Finding Happiness at Heritage View: A heartwarming, feel-good read from Helen Rolfe

1

‘How did I ever let you talk me into this?’ Hazel was sitting in a church hall with her good friend Lucy, pencils poised, but she was having trouble attempting to sketch the naked man seated before them. ‘It’s all right for you, you’re arty. I’m hopeless.’

Lucy didn’t laugh, but the corners of her mouth twitched. ‘You need to get out more and this is a start. I’m being a good friend. And besides, I knew it would be better than coming on my own. I needed to fill my creative well and I appreciate the support.’

‘You didn’t tell me it involved nudity,’ Hazel whispered. ‘You had me thinking we’d be drawing a basket of fruit or an old-fashioned teddy bear.’

Lucy’s pencil stopped its action on her paper and she turned to face Hazel, keeping her voice low so they weren’t disturbing anyone else. ‘To be fair, that is what we did three weeks ago. And according to one of the other ladies, last week they drew a crumpled-up paper bag. What would you rather?’ She glanced briefly in the model’s direction, eyebrows raised, before turning her attention back to her sketch.

Hazel couldn’t help but smile. ‘I suppose it is better than drawing a pile of rubbish.’ Although she wouldn’t feel self-conscious gawping at a paper bag.

She supposed she’d better make a start. The tutor was doling out general advice and making her way around the group and Hazel would look pretty silly if she didn’t at least attempt to do this. And, she supposed, it was fun. It wasn’t often – or ever – that she got to sit and stare, without judgement, at a naked man. Perhaps this was the biggest treat she’d get all summer.

‘Your first life model?’ the tutor, behind her, asked her in a voice Hazel wished didn’t carry quite so well. She also wished her easel was a little higher so she could properly hide behind her paper in case the model looked her way.

‘Yes,’ she muttered, as quiet as she could. ‘I’m here with Lucy, really, I’m not much of an artist at all.’ She knew the tutor had already complimented Lucy on the start she’d made with her picture.

‘There aren’t any wrongs with art, it’s your interpretation,’ she said, as though Hazel’s claim not to be an artist was neither here nor there. ‘Try to relax your shoulders a bit…’ she lowered her voice, ‘…and you’ll need to spend a lot of time actually looking at the model, otherwise how can you hope to draw him?’ Not much difference in age to Hazel’s thirty-seven years, she didn’t seem uncomfortable at all with the nakedness in such close proximity, not even when she spoke to the model as though he was a man in the street, fully clothed, nothing to see here.

The tutor moved on to someone else and Hazel got back to her drawing, although every time she stared at the model, she only did it for a few seconds before she had to look away. The rest of the group didn’t seem to have her issues, although perhaps they, as artists, thought of him differently – more of an exhibit than a good-looking man without any clothes. All Hazel seemed capable of fixating on was that the only thing separating the group of six wannabe artists and his very fine naked form was a mere couple of metres and a semi-circle of easels, pieces of paper, and fancy pencils.

‘Remember, no straight lines, we need curves,’ the teacher vocalised at volume as she continued her rounds, observing, advising.

As she attempted more of her sketch, Hazel wondered whether it wouldn’t be so bad if the life model didn’t have such a good body, or if he was a few decades older, or perhaps if he was a she.

Lucy leaned over to whisper to her, ‘Is this the first man you’ve seen naked since James?’

Hazel appreciated the interruption. Her sketch was going nowhere fast. ‘For your information, yes, it is.’

‘He seems to think you’ll be naked friends again someday.’

Hazel shrugged. ‘The jury’s out.’

She and James had been serious, they’d been engaged, but a year ago, Hazel had felt almost as though she was suffocating and she had a hard time separating whether that was because of James and their relationship, or whether it was because she hadn’t dealt properly with what had happened three years ago. All she knew was that, twelve months ago, she’d had to tell James that she needed time, she needed space. He was still around, on and off, still in her life as a friend, but she didn’t know whether she wanted to go back to what they once were.

