The House of Hopes and Dreams

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘No, perhaps you didn’t,’ he agreed drily. ‘Or perhaps you didn’t mean that at all, but now you’re regretting ditching me so fast, because the series has bombed without me.’

  ‘You have such a big fan base and there’s no one quite like you …’ she said. ‘You’re quite irreplaceable.’

  ‘Only the best butter,’ I muttered, and he grinned at me.

  ‘I do wish you’d come back, Carey, and not just for the sake of the programme: I miss you so much, too,’ she cooed. ‘Letting you go was a big mistake.’

  ‘You didn’t so much let me go as drop me like a hot potato,’ he pointed out. ‘But that’s not important any more, because I’ve moved on – and in more ways than one. Nick’s made the pilot for a new makeover series and sold it to ITV.’

  There was a stunned silence, then she said sharply, ‘But you can’t do that! We have the rights to the original title and format and—’

  ‘You don’t have the rights to my life,’ he said gently. ‘And that’s what the new series is all about: my life here at Mossby.’

  There was another pause, while she regrouped. ‘I saw a magazine article about you. It said you’d inherited an old house from a rich uncle – is that Mossby?’

  ‘Yes, though my uncle was far from rich and the house and gardens are very run down. Lots of scope for my skills here.’

  ‘Look, maybe I could come and discuss things with you, before you actually sign anything?’ she suggested persuasively.

  ‘It wouldn’t be worth your while trekking up here to west Lancashire, because I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘I’d forgotten the article said the house was in Lancashire – but you’re surely not going to stay there permanently, are you? Won’t you just do the house up and sell it?’

  ‘No way! This is my home now and I love it. And Angelique’s staying with me and setting up her own stained-glass workshop on the estate.’

  ‘Angelique?’ she repeated sharply, then lowered her tone with an obvious effort. ‘Well, business aside, I’d love to see you again – and dear Angelique, too, of course.’

  Anyone would think we’d been best friends, whereas I’d only met her a few times and she’d seemed to loathe the sight of me.

  I made gagging gestures and Carey gave a thumbs down in return.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re really busy right now, Daisy, and it wouldn’t be worth your while coming anyway,’ he said ambiguously, then cut her off mid-protesting bleat.

  He looked across at me, with one raised eyebrow and a glint in his violet-blue eyes.

  ‘My bet is she just turns up on the doorstep one day, like a stray cat,’ I said.

  The big kiln arrived and was manoeuvred into its designated room with some difficulty and the temporary removal of the inner door and frame.

  Only when it was in place did we add a sturdy bench and the bag of plaster of Paris that was used to line the metal trays that would be slid in and out of the kiln using a special tool that I’d hung on the wall.

  I had a selection of cones that melted at different temperatures and Ivan and I would carry out a series of test firings at some point, to see if there were hot and cold spots. I knew Grant would want to have a go too, one weekend: he’d always been the self-proclaimed kiln-firing expert.

  The special boots I ordered for Fang arrived and he seemed to acquire a slight swagger when he was wearing them. He also had a cushioned basket under my desk in the back room at the workshop, which served as the staff room as well as being a kind of office-studio.

  The angel’s head I’d painted from Julian’s drawing had been turned into a little stained-glass roundel with a flowered border and now hung in the window over the sink, casting a soft yellow, pink and mauve-blue motley over my desk when the sun caught it.

  Modern, streamlined storage heaters now took the worst of the chill from all the rooms and with the floor covered in thick, heavy-duty vinyl and the cracks round the window frames filled in, the workshop was quite cosy.

  In the big glazing room, sheets of heavy plate glass had been placed on the easels over the windows, bundles of lead calme lay in the wooden troughs, ready to be stretched and used, and the sheets of Antique glass slumbered in the deep, dark recesses of the labelled unit, until it was their turn to come to life against the light.

  Really, the workshop was almost completed – just a little more unpacking and the finishing touches, then it would be done … and so, unfortunately, would be my savings.

  I’d simply have to drum up some business as soon as possible!

