Ghosts of Winter

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “Exactly!” I was disproportionately excited to find we had such a sense of history in common. “So you don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “I think you’re sensitive to your surroundings. Which is a very good thing.” Anna smiled. I flushed in response, surprised she would pay me such a touching compliment. I tried to receive it as gracefully.

  “Thanks. Don’t you think it seems so much worse in a place like this. I mean, the people here would have been so busy, so vibrant—”

  “And now it’s silent and empty,” Anna concluded, describing my sentiments exactly. “You know, that’s one of the reasons I love my job. When I help restore a building, it’s like restoring some of its life too.”

  The brief glimpse Anna allowed me of her motivations delighted me. That they had so much in common with my own way of thinking was an unexpected pleasure. I tried not to linger too long on the assessment of how much we had in common. Looking away from Anna, I glanced around the room, seeing nothing. When I turned back to her, I found she was looking at me intently. She quickly averted her eyes, the faintest of blushes on her cheeks.

  “Beautiful floors,” she said abruptly. I looked down at the red quarry tiles I’d barely even noticed until she mentioned them.

  “Yes, they are.” My attention was focused on just how disconcerted Anna appeared. She put one hand to her mouth and bit the nail of her index finger, without an apparent awareness she was doing it, and shifted her weight slightly from foot to foot, all the while keeping her eyes on the tiles in question. It was difficult to imagine what could have made her so uncharacteristically ill at ease. I tried very hard not to leap to any conclusions. Surely it was nothing to do with our conversation, with being here with me? It couldn’t possibly be anything to do with me at all, could it? I tried to resist the temptation of allowing the notion but found I could not. I wanted her to be disconcerted because of me. In the best possible way. Causing a crack in that smooth, glassy exterior would be quite a triumph. It was one I wanted to claim.

  Suddenly, she looked upwards, and regarded the brickwork above our heads. I was sure she was studying the boundaries of the room to avoid eye contact with me.

  “And I love the vaulted ceilings. I think this will be a perfect country kitchen, don’t you?” she asked, rather hurriedly.

  “I can’t say I’ve really pictured it.” The obvious attempt to bring the conversation back to the professional almost made me laugh. But I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and we really did need to talk about the house. “I might have a good imagination for the macabre, but I’m not so good at envisaging what Winter will be like in the future.”

  Eventually, Anna looked at me again. “It’s going to be a beautiful house, just as lovely as it was when it was inhabited before.” Her words were a confident assurance, her eyes glowing with enthusiasm once more. Her awkwardness had apparently vanished for the time being, as quickly as it had overtaken her.

  “Can you always see the potential in things?” I asked, truly curious.

  Anna paused to think about her response, her head tilting slightly to one side as she considered. My eyes slipped past her strong jawline and to her pale, slender throat. I forced my gaze back to meet hers. “Not always,” she told me in an earnest tone, “but usually. I suppose I’m an optimist.”

  “I think you have the skills to make your optimism well founded.”

  Anna smiled with pleasure. “I’m pleased that you have so much faith in me, Ros. I only hope I live up to it.”

  “Oh, you seem like the sort of person who always lives up to expectations,” I said, unable to resist a teasing tone.

  “I try,” she replied wryly. “Depends on the expectations of course.” That smile twitched at her lips again.

  “I can assure you mine are wholly realistic at least.” I paused to remind myself we were talking about Winter. “All I really want is to do justice to what Auntie Edie wanted. Other than that, it’s all in your hands.”

  “Such power could go to my head,” she said with a widening of her smile.

  “As long as you take care of Winter for me, you can be as much of a dictator as you want.”

  Anna laughed, with that peculiar wrinkled expression and musical tone I’d noticed before. “Now that is a dangerous promise!”

  I giggled with her. Her mirth was genuinely infectious. As our laughter trailed off, there was a moment of silence during which we stared, still smiling, into each other’s eyes. I saw her press her lips together pensively, as she broke her gaze away from mine. My throat tightened. I could not deny the tension that hovered in the air between us, and it grew increasingly hard to ignore what the cause of it was. At least, I knew why my heart fluttered, and the prospect she was experiencing anything like the same sensations only made my own palpitations worse.

  “I am very glad I have you to rely on,” I said seriously. “I know we’ve not started work yet, but you’re a very reassuring person to have onside.”

  “Reassuring? That doesn’t sound very dashing and sexy.” Her words were impulsive, and she looked as though she wanted to suck them back in and swallow them as soon as she’d spoken.

  “Oh, you’re dashing and sexy too.” I said it casually, as though it was simply the joke that led on naturally. Only neither of us quite managed to laugh with the appropriate ease.

  “I’m glad to be reassuring,” Anna said hurriedly. “And for the record, I do think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, taking on Winter.”

  “I didn’t have a lot of choice.”

  “Don’t be so modest. I’m sure there’s plenty of money, you could have simply called in the experts and supervised from afar. You didn’t need to move here and take such a personal interest. It’s really very brave of you.”

