I wondered if you could buy muzzles that small?
The family gathered in a vast drawing room off the inner hall before dinner where, as well as the usual arrangement of comfortable sofas, armchairs and small tables, there was also sufficient space for a billiard table and a pianoforte!
The main staircase came down into it and since the others were already gathered there, I felt a little ridiculous making a grand solo appearance when I was such an insignificant snip of a thing!
I almost giggled, but luckily managed to repress it. I admired the room very much and Miss Revell showed me the veranda between the two bay windows, where one could step out on to the terrace and look out over the lake and trees. I looked forward to doing so the next day – in fact, I could hardly wait to see the rest of the house!
We went into dinner, which was what my aunt Barbara would have described as fancy and wasteful, for there was far more food than any four people of normal appetite could possibly eat. But perhaps the remains were finished off by the servants?
While we were eating, Father asked after Mr Browne, who was both Mr Revell’s great friend and the architect of the house, and had been present on his last visit.
‘He’s in the Lake District, having recently accepted another commission to design a house there,’ Mr Revell said. ‘He will be sorry to have missed you – and I would have liked to have introduced him to Miss Kaye, also.’
I looked up in time to catch the strangest expression on Miss Revell’s face: I could not interpret it. But then, it vanished so quickly, I was inclined to think I had imagined it.
When we retired for the night, Miss Revell accompanied me to my chamber to ensure I had everything that I needed, though I assured her I was most comfortable.
Then she lingered, as if she had something to say, before finally remarking that her brother was looking forward to showing me around the house upon the following morning. Then she paused before adding that it was a pity I should not meet Rosslyn Browne on this occasion.
‘He and my brother are very great friends, you know, quite united in their enthusiasm for building and furnishing Mossby. Mr Browne has tenure of the Lodge, which was completed before the new house. Indeed, they lived there together while it was being built.’
‘I suppose that was the most convenient arrangement. Did you also live there?’ I ventured curiously.
‘No.’ Her lips seemed to tighten and the paleness of her skin gave her an insubstantial, ghostlike air. ‘I stayed in the old wing for some of the time and occasionally with relatives in London and Tunbridge Wells.’
Then she bade me goodnight and left me to my comfortable fire and inviting bed. I decided that there was definitely something about Mr Browne she did not care for. In fact, she seems to favour him even less than she does myself, for I can see that her civility is but a veneer over her true feelings.
Perhaps, as I surmised on our arrival, she is annoyed that she must entertain a tradesman and his daughter. But I did not fail to catch her doting expression when she looked at her brother, so it may be that she’s simply jealous of anyone else who might enter into his interests.
16
Moving
It had been a long and emotionally eventful day and, unsurprisingly, I was so totally exhausted I fell into a deep sleep the moment my head hit the pillow.
When I awoke it was without the awful feeling of disconnection and emptiness that I’d felt every day since I knew I’d lost Julian. Instead I was filled with a new sense of purpose.
When I went down the narrow twisty stairs, Grant had already gone off to work and Molly was baking a large batch of lattice apple tarts and marmalade cakes.
I made us both a cup of coffee and popped some bread into the toaster, before sitting and watching her crimp tart edges while I ate my breakfast.
‘I’ll have to come and empty those ready meals out of Carey’s freezer so I can restock it,’ she said. ‘And I’ve had an idea: I know several local elderly people who’d love all those easy-to-digest dinners and the cans of rice pudding and so on. I do a small portion size and special deals for my senior citizen customers, but it’s often difficult for them to eat well on a pension.’
‘What a great idea!’ I enthused.
‘I’ve made a menu of all Carey’s favourite meals and desserts – and yours – so you can choose from it when you want to order.’
‘Carey’s not a fussy eater and he likes to cook when he has time, too – though I don’t want him to do too much standing about while his leg is still healing,’ I said. ‘I can cook rice or pasta, though, so if you make lots of portions of curry, pasta sauce and chilli, I can whip up a meal in no time.’
