A Winter’s Tale

by Trisha Ashley

  When I got home I didn’t feel sleepy any more—too full of confused emotions and edgy irritation. So, with reckless extravagance, I rang Lucy from the telephone extension in my room, which made me feel terribly guilty, even if settling the phone bills was now entirely my responsibility. I didn’t stop to calculate the time difference between Winter’s End and Japan either (which I usually get wrong anyway), but luckily she picked up.

  ‘Lucy, I wish you were here. Can’t you come home?’

  ‘Maybe…’ she said, showing slight signs of weakening for the very first time, ‘though I’d have to pay for my own ticket if I left before the end of my contract.’

  ‘I can find the money for that, somehow. I really do need you here to help me.’

  ‘That’s true—goodness knows what you’ve been doing without me to keep an eye on you!’

  ‘Nothing really, except getting organised for Operation Save Winter’s End,’ I said, and updated her on the meeting and how my plans had gone down.

  She gave gracious approval. ‘But don’t totally alienate that gardener. He’s free, for one thing; and for another, he’s sort of family.’

  ‘Only by marriage to your great-aunt Ottie…or is that great-great?’

  ‘Whatever. Seth sounds interesting, though, and you still need him to sort out the bottom terrace, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I conceded. ‘And he did sort of apologise later…or at least, I think it was meant as an apology—he quoted Shakespeare at me, then helped me take down the parlour curtains. Tomorrow we’ll both have to be polite, because apparently all the family, including Seth, gathers round the table for the Sunday roast. Considering Ottie and Hebe are barely on speaking terms, that must be a riot.’

  ‘Why aren’t they speaking?’

  ‘It’s to do with Alys Blezzard’s book.’ I had lowered my voice despite the several inches of solid oak between any eavesdropper and me.

  ‘Our witchy ancestor? How can they fall out over a book? Anyway, you’ve got it.’

  ‘Yes, but Hebe’s read it and remembered enough of what Alys said in the foreword to blab to Jack, and now he seems to think there’s a hidden treasure at Winter’s End!’

  ‘And is there?’ she asked, interested. ‘I thought that bit in the flyleaf was about the recipes, especially the rose ones?’

  I had brought Lucy up to know about Alys, as my mother had done with me, making the book an exciting secret between us. I suppose, through the centuries, that was always how it was…

  ‘Reputedly there are at least three treasures hidden at Winter’s End, including a Saxon hoard somewhere in the grounds. But all old houses have these stories, and generations of Winters have probably sifted every inch—when they weren’t busy rebuilding, panelling or stuccoing. The place is a total architectural hotchpotch.’

  ‘I noticed that when I visited. Maybe Alys did hide something, though I don’t think it would be any kind of valuable thing in the money sense, would you, Mum? Perhaps just her more incriminatingly witchy recipes, and a few scraps of parchment or paper would be easy to conceal.’

  ‘Yes, that’s quite possible. Your grandmother always thought there was something else that only Ottie knew about.’ I spared her the information that her great-aunt also thought she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  ‘Or it might be some scandalous titbit of family history,’ suggested Lucy, still turning over the possibilities. ‘Perhaps the King popped in and showed Alys a right royal good time?’

  ‘I think it was Queen Elizabeth then, and she didn’t seem to be inclined that way,’ I said doubtfully, because my grasp on history is not brilliant. ‘Still, whatever it is, I expect Ottie will tell me in her own good time.’

  ‘Oh, I do want to come back and search now, Mum, just in case. It’s all so Famous Five! And if either of the great-aunts has any secrets, I bet I could winkle them out. You know I can twist little old ladies round my fingers.’

  ‘It’s your golden curls and blue eyes that get them every time. But not these two old ladies,’ I assured her. ‘Anyway, Jack has the same advantages, plus that of being male, and Hebe adores him. He’s here at the moment, though he missed most of my speech.’

  ‘Have you told him you’re not selling Winter’s End yet?’

  ‘I’ve certainly tried, but he just doesn’t seem to take it in. I’m sure he’s convinced I’m just playing Lady of the Manor and will be sweet-talked into selling eventually. He says he has the money to maintain it, but I could still make Winter’s End my home, so I’d be in a win/win situation.’‘

  Big of him,’ Lucy commented.