  “Not really brave.” I considered and decided it was time for a little more honesty. “I’ll confess to you I was completely at a loose end before I came here. In between jobs, as I told you. And for a few other reasons. Coming up here was the easiest option really.”

  “Other reasons?” Anna probed gently. Her eyes were softened with interest, and I saw a well of understanding there. I wanted to tell her more.

  “My mum died at the beginning of May,” I said, surprised how much emotion just uttering the words stirred inside me.

  “Oh, Ros, I’m so sorry.” Anna’s sympathy seemed genuine, and I was relieved she didn’t look at all uncomfortable. I’d found it surprising in recent months how many people refused to confront death, or even conversations about death. “Was it an illness?”

  “It was cancer. Of her pancreas. By the time they diagnosed it, it was too late. She only had months left by then.” I reminded myself not to be angry, not with my mother or with the doctors who could do nothing. My mother had held a lifelong belief if she ignored a problem it would go away. She’d not recognised the signs her relationship with my father was heading for disaster until he’d walked out the door for the final time. She’d never seen the need to intervene when my sister and I drifted further and further apart. And having endured crippling pains in her abdomen and joked about her sudden weight loss, she’d only approached a doctor when her skin had turned yellow with jaundice. There was nothing the doctors could do by that point other than offer her pain relief.

  “Were you close?” Anna’s questions were so gentle, being able to talk about it was an unexpected balm to my grief.

  “The funny thing is that we weren’t at all. I always thought she liked my sister more than me and felt sort of separate from them, you know?” Anna nodded and waited for me to go on. “But she needed a lot of care in those last months, and I was the one who could take the time to do it.” My sister, with her two jobs, unemployed husband, and young child could hardly have been expected to care for our mother. I’d wanted to do it. I was the oldest, I was the one with a job I could take leave from and go back to. “In all those hours with her, I think we came to a sort of understanding. She was very different from me. But I felt how mu
ch she loved me for the first time. Then she died.” I glanced up into Anna’s sympathetic listening face and realised I’d taken advantage of the opportunity to share my feelings. “Sorry,” I said, “you don’t want to hear all of this.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to hear it,” Anna replied bluntly. Her direct tone was remarkably comforting. “So you didn’t go back to work after she died?”

  “No. I suppose the time away from it, and the sudden confrontation with how short life really is made me stop to think if my job was really for me. And it wasn’t.” I looked down at the ground. Breaking up with Francesca had been such a big part of the process too. I wasn’t ready to share that with Anna yet. “So you see, I wasn’t really brave choosing to come up here. It was more that it was my only option.”

  Anna smiled a smile that reached right into me and soothed my anxieties. “That says plenty about you though, Ros. When the going gets tough, most people wouldn’t think so dramatic a new start is the easiest solution.”

  “It sounds good when you put it that way.” I smiled in response, looking into her eyes to make sure she knew I appreciated her positive opinion of me. She didn’t know the whole story yet, but it didn’t stop me feeling buoyed by her words. “I think I’m going to like having you around here, Winter needs some optimism,” I told her. I needed the optimism too. Did she sense that?

  “I feel like it’s an optimistic house, don’t you?” she said.

  I pondered her question for a moment before I confided, “I don’t know. I’ve been so busy trying to feel at home, I suppose I’ve been though all sorts of feelings about it.” I was surprised at just how honest I felt able to be with Anna. The pleasure of the surprise was intensified because I sensed she valued my earnestness. Certainly her expression remained interested and sympathetic as I spoke.

  “I always find you have to listen to find a house’s personality, let it introduce itself to you. Sit quietly and think about nothing else, you know?” She said it in a confidential tone, as though she was revealing a secret, something she wouldn’t share with everyone.

  “Is that what you do?” I asked.

  “When I have the opportunity. Though often I have to rush through the introductions and concentrate on the structural integrity and such like.” Anna shrugged, as though she suddenly wanted to trivialise what had actually been very heartfelt advice.

  “Well, you can take the time to listen to Winter whenever you like,” I told her. “What you said, it’s almost like meditating. Letting the house speak to you, picking up on the energy. I think I might try it.”

  “You meditate?” Anna’s tone was genuinely inquisitive.

  “Yes. Not so much as I used to, I find it harder to clear my mind these days. But I do try, now and again.” I hadn’t for a while, my mind had been impossible to clear for months, but Anna didn’t need to know that right now. I was enjoying her interest.

  “Time for reflection is important, whether you reach full meditation or not,” Anna said. I guessed from that she had some experience of it herself. “I think Winter will be a wonderful place to reflect, with time.”

  “You’re probably right. When I can reflect on something other than the renovation and sleeping on a camping bed, I’ll find out. I’m surprised you get a moment to pause for thought yourself.”

  “I make time,” she said simply. I imagined every moment of Anna’s day being timed to perfection, including an allocated period of relaxation and reflection. The thought made me want to smile, and I fought not to let the amusement show on my face for fear she would think I was mocking her. I wondered once more about that gold band on her finger. Nothing she said gave any clue there was anyone significant in her life, to take up any of her time, to cause her to compromise. Even as I learned more of her, she remained as much of a puzzle as ever. It was so intriguing, putting the pieces together, with no idea quite what the completed picture was supposed to be. I knew it was going to be something very beautiful, but I could not yet see it in all of its hues and complexities. If she didn’t volunteer the information I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of asking.

