FERN

After her heart-to-heart with Edith, Fern wanted to phone Paul and have a long-overdue talk. Everyday life got in the way back home and whenever Fern tried to raise the subject, Paul would shut her down. Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d told her he loved her? When was the last time she’d said it to him? They definitely had long ago.

In the early days, there had been lust and possibly love; they were certainly drawn to one another. They’d laughed together and had enjoyed each other’s company, even if they’d rarely been sober. And then of course things got serious pretty quickly. Paul hadn’t left her in the lurch, pregnant and on her own; he’d committed himself to her and the girls. Had she loved him because of that? Over the years, had she ignored her underlying uncertainty about his faithfulness because he hadn’t let her down when she’d needed him the most? Was any of that a good enough reason to stay with someone?

* * *

The rest of the guests and Matteo returned from their walking tour of Anacapri by late afternoon and as everyone had eaten out at lunchtime, no one wanted another big meal. The chef whipped up a warm salad of zucchini, avocado and squid and Fern ate hers on her balcony, soaking up the peace and watching the golden light of the sunset turn to a dusky mauve beyond the trees. She felt subdued over Paul, conscious that her underlying sadness was due to feeling unloved, undervalued too, yet she hadn’t had the guts to do anything about it. On top of that, she felt pathetic for wanting to avoid Matteo because of Edith’s comment about their mutual attraction. She didn’t want to admit that Edith was right. She only had to look at Matteo to feel funny inside. A smile, a brush of his hand on her arm, was enough to make her feel giddy.

Coming to Capri had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get her head in order about what she wanted to do now Ruby and Amber had left home. For too long she’d put off making decisions about her future. But the more she thought about the conversations she’d had with Stella and Amber over the last few days, and now Edith, the more confused she felt.

She went to bed early, partly because her head was thick with worry, partly to avoid ending up alone with Matteo again. Confusion twisted around her as she lay on the bed, wrapped in cool sheets. Moonlight glided through the balcony doors and across the tiled floor. The window opposite the bed was open and a breeze rustled the leaves, bringing with it the comforting scent of oregano.

Paul and their life seemed like a distant dream, almost as if she was wading through someone else’s memories. Over the last year, she felt as if she’d noticed things more. She’d begun to question her own happiness and the point at which she was in her life, begun to look at Paul differently. Like really look at him. Not just the way he looked but how he behaved. To her in particular. There were warning signs galore, yet she’d tried to bury her worries, not wanting to rock the boat.

* * *

Despite going to bed early, troubling thoughts had kept Fern awake. She slept in late, grabbed a quick shower and headed downstairs the next day without drying her hair. She was the last one down for breakfast. She sat at a table on the patio overlooking the pool.

‘Morning.’ Matteo slid onto the seat opposite her.

A touch of anxiety about being alone with him again crept through Fern. She finished chewing and brushed the crumbs from her lips. ‘I was really late down this morning, sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologise. There’s no such thing as late here.’ He looked at her conspiratorially and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t know if it’s an age thing, but as most guests are in their, um, twilight years we’ll call it, they seem to wake up pretty damn early. A lie-in on a Sunday is my idea of heaven.’ They met each other’s eyes and he smiled. ‘But the morning light is perfect for painting. We’re set up by the fountain. I’m heading there now, but there’s a spot saved for you. I hope you’ll join us?’

‘I’d love to, thank you.’

She absently chewed her mouthful of fresh bread and jam and watched him set off down the steps until he was hidden from sight by the ferns on the far side of the pool. Edith’s words from the day before about the attraction she’d seen between Fern and Matteo returned. She was a guest, and as far as she could tell, he was warm, chatty and friendly with everyone. Perhaps Edith was reading more into it than was there, but there was no denying how Fern felt around him. That frisson of excitement, the anticipation of spending time with him, the thought of being alone with him… Heat rose from the pit of her stomach, spreading across her chest.

She finished her last bite of bread, downed the remainder of her latte and followed Matteo. The murmur of voices became louder as she wound her way through the garden. She loved everything about it: all the hidden areas with flashes of crimson from oriental poppies or the fresh white of daisies; peaceful spots with benches such as the herb garden and the one Edith called the butterfly terrace filled with butterfly-loving shrubs.

Everyone was set up on the large circular terrace, their easels surrounding the central fountain. It meant they were all together, yet looking out into the garden. Fern imagined it would be easy to zone out and feel like the only one there.

Edith smiled at Fern as she approached. Matteo greeted her and gestured to the free space next to Edith.

‘Are you okay?’ Edith asked under her breath, her eyes wide with concern, as Fern sat next to her. ‘I hope I didn’t upset you yesterday.’

‘You really didn’t. I just needed some thinking time.’

Fern stared at the blank sheet of creamy paper on her easel. She noticed that Edith was well underway with her painting, the view of the garden already taking shape in acrylic paint.

‘Don’t worry,’ Matteo said, joining her. ‘A blank page doesn’t have to be scary. Look at the scene in front of you, but don’t think of it as trees, shrubs and flowers, but lines, shapes and colours. Keep it small and don’t worry about it being imperfect.’

Fern laughed. ‘It will certainly be that.’

‘Nature in its very self isn’t perfect, so embrace that.’

‘How do I even start?’ Since arriving at the retreat she’d begun to feel her creativity return, but she was still uncertain she had the skills to match.

‘Just focus on a small part of what’s in front of you.’ He pointed ahead of them, drawing Fern’s eye. ‘What about that lemon tree in the pot with the stone wall behind it? You can chalk it out first; that way it’s not quite so daunting as starting with the paint. Think of it as experimenting and having fun. You don’t have to get it right – just a sense of what you can see, the colours, the shapes. And I won’t watch over you, I promise. But let me know if you need some guidance.’

He left her to go and speak to Arthur, but she was still aware of his presence as she tried to focus on the paper.

Edith smiled encouragingly. ‘Matteo is a wonderful artist and an even better teacher. I’ve learnt so much from him because he’s so generous with his time. He’s thoughtful and constructive. It’s a shame you’re not here for longer.’ Edith dipped her brush into a glossy bottle-green paint. She mixed in a dash of white until it was paler, resembling the colour of the leaves of the olive tree in front of her.

Fern turned her attention to the lemon tree. The pot was a coppery colour, large and curved, contrasting with the taupe-grey of the stone wall behind. The lemons were bright against the shiny green leaves, making Fern wonder how she could translate their freshness onto her blank page.

She picked up a piece of green chalk and decided to be brave. This had been her trouble all along, not saying yes to opportunities, not having the guts to shake up her life, to leave her job and do something she was actually passionate about. Spending time sketching yesterday had filled her with joy; it was such a simple pleasure, but one she’d truly missed. It really didn’t matter if her first painting was a load of rubbish; it wouldn’t be anything at all unless she tried.

Tags: Kate Frost Romance
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