Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage - Samantha Tonge Page 0,3

the calmer shallows, as if doing dance moves. In the middle the stream turned onyx as its depth increased. On the opposite bank a squirrel froze before darting into bushes. I couldn’t help smiling as my shoulders relaxed.

A dragonfly hovered nearby. It was one insect I’d never done a tattoo of. I stared at its metallic-looking blue and purple hues and translucent wings and my paint box came to mind and the gift cards Ash had encouraged me to design.

‘There’s nothing you can’t do, Lizzie,’ Ash had once said. ‘You really should take your painting to the next level. You’re a natural – one hundred per cent it can be more than a hobby.’

My boss, Katya, had even started to sell my cards in the parlour this last year. Despite my city upbringing, nature had always inspired me the most and my work reflected urban wildlife with watercolours of foxes, pigeons and blackbirds. As I gazed around the garden I felt overwhelmed by the textures, shapes and colours. I’d never seen so many different shades of green.

I ducked under the hanging leaves of the weeping willow planted right by the water’s edge and ran my hand over the bark. In capitals someone had carved the word Earl and next to it a number eight, drawn lopsided as if the bark had made it difficult to chip out vertically. I pushed the branches aside and ventured out into the open again. A voice called out hello and I turned to face a woman who was all lipstick and tailored edges. A postman stood behind her. He wore baggy black shorts and red top accessorised with an apologetic expression. I walked up to them, for some reason unable to take my eyes off him.

‘It’s her,’ said the woman, her eyes moving from my ripped jeans, to my Doc Martens boots and finally snagging on my candyfloss pink hair. With her grey trouser suit and clear nail varnish she looked like a sketch waiting to be coloured in. A whiff of heavy perfume filled the air and her eyes darted to the side of my head where the hair was shaved.

‘I’m the local estate agent. We’ve handled the renting out of this cottage for years. This is private property.’

‘I’m just—’

‘You shouldn’t be here without an appointment,’ she said.

‘Wait a minute. Let her explain.’ The postman stepped forward and ruffled his russet spiky hair. It was unruly, untidy – I liked it. ‘Hello, I’m Ben and this is Caroline. Lovely garden, isn’t it?’ He stared at the running water. ‘The stream is much darker at this point. It must be the shade from that magnificent weeping willow.’ His eyes flicked up and down and left and right then narrowed as if he were hunting out the things people don’t usually see, like the effect of light and shade and how colours, once scrutinised, aren’t as simple as they first appeared. He turned around to study the building.

‘Are you an artist?’ I asked.

‘I love photography.’

‘Our Ben’s had his shots used by BBC weather forecasters,’ said Caroline, momentarily thawing. ‘Leafton is very proud of him. Were you here to view the property, because, like I said, you really should have rung the estate agency first?’

‘Actually, I—’

‘Because, you know, we take trespassing very seriously in Leafton. Last week I had to report a scruffy so-and-so hanging around the church car park and only yesterday—’

‘By the looks of the outside this place needs a bit of work,’ Ben said hurriedly, glancing between us, ‘but still, it’s got plenty of character.’

‘It’s well past its best – even I don’t romanticise about that,’ said Caroline. ‘This beautiful garden is the highlight. The thatched roof has leaked and upstairs there’s a problem with damp. We’ve done our best as the letting agent, but tenants have mostly been short-term and never treated the place as their own. Although, in my opinion,’ she said conspiratorially, ‘it’s just as well some of them didn’t hang around. One lot were Buddhists and another… well, I’m not one to tittle-tattle.’ She straightened up. ‘Anyway, I’ve just had to let it out for a month.’

‘That really is a short contract,’ said Ben.

‘It’s always better that a property is occupied,’ Caroline said, holding my gaze, ‘the last thing Leafton needs is someone squatting. It was a shame when the last tenant left so abruptly.’

‘Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Lizzie, the new tenant you talked of.’ Mustn’t laugh. She wasn’t to know that. ‘I think we’ve spoken on