  ‘Yes…’ I added after a pause, because I still wasn’t entirely sure on exactly what terms Jack envisaged us both living at Winter’s End. ‘I went to the local pub with him tonight and met some of his friends.’

  ‘Oh? Did you have a nice time? I’m not sure being wined and dined by Jack is a good idea. You’re so susceptible to that kind of man.’

  ‘I had an interesting time—and I’m not susceptible to any kind of man,’ I said with dignity, ‘I’ve learned my lesson. If it makes you feel better, Jack didn’t wine and dine me, either, just bought me a Coke, let his rich friends snub me, then lost interest in me entirely once one of his old flames came in.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, it sounds horrible!’

  ‘It was. I left early and came back with Seth Greenwood instead.’

  ‘That’s more like it. I do like the sound of him.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why. He’s rude, overbearing and obsessed with finishing the garden to the point where he doesn’t see anything else. And don’t get your hopes up, because he just wanted a lift. Jack’s old flame is Seth’s, too. I think they fell out over her years ago. But now she’s back, she seems to have a thing going with Seth and the flirting with Jack was just intended to whip him back into line. She played the field before she married and, so far as I can see, she’s reverted to type now she’s widowed.’ I sighed. ‘She’s called Melinda Christopher and she is stunningly beautiful in an unusual way—silvery blonde hair and these strange, very light brown eyes.’

  ‘You’re beautiful too,’ she assured me, loyally but inaccurately, ‘and just think of the money you would save by marrying the head gardener!’

  ‘Lucy, apart from the fact that he’s having a second-time-round torrid fling with Melinda, I don’t even like him,’ I said patiently, ‘and he doesn’t like me, especially since I told him completing the garden didn’t have priority any more. The only reason he’s being even marginally polite to me is because Ottie’s insisting on it. And we aren’t actually paying him any wages.’

  ‘Oh, no, I’d forgotten that. Still, at least he is useful, which is more than Jack seems to be.’

  ‘Well, not so far, but he is going to take me round the house tomorrow morning and show me some of the more major things that want fixing, which will be really helpful. He was even hinting at deathwatch beetle earlier, though I think he’s exaggerating a bit, because I had a look around myself, and apart from all the superficial neglect, structurally it doesn’t look bad at all.’

  ‘I’d trust your gut instinct then, Mum, rather than what Jack says.’

  ‘I don’t know why you say that. You haven’t even met Jack yet! He’s genuinely glad to have me back in the family circle, and he’s very sincere, open and affectionate and—’

  ‘Wants Winter’s End, one way or another? Yeah, I’ve got the message.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I was there to judge for myself. And you will need someone full time to manage the business side, especially when Winter’s End is open again. I could do that as well as learning about running the estate from Laurence.’

  ‘Laurence?’

  ‘Mr Yatton. He’s so sweet.’

  It appeared that Lucy and Mr Yatton were such kindred spirits that they were now emailing each other constantly. I thought they were in love. I only hoped they were both in love with the same thing, i.e., Winter’s End, computers and the joy of numbers, otherw
ise their romance was doomed to be short-lived, since he must have about a fifty-year start on her.

  *  *  *

  At breakfast Hebe was clad in shades of white from head to foot, presumably in deference to it being Sunday.

  I hadn’t taken Jack for an early riser, but there he was with his nose in the trough already. Mrs Lark, unleashed from weekday economy, had outdone herself, and the side table and hotplates looked like a lavish, blow-the-budget page from Mrs Beeton.

  They both looked up from their loaded plates long enough to wish me good morning, though my reply to Jack was naturally a bit on the chilly side. Arctic, even.

  He seemed to be a black pudding and devilled kidney man, though I wouldn’t have eaten either if you’d paid me, especially at breakfast. But I couldn’t resist bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and hash browns.

  When I sat down at the table I discovered a late, deep crimson rose by my place. Jack, sitting opposite, bestowed his most ravishing smile on me, just as if he hadn’t entirely forgotten my existence the night before at the pub once Melinda got a grip on him.

