The family swept me through the kitchen into the day nursery. The door to the annex was open at the far end, but Vera held Edwin back as I followed Dominic and Ruth in. Ruth placed Vera’s flowers on the coffee table.
We stood and looked around together, the moment stretching out in silence as I tried to take it all in. Someone had added bright orange cushions to the little sofa, and a thick sheepskin rug to the floor in front of the gas fire. In place of the armchair that had been in the corner previously, there now stood a desk and a small bookcase.
“It’s wonderful,” I said at last. Ruth smiled.
“I meant to get you a desk lamp,” Dominic said. “I’ll bring one down next weekend.”
I felt rather as though I was in a spotlight myself, struggling to assume the correct facial expression under the intensity of the family’s gaze. I turned my back on them for a moment to line up Edwin’s handmade cards along the mantelpiece.
“No, Edwin.” Vera held on to the squirming boy in the doorway. “This is Laura’s private space, not for you.”
Dominic handed me two keys on a key ring. “Front door and this door. We’ll leave you to unpack and settle in.”
The beseeching look in Edwin’s eyes broke through my daze, and I smiled. “Perhaps I could go and see this den now?” I said. “And the kittens. I can unpack later.”
Edwin chattered nonstop as he led me back through to the kitchen and out into the garden, leaving the adults behind. I chased him across the lawn, and even once we were hidden in the wooded area I continued to run, weaving through the trees and making him giggle, pumping the blood back into muscles that I’d held rigid all morning. I examined each of the precious objects in his den in turn, and suggested we build our own museum to house them in.
“We can charge money!” Edwin said with glee.
He took me to a shed behind the stable block, next to the swimming pool. A cat from the neighboring farm was keeping a pair of kittens in the gap underneath the shed, and Edwin reached in and stroked the two sleepy creatures with a gentle finger.
“Mummy won’t let me bring them inside,” he said. “This one’s called Stripes and this one’s called Gordon. They’re twins, you know, because they were born on the same day.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded. I’d done the sums: he’dbeen without his twin brother for almost half his lifetime now, this little boy. Did he still remember him? I watched a series of expressions flit across his face.
The mother cat basked in a patch of sunlight nearby, and Edwin’s gaze drifted toward her, and then he flashed me a sudden grin.
“When I’m a grown-up, me and Stripes and Gordon are gonna live in London. Do you want to come?”
We crouched there together, watching the kitten twins and chatting about train journeys and London Zoo, until a bell rang out from the house and Edwin said, “Lunchtime.”
Saturday lunch at Summerbourne was eaten informally at the kitchen table. Over time I learned that the cooking was left to Dominic when he was there, and the rest of the time Ruth heated things up without enthusiasm, often relying on ready-made meals from the butcher in the village. The dining room was generally used only on Sundays, when Dominic liked to prepare a traditional roast dinner.
I lay awake for hours that night, the conversations of the day swirling insistently through my mind. I swapped pillows around, trying to find one that didn’t feel so desperately unfamiliar. Even the sheets felt strange—both lighter and yet somehow scratchier against my skin than my duvet cover at home. A faint scent of honeysuckle was a constant reminder that I was in a strange place, in a strange bed.I’ll get used to it, I told myself, over and over.It’s better than being at home.
By the time I emerged into the main house the next morning, Dominic was pressing sprigs of rosemary into a joint of lamb, and a mound of unwashed potatoes sat by the sink. He waved away any offer of help.
“You’re not working today,” he said. “Make yourself at home. Don’t let Edwin hassle you.”
Vera was reading the Sunday newspapers on the patio, and Ruth was still upstairs. In the end, I played with Edwin in the garden until the bell rang.
Despite the appetizing aromas, my mouth dried as we entered the dining room. Heavy silver cutlery and crystal wineglasses were laid on a red tablecloth, and the family members glided to their places with the ease of long-held custom—Vera at one end, and Dominic at the other. I took the remaining seat, between Edwin and Vera, opposite Ruth. For a moment I thought someone might say grace, but the family launched into serving themselves from the dishes in the middle, swapping them around and murmuring appreciatively as they took their first mouthfuls. The plates were warm. I poured gravy onto Edwin’s vegetables for him.
“Alex finally exchanged contracts on the cottage last week,” Dominic said between mouthfuls. “He’s coming down to collect the keys on Saturday.”
Ruth put her fork down. “Really? When did you speak to him?”
“He was in town in the week. We had drinks with the Mellards on Wednesday night. I told him he should come for lunch on Saturday.”
The potatoes were crispy and golden on the outside, light and fluffy on the inside; I suspected they had been roasted in goose fat. The carrots were glazed with honey. The lamb was so tender it slipped off my fork. I declined the wine that Dominic offered me, and spooned some homegrown mint sauce onto my plate.
“Is that all right?” Dominic was saying.
“Absolutely.” Ruth cut her meat into fine slivers. “I can’t wait to see him.”
“The Collisons’ old cottage?” Vera asked. “I didn’t realize he was seriously looking.”
“That’s the one,” Dominic said. “It’ll be a nice little escape when he needs it.”