  As soon as the burglar alarm was fitted and new locks (I knew it was entirely irrational, but I still expected Nat to suddenly break in and steal my work), I pinned the Brisbane design up on the corkboard wall in the glazing room and started to scale it up to full size. The installation, when put in place, would be a gentle S-shaped wave, divided into tall narrow rectangles, so it would be as if you were looking through multiple windows, or perhaps through a series of those sea zoo windows that are half under water and half above.

  I’d put up on my website more examples of my work and also the winning design for the competition. I updated my details on one or two other databases, too, and found I’d had a couple of initial queries about commissions, which was encouraging. There was also an invitation to submit a design for a side chapel window in memory of a child – and since no subject was specified, I could possibly adapt my Noah’s Ark design for it. Most children loved the story of the animals going in two by two. It would be cheerful and hopeful and bright.

  I’d make a few changes to the original design, though: my train of thought since I’d won the Brisbane competition had run on the idea of dual worlds, both under and above the sea, and eventually, I might have triple worlds, with the stars and moon and clouds.

  For the moment, however, two were enough and Noah’s Ark would be followed underwater by all manner of paired sea creatures.

  It had been sheer coincidence that Julian and I had been working on our different Noah’s Ark designs last year, but in very different forms – he for his last commission and me for the competition.

  I’d never be able to listen to Benjamin Britten’s Noye’s Fludde again, though. The associations would drag me right down into the depths of the past, where the light never penetrated.

  I remembered a story, told to me by Honoria soon after I arrived, of a splendid jewel of great value that Queen Elizabeth had bestowed on the then Revell heir when he briefly caught her fancy. There was indeed a portrait in the Long Gallery of a handsome young man wearing it, and a huge and unwieldy ornament it looked to be! But all mention of this bauble had ceased at about the time of the Civil War …

  While I was working I often looked up at the cartoon of the window and began to wonder if what I had thought to be a spiky sun shining down could instead be the Jewel? Or was my imagination overly stirred by the romantic histories I had learned and I was reading into it what I wanted to see?

  33

  Queen of Hearts

  The morning before Valentine’s Day, preparations for the party were well underway. I baked some jam tarts with the last of the previous year’s bramble jelly that Molly and I had made together, making little heart-shaped pieces of pastry for the top using an old metal petit four cutter I found in a drawer.

  Carey had already discovered a huge punch bowl, of the type with small cups hanging from it all around the rim and, inspired, had gone out to buy the ingredients he needed. There would be an alternative non-alcoholic version too, though in a less swish large glass mixing bowl.

  My tarts looked pretty and so did a batch of fairy cakes in their heart-patterned paper cases – there was a bit of a theme going on there, but then, it was almost Valentine’s Day and the shops were full of heart-shaped everything.

  Even Carey had impulse-bought several strings of heart-shaped fairy lights while he was out, and he went down to the workshop to fix those up, as well as covering the long glazing tables with plastic clot
hs to keep them safe from spills and accidents.

  Molly was making a special cake. It was her gift, so I had no idea what form it would take. I was going over to fetch it next morning, along with a lot more party food …

  Nick and the gang were arriving around lunchtime and intended to film the party, or at least the start of it. Carey said they’d help him fix up some music, too, and I was just thinking that everything was organized when it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I should give Carey a present of some kind. Not quite a Valentine’s present, but something in general appreciation of everything he’d done for me.

  I made a card with a little cartoon doodle of Fang, wearing his boots and looking smug, then shrugged into my lovely new coat of many colours and dashed in the car up to Cam’s Hidden Hoards gallery in the village, where I lavished a considerable chunk of what little remained of my savings on the picture Carey had admired so much. Cam wasn’t there, but the extremely ancient gentleman behind the counter, his great-grandfather Jonah, proceeded to make a pretty parcel of it in silver tissue paper.

  When I’d paid, I impulsively invited him to the party, too. ‘And do bring anyone you like with you,’ I added.

