Page 67 of Sunrise over Strawberry Hill Farm

Finally, the rain stopped on Sunday morning and there was a break in the clouds.

‘Blue sky at last,’ murmured Flora, somewhat relieved as she stared up at the sky.

Actually, the rainy weekend hadn’t been as bad as she had feared when the first customers had left almost immediately. It had encouraged her and Nico to think about extra activities and thus the barn had become a gathering place for people to cook, play games and socialise. Everyone had been kept busy with all the extra activities, such as the lavender farm and spa and the railway workshop, all excitedly discussing the steam locomotive, which there was still hope of getting working later that year.

That afternoon, Flora came across one of the guests sitting on her deck and painting a scene.

‘That’s lovely,’ she said, nodding her admiration.

The woman thanked her and Flora left her to her peace and quiet, anxious not to intrude.

‘What’s she painting?’ asked Nico, who had been watching her nearby.

‘The landscape,’ Flora told him as they began to walk back towards the farmhouse.

He nodded. ‘It’s a nice day,’ he said as they crossed the courtyard. ‘Why don’t you give yourself some time off and do a bit of painting yourself?’

Flora shook her head. ‘No paints even if I wanted to,’ she reminded him. ‘Ah well. It was a nice dream anyway.’

‘Doesn’t have to be just that,’ said Nico, drawing out his car keys from his pocket.

Flora watched as he opened up the car door and fumbled around on the passenger seat before bringing out a paper bag. He walked back over to her and handed her the package.

‘What’s this for?’ she asked.

‘Your birthday.’

‘My birthday was at the beginning of March,’ she said, nonplussed.

He smiled at her. ‘Well, it’s a very belated present then, isn’t it?’

Somewhat bewildered, she opened the bag and drew out a large tin palette of watercolour paints. She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘I can’t accept this,’ she automatically replied.

‘Of course you can,’ he told her. ‘Besides, I can’t do anything with them. I was useless even with painting by numbers.’

She looked down at the palette once more.

‘I don’t know if they’re any good or even the right colours,’ she heard him say. ‘I saw them when I went to the corner shop yesterday and just thought you could use them until you got some better ones. There’s some brushes in the bag as well.’

Flora couldn’t believe it. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured before looking back up at him at last. ‘Thank you.’

‘Prego. You’re welcome,’ he replied. ‘Now go and get painting. I’ve studied the artwork on my bedroom wall for many hours these past few weeks and it’s amazing. You’ve got a real talent.’

‘What about everything else?’ she asked, glancing around the campsite.

He shook his head. ‘It’s pretty quiet this afternoon. Anyway, I can handle any problems. Go,’ he told her softly. ‘And relax.’

Still feeling stunned, she thanked him once more before going into the farmhouse to retrieve her painting pad from her bedroom. Then she headed outside once more and settled herself down on the wooden bench along the far wall of the farmhouse, out of view of anyone else but from where she could see all the way down past the strawberry field and across to the hills in the distance.

She was all ready to go when she found herself hesitating. What if she couldn’t paint any more? What if she had lost her talent? What if she didn’t enjoy herself?

But as soon as her brush hit the canvas for the first time, she was lost in her love of painting. The peace and serenity she had always found in creating her landscapes rushed back to her immediately and she wasn’t sure how much time passed until she had completed her new painting.

When she blinked back to life and set the painting down next to her to dry, she looked up to find Grams watching her with a smile.

‘I thought you might like a cup of tea,’ said Grams, coming to join her on the bench.

‘Thanks,’ replied Flora. ‘What time is it?’