Sign up to our Weekly newsletter Subscribe to our magazine for more great content

“YOU and Suzanne are the only family I’ll ever need,” Phil said. “The rest is irrelevant. I should never have doubted you when you warned me about Sabrina. Mary befriended her after she lost her brother who was killed in the war. It hit her hard and we pitied her. After a while she just became one of the group, but I truly never thought it had anything to do with me.”

“I can see why she loves you,” Grace said, drying her eyes.

Phil scoffed.

“She’s in love with the idea of an artist more than me. Jefferson and Mary were appalled by her behaviour and asked me to tell you that her views do not reflect their own.”

“I know,” she stated. “I heard Mary say so.”

“I’ve been thinking, Grace, it’s time we had a fresh start. I reckon we should do as you said and move to France.”

“France?” It took Grace a moment to remember the conversation of the previous evening. “Oh, that was . . . just something I said.”

“But it’s a good idea. As well as all the things Mary said, they value artists more there. Look, I know you love this house. I could find a job so we can stay here, if you would prefer?”

“We’ve been through that. I don’t want you giving up painting. It’s just that France is a big step. A different culture, a different language.”

“Wasn’t it a big step when we left the Hall in all the snow and got married? That’s worked out. We’re together, we’ve got Suzanne. I’m happier than I could ever have imagined. Aren’t you?”

“You know I am.” She snuggled closer to him as they sat down on the sofa. “I’m just a bit scared of moving so far away, I suppose.”

“You were back then, too, but there’s no need to be. We have each other and if it all goes wrong then we’ll come back home.”

He kissed her and her fear dissolved, just as it had that snowy night when they had eloped.

*  *  *  *

Much later that day, hearing Phil singing in French to Suzanne as he put her to bed and she prepared supper, Grace felt a pang of fear again. She didn’t know any French at all. How would she manage?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Phil’s smiling face at the kitchen door.

“That’s the little one down for the night, hopefully! Have I time for an hour in the studio before we eat?”

“Yes.”

She resumed her conversation with herself. How would she cope in a foreign country? How would Suzanne? Unusually, she cut her finger chopping carrots, and broke a plate as she set the table. But, still, the food was ready on time, though Phil didn’t appear. She put it on a tray. It wasn’t unusual for him to get totally lost in a painting. She took it up to the studio, on the top floor, but he wasn’t there. Not that she noticed that at first. Her attention was entirely taken by a new work on his easel.

“Recognise it?” he said, suddenly appearing.

“It’s Two Shires Oak!”

It had barely been started, but she knew it.

“I went there a little while ago for some inspiration. I did some sketches while I was there. It is a magical place.”

Again the fear left her and she knew it was gone for good this time as she saw a new life opening before them. Just like the new leaves on the tree opened every year.

“The money from this place will give us a good start,” Phil said, “but we’ll have to watch the same thing doesn’t happen to us there.”

“It won’t,” she said, feeling positive for the first time that day.

In the same way she had often eased her mind sitting under the old oak’s boughs, an idea had come to her from just looking at the beginnings of Phil’s painting of it.

“I have a plan,” she said, her eyes shining.

Alan Spink

Alan is a member of the “Friend” Fiction Team. He enjoys working closely with writers and being part of the creative process, which sees storytelling ideas come to fruition. A keen reader, he also writes fiction and enjoys watching football and movies in his spare time. His one tip to new writers is “write from your imagination”.

More From This Author