‘That would be very disappointing on my second day here.’
A small silence ensued, before Alexander spoke.
‘Look, it’s fine. I’ll get some fayre work done this evening and squeeze a bit more in tomorrow – Hetty will be able to help too – and we can still go to the cinema after while Grandpa and Jacqueline can go to lunch. Everyone will be a winner, okay?’
Theo nodded, smiling, and resumed his observation of Runcible, who had now stretched out luxuriously to her full length of about thirty centimetres and was toasting her bald tummy in front of the fire.
‘Well navigated,’ said Douglas. ‘Thank you. I bet you wish poor old Annabel was so easily dealt with.’
Father and son exchanged matching amused eye rolls.
‘Yes, it’s very gracious of you, Alexander,’ said Mum, smiling. As if she had ever expected any outcome other than getting exactly what she wanted. I looked at Alexander, recognising the pull he must have been feeling to fit everything in and make everyone happy.
‘What’s the fayre?’ I asked.
‘It’s a local Christmas event,’ replied Alexander. ‘Lots of stalls for presents and food and so on. It will be my first big event for the artisan gin company I’m launching, so it’s a big deal for me.’ He spoke calmly, but I could hear the stress in his voice. ‘There’sstill a lot to do, but I’ve got time – just – and the help of Hetty, who’s a part-time PA.’
An artisan gin launch was exactly the sort of job I do all the time, and I opened my mouth to offer some help, then closed it again quickly. I had come to Yorkshire to recuperate, not to take on yet another pressured piece of work. No, this Christmas I was going to have the break I needed.
FOUR
Once we were all suitably refreshed, Douglas showed us upstairs to our rooms. I must say, I could have lingered for some time just admiring the elegant staircase, which was like something out ofDownton Abbey. It was oak, worn and polished over the years to a glorious, chocolatey shine that urged you to run your hand along the smooth, solid handrail and enjoy the clunk as your foot hit each wide step. My mind flicked to the narrow, concrete staircase with iron railings that led to my flat in London; utilitarian and fit for the job, but a poor cousin to this magnificent affair. I imagined generations of small Knight children sliding down its inviting banisters and felt a tug of temptation to do the same myself. At the top, from the galleried landing, carpeted in worn but still luxurious red wool, you could peer over the hallway – grand but homely with its leather Chesterfield sofa and muddle of coats, shoes and bags. Only my mother’s camel coat had made it to a hanger; everything else was draped on the sofa or, with a nonchalance that only the aristocratic would ever dare have, flung over the exquisitely carved finial at the bottom of the stairs.
I could see my suitcases outside a door down a corridor leading to the left.
‘That must be my room?’
Douglas nodded. ‘It is. Would you like a rest after your journey? We don’t meet for supper until about seven thirty.’
Thank goodness that Douglas was such a thoughtful man and must have realised that I could do with some time to myself.
I smiled at him. ‘Thank you, that would be amazing. I’ll see you later.’
‘Of course, just shout if you need anything – we’re down this way, third on the right.’
I pushed open the door with relief. The journey and meeting new people had tired me, and I was reminded how scant my resources currently were. An hour or so to myself would set me up for the evening, whatever that may hold.