Lucy leaned closer to Hazel’s drawing and nodded what Hazel thought might be approval. ‘It’s not bad, considering you said you were terrible.’

‘You’re being far too kind. Don’t think I’ll be contacting a gallery to put this on display anytime soon.’ All she had was the start, the curve of his shoulder and his torso and around at the bottom, which was where she’d stopped. Thinking about his bum was a step too far, even though she could only really see the rather strong thigh propped up to conceal certain other bits she was pretty sure the artists around the other side had a great view of.

‘Every now and then, I like to do something out of my comfort zone,’ Lucy explained when she saw Hazel’s hesitation to draw any more, the pencil hovering in her hand.

‘Well, this is definitely out of my comfort zone,’ said Hazel, her pencil scraping the beginnings of the man’s thigh finally and moving down after she glanced at the muscle and tried to replicate it on the paper. ‘You owe me a drink. Or two.’

Lucy, an artisan blacksmith in Heritage Cove, where they both lived, usually made things from iron, copper, or other materials in her workshop, using an old-fashioned forge for some of the beautiful items. But there was no forge inside this church hall situated a forty-minute drive from the Cove. The only thing heating up around here were Hazel’s cheeks when she caught the model’s eye. For the most part, he made sure he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but he’d adjusted position as he got comfortable again.

‘Do you think the others sat around that side on purpose?’ Hazel wondered, although when one of the artists on the other side looked her way, she hoped she hadn’t spoken too loudly.

‘You mean so they see… everything?’ Lucy grinned. ‘The model wasn’t sitting there when we set up, remember, so it was potluck as to the angle you got. Don’t mind this one too much. Go take a peek.’

‘Oh, my goodness, Lucy!’ But Hazel was laughing and this time more than one person in the group looked her way at the disruption, which made her want to laugh all the more. ‘I will do no such thing. And there’s no way I could draw that.’

It was more than a relief when they reached the end of the class. Hazel couldn’t wait to get out of there. She joined in with clapping their appreciation for the model along with everyone else and busied herself packing up the pencils she’d used, collecting her bag, rolling her drawing so nobody else could see it, and by the time she looked up, the model had gone, presumably to find his clothes.

‘Ready.’ She stood beside Lucy, who was still using the side of her pencil to shade an area on her picture.

‘I wanted to ask the tutor a couple of questions.’ Lucy pulled a face, sensing Hazel’s desire to leave. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all, but we’re in a one-hour spot outside.’ She shook off Lucy’s rush to pack up. ‘It’s not a problem, give me your keys and I’ll move the car if anyone comes while I’m waiting.’

When Hazel took the keys, she looked closer at Lucy’s drawing. ‘You’re seriously good at this.’

‘I loved every minute. It really looks like him, doesn’t it?’

Hazel cleared her throat as she brought her mind to the picture rather than her vision of the man who’d just posed for it. ‘It really does.’

‘If Daniel asks,’ said Lucy, ‘we drew an eighty-year-old man. I don’t want to make him jealous.’

Lucy’s boyfriend Daniel didn’t strike Hazel as the jealous type at all. He ran the Little Waffle Shack in Heritage Cove and he was all heart, just like his brother Harvey, who was married to another local friend, Melissa. ‘I won’t lie to him, but he’ll take one look at your drawing and know full well that the man is nowhere near old age.’

Hazel left Lucy to talk with the tutor while she headed out of the shadows from the back door to the church hall and into the evening sunshine. Lucy had driven them both over from the Cove and they’d dropped in on her parents first for tea and scones, which was lovely but made Hazel miss her own parents all the more. Her mum and dad, Thomas and Sally, had retired to the West Country. It had been their dream for many years, despite their lives and their business in the Cove. Hazel and her brother Arnold had known the change was coming, they’d both wanted to take over the business since they were younger, but it still took some getting used to. But she was getting there. And she loved her home at Heritage View House which, along with Heritage View Stables, was situated down a lane leading from the village’s main street.

