The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  “Ruth? How ever did you get in? Has Eddie come back?”

  “No, my dear. I met him as he was walking up the hill. He told me he’d left the back door unlocked. Asked me to call and check you were all right.”

  “Did he indeed? You’d better come in.”

  Ruth pushed open the door and stuck her head round. “I hope you don’t think I’m intruding but Eddie mentioned something about the two of you having a bit of a domestic. He seemed quite distraught. I’m worried about you, dear.”

  Suzanne sighed. “Come in, Ruth. I feel terrible. I can’t seem to stay on an even keel for long. Sometimes I wish Eddie hadn’t suggested the idea of moving. But then I think of Penny and I feel disloyal. Guilty.”

  “Hush now.” Ruth moved closer to the white satin ocean liner of a bed. “We can’t have you making yourself ill. Could you drink a cup of tea if I go and make one?”

  “That’d be wonderful. After Eddie stormed out, I came up here to try and think things out.”

  “You really should rest. Try and relax. I’ll be fast as I can.”

  Ruth flew downstairs to the kitchen. She set about making tea, found a tray, placed items on it. Took a pillbox from her pocket and tipped two tiny tablets into one of the rose-splattered, gold-rimmed cups. She poured milk into a little jug, poured boiling water into the teapot and carried the loaded tray upstairs.

  The door to the master bedroom still stood ajar. “Only me. I hope you don’t mind my joining you for a cuppa before I leave you in peace.”

  “I could do with some company.” Suzanne still stared into space. “He said if I didn’t agree with his plan, we’d have to make other arrangements. I don’t know what that means exactly. What do you think?”

  “I think you shouldn’t let yourself get worked up. There’s plenty of time to talk things over.”

  “But that’s just it. There isn’t time. Mr Kirby has offered the asking price for the house and Eddie has accepted.”

  Crockery rattled as Ruth’s hand shook. She paused, then poured tea into one cup and added a sugar lump. She gave a good stir, placed the cup beside Suzanne on the bedside cabinet and filled the remaining cup.

  “Ruth?”

  “Suzanne, it’s the weekend, remember? Solicitors’ offices don’t open again until Monday. In any case, if you tell Eddie you disagree about selling up, he can’t go ahead. Not without your consent, he can’t.”

  Ruth kept her eyes on Suzanne, who was sipping her tea. She took much more milk than Ruth did. How fortunate. This cooled the hot liquid and soon Suzanne would feel the urge to close her eyes. To sleep her problems away.

  “Why don’t I wait here until Eddie returns? You might even take a little nap. I can make sure Sparkles is all right. I’ll let her into the garden for a while, shall I?”

  With the house to herself, Bethan did a twirl in front of the cheval mirror she and Tim had come across when browsing antiques in North Wales soon after their marriage. She’d stood entranced in front of the looking glass, wondering how many decades of women had checked their appearance in it. Maybe it had come from a mansion where it held court in the lady of the house’s bedroom, reflecting shifting patterns in her life. Witnessed her silhouette changing through childbearing and the lifestyle of a well-off Victorian matron with servants to run her errands and prepare her food.

  The glass remained unmarred by scratches or blotches. The wooden framed rectangular mirror still perfectly balanced between two barley-sugar twist struts, their feet firmly placed upon the soft pink and green carpet transforming Bethan’s bedroom floor into an impressionist meadow.

  Tim had decided she should have it. Somehow, they managed to load it into the boot of their car, wrapped around with an ancient tartan rug, plus woollen sweaters pulled hastily from their suitcases. They still had two more nights before their honeymoon ended. On the road home, Bethan had crossed her fingers while Tim negotiated geometrically impossible bends and twists. He’d laughed at her and told her to trust his driving.

  Seven years later, she’d stood their daughter before the cheval mirror so Poppy could see herself in her first school uniform. Solemn eyes. Light brown hair styled in two plaits tied with navy blue ribbons. No Victorian satins and velvets, but a crisp white blouse and short pleated skirt. White socks and Mary Jane black patent shoes. Yet another image absorbed and contained in that looking glass.

