‘Yes, she’s tall, slender and has that lovely red-gold hair—nothing like me. I don’t look like a Winter at all. Even Jack, who is only a cousin several times removed, looks more like a Winter than I do!’
‘Oh, there are the occasional darker Winters,’ he assured me. ‘Sir William told me that he was deeply sorry that he had not seen you grow up, but I believe he would have discovered your whereabouts much earlier had your mother not changed her name to all intents and purposes, to—’ he looked down at his papers—‘Sukie Starchild.’
‘I know. Dreadful, isn’t it? She wanted to call me Skye, but I stuck to Sophy. I did have to use the surname Starchild on the few occasions when we stayed somewhere long enough for me to go to school, though, so Grandfather couldn’t find us. She said she was afraid I would be taken away from her, but I often wondered if there was something else making her so paranoid about it.’
‘There was,’ Mr Hobbs said. ‘Sir William did tell Susan that he would cut off her allowance and have her declared an unfit mother if she didn’t change her ways, but those were merely empty threats that he had no intention of carrying out, for he often said things in temper that he afterwards regretted.’
‘But my mother obviously believed he meant them that time?’
‘That is so, but when she left she also took with her a diamond necklace that was not actually hers to dispose of—a family heirloom, in fact. He circulated its description, so he would have been notified if it came up for sale, but when it didn’t he assumed it had been broken up and the stones recut.’
‘I wondered how she bought the van in the first place!’ I exclaimed. ‘And she did have some very dodgy friends when I was very small and we were living in squats in London.’
‘Sir William assumed she would return when the money ran out, so by the time he realised she wasn’t going to, and began to try to trace you both, you had vanished.’
‘She was terrified of him finding her, and I suppose that explains why—but she never could stand anger and loud voices; she was such a gentle person.’
‘He never quite gave up hope that you would both be found, Sophy—and then, of course, he discovered that your mother had died in an accident. You know that her body was repatriated, and is buried in the family plot in the Sticklepond graveyard?’
I nodded. ‘Though I didn’t find out until much later what had happened.’
‘Your grandfather assumed you had been in America with her, so that is where he searched again for you, without result.’
‘No, I was fourteen by then, and I’d had enough of travelling. I didn’t like my mother’s new boyfriend much, either, so I didn’t want to go to California with them. We’d been living in a commune in Scotland and my best friend’s mother offered to look after me if I stayed, so I did until I got a live-in job at the castle, when I was sixteen.’
‘And stayed lost until someone pointed out the unusual name “Sophy Winter” in a magazine advert,’ Mr Hobbs said, ‘when, on making enquiries, Sir William discovered that you were indeed his granddaughter.’
‘Yes, I reverted to my real name after my mother died. I always felt ridiculous as a Starchild—so old hippie. And I didn’t change my name when I married Lucy’s father, I just stayed a Winter. I was only married for five minutes anyway.’
Actually, that was a slight exaggeration: it was five weeks, just long enough for me to fall pregnant and for commitment-phobe Rory to get such cold feet that he went away to find himself. So far as I know, he’s still looking.
‘Yes, that did worry your grandfather a little—but at least you had got married.’
‘Unlike my mother?’
He ignored that, smoothing out the papers in front of him with a dry, wrinkled finger. ‘You have no contact with your former husband?’
‘No, none. He was a cousin of the owner of the castle I was working in, a diver working on the oilrigs—you know, six weeks on, six off. He was ten years older than me, but we fell in love and married in Gretna Green—very romantic—and then settled down in a rented cottage. Then he supposedly went off back to work and instead vanished.’
I had waited and waited for him, sure he would come back, until I finally realised that he’d taken everything he valued with him and never meant to return at all. With hindsight I could see that I had been the one in love with the idea of marriage and domesticity, the family I yearned for, and he had simply gone along with it in a moment of madness, or frustrated lust, or…something.
‘And that is the last you saw of him?’ Mr Hobbs prompted gently. ‘He never contacted you again?’
‘No, though I’m sure his family knew where he was. But they wouldn’t have anything to do with me, of course, because they were horrified when he married the help. I’ve heard that he has been working abroad ever since, and I divorced him eventually. There hasn’t been anyone serious in my life since then. I don’t need anyone really; I’ve usually got a dog.’
‘Quite,’ he said, though looking slightly perplexed. ‘That does, however, simplify matters. I would most earnestly advise you not to consider selling the property at this juncture, and certainly not without visiting it first. Indeed, they are all expecting you to take over the reins as soon as possible.’
‘All?’ I said, startled. ‘How many people are we actually talking about here?’
‘Well, your twin great-aunts—though of course they were provided for under the terms of your great-grandfather’s will. Ottilie leases the coach house, which she converted into a studio with living accommodation soon after your mother left. You do remember her?’
‘Yes, though I saw much less of her than Aunt Hebe. She didn’t come to Winter’s End much when I lived there—isn’t she a sculptor?’