  ‘If Seth sees that rose, you’re a dead man,’ Jonah told Jack, coming in with fresh toast. ‘Protective about the new rose garden, he is.’

  ‘Well, he won’t see it, will he? Anyway, I think the family are entitled to cut their own roses, if they want to,’ Jack said good-humouredly. ‘A rose for a rose!’

  ‘Did you pick it this morning?’ I fingered a red damask petal, wondering if it was meant to be some kind of apology.

  ‘Yes, while the dew was still on it. It’s a sure charm for softening the heart of a loved one, isn’t it, Hebe?’

  ‘Get on with you!’ she said fondly. ‘I’m sure Sophy’s very fond of you already. Her heart doesn’t need softening.’

  ‘That’s not dew anyway, it’s frost melting.’ Jonah was determined to be grumpy. ‘It’s probably full of earwigs, too. Shall I take it away?’

  ‘You could ask Mrs Lark if she can find a bud vase for it,’ I suggested, and he went out holding it at arm’s length, as if it might blow up.

  Aunt Hebe and I are not chatty early morning types and had quickly fallen into the habit of eating our breakfast for the most part in amicable silence. Jack was quite the opposite, and I soon found his cheery bounciness, plus the way he talked through enormous mouthfuls of food, rather trying.

  Finding me unresponsive, he started to give me hurt glances and, once Aunt Hebe had ordered Jonah to bring her little white Mini car round to the front of the house and gone off to get ready for church, Jack said tentatively, ‘You seem very quiet this morning, Sophy?’

  ‘I’m quiet every morning. It’s just the way I am,’ I said shortly, draining the last of my coffee.

  ‘Oh, good. I thought you might be cross because I didn’t see you home last night. You did say you would slip off early, but one minute you were there, and the next you’d vanished.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. You and Mel Christopher seemed to have a lot to discuss,’ I said pointedly.

  ‘Just business—nothing personal, darling,’ he assured me. ‘We’ve been trying to get planning permission to knock down her house in Surrey, and it’s been dragging on for months. It’s a dreadful place, like a cross between a hacienda and the Parthenon: you’d think they would be begging me to demolish it and put something better in its place.’

  He pushed back his chair and got up. ‘Come on—let’s go and inspect the stately pile! And you’d better get your coat, because I thought we would start with the outside.’

  We walked down the drive in the crisp autumnal sunshine, our breath hanging in white clouds on the icy air, then stopped and turned to face the house at the point where it divided to circle the knot garden in front of the porch.

  ‘There,’ Jack said, standing behind me with one hand on my shoulder and the other pointing at an area of the roof, ‘if you look carefully, you can see all the lead flashing needs replacing. That’s enormously expensive, for a start. And the chimneys are all in danger of coming down, so they need repointing at the very least, and possibly rebuilding. And see that damp area on the wall over there? That’s where a gutter is blocked.’

  Seth suddenly popped up in the middle of the round knot garden with all the speed and surprise of a pantomime demon through a trapdoor. He must have been grubbing about bent double behind the fountain, because there was nothing else big enough to hide him.

  ‘You’re probably right about the gutter, Jack, but not the rest. Remember, Sir William had the whole roof surveyed and repaired the year before last, after that big storm,’ he said mildly. ‘Said he didn’t want the place falling down about his ears.’

  Jack looked disconcerted. ‘Yes, but he wouldn’t have spent any more money than he could help on the house, so it was probably just patched and it’s deteriorated since then.’ He gave Seth a dirty look, then took my hand in his and headed back towards the porch. ‘Come on, Sophy, I’ve got something else to show you.’

  When the something turned out to be in his bedroom I had a moment of doubt, because Jack was clearly a fast worker, but it proved to be just an old book in a plastic bag. ‘You know I brought some of my things down out of the attic yesterday? Well, when I started looking through them I found—’ he took the ancient tome out of the bag and flipped it open dramatically—‘this!’

  Inside, neatly snuggled into a tunnel chewed from the book’s pages, lay a revolting, fat white grub.

  ‘Oh, yuk!’ I said, recoiling. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Deathwatch beetle.’

