Sophie Green, Top 10 bestselling author of The Bellbird River Country Choir and Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society, returns with a warm-hearted new novel about friendships, fresh starts and finding yourself.

Read on for an extract from Art Hour at the Duchess Hotel.

ABOUT THE BOOK

Mornington Peninsula, 1999. Wife and now grandmother Joan has checked into the grand old Duchess Hotel to find herself again after 35 years of being who her husband and family have wanted her to be. Peninsula local and soon-to-be octogenarian Frances is distracting herself from getting old, and avoiding her self-interested son by escaping to the warmth of the Duchess where the hotel staff treat her like the person she still is.

Meanwhile Frances’s daughter, Alison, is trying to manage significant disruptions at home while hoping to finally prove to her mother that she’s just as worthy of love as her brother. New to the Duchess, hotel maid Kirrily is feeling the weight of a lifetime of responsibility, struggling to balance bills and work and family, and keeping thoughts of how there must be more to life at bay.

With its old-world glamour, sprawling seaside grounds and air of possibility, the Duchess Hotel might just be the place to help the women rediscover who they are and bring some spark back to their lives.

When Joan decides to pick up a brush and start painting for the first time in decades, she inspires Frances and Kirrily – and, eventually, Alison – to join her. Over canvas, conversation and creativity they will learn that you should always hold onto your dreams and that new friends can give you the courage to live life on your own terms.

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During her first week at the Duchess Hotel, Joan has made several perambulations around the grounds, mainly to find things to draw – although she hasn’t been overly pleased with her efforts. Trees, flowers, bushes and plants used to be some of her favourite subjects but her technical skills need some work. She has not been deterred, however, despite the fact she didn’t bring adequate clothing for the temperatures here, which are more wintry than she is used to in Sydney.

Not that she will let the temperatures stop her from going outside. She cannot – never has been able to – live a day without going outside, even when she feels poorly.

When she was a child her father said, ‘Girls, no matter what’s going wrong in life, a shot of outdoors will fix it,’ and she has lived by this credo. During her younger years, it was because she loved to run outside and play; once she was an adult, she loved sunbathing and swimming and sitting in nature, first just to think, then to paint. That early appreciation of the natural world turned into a way of seeing trees and grass and rocks and dirt and birds and other creatures that led her to pick up paint and brushes and try to capture what she loved about it all so much.

It was also, no doubt, what drew her back to the Duchess Hotel. Its position – on a bluff, in grounds dense with pines and gums as well as ordered gardens, with the ocean beyond – puts her right in nature. When she wakes up and looks out the window, that’s what she sees. On the other side of the hotel, as she has discovered, there is some open land and beyond that the houses of Sorrento begin, little cottages and sturdier, weather-proof propositions. But they don’t impede the view from the hotel, which is unobstructed on most sides, apart from the front, where there’s the drive leading to dense trees, then the road.

At home, in Sydney, she is also in nature although its colours and shapes are different. What is here, next to her on the peninsula, is wild. And that’s what she feels she needs: to tap into the wilder parts of her, the parts that marriage and motherhood, and years on this earth being buffeted by other people and their wants and needs and opinions, have squashed into tiny parcels that she has tucked up inside her, waiting to spring open.

She walks the grounds of the Duchess, which are less extensive than in memories of her childhood but larger than she expects in a day and age when land like this is at a premium. Then she usually heads to the bar to warm up and chat to Shane. She likes him, with his direct gaze and indirect sense of humour. It’s not impossible to believe that he likes her too, mainly because when he sees her, he smiles in a way he doesn’t to other patrons: unguardedly. Usually when Joan is at the bar she finds Wendy, whom Joan guesses to be in her mid-forties. Wendy lives within walking distance – admittedly quite a walking distance, given the amount of land surrounding the hotel, but she likes to declaim, loudly, that she ‘lives local and I’ll die local too’.

By the time Joan comes across her, Shane is usually trying to cut her off because she’s a few drinks in and trying to pick up men who are on their own.

The other day Joan heard Wendy – as everyone in the bar did – telling one such gentleman that she was definitely not a ‘pro’. Joan wanted to offer some gentle advice along the lines of Wendy softening her sales pitch if she didn’t want the same response in future, but Wendy likes to talk more than listen.

So talk she does, to Joan and anyone else who stands still long enough. ‘Long enough’ being about five seconds. It was during one such experience that Shane appeared, with a look on his face that suggested he was rescuing Joan.

‘Joan, I’ve been meaning to suggest something to you,’ he said, taking her elbow and pulling her away from Wendy, who didn’t seem to notice.

What he suggested was that she try the Saturday afternoon tea that was popular with locals and guests. Which is why Joan is walking into the tea room now, finding Shane, who is smiling expectantly.

‘Thought you might show up,’ he says, and she wonders if he plans to take tea with her. This would be an odd, but not unwelcome, thing, although she can’t really imagine him drinking tea. ‘I can’t say the same of you.’ She smiles vaguely and he laughs.

‘I bet. Anyway, I saw you coming so I ducked in here to introduce you to someone.’

Joan’s heart sinks a little as she realises he had an ulterior motive for this tea suggestion: pity. Clearly he thinks she needs friends, or at the very least company. She wants to tell him to mind his own business but before she can he moves to one side and reveals an elderly woman sitting at a small table set for two. She has short, neatly combed hair and strong eyebrows and watery green eyes with a look of mischief in them. Which is a relief because that mischief is how Joan knows they will get along, even if it’s only for the afternoon. Having introduced mischief into her own life, Joan is pleased to find a comrade.

