My sisters had come to my rescue and helped by making the curtains and cleaning up after the builders. As we washed and polished, some of the neighbours dropped in to help. One lady, however, came not to help but to examine everything in great detail. She gushed effusively about how beautiful the whole place looked, but as she was going out the front door she met Mike and, raising her eyes to heaven, remarked, “Those doors upstairs look like cat’s shit!” For months afterwards every time I looked at those doors her judgement of my colour sense made me smile. The doors were actually sunshine yellow and as Gabriel had wanted a darker shade her comment amused him highly. We had been so lucky with the people who had worked with us and, in the midst of all the mud and long hours, there had been a great sense of comradeship and enjoyment. As he finished off the painting on the last day Mike laughed and said to me, “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if one day you pressed a light switch here and water came out through the bulb.”As I walked around our guest-house that night I felt a glow of satisfaction.