She wiped her hands on her apron and made a couple of notes on the list.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the house when you’ve settled in,’ she said. ‘Carey said you’re taking a few days’ holiday before you start on the workshop?’
‘By that, he means I’m spending a few days following him round the house, outbuildings and grounds, taking notes and being the sounding board for his ideas.’
She laughed. ‘He must know he can’t keep you away from that workshop for long! You probably won’t be able to keep Grant away, either. I’m sure he’ll want to give you a hand at weekends, setting everything up.’
‘I think he’ll have enough on at the moment, doing three people’s work – not to mention his garden and the hens.’
‘I bet Ivan will want to help you out, too, and he won’t care if he’s paid or not,’ Molly said, and then added thoughtfully, ‘I like Carey! You’ve mentioned him so often that it was good to meet him at last, though of course I’ve seen him on the telly and Grant knows him from when he’s been up.’
‘That new series of his programme, with that actor fronting it instead, will be starting soon, but I don’t know if it will be as popular. Carey has an awful lot of fans.’
‘Yes … Carey’s so big, splendid and charismatic, even though I can see he’s not a hundred per cent well yet,’ she said. ‘Now I know what people mean when they say someone is “larger than life”!’
‘I always think he’s so glowing with enthusiasm that he sort of lights up inside! He’s been like that since he was little and sometimes it used to drive me mad, though it seems to come over well on the TV.’
‘The poor man’s obviously had an awful time with that leg, so inheriting Mossby couldn’t have come at a better moment for him – for both of you. A fresh new start.’
‘True, though I hate the thought of leaving everything Julian built up over the years in Nat’s hands, including his reputation … It wouldn’t surprise me if he kept on turning out windows in a pale imitation of Julian’s style for ever! And Willow’s designs are a bit of an unknown quantity.’
I poured us both some more coffee from the fat, speckled blue Denby pot. ‘I mean, even if she turns out to have a knack for it and her designs are brilliant, she’ll have to get her name known before she gets the big commissions. I don’t know what will happen to the studio …’
‘I know, but you’ll simply have to let it go, because there’s nothing you can do about it now. And people who are interested in your designs will find you wherever you are, won’t they?’
‘They will once I get organized with a website. I’ll have to notify the British Society of Master Glass Painters, the Crafts Council and a few other places of my change of address and that of the new studio. I saved my pages from Julian’s website, so it shouldn’t take too long.’
Deleting all mention of myself from the Julian Seddon Architectural Glass website had felt like unpicking major threads out of my life, leaving gaping holes in the fabric: all warp and not enough weft. But now I’d have to weave a whole new pattern of my own.
The morning was advancing and I didn’t want to hold Molly up, so I booked the two men with the van to collect my belongings from the storage unit in a couple of days, packed everything else into the car and set off for Mossby.
&
nbsp; I didn’t look at my old home as I passed it …
It was a gloriously sunny though chilly day, the sky a pale duck-egg blue, modestly veiled by a few white wisps of cloud. I drove past the workshop – my workshop! – and parked in the gravel circle in front of the porch … where I found Carey, standing next to a large, sturdy golf buggy, with Fang tucked under his arm like a shiny black package.
This was presumably to stop him biting the person he was talking to – a burly, weather-beaten man of about sixty with a head of wiry, silvered fair hair, who had ‘gardener’ written all over him.
‘Good timing, Angelique,’ Carey said, as I got out. ‘This is Ella’s husband, Clem. I’ve been updating him about what we’re going to do with the workshop.’
Clem said he was pleased to meet me in a pleasant, slow voice with a hint of Devon cream in it. ‘It seems a good idea to use the old workshop again, seeing it’s there. I know Carey’s uncle had some idea of letting it out to a local business at one time, but it came to nothing in the end.’
‘Where did the buggy come from?’ I asked.
