“Yes. Lovely couple!” Grantham said. “Their main business is organic pork, but they keep chickens as well. Beehives too, if I’m not mistaken and a cracking berry patch. Got to say, I have noticed a few more rodent droppings since they set up shop.”
Pippa was aware of Frankie’s overt cringing, and she moved to put him out of her eyeline. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for any lost rodents,” she said.
“Good. Anyway, how about a tour?” Grantham suggested.
“Yes please!” Mae replied emphatically.
Once they’d lugged Pippa’s belongings upstairs, Grantham started the tour. Even though Pippa had seen much of the house already, she tagged along. Frankie gasped as they went into the master bathroom. It was almost as big as his flat, with neat tiling and an ancient-looking shower over an enormous freestanding bath. “The water is a bit temperamental in this place,” Grantham advised. “The shower will either give you a feeble trickle or blast you into oblivion, with any guess as to what temperature you’ll get. But you get clean anyhow. And the pipes do rattle somewhat.” He cast a worried glance around the room. “If you hear them getting particularly rambunctious, let me know.”
Mae was swooning over the bathtub. “I’d love one of these,” she crooned, practically hugging the thing. “I’d literally sell my soul.”
“That bath has cleaned four generations of Squires,” Grantham commented. “A fair few of the dogs too! The amount of mud those creatures collected …” he chuckled ruefully. “And they did love to roll in fox poo.” Mae jerked away from the bath with a grimace.
Grantham led them back downstairs to the kitchen, a long, low-ceilinged room with white walls and sections of exposed brick. A battered pine table crowded with mismatched chairs took up one side of the space and at the top of the room was a huge fireplace stained with what must have been centuries of soot, but now a well-used Aga filled the hearth. Grantham pointed at a fridge in the corner. “We have some basics like milk and teabags in already, but you’ll need to stock up for your meals, for which we will reimburse you. Not alcohol, of course.”
Pippa was distracted by the big window positioned over the sink, which offered a view of the hills so stunning it blew her mind. She could easily imagine residents over the years standing where she stood now, gazing out across the scenery. And whilst the people had changed, the hills had not. They had endured. She’d wager those wending drywalls were older than the house. Love and gratitude for the town she called home surged through her. How could Alex have left this? Left her? Grantham cleared his throat, and she snapped back to the present.
“Yes, Wolfie said that already. About the booze.” Pippa briefly entertained the notion that they were concerned about her drinking to forget her sudden and enforced spinsterhood. Such was the curse of living in a small town, it wouldn’t surprise her.
“Although, speaking of alcohol.” Grantham’s eyebrows wagged as he led them to a small oak door tucked away in the corner. “Let me show you something pretty groovy.” He twisted the heavy handle and opened it to reveal a short flight of stone steps. They descended into a cool and musty cellar space.
Pippa took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. She had never seen so much wine in her life! The small stone room was lined with floor-to-ceiling racks and every slot was filled with a bottle, some more dusty than others.
“Carmichael was an avid wine fanatic, and this is probably the only room in the house that is in perfect condition as a result.” Grantham lifted a Bordeaux and displayed it like a sommelier. “Look at that. 1961. Carmichael bought this as an anniversary present for his wife.”
“And they didn’t drink it?” Pippa was mystified.
“Oh no!” Grantham chortled, reverently sliding the bottle back into place. “He got it at auction; he knew its value.”
“Think I’d have preferred a nice pair of earrings for an anniversary present,” Mae said.
“Yeah, bit tight to give a bottle of wine to someone and not let them drink it,” Frankie added.
“Well, this is an expensive collection,” the caretaker said stiffly. “Carmichael was a real enthusiast and, now that he’s gone, this is almost like a lasting memorial to him. He was adamant it remained in the family after he passed.” Was it Pippa’s imagination or did Grantham grimace at the notion? His capable smile soon returned, however. “I just did a bottle rotation, so you won’t need to for some time.”
“Rotation? You rotate the bottles?” Pippa was dumbfounded. It was strange enough that even in death Carmichael wanted to keep more wine than a healthy person could drink locked away, let alone that the wine had to be cared for to the extent Grantham described.
“Yes. Keeps the corks moist.” Grantham regarded her seriously. “Imperative, that. Come along. More to see.”
They went back up the steps into the kitchen. Blinking in the light, they headed through to the huge dining room. A covered table and chairs took central position with what appeared to be large sideboards taking up each wall. “You won’t spend much time in here,” Grantham predicted, “only when the furniture needs some polishing. That’s a sizeable job, I warn you.” He then led the gang through to what appeared to be a family room. It was larger than the dining room, lined with huge windows and here, yet again, most of the furniture was covered, aside from a squishy sofa adorned with throws and an ancient-looking TV propped opposite it. “It gets the main channels does that,” Grantham said, patting the top of the TV.
Pippa exchanged alarmed glances with her cousin. What did Grantham mean, the ‘main channels’? “Do you have Sky? Netflix?” She feared the answer. After all, the television set appeared so old it probably belonged in a museum. Pippa had relied on her trashy TV shows to keep her going during the dark days post break-up and wasn’t sure she could go without them cold turkey.
“Oh, nothing quite so fancy,” he replied, and Pippa’s mood plummeted. “The BBC of course, and you might get one or two of the others if the weather behaves itself.” He saw her stricken expression and smiled reassuringly. “Not to worry, we’ve got Internet – I saw to that – although it’s tempestuous at the best of times. Doesn’t like to work on Sundays and it’s sluggish most mornings. But the lady of the house never minded and Wolfie brings his own router when he’s here, so we’ve left it as is.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind!” Frankie whispered theatrically to Pippa.
“Oh, give over!” Grantham tutted. “As I said, we’ve never had much need of the internet. There’s always too much to be done. I suppose that sounds unthinkable to your generation.”
“It’ll take some getting used to,” Pippa said diplomatically as she took a deep breath. It might be a good thing to have limited access to TV and Internet. It could give her time to think, to rebuild. She’d largely stayed away from social media since becoming single, terrified of exposing herself to the well-meaning intrusions of her online friends. The questions, the curiosity. Her mind flashed to the pathetic pile of possessions she’d brought with her and the urge to lose herself in a marathon of Real Housewives hit like a wave.
“Come on, you need to see the gardens,” Grantham said kindly. Pushing the wallowing sensations down, Pippa followed him through the house. They walked to the kitchen and out through the back door. Pippa held her breath, only to let it out in a disappointed huff. The vast acres of neat green lawns were gone. The garden was a decent size to be sure, but a decent size for a modest three bed semi, not a huge, old mansion. Instead, there was a new perimeter fence which annexed off much of the former grounds.
“I didn’t realise they’d sold off so much!” Pippa exclaimed.
“They made a practical decision,” Grantham confirmed gruffly. “With Carmichael dead and Trudy down south, these gardens became a burden.” He sighed. “Beautiful though they were.”
Pippa sensed Grantham was sad about the family parcelling off the land, so she didn’t say anything further, but Mae did.