I was so busy gathering my things together and ushering Runcible through the door that it was only once I was inside the room that I looked up. I gasped aloud. Having lost my bearings inside the house, I hadn’t worked out that this would be a corner room. Two of its walls were taken up with huge wooden-framed floor to ceiling windows, with long blue and cream patterned curtains hooked back to allow in the light which, although wintery and fading as the afternoon ebbed away, was still uplifting. Leaving my cases, I ran over to look out at the view, which was so staggering that tears sprang to my eyes. Beyond the large garden and some outbuildings, stretched the Yorkshire moors, as bleak as one might hope for at this time of year with their coarse, uncompromising greyness, dotted with moss and stubborn, wiry little trees. But the undulating landscape was so vast that it made me feel comforted. It had a timeless quality, and a calming sense of stolidity that helped me breathe more deeply. I rested my forehead on the cool glass and let my eyes drift across the miles, picking out details as I did so: some ridiculously fluffy sheep grazing, a quaint stone building, a small river twinkling with frost. The view from my home in Londonwas one which I spent little time looking at, just a city street with a newsagent and chain bakery opposite, and a charity shop below. Awestruck now, I suddenly wondered how I could have lived so long that way, and how I could ever go back. Then I gave myself a little shake. Of course I would go back! I wasn’t normally given to such romantic flights of fancy; it must be the stress talking. I had been advised by the doctor to let worrying thoughts float by, and that is what I would do now. Briskly, I crossed the room back to my luggage and hoisted it all up onto the bed, a heavily built four poster that must have been created for this room maybe four hundred years ago. I couldn’t imagine that you could disassemble it and take it somewhere else; flat pack this was not. Runcible had finished sniffing around in the corners of the room, so I popped her up, too, sure that nobody would mind her being on the bed and, to be honest, not caring if they did. She always slept with me, snuggled into my stomach. I quickly put away my clothes and placed my toiletries on the mirrored dressing table. Nearly finished, and sure that I had got on top of my sudden urge never to return to London, I went to draw the curtains; the light had faded quickly, and the dark stretch of the moors was now less enticing. As I turned away, I spotted a curtain on the opposite wall: surely not more windows? I lifted it to one side and hooked it up and, to my astonishment, revealed a small archway, with a twisting set of stone stairs beyond. Thank goodness for whichever Knight had thought about mod cons, because there was also a light switch, which I flicked.
Consumed with excitement and curiosity, I descended the short flight and found myself in a bathroom unlike any I had ever seen before. Built from stone, with no rendering or tiles, it was small and semi-circular, rather like I would suppose a turret room to be. I hadn’t noticed any turrets from the front, but a glance out of the small, deep-set window showed me that thislooked over the side of the house. It was hard to see much in the gloaming, but I managed to pick out further lawns, trees and what looked like a lake or large pond; I would look forward to exploring those tomorrow. Turning back into the room, I walked slowly around it, running my hand along the large, square art deco sink with its slightly corroded chunky chrome taps and elegantly bevelled mirror above. The bath looked Victorian, but I had never seen anything like it. It was in the shape of an ‘L’ lying on its back, with a tall domed open cubicle at one end which housed a shower head and a strange array of enamel knobs and little holes, which presumably squirted out water at different heights. It reminded me of the sort of rainforest experience showers you find at fancy spas, but this wasn’t modern. I couldn’t wait to have a go in it. Next, I reached out a hand to touch the sturdy metal towel rail, which was deliciously warm. Somebody had – at some point in the house’s history – gone to a great deal of effort to make the bathroom comfortable, even encased as it was in stone, but it couldn’t have been touched for decades. Reluctantly, I returned to the stairs, resolving to ask Douglas about the bathroom’s history and, indeed, that of the entire house. I re-emerged through the arch and let down the curtain, ready to sit quietly with a book for a while, when a tap on the door was quickly followed by the appearance of my mother.
‘Hello, darling, settling in all right? Isn’t it the most marvellous house? Mind you, Douglas’s place in London is just as grand and more up to date.’
I decided not to mention the wonderful bathroom – one look at it and she’d have been making noises about tile cladding and a power shower. Mum has no truck whatsoever with history, she likes things to be sharp and modern, like herself – no hint of the past.
‘Yes, it’s gorgeous, and the views are amazing.’
Mum sat down in an ivory armchair and tucked her crossed ankles to one side, just as she had seen Joan Collins do.
‘The views inside the house are splendid, too, don’t you think? Alexander is absolutelydivine. I mean, I’d seen pictures of him, but they didn’t do him justice one little bit. Oh, come on, don’t say you didn’t notice, you were positively flirting with him.’
‘Iwasn’t! For goodness’ sake, we were just talking.’
‘Whatever. But don’t you think he’s the handsomest man you’ve ever seen?’
‘Not particularly, no. I mean, he’s perfectly nice-looking, I suppose.’
I trailed off. Nobody could deny that Alexander Knight was an absolute knockout, and my mother knew it. She snorted.