  Now Bethan stood, examining her reflection, preparing to meet with a man who wasn’t her husband. Her stomach lurched yet again. Why was she doing this? Easing on misty grey gossamer tights, a cheeky little black dress and high-heeled black shoes. She’d chosen to leave her hair loose. Around her neck she wore the silver locket Tim had given her. It rested just above her cleavage.

  Poppy would approve the wearing of her dad’s gift, but be furious to think of her mother dressing up to eat dinner with a man she barely knew. Teenagers could be incredibly puritanical where their parents were concerned. Bethan knew that from comments made by her friends as well as from personal experience.

  How conveniently she’d forgotten the constraints of her position. Earlier, at the moment when the receptionist’s gaze travelled from Ray Kirby towards his companion, Bethan had seen a flash of curiosity in the woman’s eyes. She’d assumed her presence would be construed as part of the duties of a sales negotiator smoothing the way for a prospective purchaser. Doubtless when Ray checked in later, the receptionist would have asked him casually if he was visiting the area on business or for pleasure. She’d have explained this question was designed to help the hotel company judge the percentage of tourists against those staying for reasons other than viewing ruined castles, waterfalls and wild bird feeding centres.

  The hotel employee must have wondered what was going on when Bethan reappeared that afternoon. She occasionally used the spa facilities but wouldn’t accompanying a hotel guest into the swimming pool spark curiosity? Hopefully, the same woman wouldn’t still be on duty that evening. Bethan contemplated the possibility of telling a fib, maybe inventing a fictitious relationship. Ray might be Poppy’s godfather or an old school friend of Tim’s?

  She turned away from her reflection. People could think what they wished. She hardly ever went anywhere in the evenings, unless it was with her daughter or a female friend to use the gym, stopping off afterwards at her friendly local pub for a quick beer or glass of wine.

  She had to face facts. She was attracted to Ray Kirby and they were both on their own, thrown together by circumstances. There were question marks around his romantic situation. Bethan’s own relationship remained in limbo. Her daughter wasn’t at home to censure her actions. Bethan wondered what the text Ray had received was all about. She suspected it was from Claudia but she could be wrong. A businessman like Ray didn’t adhere to a nine to five routine. If Claudia hadn’t got in touch with him, surely he would have contacted her? That might well depend upon how much he cared.

  What did Ray now expect from Bethan?

  She walked downstairs and picked up a knitted wool coat she’d bought from a local boutique. Hazy greens and blues mingled with thin strands of pewter grey. The coat transformed her in a way she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t a coat for wearing to the city. She could have walked into any smart hotel in Cardiff or London and her stylish black dress and accessories would have provided a passport to anonymity. The coat, designed and made by a local craftswoman, belonged to mid Wales. Its body and soul spoke of hill slopes and heritage. She wondered whether Ray would notice and approve. She wondered what he was thinking and again she wondered what the evening would bring.

  The ringing of her doorbell made her jump. She left her house with a pull of the front door and a grimace at the blast of drizzle sweeping from the mountains. The golden autumn day had dissolved into chill greyness. In no time at all the taxi pulled up at the hotel entrance.

  “Give us a bell when you want picking up, Mrs Harley,” said the driver.

  She’d sold a starter home to the man’s daughter. T
hat’s what living in this area entailed. You moved in circles, each of which touched another sphere, whose edge in turn blurred into another and another. Local farming families intertwined. You rubbed shoulders with people you’d known in school and people you’d met because your children were at school with their children. She liked it. Was accustomed to it. It had driven Tim nuts at times.

  Bethan walked through the swing doors and scanned the foyer. She’d wondered if Ray would be waiting in the bar but saw him sitting in a chair near the reception desk. He unfolded his long frame and came forward at once.

  “You look stunning.”