‘Indeed, a very well-known one. She made something of a misalliance in her brother’s eyes when she was in her forties by marrying his last head gardener, though I believe Sir William was more grieved at the thought of losing his right-hand man than at the marriage itself. But as it transpired he did not, since Rufus Greenwood was as passionate about restoring the Winter’s End gardens as he was himself. He stayed on and Ottilie had the old coach house converted so she could divide her time between her husband at Winter’s End and her studio in Cornwall. Still does, though she is now widowed.’
‘So, who else is there? I remember a cook-housekeeper…’
‘Yes, Mrs Lark and her husband, Jonah, are the only live-in staff now. There are three gardeners—four, if you include the head gardener…’ He ruffled the papers a little, seemed about to say something, and then thought better of it. ‘Ye-es. There is a daily cleaner…and Mr Yatton, the estate manager, who like myself is semi-retired, but he comes in most mornings to the office in the solar tower.’
‘Four gardeners and only one cleaner? For a place that size?’ I exclaimed, amazed, because if there is one thing I do know about, it is the upkeep of old houses.
‘At first a cleaning firm was brought in occasionally, but I don’t think that has happened for three or four years now.’
‘A specialist firm? One used to dealing with the contents of historic buildings?’ I asked hopefully.
‘No, a local agency called Dolly Mops. They are very thorough—my wife uses them.’
I winced, thinking of all the damage a well-meaning but untrained cleaner might have inflicted on the fabric and contents of Winter’s End.
‘Then, of course, there are the Friends,’ Mr Hobbs added.
‘The…friends?’
‘The Friends of Winter’s End, a local group of history enthusiasts, who volunteer to come in on the summer opening days to sell tickets, and look after those rooms open to the public—the Great Hall and gallery. The house and gardens are open two afternoons a week, from May to the end of August.’
‘I understand from Jack that the house is in very poor condition and there isn’t enough money to restore it. Is that so?’
‘While it is true that your grandfather diverted most of his income into
renovating the gardens, he did not touch the capital, which is securely invested—though of course, no investments bring the returns they used to, and an old house like Winter’s End needs a considerable amount of keeping up. And unfortunately, he took out a bank loan when he started to restore the maze and the terraces, secured against the property, which is a drain on the estate.’
‘Jack mentioned that. How big a bank loan?’ I asked hesitantly. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.
‘I believe there is still twenty thousand pounds outstanding.’
‘Good heavens!’
‘Yes, indeed—it is all quite a responsibility.’
The ‘r’ word again—and although I had pretty well run Blackwalls for Lady Betty, having the ultimate responsibility for my own stately pile was still a scary prospect. On the other hand, the thought of having a whole neglected house to put right sort of appealed…OK, I admit it, it drew me like a magnet, especially if this time the house I would be working in would actually be mine!
But I now had two rather differing views of my inheritance to compare—three, if you counted the letter from my grandfather that Mr Hobbs now handed to me, though actually it was more of a brief note scrawled in thin, spidery writing, urging me to complete the garden restoration project—his ‘Memorial to Posterity’ as he put it. It was abundantly clear that I needed to see Winter’s End for myself before deciding what to do, and the sooner the better: I would be upping sticks and decamping to rural west Lancashire as soon as I could get my act together.
Besides, I was beginning to feel a strong, almost fearful tug of attraction, as though some connecting umbilical cord stretched almost to invisibility had suddenly twitched, reminding me of its existence.
Mr Hobbs must have drawn his own conclusions from the expression on my face, for he seemed to relax and, with a satisfied smile, said, ‘So, I may inform the family that you will be arriving shortly?’ He looked around at the cluttered caravan. ‘It would seem you do not have a home or employment to keep you here.’
‘Very true,’ I agreed. ‘No, there is nothing to keep me here—so I’ll go to Winter’s End and then make my own mind up what will be the best thing to do.’
‘Spoken like a Winter,’ he said approvingly.
‘Yes, but Jack might not be pleased about it,’ I said, suddenly remembering my handsome cousin’s existence (be still my beating heart!). ‘He told me that he’d decided, before he met me, that if I wouldn’t sell Winter’s End back to him he would challenge the will. If he has a strong case, is there really any point in my going to Winter’s End?’
‘Oh, that’s an empty threat, my dear,’ Mr Hobbs assured me. ‘Your grandfather was perfectly compos mentis when he made the will: only look at the way he left instructions for everything to be settled before you were informed of your inheritance, so you could step right in and pick up the reins. I am sure Jack has already taken legal advice and been told the same thing.’
He stood up and began to gather his papers back into his briefcase, declining my offer of more tea and rock cakes with every sign of polite revulsion. There’s no accounting for tastes.
Chapter Four: The Moving Mollusc
Now Thomas is somewhat recovered it is pleasant to have such a sweet-natured companion little older than myself, for he is not yet twenty. We play at Glecko in the evenings, or I read to him. In truth, I read better than hee, for my mother’s father was a great scholar and taught her well, and in turn she has taught mee. Other skills she had from her own mother, and though some may whisper of black arts, she does only good, not ill.
From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1580
When Mr Hobbs had gone I tore up the letter to Lucy, which was still lying unposted on the table and, blowing the expense, phoned her.
I was then under orders to give her every minute detail from the moment I got to Winter’s End, and not make any major decisions without consulting her. She also, like Anya, said Jack sounded clever, devious but attractive—just my type, in fact—and I was not to promise him anything until she got home and OK’d it.