  ‘Izzy mentioned it to our Tom – he keeps the Lady Spring now, like I used to,’ he said. ‘He can drive me down. I’d like to see this haunted wing that’s going to be in the trail.’

  ‘Carey could probably take you up for a quick look during the party,’ I suggested. ‘It’s not far from the workshop.’

  ‘I’ve seen the outside of it, right enough. Time was, the Revells used to join in with local festivals and such, so we’d go there carol singing every Christmas Eve. The family would gather in the porch of the new part of the house and there was hot rum punch and mince pies afterwards.’

  ‘Carey will be fascinated if you can tell him about old traditions like that,’ I said, then noticed the time and, tucking my parcel under my arm, dashed back to the car.

  When I arrived home the Raising Crane Productions van was already parked in the courtyard and, having hidden the picture in the housekeeper’s parlour behind some of my still unpacked boxes, I found everyone in the warm and slightly steamy kitchen.

  Preparations for lunch were underway. Jorge appeared to be filming Carey in the final stage of making a seafood sauce to go over the mound of spaghetti that Nelson was draining in the sink. Sukes was laying plates on the long table, Fang was attempting to trip everyone up and Nick was leaning back and comfortably observing everything.

  ‘So sorry we forgot to get you a director’s chair with your name on it,’ I told him, and he grinned.

  ‘I doubt this scene will make the director’s cut anyway,’ he said, but he got up and opened a bottle of rosé, which he said was now extremely trendy again.

  ‘I just thought it would be nice for the party tomorrow, being pink, so I got a few bottles,’ Carey said.

  My workshop-opening party seemed to be turning even more into a Valentine’s extravaganza!

  When we’d demolished the huge vat of pasta I, for one, would have loved to have slept it off for a bit. But the effect on Nick and Carey was to reactivate them to fizzing point and soon we were all trooping down to the workshop for some before-party filming.

  It already looked strangely dressed and expectant, with festoons of heart-shaped fairy lights around the door and hanging from the edge of the loft storage space. The glazing benches were covered with red vinyl tablecloths and there were cellophane-wrapped packages of napkins, paper cups and plates.

  ‘You seem to have gone a little overboard with the hearts,’ I remarked to Carey. ‘Didn’t they have any matching plastic cutlery?’

  ‘They were all on special offer, because of Valentine’s Day, so they cost less than the plain ones,’ he explained. ‘But with the main lights off for the party, you won’t notice all the hearts.’

  ‘If it’s only going to be lit by the fairy lights, you won’t notice anything at all,’ I pointed out, but Nick said they’d sort out a bit of ambient lighting next day, along with the music.

  ‘And you can all help bring things down, too,’ Carey told them, ‘while Angel’s off collecting the rest of the party food from her friend Molly.’

  ‘Who’s coming to the party?’ asked Sukes.

  ‘Lots of interesting local people,’ Carey said. ‘You’ve met some of them at the pub – Lulu and Cam and their friends Rufus – who renovated the gates – and his wife, Izzy. And Molly and her husband, Grant … Oh, and I bumped into Debo, Izzy’s aunt, the other day,’ he said to me. ‘I invited her and her friend and anyone else she wanted to bring.’

  ‘Izzy said Debo used to be a famous model in the sixties and she still gets some work and the odd cameo role in films,’ I told him. ‘That’s why she looks so familiar.’

  Nick looked alert. ‘Isn’t she the one who runs the dog rescue place in the village? If she was a famous model, that could make a good piece for the series.’

  ‘You can talk to her about it at the party,’ Carey said. ‘And I felt I had to ask Clem if he and Ella might like to come.’

  ‘If she does, she’ll be the spectre at the feast,’ Nick commented. ‘I’ve never seen such a gloomy woman. When we were filming in the old wing last time we were here, she followed us round as if we’d gone in to steal the silver.’

  ‘Yeah, and she didn’t say a word, even when we spoke to her,’ agreed Nelson.

  ‘Oh dear, we thought she was getting better,’ I sighed. ‘By the way, I think I saw Vicky going into the Lodge earlier – perhaps you’d better invite her, too.’

