Deceptive Appearances by P F Ford

Author:P F Ford [Ford, P F]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-07T05:00:00+00:00

18

Guy Jefferson lived in a small village half a mile from a busy dual carriageway. It hardly sounded like an idyllic setting, but a wall of dense trees screened the road, reducing its noise to a barely perceptible background shushing sound.

‘I’d love to live in a place like this,’ said Norman as they drove past a mixture of quaint cottages broken up by the occasional bigger, grander old house.

‘I dunno,’ said Slater. ‘The trouble with villages like this is there’s nothing to do. I mean, there’s not even a pub, is there?’

‘Well, yeah, but look how pretty it is.’

‘And you need loads of money,’ continued Slater. ‘Houses like these cost a fortune. Even one of these tiny cottages would cost an arm and a leg. And there’s usually some crusty old duffer who seems to think he’s entitled to tell everyone else how they should live their life. Anyway, you’re a city boy, right? That’s what you always used to say when you first came down here.’

‘But, I’ve been away from the city for quite a while now …’

‘This is where the other half live, Norm, it’s not for people like us.’

Norman turned to look at Slater. ‘Was there something wrong with your lunch?’

‘Huh?’

‘I thought perhaps you ate something bitter.’

‘What? Why would you think that?’

Norman rolled his eyes. ‘I really can’t imagine,’ he said, as he turned his attention back to the passing houses.

They drove on in silence for a minute or two.

‘Here we go,’ said Slater. ‘The Haywain. This is the place.’

‘I think that house name is just a tad pretentious for an artist,’ said Norman.

Slater turned the car off the road and onto a gravel drive. They could see a large imposing house a short way ahead on the right, but there was a left fork in the drive before they got to the house.

‘He told me to take the left fork to get to his studio,’ said Slater.

They turned left and followed the drive until they saw a sleek, modern-looking building ahead.

As they took in the building, Norman let out a long, low whistle. ‘Jeez, is this his studio? I thought you said this guy painted for a hobby.’

‘That’s what it said online.’

‘This building looks as if it would have cost a fortune to build,’ said Norman.

‘He was some sort of businessman before he retired.’

‘Wow! What did he do? Because he must have been pretty good at whatever he did if it’s paid for this house and this studio.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Slater. ‘I didn’t look into his background – I just wanted to discover where we could find him.’

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