  ‘Oh my God—are you sure? I thought they ate wood.’ I leaned forward for a better look.

  ‘Books are made of wood, Sophy. Probably just the thing for a light snack. But you do see, don’t you, that if they’re in the contents of the attic, they’ll already be in the timbers and would cost a fortune to eradicate. This is really serious.’

  He carefully placed the book back into its polythene bag and we went up to the attics so he could show me where he found it. Then he pointed out what he said were spots of rot or loose tiles letting in damp, and more evidence of beetle infestation—fresh-looking holes and wood dust.

  But it all smelled perfectly dry, if dusty; and, as someone who used to go up into the attics at Lady Betty’s every time it rained, to adjust all the receptacles under the various leaks in the roof, I couldn’t in truth see anything much amiss with it. It was quiet too: aren’t deathwatch beetles supposed to make a ticking noise?

  It occurred to me, not for the first time, that in his eagerness to get the house Jack might be over-egging the pudding…and was what Seth had just said in the garden intended as a sort of warning, meant to put me on my guard?

  But then, there was that horrible grub. There was no getting away from that bit of evidence.

  ‘You may think you can afford to renovate the place and make it pay its way, just by getting a few extra visitors to Winter’s End,’ Jack was saying when I broke out of my trance. ‘But you have no idea what sort of problems can arise in houses of this age. The sheer daily running costs alone would horrify you.’

  ‘Actually I do know, Jack,’ I said patiently. ‘I mean, apart from having had a few sessions with Mr Yatton, you’re forgetting I’ve worked in historic buildings before, and on a much larger scale than this.’

  His eyes widened. ‘But I thought you were just a cleaner,’ he said, unintentionally making it sound only one step above prostitution. ‘Didn’t you tell me that? Or maybe it was Hebe.’

  ‘Yes, I started out as a cleaner in a castle in Scotland when I left school, but often had to double up and show visitors round at weekends during the season, or sell the tickets. My last job was at a fortified manor house, Blackwalls, in Northumberland, and I did anything and everything—cleaning, tour guide, ticket seller, housekeeping, passing orders on to the gardeners, cutting and arranging flowers, acting as Lady Betty’s PA—you name it, I did it. I may not be terribly good at the accounti
ng and number-crunching side of things, but everything else I’m pretty clued up on.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, rather blankly.

  ‘So you see, I do know what I’m doing, and I’m determined to make it work, whatever problems Winter’s End has—even deathwatch beetle. I’m sorry if I led you to believe I might sell it at first, but I had no idea how I would feel when I got back.’ I looked at him nervously. ‘You’ve been so kind, Jack, and I hate to disappoint you, but there’s simply no way I could do it.’

  ‘But, Sophy,’ he said softly, sliding an arm around my waist and looking down at me with a tender, teasing smile, ‘it really doesn’t matter which of us inherits in the end, does it? Don’t you see that by leaving Winter’s End to you, William was just trying to bring us two together?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he thought you would be a steadying influence on me, and that leaving you the place would bring you back here—and the rest would follow as the night the day. As it has…as it will.’ He bent his golden head and brushed my mouth lingeringly with his.

  At first sheer surprise held me still under the gentle pressure of his lips. But as he gathered me closer to his broad chest I decided to go with the moment, closed my eyes, and kissed him back, even though a little imp of common sense was telling me I’d regret it.

  If there had been any windows where we were standing, they would have steamed up.

  ‘I see you and me and Winter’s End going on into the future together,’ he murmured, raising his head at last, ‘don’t you, Sophy?’

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ I said breathlessly, hardly taking in what he was saying, since he was still punctuating his words with little kisses. I’d never played with fire before but—my God!—I could get to like it. This couldn’t be me, Sophy Winter…I felt as though I had stepped into the central role in a chick-flick, but I didn’t know the part.

  Jack, at least, knew his role perfectly. ‘Yes, you do! You, me, Winter’s End—it was meant to be.’ He abruptly stopped kissing me and held me slightly away from him. ‘But William wasn’t as clever as he thought he was, because he left one vital thing out of the reckoning.’