The painting was large, and taller than it was wide, almost as tall as Lee. Its principal colors were an almost Mediterranean blue, a rosy pink, and a pale green the color of spring leaves. But there were also dozens of shades in between, punctuated by slashes of mauve, lavender, violet, and yellow, with occasional flashes of orange and red.
After a while, Lee heaved a sighed and said, “It feels peaceful.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Nicola asked, probing.
“It's like being in my tree. I get all calm, and I feel like I could be in that place, in that feeling, forever.”
Nicola stole up behind her little friend and gave her a quick hug.
“That's what the painting's about,” she said.
“Like being in my tree?” Lee asked, eyes wide.
“No, like feeling calm,” Nicola answered. “This painting's going to a hospital in London, where it's supposed to make sick people feel more comfortable.”
Lee was quiet for a moment.
“I think it will,” she said finally, sagely nodding her head.
“Meanwhile,” Nicola said, “what are you doing down here at this hour? Isn't it time for your supper?”
Lee grinned. “I was watching Drew and those other people building the new hedge up by the car park. They've all gone to the Cobweb now. They looked knackered.”
“I'll bet they are. How's the wall coming?”
“Well, it's only the second day; they're laying grounders.”
“Grounders?” Nicola flashed to her younger brother listening to the Red Sox game on the radio in his room.
“They're the big bottom stones. First Jamie moves them with the Bobcat, then they use levers and pry bars to get them set just right.”
“Who's Jamie?”
“The teacher.”
“Sounds like you're taking this course, too!”
“Nah; Drew 'splained. I think it'll be a good hedge. You should see.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“Drew would like it if you did.”
“What?”
“You know. If you took an interest …”
Nicola shot her a look: “Lee?”
“He's a really nice man, Nicki.”
“That's as may be. But you're not my matchmaker.”
“Well, someone should be!”
Nicola could not believe she was getting advice from a nine-year-old. “Listen,” she said gently, “I love you, and I appreciate that you care about me. But being Cupid's not your job.”
Lee looked at the painting for a while.
“Whose job is it, then?” she asked.
“Nobody I know,” Nicola answered. “Now, I think it's time you headed up to the farm. Do you want me to call ahead and let your mum know you're okay?”
“No,” Lee answered, getting up from the floor and giving Randi a whole-body hug. Then: “Yeah, maybe. Don't want to give Mum fits.”
Nicola stood outside her door, in the lane between her house and the river, and watched Lee cross the bridge and head past the Cobweb toward the path up the Valency. She called Anne, cleaned the paint off her fingers, changed quickly, and walked over to the Cobweb. This time, she left Randi behind.
Andrew was standing at the bar, nursing his pint and chatting with Flora.
“First it's hoisting sheep, then it's hoisting rocks,” Nicola said as she stepped up beside him. “I can't say that's much of an improvement!” She winked at Flora.
“You're telling me,” Andrew said wearily.
Nicola eyed his dirty clothes. “Love your ensemble.”
“Love your perfume,” he countered. “What is that, eau du turpentine?”
“Touché,” she said, laughing.
“Can I get you somethin', Nicki,” said Flora, “or are you just going to talk dirty to each other in French?”
“A G and T, please, Flora,” she answered. This time, she paid for her own. Then she said to Andrew, “So how are your grounders?”
“Grinding. Did you know there's a ton of stone in every three cubic feet of hedge? I'm sure I lifted that much already today.”
“You mean wall?”
“No, I mean hedge. That's what they're called in Cornwall. I thought you were local.”
“Me? Hardly.”
“Yeah, I guess your accent's a little soft for this area. What part of the country are you from?”
“The Boston part.”
“Up in Lincolnshire?”
“No, up in Massachusetts.”
“You're joking.”
“Can't be; you're not laughing.”
“I'm just surprised; that's where I'm from. Originally, at least.”
“You're from Boston? What neighborhood?”
“Well, outside of Boston, actually: Lexington.”
“Ooh, the ritzy side of the tracks. No wonder.”
“No wonder what?”
“No wonder no accent.”
“And you?”
“The North End.”
“Hmm. You've lost your accent, too … and adopted a faux British one, I see.”
“Fee, fi, faux, fum; I smell marriage to an English-mun,” Nicola sang. “Thankfully, the only thing that survived that debacle was the accent.”
“Sore subject, I gather.”
“Dead subject.”
“Your husband?”
“Ha! I wish! No, just the marriage.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm not. Couldn't be happier.”
Andrew glanced at Nicola for a moment, then turned away. “I'm