‘Kester, dear, are you there?’ Harriet James opens the back door and lets herself in to the small kitchen of the annexe to Tawny House. She stands with her hand on the doorknob while she listens for a response.

‘You know I am.’ Kester calls from the landing as he comes out of the bathroom wearing a hastily thrown on bathrobe. He walks down the stairs and into the kitchen. ‘You waved as I came past not half an hour ago.’

Yes….And you studiously ignored me!’ Harriet tightens her lips in feigned annoyance as she pushes the door closed.

‘I did not!’ Kester grins as he rubs at his hair with a towel. ‘And if I’d come to say hello then, you would only have complained I reeked of sweat.’

‘And how is Mister Harris?’ Harriet asks and brushes the faded chintz of the window seat with her hand before sitting down.

‘Surprisingly fit for a man his age; he’s not going to win any marathons but…’ He pauses, smiling wryly as she rubs at a mark on one of the small windowpanes behind her with a tissue. ‘Er…excuse me. If you’ve come to have a moan about the state of this place, you can clear off!’ he laughs as he turns one of the chairs from under the table and sits down himself. ‘It gets done when I get time. It’s okay for some people having ‘somebody that does’’ he mocks lightly, rolling his eyes as she looks round with a grimace.

‘I just wonder what some of your young ladies think when they see the state of this kitchen. It would not cost you much you know, to have my woman come once a week and clean you through.’

‘So you’ve told me before. I get there eventually and my ‘young ladies’ as you call them aren’t exactly interested in cooking.’

‘Nooo’ Harriet says dryly. ‘I don’t suppose they are.’

Kester chuckles, crossing the sides of his towelling robe further over his thighs and leans forward. ‘Okay. So, is this about your little soiree? I haven’t forgotten. I’ll pick those people up from the station tomorrow, no worries.’

‘No, not that, darling, I need a little help.’

‘Okay, give me a minute to throw some clothes on…’

‘As you are would be just perfect.’ Harriet smiles sweetly, her eyes lifting to his face as he stands up.

Kester looks at her quizzically, tugging at both ends of his belt to pull it more tightly around his waist.

‘My latest canvas’ she starts to explain, giving the slow blink of a casual reply.

Kester groans.

‘…just for a very short while. A few quick sketches’ she adds determinedly

‘Which bit of me do you need now?’

Harriet sighs at his irritability. ‘You know I wouldn’t bother you but try as I might I just cannot get the drape right over the buttocks. Poor chap looks like he is wearing a paper bag. It needs movement!’

‘No way!’ Kester shakes his head vigorously. ‘No way are you painting my buttocks, moving or otherwise!’

‘But, Kester, darling, they would be partially draped.’

‘In what, exactly?’

‘I do have a sheet’ she offers. ‘And having you naked would help immensely with the muscle of the back too.’

Kester chokes. ‘Naked?  No chance! Hands, legs, feet, even the odd bicep but there is no way I am posing naked for my grandmother!’ He opens the refrigerator and takes out a carton of orange juice, pushing the door shut with a shoulder as he raises the carton to his mouth and drinks.

‘Not totally nude, you would have the sheet.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘And I am certain that you did not learn those manners from me. For goodness sake use a glass!’

‘Har-riet!’ he sighs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and ignoring her comment ‘Why don’t you stick to your jugs and apples and bits of flowers and stuff? They turn out really well.’

‘That was very boring. I rather liked the idea of something a little more interesting.’ Her face softens from a frown of disapproval to puckish amusement. ‘A conversation piece, you know? Everyone has been very kind about my other offerings but I want them to say ‘Good God, Harriet!’ not ‘Hmm very nice, sweetie.’ It’s like they haven’t really given them more than a glance at all. I thought I would have a little fun. Catch them out.’

‘Hmm…yes….fun for some.’ Kester empties the carton in another swallow and drops it in the pedal bin. The lid clangs shut.

‘Oh, it will be!’ Harriet enthuses, her eyes sparkling. ‘I thought I would do my own take on one of the more famous nude pieces.’

‘Can’t you just copy one?’ he asks reasonably.

‘Oh no! What I thought I would do is to paint men where others have painted women and vice versa. It can have some very amusing results on occasion.’ Her eyebrows rise as she plays the statement down.

‘Mmmm. I bet’ He sounds unconvinced.

‘You will then? Oh, that’s wonderful! Thank you, dear.’

‘Hang on. I haven’t agreed to anything! I flatly refuse to be the subject of any conversation piece and posing nude is absolutely, completely, totally out of the question.’

‘But why?’

‘You need ask?’

‘Well, of course, if you are ashamed of your body, there is little I can do to persuade you otherwise.’ Harriet rises from her seat, smoothing the front of her skirt, every brisk movement designed to convey exasperation.

‘I am not ashamed of my body! I just don’t want to see your version of it hanging in your sitting room being gawped at by all and sundry.’

‘But they wouldn’t KNOW it was you.’

Kester shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You’re priceless, you are. Who did you get for the women, your cleaning lady?’ he chuckles at the thought.

‘No. In actual fact, that very nice young lady from the library agreed to pose for me’ she replies coolly, drawing a not quite silent breath through her nose as her chin lifts triumphantly.

‘You don’t mean our Ms. Marchant?’ Kester’s eyes widen, finding that thought even harder to imagine.

‘She found the idea rather fun too.’ Harriet says defensively.

‘She’s been here?’

‘Mmm. And she did not make the fuss that you are making. She had some experience as a life model before she moved to the village. I found that out quite by chance while I was browsing the reference section for a likely candidate for a touch of role reversal. We had quite a long chat. Whispered of course but very illuminating.’

‘Really?’ he says hoarsely and clears his throat.

‘Yes. We pored over so many plates before we found one that I thought would suit my purpose best.’

‘Not the paintings, I meant what you said about the voluptuous but oh so prim Helen.’ He gives a long low whistle. ‘Ms. Marchant....' he whispers in disbelief. 'How’s this oil painting game work then?’ he adds with a grin. ‘I just might have to give it a go myself.’

Harriet gives him a withering look. ‘Kester James, you are incorrigible!’

‘Me?’ He laughs. ‘Now that, dear grandmamma, is something I did learn from you!’

Tawny House, Manor Road

Chapter One