Hazel inhaled the rich scent of the brightly coloured rhododendrons on the summer evening air as she reached the end of the path and opened the gate. At least the fresh breeze kept the temperature more bearable after the heatwave that had hit the country last week. It was the one time of the year when Hazel welcomed her early starts at the stables – it was an excuse to get up and get on.

She followed the pavement along, taking out her sunglasses to put on, ready to intercept any traffic warden about to pounce. At the start of July, the weather was gorgeous, and the birds in the trees twittered above her as she walked as though they were as much in support of the season as Hazel was.

She’d almost reached the car when she heard a commotion coming from the other side of the road. With parking fines on her mind, she expected it to be someone fighting their corner and pleading with a traffic warden to be let off with a warning. But it wasn’t.

‘It’s him,’ she said under her breath, because looking across the road, she instantly recognised the man who’d just modelled for them, despite him wearing clothes now – jeans that hugged his buttocks, a T-shirt that clung just enough to be able to see the outline of his torso and strong shoulders. His light-brown hair was cut short but had waves in it she could imagine being sketched out by pencil – obviously by someone with more artistic talent than herself.

Hazel had seen the physical details of this man – she couldn’t remember his name, even though the tutor had introduced him to the group – but what she hadn’t seen inside that church hall was any hint of his personality besides the confidence to sit there in the nude in front of a bunch of strangers. Now, she could see his shoulders were tense as he confronted a group of teenagers a fraction of his age.

Should she call the police?

His anger was evident. Had those teens been hanging around his car, trying to steal it or vandalise it? But if that was the case, surely they would have run off.

It turned her stomach when Hazel saw how scared those teenagers were, frozen to the spot. She’d witnessed that kind of stance before and it had been terrifying. She’d never forget it. The man before her now had a tightness in his expression that she zoned in on: his clenched jaw, the jerky head movements as he said his piece. He got right up in the face of one of the boys to make whatever point he was trying to get across, and Hazel knew if that were her standing before him, she’d be petrified.

Hazel had her hand on her phone, about to call the police, when the boys ran off and the man didn’t give chase. She reached Lucy’s car, the next one up, unlocked it, and climbed in, sinking down in the seat, praying that the man hadn’t spotted her.

She didn’t look up until Lucy got back into the car.

‘You okay there?’ Lucy, in the driver’s seat, wound the window down for air.

Hazel sat up straighter, cautiously looking in the wing mirror to check the man had gone. When she saw that he had, she opened her own window. ‘You owe me a drink.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. The Copper Plough?’ Lucy looked at her after mentioning their local pub. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, just still in shock at what you made me do, that’s all,’ she laughed, although the laughter was forced. She didn’t want to admit that what she’d just seen was a stark reminder of something she’d been trying to forget for a long time. Her way of coping was to stop her thoughts from ever travelling in that direction again. And it worked, kind of.

‘Parking police,’ Lucy announced and wasted no time pulling out of the space.

Hazel was more than happy to get well away from here in case she saw that man again. Good looking he might be, particularly naked, but behind that exterior was a whole lot of anger and she never wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of fury again.

‘Tell Barney why you owe me,’ Hazel laughed as they stood at the bar in the Copper Plough some thirty minutes later, Lucy paying for the round of drinks with her card. ‘Tell him what you had me do.’

Barney, in his seventies and a man who had the community’s interests at heart, loved nothing more than a good story. ‘I’m all ears.’

‘You’re making out I tortured you,’ Lucy tutted. ‘She enjoyed it,’ she winked at Barney, before filling him in on exactly where they’d been.

Barney, pint in hand, chuckled away. ‘I’ll bet you didn’t expect that, Hazel.’

‘It wouldn’t be so bad if I could draw, but I couldn’t even stare as I was too embarrassed every time the guy looked up.’

‘At least it made for a fun time, you young girls need to get out and about a bit. It can’t be all business.’

Lois, love of Barney’s life, came over and hooked her arm into his. ‘Did I hear something about a naked man?’

‘Look what you started,’ he grinned to Hazel and Lucy, and off they went to find a table.