I didn’t know why either of them should jump to conclusions about poor Jack like that—nor did I know why my daughter turned out to be such a bossy little cow. She even tried to organise my life for me, just as I did for my own feckless mother, only with much less justification…
‘Great-Grandfather left Winter’s End to you, not Jack,’ she said, ‘so there must be a reason. The least you owe him is to go back and look at the place.’
‘Yes, I know, and I feel quite differently about him now that I know he never really gave up looking for your granny and me. And Mr Hobbs said he took quite a shine to you, Lucy, and thought you would be great for Winter’s End.’
‘Well, I rather liked him, too,’ she said, then, changing the subject, enquired in a bored voice that didn’t fool me in the least, ‘How is Anya? And I suppose Guy has sent me all kinds of messages?’
‘Actually, no, he hasn’t, though Anya was asking after you. He’s on the road with her at the moment, now he’s finished his degree, but he’s job-hunting.’
‘I suppose that accounts for why he hasn’t emailed me for ages,’ she said, sounding a bit miffed, ‘though there are internet cafés.’
‘I expect he’s been busy and he will catch up with you later. Anyway, you always said he emailed too much and he should get a life,’ I pointed out mildly.
‘Well, he’s such a nerdy little geek—but he’s still one of my oldest friends.’
‘You haven’t actually seen him for a couple of years, Lucy—you were both always off doing things in the university holidays whenever Anya and I met up. But take it from me, he doesn’t look remotely like a nerdy little geek any more. He’s all grown up.’
‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ she said.
I only wished she could see it right then, and all my maternal urges were telling me to send her some cash and tell her to get on the next plane home…except that I hadn’t got any money, of course. But Jack had, and I was sure if I accepted his offer to buy Winter’s End he would advance some to me straight away, when he knew what it was for.
But I simply couldn’t rush into a decision that would affect many more lives than mine, even though I realised that if I was mad enough to take on Winter’s End I would still have the same money problems I’d always had, only on a much, much grander scale.
It took me a while to think what to say to Jack, but in the end I only got his answering service. I left my mobile number and a message telling him that, now I had spoken to the solicitor and read my grandfather’s letter, I felt a responsibility to at least go to Winter’s End and see how things were for myself, and I hoped he would understand.
But if he did, he didn’t tell me so…unless that was the series of phantom text messages on my phone? I usually manage to delete them before reading them. They just slip through my fingers and vanish.
I have a disease called Technological Ineptitude; I’m some kind of throwback to the Stone Age, but I’m not proud of it.
I managed to lose three more text messages before Jack got the idea and phoned me instead. He has a voice like melted Swiss milk chocolate—smooth, rich and creamy; my knees went quite weak. He was so sweet too, and said he quite understood.
‘That’s such a relief. I thought you might be cross!’ I blurted out, and he laughed.
‘Now, why should I be cross? In fact, I’ll come down myself and show you what needs urgently doing to the house, and I’m quite sure that when you’ve seen the scale of the problems—not to mention the sheer costs of running a place like that, and paying back the bank loan—you’ll be more than happy to let me buy it. After all, it will still be your family home, where you will always be sure of a welcome, but without all the expense and hassle of trying to keep it from falling into a ruin,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘You’d be in a win/win situation.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ I said, feeling a warm glow at the thought of being par
t of the extended family again. Since he was being so nice about it, I asked, ‘Do you think it would be OK if I had our belongings sent down there to store? Only, whatever happens I don’t think I will be coming back here to live, and it will be easier to pack them up now.’
‘Of course—there’s loads of room. Give Hebe a ring and tell her when your stuff is arriving—unless you’ve already spoken to her?’
‘No, I will do, of course, but I am feeling a bit nervous about it. I don’t know why, because she was always very kind to me, in her way.’
‘Oh, old Hebe’s all right—you give her a ring,’ he said cheerfully, then added, his voice going deeper and sort of furry, ‘I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, Sophy! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met,’ and my insides turned to a mass of quivering jelly. I was rather looking forward to seeing him again too.
Our meagre possessions, including a few small bits of good furniture culled from local auctions or given to me by Lady Betty, were dispatched to Winter’s End as a part-load with a furniture removal firm. I just don’t seem to accumulate things like most people do, except books, which I buy second-hand like other people buy sweets. I keep my absolute favourites in a little shelf unit built into the camper van because, deep down, I think I’m always expecting to move on. In fact, I keep all my treasures in the van.
I didn’t know what Aunt Hebe would do with our stuff when it arrived; when I nervously rang her to warn her of its imminent appearance, I suggested she stack it all in an outhouse somewhere for me to sort out.
‘Oh, I expect Jonah will find somewhere,’ she said vaguely.
‘You don’t mind my coming back to Winter’s End, do you, Aunt Hebe?’
‘Not at all, for how else can things be settled satisfactorily? And I’m sure we’re very happy to welcome you back to the fold, Sophy,’ she added, in a voice that suggested that she was anything but, ‘though of course I always thought Winter’s End would go to Jack, and it’s very hard on the poor boy—’
A Winter’s Tale Page 4
