A Brush With Romance

An art class, a crime and – what was it again? Our forgetful heroine has quite a day

Art Inspired Romance

Iwas beginning to accept I’d reached that rather interesting age, where, after rushing up the stairs to fetch something important I’d discover I’d forgotten what it was. Yes, I was always looking for something. But I certainly wasn’t looking for love.

So if a handsome man looked or smiled in my direction I’d always glance behind me, just to see for whom the smile or glance was for.

Consequently, when Albert Swift appeared in our longstanding art class, beaming a smile across the portable art easels and gaily-coloured canvases in what appeared to be my direction the day the new term began, I promptly glanced over my shoulder to see who the lucky person was.

Well, I may be at that rather interesting age and prone to forget what I’m looking for, but I’m still as sharp as a knife and fit as a fiddle. So, when my backward glance took in a suspiciouslooking character making off across the forecourt with our tutor’s holdall, which I knew to contain our new term course fees – in cash – I was furious.

Shouting “Stop thief!” and grabbing the first thing to hand, I was after him like the proverbial bat out of hell!

I was determined to catch the rotter. Our tutor teaches to supplement his pension – he’s seventy-five – and depends on the money. He’s a great tutor, smashing artist and he always finds time to encourage every one of us budding artists. “It’s never too late to discover a special gift” is his motto. I was thinking all this as I sprinted onto the gravelled drive that curves around the lily pond. It powered my muscles and strengthened my resolve – and boy, was I glad I’d joined the local Age In Action group six months previously. They’ve had us swimming, power walking, bike riding, hill walking, dancing. You name it. We do it. I saw that the rotter with the holdall seemed confused about which way to run. I wasn’t surprised. Our art class runs from an old building at the back of a now public historic home and gardens. Super place, with all sorts of hidden courtyards, tree- lined paths, ornamental gardens, children’s play areas and a really delightful little shop that sells craft materials and gifts – a real treasure. It would have fallen into disrepair if it weren’t for the money raised for its upkeep. Ah, money! Yes – that reminded me what I was actually chasing after the rotter for.

He was circling the old stables area. Ha! No way out there. I knew it – he didn’t. I watched him running in circles. I reckoned the holdall was beginning to weigh him down.

All I had to slow my pace was the huge squeezy bottle of oil paint that our tutor uses for demonstrating abstract modern art techniques.

I was having a bit of a breather, while the rotter obviously came to the conclusion that there really was no hiding place; no clear way out, unless he decided to take his chances with me.

I’d hardly thought the thought before he seemed to read them and came hurtling forward, the holdall positioned like a battering ram.

He was quick, but by Jove, I was quicker. I screamed like one of those warrior braves from the old matinées. Then I let him have it.

To say I caught him red-handed is no understatement. The red oil paint splattered him! I’d shot one heck of a spurt at his head and he was down.

The strength of the squeeze I gave, with the warrior scream, not only scared the life out of him and me, but also, rather excitingly, acted like a superb paint-ball shot – and managed to burst the squeezy bottle too.

Being in hot pursuit, I’d been oblivious to the fact that all of my fellow artists were bringing up the rear. It was only when they started cheering as the hastily summoned security staff led the

Ah, money! That REMINDED ME why I was CHASING the rotter

offender away that I realised what I’d done. My knees buckled.

Lucky for me Albert Swift – the man with the beaming smile – was quick on his feet too. He managed to catch me before I hit the ground. What a gentleman. Carried me over to the café, he did. I do like a strong man.

Impressed by my bravery, he asked if I, like him, had been in the forces. I said no, but told him about the Age In Action group; all the activities, and of course the dancing. It emerged that Albert liked a bit of dancing too. We talked for ages before he kindly gave me a lift home.

That was six months ago. Albert and I, both widowed, have been getting together quite a bit. He can’t paint for toffee. The day we met, he was on his way to the shop for a present for his daughter.

Anyway, like me, he’s reached that interesting age. He couldn’t remember what he was there for. That’s how he wandered into the art class.

I’m awfully glad he did. He takes me dancing regularly, he’s so light on his feet, it’s a dream. Though we both may be apt to forget things, we haven’t forgotten how to have a good time.

So we’ve booked the wedding. Amazing, isn’t it? What you can find when you’re not looking!

IMPRESSED by my BRAVERY, he ASKED if I had been in the FORCES