Farm Fatale by Wendy Holden Read Free Book Online Page B

insisted, should never be deviated from if Samantha's energies, both spiritual and physical, were to harmonize perfectly with those of the house. Judging from the permanent bad temper she had been in since Basia left, her energies still had some way to go.
        Samantha groaned. As if the turbulent state of her chakras was not enough, there remained a mere four weeks before filming started to get inside the head of Christabel. She simply had to research Christabel's location, motivation, personal conversation, the lot . And today was location.
        "CHRISTABEL: LOCATION," Samantha had written on the first sheet of her fat new pad. Underneath it she had written "THE COUNTRYSIDE." Christabel, Samantha knew from the production notes, lived in the countryside. But what she didn't know, had no idea about, in fact, was what the countryside was actually like. She was far from sure she had ever been there. After a few minutes more of pondering on this, Samantha had yelled for Consuela and sent her out for the latest editions of Country Life, Country Living, Which Gazebo?, Charming Castles, Cottage Beautiful, Country Homes and Interiors , and Period Living . It was in the glossy pages of Cottage Beautiful that she had stumbled across the wonderful world of Carinthia D'Arblay Sidebottom.
        Samantha read on: As one approaches the imposing yet romantic building, a panoply of textures asserts itself: lichened tiles, herbaceous borders, Carinthia's sparkling-white washing fluttering in the lavender scented breeze, old stone the rich gold of digestive biscuits…
        Samantha's fingers tapped on the zinc-topped table. Why did she feel so discontented all of a sudden? It wasn't as if she was lacking a panoply of textures herself, even if, sadly, digestive biscuits did not feature among them. Basia had been extremely keen on textures, as the Neolithic ax head, Maserati connecting rod, and carefully arranged pieces of broken glass currently festooning the windowsills attested. Admittedly, the textures, like the colors, weren't quite the ones Samantha had originally had in mind. Had it really been a good idea to allow Basia to paint all the outside brickworks a shade midway between khaki and brown? Guy had already forcibly expressed his doubts that explanations about fantastic chi would wash with the royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea's planning department.
        Forcing these unpleasant reflections aside, Samantha returned to Carinthia's sparkling-white washing. Inside, deep-silled windows painted simply in white provide a natural setting for garden flowers in handmade jugs. Elsewhere, Carinthia's use of bold color, antique printed textiles, and reclaimed timber gives the tiny cottage a Tudor Mediterranean feel… Tudor Mediterranean, well, yes , thought Samantha, that sounded much more the sort of thing she'd originally been after with Roland Gardens. Upstairs, gingham throws, rose-stenciled loo seats, and toile de Jouy abound… The words stabbed Samantha to the heart. The thought of Basia's spartan futon muscling to the front of her mind, she stared jealously at pictures of white-painted Victorian iron bedsteads piled high with vintage eiderdowns and crisp white sheets (no doubt fresh from the line) whose lavender scent seemed to billow from the very page.
         Outside, in Carinthia's vegetable patch, leeks, potatoes, and onions are encouraged to go to seed for aesthetic reasons, while in a corner of the "wild garden," Carinthia's bower stands wreathed in tantalizing whiffs from the honeysuckle winding elegantly round the weathered pillars of an eighteenth-century temple of Diana…
        Emitting a snarl, Samantha jerked her head up. Out of the single-pane kitchen window, its frame painted not crisp white but battleship gray, Basia's zen garden was all too visible. An untantalizing pile of sand, wet pebbles, and a verdigris turtle, it was raked daily, amid much muttering, by Consuela, whom Samantha had to