‘He’s right, you know.’ Lucy slipped her credit card into her purse. ‘It can’t all be work. Don’t get me wrong, work is a great distraction, I know that as well as anyone, but it’s not everything.’

With an eye roll, Hazel followed Lucy outside and into the beer garden. It was way too nice to sit inside, and right at the back they found a spare table. Some of the oldies probably didn’t want it because local teacher Linc was playing his guitar and they might not be able to hear one another, but for the girls, the music simply added to the atmosphere.

‘Talking of work, how’s business?’ Hazel enquired of Lucy. ‘You always seem to have people popping in and out of the workshop.’

‘I get lots of commissions, which I love, because with those I can start from scratch, sketch out what they want.’

‘I’m still in love with my wine rack, by the way.’ Hazel sipped her beer as the sun sank a little lower in the sky.

‘Glad to hear it’s being used, good choice by your brother.’

The Christmas before last, Arnold had commissioned Lucy to design and make a gorgeous wine rack which was made by joining horseshoes together and held a couple of wine glasses upright as well as a couple of bottles. Unbeknownst to Arnold, that same Christmas, Hazel had already asked Lucy to make a boot scraper for her brother, and the ornate piece that sat at the door of the office worked perfectly to rid boots of dirt and mud. He’d loved it, although she was sure she used it more than him because she was the one who handled most of the paperwork in the office while he did the majority of the teaching at the riding school. It had always been the intention that brother and sister would both teach and know their way around the office, just as their parents had done. But Hazel had backed away from the former in a big way. The Heritage View Stables were renowned for teaching beginners, and though it was key to their business, it was something Hazel just couldn’t manage these days.

They talked about Arnold for a while, but Hazel didn’t let on that her brother was growing increasingly frustrated at her refusal to teach more classes. It didn’t exactly make for a harmonious, or tenable, family business.

‘He’s still single,’ Hazel smiled at her friend. ‘I always thought he’d settle down first out of the two of us and I’d end up being the spinster living in the big old house with her brother and his wife.’

‘What happened to the girl he hung around with last summer?’ Lucy asked.

‘She was nice, clever too,’ Hazel replied. ‘So clever she decided on a career change and took herself off to university in Edinburgh. She wants to be a vet.’

‘Talking of vets, did you hear about the new village vet practice opening up on the same road, up past the florist, any day now?’

Hazel made a face. ‘I hadn’t heard. Or I had, but I’ve forgotten.’ This was why Lucy, amongst others in the village, was trying to get her out and about more. She spent too much time in her own head with her own problems and, because it was easy to cite the business as a reason to do little other than spend time in the office or busy at the stables, she was missing out on village life.

‘You spend a lot of time thinking about work… too much time,’ Lucy said.

Hazel didn’t deny it, but she also didn’t add that it wasn’t only thinking about work all the time, it was worrying that she was stuck in a rut. ‘Is the new practice opening in the old key-cutting place?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Way too small for a vet’s – and I think Valerie from the florist has her eye on that place to expand her shop. There has been some talk amongst the younger girls around the Cove that they might like a nail salon in the village.’

‘I’ll bet Barney would have something to say about that,’ Hazel laughed as the music filled the night air and Linc began to take requests. ‘Not much gets past him and I’m pretty sure a nail salon wouldn’t.’

‘Tilly tried to wind him up, said there were some real plans being drawn up.’

‘Trust Tilly to tease him, although given how close they are since Tilly took over her gran’s shop and turned it into Tilly’s Bits ’n’ Pieces, I suppose she’s allowed to. And I’ll bet he didn’t believe her.’

‘Exactly. He’s far too switched on to have been fooled, don’t you worry.’

‘So where’s the new veterinary practice going to be then, if not in the old key-cutting place?’

Lucy explained that it would be in the run-down, bay-windowed old bungalow that had sold a while back. ‘Harvey and Melissa said that if they didn’t live in Tumbleweed House, they would’ve bought the place as a business interest to do up and sell on.’

