‘It must be hard,’ he said quietly. ‘Your husband can’t have been very old.’
‘He was older than me,’ she said and there was no need to say any more than that. ‘I think I need time out as they say. I feel as if the rug’s been whipped from under my feet, but my plan is to go back to London and maybe even rent for a while until I decide what to do next. I don’t want to go rushing into things and then regret it.’
‘No, but don’t hang about too long. Go with your instincts. This place is up for sale if you’re interested in running a B&B.’
‘Is it?’ she asked sharply. ‘There’s no sign.’
‘No but it’s on the agency’s books. The Sandersons didn’t want a sign outside because it puts people off booking in. They’re just coming back after the cruise to sort things out and then they are off to live in France.’
‘Thanks for breakfast, Gareth.’ She handed him the paper and pushed back her chair. ‘I’m off out then. See you later.’
‘There are some leaflets on the hall table,’ he said. ‘It’s a glorious day. I would suggest you take a trip out to the coast and make the most of it.’
‘I might.’ She smiled at him, aware of the approving glance. The sudden appearance of the sun had sent everybody off into a premature summer mood and Francesca was glad that, although her excursion had been taken on impulse and she had not actually packed a bag of holiday clothes, she had some linen trousers with her and a striped loose cover-up, and a selection of silver bracelets jingling on her wrist. She seemed to have inherited her mother’s haphazard attitude to jewellery, but today her whole outfit felt totally wrong, too bright, too garish, too much fun and she understood why widowed ladies used to retreat into black. She felt she ought to be drenched in it, but David would not have wanted her to do that. One of the things she must do today was to buy some more clothes to tide her over the next few days.
Looking out at the bright morning sunshine, she fiddled around in her bag for the sunglasses she usually carried round to help with winter driving.
‘Bye then Mrs Porter. Have a nice day.’
‘Thank you. See you later.’
She supposed he might wonder why she was not heading for her car round the back but she had something to do down in town before she set off.
Go with your instincts, he had said.
So, first of all, she had to pay a visit to the estate agent’s.
Back at the house Francesca met up with Gareth just after lunch when he had completed his chores – he seemed to be a very efficient one-man band – and was relaxing in what was now called the sun-room, the old lean-to which had been very prettily renovated. Mrs Sanderson had gone rather over the top here with floral excess and Gareth, feet up, was doing a crossword.
The sun-room was not for guests being in what was officially designated the Sandersons’ portion of the house and, although Francesca caught sight of Gareth as she passed through the hall she felt she ought not to intrude on his private time, he must have seen or heard her, though, for he called out and waved her in.
‘Come in. Hi there …’ he looked up and smiled and she motioned him to stay as he threatened to get up. Somehow, it pleased her, the little gentlemanly gesture, the sort of thing David would do.
‘This is lovely.’
Francesca crossed to the French doors glancing out at the garden with a critical eye. On closer inspection, it was racing away and needed a good tidy. She knew nothing about gardening, had never had a garden of her own, but like a lot of people who watch television gardening programmes she felt an urge to pull up a few weeds and see what plants were actually hidden there.
‘There is a man who comes in a couple of times a week,’ Gareth said, perhaps sensing critical vibes escaping her. ‘His wife’s been ill so he’s got a bit behind.’
‘Yes, you did tell me.’
‘I’m just about keeping the front in order, but if he doesn’t turn up this week, I’m going to have to do something with that lot. Pamela would have a fit if she saw it just now. Are you a gardener?’
‘An armchair one,’ she said, sitting down and wasting no time in acquainting him with what she had been up to that morning. She needed to tell somebody before she exploded with the news.
‘Good grief, I was only joking when I said you should buy it,’ he said, looking at her with both amazement and consternation. He was wearing pale blue jeans today, the lived in variety, the old sandals and a clean white tee shirt that showed off his nicely toned body and he looked good. So good in fact that she chose not to look directly at him worried that she might give something away. If a woman always knew when a man admired her then surely the opposite would apply. It was disconcerting to say the least. ‘But I thought you said you weren’t interested in living down here? What made you change your mind?’
‘I know I said that, but I didn’t know what I wanted until it stared me in the face. There’s more to it, you see.’
‘I thought there might be.’ He hesitated, probably sensing her reluctance. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘I know this house, Gareth. It was my childhood home.’
‘Ah. Now I understand.’ His smile broadened. ‘I thought you seemed very familiar with it for someone who’d never seen it before.’
She laughed and suddenly the words spilled out. ‘I was just passing and couldn’t resist stopping by to see it again and when I saw it was a B&B I just had to stay in it once more. Then when you said it was up for sale, well …’ she waved a hand around. ‘I was born up in the room you call the Bluebell room. Honestly, whose idea was it to give the rooms names like that?’
‘Pamela’s. As you can see she loves flowers and, after all, she named it Lilac House so she’s just continuing the theme.’
‘It’s always been called Lilac House.’