  ‘Why bother?’ said Sukes. ‘She turns up whenever we’re here anyway.’

  ‘That’s true, and I expect she’ll just assume she’s welcome to come,’ I said. ‘And I seem to have invited pretty much everyone I’ve bumped into in the last couple of days, just like Carey has, so it’s going to be open house, really!’

  ‘I doubt it’ll go viral on the internet, so we’re inundated with teenagers wanting our fairy cakes and cheese straws,’ Carey said.

  ‘I do a great retro canapé hedgehog,’ Nelson said suddenly, and we all stared blankly at him. ‘You know – lumps of cheese and little pickles and pineapple cubes on cocktail sticks, stuck into half a grapefruit.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you had these hidden depths,’ Carey said. ‘I think you should go for it!’

  ‘We’ve got loads of cheese, but that’s about it,’ I said dubiously.

  ‘I bet the shop in Halfhidden has all the rest,’ Carey suggested. ‘I’ll drive you up there first thing tomorrow.’

  Jorge, eyeing the heart-shaped lights as if he’d had a lightbulb moment himself – probably of the kind where you realize you’ve forgotten to buy your partner anything for Valentine’s Day – said he’d go with them for the run.

  ‘Well, let’s get things wrapped up here, before the light goes. I want Fang wearing his boots and some footage of Angel standing in front of that wonderful cartoon on the wall, as if she’s working on it,’ Nick said more briskly. ‘It’s a pity Ivan isn’t here today, though, because he’s such a character and the camera loves him!’

  I didn’t break it to him that Ivan hated being filmed, which is why he was such an old grump when they were there. But Old Grump seemed to be his allocated role in the series now.

  I stood in front of the Big Wave, mahlstick in hand, and pretending to draw, before we moved into the back room where, as a finale, they filmed me standing next to the angel roundel, my translucent twin.

  It was almost dark when I locked the workshop door behind us and we set off back to the house. Fang hadn’t wanted to take his boots off and it was freezing out there, so I supposed they would at least keep his feet warm.

  ‘I can hear a car in the courtyard,’ Carey said as we turned the corner into it and a taxi briefly illuminated us in its headlights as it drove out past us.

  ‘Someone’s arrived – I wonder who?’ Carey began. ‘I’m not actually expecting anyone but …
’

  His voice petered out and we all came to a sudden halt, staring at the familiar figure standing under the porch light, a flowered suitcase at her feet.

  ‘Thank God you’re here, Carey, darling!’ called Daisy. ‘I thought the taxi must have brought me to the wrong place. This is the middle of nowhere!’

  Then she seemed to take in the rest of us, hovering like rent-a-crowd behind him and did a double take.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ said Nick. ‘Carey, you haven’t been having second thoughts about signing up for another cottage series and invited her, have you?’

  ‘Not me,’ he said. ‘I’ve told them I’m not going back.’

  ‘I just thought I’d pop up and see Carey – I said I would.’ She gave him an intimate smile as she came forward to offer her cheek for his reluctant kiss. She looked up at him winsomely. ‘You know how impulsive I am, darling.’

  ‘Yes I do, don’t I?’ he said shortly, disengaging himself. ‘So, where are you impulsively going to be staying tonight?’

  ‘But … I assumed you’d be able to fit little me in somewhere in this vast pile of yours? Preferably not in the Grimm’s fairy tale bit, though.’

  ‘We don’t use the Elizabethan wing. And I’m afraid I’ve got a full house all weekend – no beds, unless you can persuade Nelson or Nick to share?’

  Actually, since Jorge and Sukes shacked up together, and I didn’t think anyone else was staying tonight, there probably was a spare room, and lack of bedrooms hadn’t ever stopped Carey inviting people before: some mornings you’d fall over bodies in sleeping bags in practically every room.

  ‘I know you’re just saying that because you don’t want me to stay, but I really didn’t think I’d hurt you so badly that you couldn’t bear to have me under the same roof!’