‘They would’ve done a good job too,’ Hazel approved. ‘But a new vet locally is convenient and far less of a pain than travelling out of the Cove.’

A new vet in the village would be good for both of them. Lucy had a slate-grey cat called Shadow, who was often seen lying in the sunshine outside her workshop or up towards the Waffle Shack. Hazel and Arnold had a tabby cat who had wandered into the paddock almost a decade ago. Hazel had scooped the cat up in her arms before she got trodden on by one of the horses. When the cat didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, Hazel’s parents had put up posters around the village to say she’d been found, but nobody ever came forward and so, with her one eye and unknown age – the vet had estimated around five years old – and under the new name of Tabitha, the cat had made her forever home at the Heritage View Stables.

Lucy finished her beer. ‘Another round? Come on, I owe you after the art class.’

‘Please don’t remind me.’ She’d tried to put that man out of her mind – his amazing body, the curves and muscles she’d been given permission to look at – and she’d definitely tried to block out his temper. ‘Next time, please let me draw horses, I’m way more comfortable around those.’

‘I could make a very inappropriate joke about body parts right now,’ Lucy laughed.

‘Did you sneak a peek?’

‘Couldn’t see from where we were sitting,’ she grinned before heading off to get the drinks. ‘Next time, perhaps.’

And by the time they’d had a few rounds and Hazel headed home to Heritage View House, she was glad Lucy had dragged her along to something that put her way out of her comfort zone. Because, deep down, Hazel knew she needed it.

2

The morning after the art class, Hazel ventured downstairs shortly after six, happy it was summer and the sun came up nice and early. It helped her to get out of bed when the rest of the village was likely sleeping, with the exception of Jade and Celeste, who ran the Twist and Turn Bakery and kept bakers’ hours. She picked up the post from the mat – a single brown envelope that was most likely something financial. She found Arnold in the kitchen, sitting at the farmhouse table as usual, browsing news on the iPad the way he always did, a mug of coffee in front of him, an empty bowl left behind from his cereal.

Hazel set down the envelope and grabbed the sliced bread from the bread bin before locating the butter dish, a knife, and a plate.

‘You all right to take the lesson at eleven o’clock?’ Arnold finished his last mouthful of coffee.

‘I told you I would.’ The lesson was more of a supervision session for an adult who had been riding here for many years, a friend of their parents. Hazel would merely give tips and guidance for a series of low jumps in a small circuit that she would set up while the rider and the horse warmed up in the school.

‘Don’t take your hangover out on me.’ At least her snappish tone seemed to amuse her brother. Sometimes he could be too serious and it detracted from the dark-haired good looks passed down from their dad. Hazel and her brother were complete opposites in looks – she had blonde hair, highlighted all the more from the sun, while he had a few greys now he’d reached forty. She had none to speak of, as she liked to remind him. Hazel had blue eyes, Arnold had brown. Her skin turned a golden brown without much effort at all, while he had to be more careful, being slightly fairer. In temperament, however, she liked to think they were pretty similar. They both worked hard, they were both thorough and patient, but while Arnold’s way was to meet challenges head on, Hazel tended to hold back when she feared something.

‘I’m not hungover,’ Hazel told her brother as she dropped two slices of bread into the toaster before pouring herself a mug of coffee. But taking in the amused expression on her brother’s face, she admitted, ‘All right, a couple of beers turned into a fair few. But we had a nice time.’

He seemed to mellow as he put his bowl and mug in the sink and at the back door pulled on his boots. ‘I’m glad you went out, socialised a bit.’

‘You make it sound as though I’m a recluse.’ She wasn’t that bad. It was more a case of being busy, focused. She noticed Arnold hovering at the back door. ‘What’s wrong?’ She’d always be able to read him and he knew it.

‘I had to turn down another booking late last night for three siblings who want riding lessons.’

‘We can’t fit them in?’

He raised his eyebrows – wasn’t it obvious? ‘Not with only one of us teaching.’

‘I teach,’ she defended,