‘You’re serious about buying it then?’
‘Absolutely. The agent’s going to get in touch with the Sandersons as soon as he can although they have asked not to be contacted just now. As you know, they are on the high seas somewhere and they can be contacted in an emergency but this hardly counts as that. It can wait a few days and as I am offering to pay the full asking price there should be no problem.’ She smiled a little as she saw him raise his eyebrows. ‘I know. I should have haggled. It’s been on the market for a while so I could probably have negotiated a reduced price but I didn’t want to hang about and risk losing it.’
‘You’ve really taken me by surprise. I don’t know what to say. Are you going to carry on running it as a B&B?’
‘No, absolutely not.’ She had not considered that at all. ‘It’s my home, Gareth. And, do you know, it still felt like my home the minute I walked through the door. I can’t wait to hear from the Sandersons when they dock.’
‘They’ll be thrilled, but just a word of caution. I know you said you’ve sold your place but it’s not over until you’ve got the signatures on the contract. Sorry, I don’t want to sound pessimistic, I wouldn’t like you to get your hopes up though, and then for it all to go wrong.’
‘It shouldn’t,’ she assured him confidently. ‘In any case, I can complete whether or not I sell the house.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ He looked as if he might query that and for a moment Francesca regretted saying it for it implied she might have more money than sense. ‘I wish you well with it.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t mention it to the other guests. I shall have to come up with far too many explanations. And please don’t tell anybody about my husband.’
‘Of course not. I shan’t breathe a word. It will take a while, but once things get moving, do give me a shout if you need any help.’
‘Thank you. I probably will now that I’m on my own.’
Her bravado instantly deflated as she realized what that meant and she felt again the ache that had preceded her bout of tears.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Porter?’ he said, watching her closely and for two pins she would have said no she wasn’t all
right and let him take her in his arms if only to give her a much needed hug.
‘I’m fine. And do please call me Francesca. Especially if we’re to be neighbours.’
‘Hardly neighbours,’ he corrected her with a smile. ‘We are in different counties for a start. It takes roughly an hour to get to my place. Once you get off the main road it’s all little lanes and the last bit is down a dirt track full of potholes.’
An hour seemed nothing and she had the feeling that they might become friends given time. Anything else would have to wait. For goodness sake, David’s ashes would still be catching the wind and floating on air on Ilkley Moor.
‘Good luck with it, Francesca. And don’t look so worried. I’m sure everything will be fine.’
That made a change. Everybody else would think her completely bonkers.
Refusing Gareth’s offer to make her a pot of tea, she insisted he stay put and she went up to her room soon afterwards to contemplate exactly what she had done. She was unable to resist giving a little skip of delight when she reached the upper landing and stole a glance out of the window.
This would be hers very soon.
She would keep the room which had been allotted to her as it was because she liked the poppy wallpaper and felt it would make a lovely little retreat. It was madness to have a house as large as this when she was on her own, but she did not care what other people might think. Selina, once she got over it, would love it. It would be her idea of bliss, the sort of country cottage she had long desired, the second home that she had been urging a more cautious Clive to buy for years.
She must invite the whole family over as soon as she had things settled.
She stared at herself in the mirror giving a rueful smile. Her eyes, she noted, still had that immensely sad look, brightness temporarily snuffed out, but her hair was recovering and looking a good deal better. She had worn a hat at the funeral which, with her hair tucked under its brim, hid a multitude of sins. She wore it for two reasons; one to hide her hair for having a bad hair day at your husband’s funeral is really rubbing it in. The second reason for the hat was because she felt that David’s friends would approve of that and she really did not want them to think badly of her. There were a few whispered mentions of a memorial service at a later date, but she could not bring herself to discuss it and had quietly dropped the idea. Appearing centre stage at the funeral was bad enough without having to go through it all again.
Francesca had been insistent though that she was not going to take anything to help her over it as several of her friends suggested. There was no point in dulling the pain because eventually she knew she would have to face up to it fair and square. She needed to experience, almost in a masochistic way, the jagged edge of grief, that first overwhelming emotion. It was like wading through a gigantic wave that almost knocks you off your feet, but you have no choice but to fight your way through it to reach the shallows and some sort of peace. She used that powerful image daily and although it was early days and she was still buffeted by the wave she knew she would get there eventually.
Chapter Ten
BACK IN LONDON, the house felt strange without him, stuffy, too, for it had been closed up for a while. She noticed there was also now an echo as most of the furniture had been removed, leaving just a few essentials. His cleaner had been in and the place was spotless.
It was a beautiful house in many ways, graciously proportioned, and yet she had never felt completely at home in it, an intruder in David’s bachelor lifestyle. Francesca went round it, room by room, opening up windows and letting the city air sweep greedily in – air which felt surprisingly clean and sweet – before having a lie down fully clothed allowing herself a quiet unrestrained weep. Her mother was wrong about locking your feelings away. She was beginning to realize that crying acted like a release valve. It helped and afterwards she got up and made herself a cup of coffee in David’s underused kitchen.
