she could get a holiday abroad was to insist on the old girls’ annual painting holiday.
A month in the sun with Connie and Charlie had become non-negotiable.
To be continued…