A happy accident

Feisty Josie thinks sensible Anne should let her hair down for once

anne sighed. If only her friend Josie had realised that at 60-something people just didn’t bounce any more. As a result of failing to bounce, Josie was here in hospital, trussed up in traction after a poorly timed parachute landing. It had always been the same, even at school. Anne was the sensible one while Josie was always chasing some new craze or another. Now Josie was trying to find someone to take her place on a watercolour painting course she had booked for the following week. “Why don’t you go instead?” Josie suggested through a mouthful of grapes. “I can transfer my reservation, but cancelling means losing the deposit. Go on, live a little!” “I don’t call breaking a leg on your first parachute jump living a little,” Anne replied huffily. “No, but it has its advantages,” Josie said, smiling at a passing male nurse. “Like him, for example. He’s the image of that Aidan Turner in Poldark!” “Josie Jenkins, you’re 60 – not a silly schoolgirl mooning after some actor.” “And you’re not even 60 yet, but you sound ancient. You need to widen your horizons. Go on this painting course – it can be my treat now I’ve got my accident insurance money. And I owe you a thank you for all your help.” Opening her handbag, Josie proffered an envelope. “The cheque plus the details of the course are all in here. For heaven’s sake, Anne, what have you got to lose?” Anne sighed again and took the envelope. Art wasn’t really her thing, but she knew that Josie meant well so she might as well give it a go. The course was located in a converted farmhouse with wonderful views over the countryside on one side and of the sea on the other. It was hard to believe that such an idyllic place existed only an hour’s drive from the small market town where she lived. On their arrival, the course members were given a welcome supper followed by a getting-to-know-you session. Their tutor, Fabian Marshall, an accomplished watercolour artist, was very nice. More than merely nice, he was ‘right up her street’, as Josie might have put it. As they chatted on that first evening Anne felt there was definitely some chemistry between them, but feared her pathetic attempts at art would soon put an end to that. On the first day, after a brief introduction to the materials, different tools and techniques, the students were asked to produce a seascape. Anne couldn’t decide what to paint: the softly rolling waves with a gull or two wheeling above or maybe she should include an outcrop of dark brown rock jutting into the sea? She sucked the end of her brush thoughtfully. “Light and loose, ladies,” Fabian instructed. “Watercolour is an impression of what you see. A suggestion. Painting is about leading the viewer’s eye into the picture, intriguing them, making them wonder. Remember – even accidents can be happy ones.” Anne gulped. The only thing that would intrigue anyone looking at her painting was how she ever got on to the art course in the first place! A few hours later, the class paintings were taking shape. Gill and Wendy, both retired teachers, definitely had talent. Their pictures seemed to be spot-on and showed a lightness of touch. Recently widowed, Sally had managed to capture the melancholy mood of the place with just a few simple brush strokes. Fabian strolled around the spacious studio, pausing here and there to

inspect various works in progress. The watery winter sunlight highlighted the silver streaks in his dark hair and beard. He seemed to be delighted with what he saw. “Great stuff, ladies! I’m really getting an idea of the place and how you feel about it – but I’m not intrigued enough. Where is the story?” Anne looked at her picture. She had carefully tried to capture the scene as Fabian wanted and thought she had almost succeeded, but after his comments she wasn’t so sure. Replacing her glasses, she peered into the distance again and back at her painting. Then she did a double take. By the rocks, a solitary, male figure stooped furtively. How on earth had he suddenly appeared there? Was he a lone walker lost in thought? Maybe he had a secret assignation? Perhaps this was a romantic lovers’ tryst? Hastily, Anne dipped her brush in the water, then into a pan of red paint, dotting the figure in before adding a little definition in a deeper shade. Pushing her glasses back on to her head, she reviewed her work with satisfaction. She hoped Fabian would approve. After supper, mellowed by some excellent wine, they viewed each other’s work in what Fabian called ‘gallery time’. Anne had been dreading this. From feeling fairly satisfied with her effort, she began to doubt herself, especially after seeing the other people’s paintings. Laughing and chatting, everyone milled around, admiring the display of their own work. All the pictures had been mounted and looked very professional. One thing struck Anne as being a little odd – she was puzzled that nobody else had included the solitary male figure in any of their scenes. She heard Fabian exclaiming with pleasure: “This is it, everyone! Exactly what I was talking about – that certain ‘something’ that intrigues me and pulls me in!” Anne turned around, expecting him to be looking at a painting by a fellow student. But, surprisingly, it was her picture that had caught his attention. Not quite believing her eyes, she put her glasses back on. That was when she realised why she was the only one who had seen the figure on the beach. There, on the lens of her glasses, was a brownish red splodge, shaped rather like a person! Hastily, she found her hanky and wiped them clean. The group gathered around her painting, dutifully prepared to appreciate its intriguing qualities. Their tutor said: “Look at this enigmatic chap by the rocks. Who is he? What is he doing here? He really draws the viewer beyond colour and wash to the story within the painting.” Fabian put his arm around her shoulder, giving her an impulsive hug. “Bravo, Anne!” When she next went to visit her friend in hospital, Josie beamed at her: “You look happy. Painting watercolours must agree with you!” Anne blushed. “Not as much as the tutor does!” “You’re actually dating him?” Josie gasped. “Well, it’s early days yet, but we have dined out since the course ended and we definitely have lots in common,” Anne replied shyly. “That makes two of us,” Josie said, smiling across at the Aidan Turner lookalike who winked back at her. Anne’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You and him?” “No, not him – his dad! He works here as well and we got talking and – well, it turns out we are both single,” Jose explained, adding with a grin. “You know the saying, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” “As Fabian says, some accidents can be happy ones, after all,” Anne chuckled.

‘This is exactly what I was talking about! That certain something that intrigues me and pulls me in’