‘Clem told me about it. My uncle used to get around the grounds in it before his final illness, so he brought it up from the garages behind the workshop and we’ve filled it with petrol. It’s just the thing for getting up and down the drive and round the grounds, till my leg’s up to more hiking.’
‘What a great idea! Hello, Fang,’ I added, stroking the little dog’s head. He curled his lip at me slightly, but didn’t growl, so I was sure it was meant as a smile.
‘Mr Revell had a shed with double doors put in at the end of the kitchen wing to keep the buggy in so it was handy. It’s behind that bay hedge, so you’ve probably not noticed it’s there yet,’ Clem said. ‘But after he passed on, I thought it would be better stored in the garage in the stable block.’
‘Yes, that was a good idea, but it’s certainly just what I need at the moment,’ Carey said, climbing into the driver’s seat while still holding Fang. ‘Come along, Angel – hop on.’
‘Why, where are you going? I’ve only just got here and my car’s full of stuff!’
‘Only for a quick tour of the grounds. I haven’t felt up to it before, but now there’s nothing to stop me.’
‘But—’
‘You can settle in later,’ he said impatiently. ‘Your things will be safe in the car for a bit.’
‘If you leave me your car key, I’ll put everything in the kitchen wing for you,’ offered Clem. ‘It won’t take me a minute.’
‘That’s very kind, but—’
‘Thanks, Clem,’ Carey interrupted. ‘We won’t be long. Come on, Angel, give him your keys and let’s get off!’
‘Oh, OK,’ I capitulated. There’s no stopping Carey when he’s got that look in his eyes. ‘But only if you move over and let me drive!’
‘It’s hardly strenuous,’ he objected. ‘That’s the whole point of it!’
‘I know that, it’s just that I’ve always wanted to have a go with one of these things,’ I told him, and he laughed and shifted over.
‘See you later,’ he said to Clem, who was already hefting boxes and suitcases out of the back of my car.
I trundled sedately round the knot garden. In fact, I did it twice to get the feel of the thing, before setting off down the drive.
‘I hope it gets us back up this slope to the house afterwards,’ I said doubtfully. ‘It’s steep lower down.’
‘If not, you can get out and walk,’ he suggested.
‘Thanks. Always the true gent.’
Carey directed me to branch off to the left behind the workshop and through a large arch into a cobbled square, where I came to a halt. It was surrounded by a substantial range of outbuildings. There was another arched entrance directly opposite, though closed by a wooden gate with a Judas door in it.
‘There’s still an old Mercedes saloon in one of the garages, which Clem used to drive my uncle about in,’ Carey said.
‘He’s clearly a man of many talents.’
‘I’ll leave checking that out and seeing what else is in the various buildings till later. That arch on the other side leads on to the car parking area your coach must have used when you visited, and then through that small passage to the right, you get to the walled garden I mentioned.’
‘That’s definitely something for another day,’ I said. ‘We might even have to mount an expedition.’
‘Yes, Clem says he hasn’t been in it for years and the key to the padlock on the gate is lost. If it’s not in that tin box with the others up at the house, I’ll have to bring bolt cutters down one day.’
‘I can see why your uncle thought it was worth paying Mrs Danvers a good wage, even though she didn’t earn it, because Clem seems to have been doing several jobs at once.’
‘He does seem willing to do anything he’s asked to.’
‘Or even not asked to, like moving my luggage about. He’s so different from his wife! I wonder where they met.’
‘Oh, he told me that. She was working at a National Trust property as some kind of resident custodian-cum-housekeeper and he’d nearly worked his way up to be head gardener when he got the drink problem and was fired. That’s when Ella asked my uncle if he could help and he offered them jobs and the Lodge. I don’t think that’s quite what she had in mind. I suspect she was hoping they could just move in and freeload.’
‘Maybe being married to an alcoholic soured Ella’s soul?’
‘It was probably fairly tart to start with,’ Carey said. ‘Clem told me losing his job shook him up, and he’s stayed on the wagon ever since.’
‘You know, on the whole, your uncle seems to have been quite generous to them, doesn’t he?’