Joan’s heart sinks a little as she realises he had an ulterior motive for this tea suggestion: pity.

‘Joan, I’d like you to meet Frances,’ Shane says with a gesture towards the table. ‘Frances is one of our regulars and has been for years. She’s definitely my favourite regular.’ He grins at Frances and Joan can see the affection between them.

‘Well, of course I am,’ Frances says, then she turns her smile to Joan. ‘Please excuse me not getting up, dear. It would take so long that my tea would be cold by the time I sit back down again.’ ‘That’s quite all right.’ Joan runs a hand down her dress, hoping she’s neatly presented enough because she feels herself wanting to impress this new acquaintance. Not for the first time, she is cognisant of the fact that one has immediate responses to people one meets and doesn’t know why they’re one way or the other, except to guess that they’re instinctual – that the subconscious mind knows something we don’t. Perhaps Frances has a measure of her, too; perhaps one day she’ll find out.

‘You look lovely. I wish I had the figure for a dress like that.’ Frances’s nose wrinkles as she smiles and Joan almost laughs at being found out so easily.

‘Thank you,’ she says. She learnt long ago that accepting compliments without putting up a fight always makes the giver of the compliment feel better about their day. The only exceptions she makes are for men who give fake compliments in order to get something out of her – those she acknowledges only with a cheer- less smile and a half-turned-away cheek.

‘Thank you for the introduction, Shane,’ Joan says as she sits. ‘My great pleasure,’ he says, then he’s gone.

Frances sighs. ‘I love that boy,’ she says. ‘His heart is pure gold.’ ‘Really? That’s nice to hear.’

‘Keeping an eye out for an old duck like me – not many like him.’

Joan half-closes her eyes so she can make a proper assessment of Frances, who may technically be an old duck but clearly has the spirit of a duckling.

‘He strikes me as someone who only does things he wants to do, not things he thinks he should,’ she says after a few seconds.

‘True.’ Frances peers back at her and Joan has the distinct impression that they’re auditioning each other for something she can’t yet name.

She should call her parents and tell them what’s going on. She’s sitting here with a woman old enough to be her mother instead of speaking to her actual mother. If only she knew how to tell them she’s upended her life.

Frances nods slowly. ‘Now – tell me about you.’

‘Me?’ It’s a stupid, obvious response but it feels involuntary.

‘You.’ Frances smiles. ‘Ah, here’s the lady with a teacup for you.’ One of the waitresses fills her cup and refills Frances’s and another brings over a tiered arrangement of sandwiches and sweet things. And thus it is that several minutes pass in which Joan doesn’t answer the question, then she steers it to something else and hopes Frances won’t notice.

‘So,’ Frances says, draining her cup. ‘You.’ She smiles.

‘Ah.’ Joan smiles back – acknowledging that she’s been foiled – and considers how much to reveal. ‘Well . . . I’m not that interesting.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

Joan laughs. ‘Okay. I’m interesting. Maybe?’ ‘Where are you from?’

‘Sydney.’

‘What are you doing here at the Duchess? You’ve obviously been here a little while because Shane knows you.’

‘I’m . . .’ How to phrase this? ‘I ran away from home.’

More nodding. ‘I’ve heard about you lot. Flighty. Head in the clouds.’ She winks.

Frances’s eyes light up. ‘Really? I think about doing that sometimes.’

Joan relaxes: if Frances doesn’t automatically think her answer odd, she may be able to tell her more.

‘I left my husband behind.’

Frances nibbles a little bit of cake. ‘Has he noticed?’

With that Joan laughs more heartily than she has in . . . years, probably.

‘I don’t know,’ she confesses. ‘I haven’t contacted him. Or my children.’

Frances scrutinises her face and Joan doesn’t mind.

‘I’m sure they miss you,’ Frances says. ‘But you don’t look like you miss them.’

‘I do and I don’t.’ Joan shrugs. ‘I’m focusing on other things.’ ‘Such as?’

‘You’re very good at interrogation. Have you worked for ASIO?’ Joan says with a smile.

Frances arches an eyebrow. ‘I couldn’t tell you if I had.’

‘Fair point. Um . . . I want to . . .’ Joan hesitates because she hasn’t said the next part out loud to anyone and in her head it sounds trite. But Frances is direct so she’ll be direct with her. ‘I want to paint again,’ she says.

‘Paint? Canvases?’

‘Yes. And draw. Which I’ve been doing since I arrived. I used to do a lot of both once upon a time. Then . . .’

‘Husband. Babies.’ Frances nods and nibbles more cake. ‘I understand. So one of those creative types?’

‘I suppose.’

More nodding. ‘I’ve heard about you lot. Flighty. Head in the clouds.’ She winks.

‘I wish.’ Joan finishes her own cup of tea and looks around for the waitress bearing the teapot. ‘Anyway,’ she continues. ‘It may sound drastic but I had to run away from home to get back to something I love.’

‘Not at all drastic. If you need a model . . .’ Frances gestures to herself, looking quite serious.

‘I’ll keep you in mind.’

‘I’m joking, love! Now, where’s the girl with the tea?’ Frances looks around too and smiles in a certain direction, so Joan presumes tea is incoming. Or maybe it’s Shane.

‘I meant it,’ Joan says quietly. ‘I will keep you in mind.’

Frances’s eyes meet hers and she dips her head. ‘Shane knows how to find me.’

They grin at each other then wait for the tea, and once they say goodbye later on, Joan ascends to her room, feeling lighter than she has since she arrived.

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