She felt a bit better.
She had stuffed all the condolence cards – from David’s colleagues and institutions mainly, very few personal ones – in a drawer beside the congratulations cards they had received at their wedding and she now retrieved them to take with her. She doubted she would be in a fit state to read them for some time to come, but she did not wish to dispose of them.
It was tough for other people, too, his funeral following so close on the wedding and her female colleagues at work found it difficult to cope with. Once they had got over the surprise of her marrying an older man, they had all become terribly positive, rallied round, clubbed together and bought them bed-linen from The White Company. They were not at the wedding because it was such a quiet affair but, even though she had resigned and was no longer at the office they came along to support her at the funeral, unsure what to wear and playing safe with black, purple or grey, hatless, unused to funerals and uncharacteristically quiet as a result.
A few days later, as promised, they came round to see her at home, at David’s house, phoning first and asking anxiously if they might just pop in. They trooped in and arranged themselves on David’s sofas, different women somehow out of the office and she did not know them in a social sense for she had rarely joined in their get-togethers out of work. Francesca had never quite got over feeling uneasy in company. She wasn’t an Izzy, the sort of girl who could fit in anywhere, the sort of girl who would have a little group gathering round her within minutes. Francesca was always the one standing at the edge of things, often alone, holding a glass at social functions and smiling. Her father was just the same, happy to remain in the vivacious shadow of her mother. She had never found her shyness a problem in business though, and it was as if her calmer quieter approach appealed to clients more than the brash go-for-it attitude of some of her colleagues.
Her former colleagues were uneasy because, all younger than her, not one of them was a wife yet let alone a widow. They admired the house, the furniture, the Chinese rugs, the grandeur of it all. They maybe admired it too much and Francesca quickly explained that none of this was her choice and that it was all a little fussy for her taste. Then, as she saw the relief on their faces, she felt guilty for criticizing David’s taste for he had loved his home and every piece of furniture was precious to him.
An awkward silence then threatened and it was left to Francesca to try to put them at their ease, making coffee and handing round chocolate biscuits which was a bit naughty of her because they were all on some diet or another.
‘Oh, what the hell,’ one of them gave in with a grimace and the others, given the go-ahead, followed suit for it was something to do, something to keep them from the awful job of finding something to say.
With the disgracefully rapid disappearance of the biscuits, somebody then had the temerity to laugh which made the others frown and shush her as if Francesca could not cope with laughter.
Why did everybody think that?
‘I wish you’d met David, girls,’ she told them cheerfully, letting it be known that they could mention his name without her falling apart. ‘He was such a charming man.’
‘At least he’s left you with all this,’ one of them said unaware of the warning glances from the others. ‘He obviously wasn’t short of money. I know it’s only a small consolation, but it’s better than being broke, isn’t it? Well, it is,’ she added defiantly at the shocked expressions. ‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Thanks,’ Francesca told her gratefully. ‘And you’re right. At least I don’t have any money worries.’
At last, she could stand it no longer, she understood their awkwardness and knowing they were desperate to leave she didn’t mind that in the future they would give her a wide berth. They seemed relieved to hear that she would not be coming back to work and, at the door they each gave her a hug and promised to keep in touch.
A promise none of them would keep.
Duty done.
She smiled and waved as they piled into their cars, guessing that they were all breathing huge sighs of r
elief. She knew she would not see any of them again, but then such was the fleeting nature of some friendships.
Others lasted forever.
She and Izzy for instance. What had happened on that day had bound them together and even if the links had loosened with the years they were still there.
Sometimes she wanted to resurrect the relationship, take it back to those happy childhood years, but she knew that was impossible.
They were grown ups now. She was a widow and Izzy a mum of four.
They could never go back.
Fortunately, David’s personal files were well organized as Francesca would have expected them to be and up-to-the-minute at that which meant the sorting out was accomplished with the minimum of fuss as she posted copies of the death certificate off to all interested parties. Even with Selina’s professional help though, it still took considerable time and effort and there were a few hitches, but perhaps that was a good thing because being so busy meant that she didn’t have time to sit and think. On top of all the usual stuff associated with a death, there was also the sale of this house to complete, complicated by his demise, and the disposal of most of the furniture to arrange although the new people had happily agreed to take on some of the fixtures and fittings.
She had been working up to persuading him to have a major throw-out prior to the move north so, although she mouthed a silent sorry to him, she was not in fact sorry to see most of it go. It raised a healthy sum at auction, but she did keep his beloved desk that she could not bear to part with and, perhaps unwisely, the bed they had shared.
Furniture was one thing, but his clothes and shoes were another and she didn’t know where to start on that. Seeing how it was upsetting her, Selina in her brisk business-like mode got her husband Clive to deal with it. She took Francesca out for the day.
‘A bit of retail therapy will do you a world of good, darling,’ she said.
Just Another Day Page 7