  “Thank you. I wish I’d worn a raincoat.”

  “Thank God you didn’t.”

  “I should leave my coat in the ladies’ room.”

  “What would you like to drink? Champagne?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Champagne of course. I did warn you.”

  “So you did. Count me in.”

  “I’ll be in the bar.”

  Standing before one of the mirrors in the pink and gold room marked Ladies, Bethan patted her hair. It was barely damp but she fluffed it a little. Her reflection stared back at her. A pair of elderly women pushed through the swinging door, chattering in Welsh. Bethan smiled at them. You didn’t hear too much of the native language spoken in these parts. She picked out a word or two. They’d enjoyed their dinner and were looking forward to visiting Powis Castle the following day.

  When she walked into the bar, Ray turned and watched her every step as she approached.

  “There’s a table free by the window. I said we’d eat at eight. I hope that suits?”

  “That’s fine. Thank you.”

  He pulled a chair out for her. “We’ve just avoided the rush. A coach load of senior citizens came out of the restaurant and are at this very moment about to enjoy an evening of Bingo in the function room.”

  “I may have met two of them in the ladies’ room. They were speaking Welsh. I tried to eavesdrop.”

  “Were they talking about you?”

  She chuckled. “Of course not. They’d enjoyed their sherry trifle.”

  “I’m impressed. It’s not a language I know much about.”

  “The ladies were speaking a kind of Wenglish.”

  “Sorry?”

  “They spoke a mixture of the two languages. The words ‘sherry trifle’ were mentioned in the midst of the Welsh.”

  “Is it spoken much around here? Triflish?”

  She laughed. “Hey, don’t mock. The answer is, not as much as in other parts of the principality. You’ll be fine.”

  “Do you speak it?”

  “Just a smidgeon. Poppy’s Welsh is pretty good.”

  “That’s your daughter? Do you have other children?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry. I keep barging in.” Ray shook his head.

  “So, do I.”

  “Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable at our table?”

  Bethan followed him across the room, keeping her gaze on Ray’s broad back. A waiter hurried to pull out her chair and by tacit agreement, neither she nor Ray mentioned Three Roads or any of its residents.

  Each of them sat back when the wine waiter arrived.

  “This is getting to be a habit.” Ray laughed.

  “I wish.” Bethan shook her head at him and speared a green olive, unable to believe her gaucheness. She was so out of practice with this kind of social sparring.

  “Make a real wish,” said Ray when the waiter left. He picked up his glass. “And I’ll do the same.”

  “You’re full of surprises, Mr Kirby.”

  “Aren’t I just? Well, I shall make a wish.” He closed his eyes for moments. Opened them again and drank some of the delicious white wine chosen to accompany their meal.

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “You must be a rare kind of woman.”

  She thought hard. Wished for Poppy to be offered a place at the university of her choice. Picked up her glass too.

  “I spoke to Claudia earlier.”

  Bethan smiled. “How is she?”

  “Feeling much better, apparently.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at his hands as if unsure whether to continue.

  Bethan thought how different he looked. He’d changed into a dark suit, pale blue shirt and a safe kind of dark blue and grey tie. She waited for him to speak.

  “Do you mind if I talk to you about her? I’d appreciate your take on this.”

  Bethan hesitated. “I’m not sure how much help I can be, considering I’ve never met her.”

  “Don’t worry. I probably need to get it off my chest if you don’t mind my boring you.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever being boring.”

  His smile lit up his face again. “Now that’s a challenge if ever there was one. Maybe we’d better find something we have in common to talk about.”

  “Save that for dinner. You might enjoy your meal better if you tell me what’s bothering you first.”

  “Good thinking. Though I apologise if some of this puts you in mind of your vendor.”

  “Mrs Deacon?”

  “Yep. Sounds like Claudia is tearing herself apart, though in her case, she’s trying to decide whether she really does want to bury herself in the countryside – with me – or whether she’d prefer to remain in London.”

