‘Oh wonderful. I love birthdays. Will you be doing something nice?’
‘Just dinner at Le Manoir.’ Benny peered through the sheets of hammering-down rain as he edged off the garage forecourt. ‘She’s off again the following Monday to New York. You know what it’s like.’
‘Well, not personally. Seeing as I’m not a fabulously glamorous jet-setting international businesswoman.’ Rosa laughed. ‘But I’m sure it’s par for the course for those who are. Have you bought her something amazing for her birthday?’
‘Funny you should say that. I was supposed to be getting it sorted today. Birgitte, Ingrid’s daughter, was going to come with me but she couldn’t make it. The plan was to visit this new shop in Stow. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to risk it on my own.’
‘Why’s that?’ Rosa had to raise her voice to be heard above the thunderous drumming of the rain on the roof of the car.
Benny grimaced as they edged along the road. ‘Honestly? I don’t have great taste. I used to think I did, I thought my taste was good, because it was good for me. Until Ingrid explained that I was wrong and she’s the one with taste. Which is why the plan was for Birgitte to be there to guide me. I just thought it’d be nice for once to give Ingrid something she actually liked.’
‘She is very stylish,’ Rosa acknowledged. ‘I mean, I’m not saying I know her that well, but she always looks stunning.’
‘I don’t suppose . . .’ He glanced sideways at her, then said, ‘No, don’t worry.’
Rosa burst out laughing. ‘Were you about to ask me to go with you, then saw the state of me and realised I had no taste either?’
‘Absolutely not. I was about to ask, then told myself it was too much of an imposition and why would you want to come along when you have plenty to keep you busy here.’
Stow was only a few miles away. Rosa said, ‘It wouldn’t take that long, would it? I can spare an hour or two.’
‘Really? That’d be brilliant. From the sound of it, the place has the kind of saleswomen who won’t give up until you’ve bought what they want you to buy.’ Benny shuddered. ‘I can’t handle pushy saleswomen. They scare me to death.’
He drew to a halt outside Frog Cottage and waited in the car while Rosa dashed in, stripped off, towel-dried her hair and changed into dry jeans and a stripy Breton top. Red was upstairs in his room, having his usual afternoon nap. By the time she raced back outside, the black cloud had moved on and the rain had all but stopped. Throwing her umbrella onto the back seat, she said, ‘We might need it again by the time we get there.’
But when they reached Stow, the sun was back out. Benny parked the car and they found the shop, which occupied three floors of a Cotswold-stone Georgian property on Sheep Street. Rosa had heard of Ellery Dove, which had opened with a flourish last December. It sold stunning things at mind-boggling prices, ranging from designer clothes to jewellery and anything you could possibly want for your home, so long as you could afford it. The lighting was exquisite, the decor was fabulous and the walls were painted a dozen different jewelled shades of peacock blue, jade and magenta.
The saleswomen were predictably elegant too, but finding herself in charge of Benny made it easy for Rosa to bat them away with a polite but firm We’re just looking. Together they climbed the narrow flights of stairs to the top floor and began inspecting the clothes.
‘She wears a lot of beige,’ said Benny. ‘Except I’m not allowed to say that word. We have to call it taupe.’
‘How about this?’ Rosa ran her fingertips lightly over an ivory cashmere top and heard the saleswoman behind her give a sharp intake of breath. Flipping over the price tag, she saw that it said £800. Yeesh, no wonder.
‘She’s already got one like that. Oh, I like these . . .’ Benny approached a narrow rail of dresses made from fine mesh over slippery silver silk, bound with strips of pink and lime-green leather around the neck and armholes.
‘No.’ Rosa shook her head.
‘Are you sure?’
‘They might be expensive, but they look cheap.’ Whoops, another gasp from the saleswoman. ‘I mean . . . eclectic. Trust me, Ingrid wouldn’t wear something like that.’
In the end, they decided on a long honey-coloured jacket made of finest, softest suede, before moving down to the beauty and accessories floor. Rosa picked out an eyeshadow set in silver packaging, and various skin creams and potions that smelled divine. When Benny found himself entranced by a chunky necklace of turquoises and bizarre purple crystals in a rose-gold setting, she steered him away and chose an ethereal moonstone pendant on a long silver chain instead.
‘You’re sure it isn’t boring?’ Benny wanted to know.
‘It’s not boring, it’s classy. And she’ll love it.’
On the ground floor, he was instantly taken by a wall hanging of a stag’s head sculpted in black resin with tiny crystal-encrusted birds and butterflies perched in its gold antlers.
‘It’s the kind of thing you love,’ Rosa patiently reminded him. ‘And I love it too, but Ingrid would think it was garish.’
‘You’re a cruel woman.’
‘But I’m right, you know I am. Look, how about something like this instead?’ She led him over to the opposite wall and indicated a small original oil painting. ‘I mean, I don’t know her taste in art, obviously, but it looks as if it could be her kind of—’
‘I don’t believe it, this is by Ulrika Nilsson! And I didn’t even spot it there.’ Benny’s eyes had lit up. ‘Ulrika Nilsson is one of Ingrid’s favourite artists . . . but I thought she’d given up painting to look after her husband.’
‘He died,’ supplied yet another elegant saleswoman. ‘And she started painting again. This one came in just yesterday.’
The painting was a cloudy, chilly-looking seascape in a pale grey wooden frame, not Rosa’s cup of tea at all, but she’d managed to pick the right thing. Beside himself with delight, Benny paid for the various items and together they carried everything back to the car.
As they reached Frog Cottage, he said, ‘Really, I can’t thank you enough. You made it so easy. All I have to do now is buy some fancy wrapping paper and I’m sorted.’
‘Are you good at wrapping?’ Rosa couldn’t help herself; she had to ask. Much as she’d adored her husband, every present Joe had ever given her had resembled a bag of potatoes frantically fastened with fifty metres of Sellotape.
‘I can manage.’ He didn’t sound entirely confident. ‘I mean, it’s not that hard, is it? Damn, I should probably have asked them to do it in the shop.’
‘Come in with me,’ said Rosa. ‘I can never resist buying beautiful paper. I might not be good at many things, but I’m an excellent wrapper.’
In the living room she introduced Benny to Red, who was in his favourite chair, simultaneously keeping an eye on the horse racing on TV and doing the Telegraph crossword.
‘Hey there.’ Red nodded easily at Benny and handed Rosa an envelope. ‘Post arrived. Another begging letter.’
He hadn’t opened it. Recognising the handwriting, Rosa said, ‘It might not be.’