‘Considering all the circumstances, now I know them, I think Uncle did more than I would have expected. He paid for Clem and Ella’s daughter, Vicky’s, education, too.’
‘I didn’t realize they had a daughter. Does she live with them?’
‘No, she’s an actress and lives in London, though I’ve never heard of her so I don’t think she can be doing very well – and her choice of occupation probably didn’t go down too well with my uncle.’
‘All these undercurrents of family history to get the hang of,’ I said, turning the buggy on the rather weedy cobbles of the yard and heading back to the main drive. Further down, I took one of the branches on the other side and emerged from a tunnel of rhododendron bushes to a view of the woods and lake.
I stopped so we could see the lie of the land. To the right, the steep terrain rose to the house in a series of steps and terraces. Below it, on the edge of the lake, was a very ancient-looking stone boathouse.
The thin strip of potholed tarmac seemed to go right round the lake as well as taking a circuit through the woods.
‘Clem says my uncle had the old paths tarmacked over when the drive was resurfaced years ago, though it’s in need of repair. He goes round with the brush-cutter once a year, to keep it clear. Let’s see what it’s like.’
I trundled the buggy rather doubtfully past the lake and down the unkempt dark snail-trail through the trees, which made a loop and brought us back out by a bluff of rock next to the terraces. It had been an obstacle course of potholes and fallen branches, but not too bad. Most of the trees were bare at this time of year and the woodland wasn’t extensive.
Near the boathouse was a pretty, columned summerhouse with stone seats, built against the wall of the lowest terrace. A rose twined up the front of it. It was probably quite enchanting in summer.
‘According to Clem, there’s a rowing boat and a couple of punts in the boathouse, but I think we’ll explore that another day, too – it’s hardly punting weather,’ Carey said. ‘They could well be too rotten to use by now, anyway.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t want to risk an icy dip,’ I agreed, for the winter sunshine was now rapidly vanishing behind heavy pewter-dark clouds and the wind had an icy edge. ‘Let’s go back. I want to unpack and I’m dying
to explore the house. Besides, I’m freezing!’
‘Why don’t you walk back up the terrace steps to the house and meet me there?’ he suggested. ‘It’ll warm you up and I can take the buggy up without your heavy weight to hold it back.’
‘Ho, ho,’ I said, since he was about three times my weight. ‘But I think I will. I could do with some exercise.’
Carey put Fang on the seat next to him and drove off, while I began to climb the stone steps. Each level was planted and maintained beautifully, with lion heads spouting water into half-moon pools full of flickering orange-gold fish. There were climbing shrubs, rockeries, great stone planters and narrow rose beds. I suspected the terraces got at least eighty per cent of Clem’s attention as they were evidently his labour of love.
On the top terrace, which was neatly set out with rose beds, gravel walks and a hexagonal gazebo, I came across the man himself, cleaning out yet another fountain.
‘Hi!’ I greeted him. ‘I walked up to admire the terraces. You’ve kept them looking wonderful.’
‘Do you like gardening?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I love gardens,’ I said truthfully, ‘but I’m afraid I’m not a gardener. My friend Molly’s husband has a big vegetable and fruit garden and keeps his own hens.’
‘I haven’t room to grow much fruit behind the Lodge. I’m more a vegetable man,’ he said, and I suddenly had a vision of him as Mr Potato Head.
‘This terrace must be lovely in summer when the roses are out, but time consuming to keep up.’
‘It is, so it’s just as well there’s nothing by way of a formal garden anywhere else,’ he said. ‘Carey’s uncle used to get some men in once a year to cut back all the shrubs along the drive and clear the trail through the woods, but he started economizing a few years back.’
‘Carey would probably have been straight out with a chainsaw himself by now, sorting out the fallen trees, if it hadn’t been for his accident,’ I said ruefully. ‘He can turn his hand to pretty much anything.’
The House of Hopes and Dreams Page 14