  “It’s none of my business but I take it you intend on keeping the London property?”

  “I own the apartment. I intend using it when I need to. My son stays there now and then.”

  “I thought you didn’t have children.”

  “You asked if Claudia and I had children. I answered your question.”

  She resisted the urge to make a sarcastic quip.

  “Joel and I don’t really see much of one another.” He spread his hands. “He’s 22 years of age and to his credit tries to visit his mother as often as he can, given my former wife lives in Western Australia.”

  She longed to know what had gone wrong with his marriage. Wondered how old he’d been when his son was born. Decided to go for a safer option. “Do you know where the saxophonist lives?”

  “Milton Keynes. Wouldn’t you just know it?”

  She chuckled. “Nothing wrong with Milton Keynes.”

  “There is now.”

  “At least you and your partner are speaking. That’s always good.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Do I detect a note of bitterness?”

  “We’re supposed to be concentrating on you and Claudia.”

  “What really bugs me is the speed at which she’s cottoned on to this guy.”

  “It’s understandable you should feel like that.” Bethan thought back to Tim’s confession and his insistence that the marital indiscretion was a one off. She’d told him it was still infidelity. She had no idea if he’d seen the woman again and didn’t intend asking. Did that mean she didn’t care? Was that why she was here this evening?

  “Claudia and I have been together for two years.” He picked up his glass and drained it. “I thought we had the ideal set up. Each time I returned from a trip overseas, if she was between cruises, it was like a honeymoon. Do you know what, Bethan? I’ve been like a little kid, longing to show her the house I wanted for our future.”

  “Of course. It might still all come right for you both in the end.”

  His face set in grim lines. No way should this man ever play poker. He was open and honest and blunt and kind and. . .

  “Maybe I’ve pressurised her.” He paused. “Okay, that’s enough about my situation. I appreciate your listening but you really don’t need me droning on about my love life.”

  “It’s important where property decisions are concerned. You don’t need me to tell you that.” She watched while he refilled her glass.

  “I can assure you I shan’t withdraw my offer. My plans haven’t changed as far as that’s concerned.”

&
nbsp; “You’ve already made it clear you still want to go ahead. But offers made on a weekend come with a built-in cooling off period.”

  “Not in my case. I can’t wait to start my new life.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She leaned back and smiled at him. Some time, he was bound to ask about her status. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about Tim. The wronged wife wasn’t a role she enjoyed playing. Didn’t it always take two?

  “I’m not planning on asking you about your marriage, Bethan. I just don’t like to see that look of resignation in your eyes.”

  “That’s something I’m not aware of.” She bit her lip. He knew, without being told, she didn’t have a man to go home to.

  He leaned forward. “Do you believe in fate?”

  “Goodness, another strange question.” She stared at the chandelier above them, shimmering like a thousand lit candles. “In a way it would be comforting to believe in destiny but I believe human beings have to make their own decisions. I believe in luck too. I find coincidence fascinating. Is that okay?”

  “I’ve heard it said there’s no such thing as coincidence. Would you say we’ve been drawn together for a purpose? And no, that isn’t a chat up line.”

  “The fact that you and I have met owes nothing to coincidence. I’m an estate agent. You decided to find a property in the area within which I operate. End of.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad you explained that.”

  “Why so?”

  “Because all at once your eyes lost that look of resignation. They came alive. You came alive. You’re a beautiful woman, Bethan. End of.”

  They sat staring at each other. A squawk from Bethan’s phone broke the silence.

  “Saved by the bell.”

  She watched his lips twitch. “I’m so sorry. You know how it is. . .”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  She viewed the text message. Frowned. Placed the phone on the table between them. “You’d better take a look at this.”

  She still reeled from what he’d said before the text came in. And she could tell by the expression on his face that Ray could read her feelings. She knew the two of them were blurring the boundary between professionalism and the reactions of a man and woman temporarily adrift in an emotional sea.