  Another vaguely awkward silence descended between us. “So, what was it you wanted to measure?”

  “The height from floor to ceiling, both at the walls and where the vaulting is at its highest. And the size of the windows. I honestly can’t believe I never took those measurements before.” Anna actually looked embarrassed.

  “I think even you’re allowed to miss something occasionally.”

  “Oh no. I pride myself on never missing anything.” She sounded perfectly serious.

  “Is that why you’re such a good architect?” I asked, teasing slightly.

  “I hope I’m as good as you think.” She paused and the corners of her mouth twitched again. “And I don’t just mean professionally.”

  She looked away from me and up at the vaulted ceiling. I felt my face growing hot as I looked at her, dumbfounded. How was I supposed to interpret a comment like that? “Well...can I help?” I offered tentatively, thinking I should say something but at a loss for any suitable response for her last remark.

  “Yes.” Anna reached into her briefcase, on the floor at her feet, and drew out a tape measure, a notebook, and a pen. “Here, hold this end on the floor down there, I’ll measure where the vaulting meets the floor first.” As I squatted and held the end of the tape against the tiled floor, Anna moved close to me and reached up to measure the distance between the floor and the place where the vaulted ceiling met the wall. I caught her scent at once, that intoxicating and increasingly familiar essence of spice, tobacco, and flowers. Exotic and refined all at once. It was proof there was more to Anna than that cool exterior. You simply could not wear that fragrance if there weren’t multiple layers to discover.

  Drawn by the sense of her so close to me, I glanced up. I found myself looking up the entire length of her body, along the slender legs sheathed in close-fitting black fabric, past where her pale green shirt was tucked neatly into her belt, where her short, fitted jacket was pulled upwards as she reached, to her long, smooth neck and defined jawline. She was paying no attention to me as she squinted to read the measurement, and I suddenly felt I should turn away, as though there was something voyeuristic in my gazing up at her body in this way. I looked down at her feet and speculated just how expensive those shoes would have been, how unusual they were. Unique like their wearer.

  “Right, that’s one done.” Anna allowed the tape measure to retract into its casing and made a note of the measurement in her notebook. “We’ll measure the highest part of the arches now.” She was matter of fact and professional again, all traces of her former awkwardness and teasing, even the gentle sympathy, eclipsed by the job in hand. I was glad, since it meant she was far less likely to notice the way I was reacting to her proximity, to her scent, to the way her clothes fitted her body, to the tone of her voice. I was losing control of all appropriate behaviour, as hot emotions ran riot in my body. It was impossible she wouldn’t see it; and yet her focus was steadfastly on taking her measurements, making her notes, and the occasional comment on the good condition of the brickwork. In fact, she had become suddenly so efficient we made no small talk, or even eye contact. Was it by her design to avoid any further tension? I didn’t imagine Anna was the sort of woman who relished feeling out of control or confused by her emotions. Perhaps her professionalism was an excellent way of keeping them at bay. Was there any chance at all she was feeling the same as I was?

  As Anna made short work of measuring the windows without my assistance, I chided myself again. I knew it could be a mistake to try to work out how this remarkable woman dealt with her emotions or what those emotions were. Such considerations were meaningless to me, she was my architect, nothing more. It didn’t matter how damned attractive I found her, there were two major obstacles to the development of anything significant between us. The first was that I had no idea about Anna’s status or sexuality. Just because she didn’t stri
ke me as someone who was married, didn’t talk like someone who was married, didn’t mean she wasn’t. That was what the wedding ring was for, after all, to tell me—and the rest of the world—she belonged to somebody, she was unavailable. A jolt of jealousy shot through my veins once again. I took a deep breath and ignored it.

  I also had no place feeling jealous or otherwise about Anna. The very simple truth, whatever her situation in life, was there could never be anything between us anyway. I just wasn’t in a place where I could try anything like a relationship with a woman like her. My recent failures in love and my career, my mother’s death, were still taking their emotional toll on me. Here I was, dependent on Anna’s skills and capability to help me restore someone else’s ruined country house. What could I even begin to offer her?

  These sensible musings were all well and good while Anna was measuring windows and paying no attention to me. It was quite another thing when she had packed her tape measure and notebook away and finally turned to smile at me once more. Something inside me simply disintegrated when those hard-set lips curved into a smile.

  “All done?” I asked, through a thick throat. She looked at me curiously, as though she had noticed the strain in my voice but was uncertain what the cause of it was. Or uncertain how to react.

  “Yes, all done. I think I have everything I need now. You’ll be pleased to know I don’t think there’ll be any problems at all turning this back into the kitchen, the ceilings are plenty high enough to meet regulations. You might want some dividing walls or something though. I’ll draw up some plans, we’ll have to see what we are allowed to do while still complying with the listed status.”