Page 16 of Escape to the Country

Chapter 6

To his surprise, Tom was enjoying the taxi journey out of London. Having been released from the confines of his hospital bed after two days, it was a pleasure to see the countryside outside the window.

In fact, it was a novelty to be out and about during the day at all. In between stages of the lengthy world tour, he had locked himself away and had stopped going out. Some days he hadn’t even spoken to anyone. He had slipped into keeping twilight hours for the past six months, waking late in the afternoon and then either going on stage or song writing. Or rather, frustratingly staring into space trying to think of words before giving up and watching whole box sets on Netflix.

But heading to Willow Tree Hall meant that at least he was out of the apartment and away from the hospital, where he had been all too aware of being Tommy King, with people peeking into his private room. The newspapers were still full of his drunken mishap, apparently. Not that he read them anymore.

So it was good to be in the back of the chauffeured car that Sam had organised. The sun was out and he had the window down as they drove through the beautiful countryside on a sunny day. The birds were singing in the trees above, the breeze was fresh on his face. He felt alive. Free.

It was one of the quirks of becoming famous. He had spent so much time dreaming about having hit records. The thought that a crowd could know every line of a song that he had written was still an incredible feeling. But he had never considered the downside to everyone knowing his face, his name. And how quickly life as he knew it could change.

As the driver pulled up at a red light, he glanced down to check his missed calls. They were all from Melissa. He threw the phone back onto the passenger seat in disgust.

He had met Melissa at some party that his record label had thrown a few months ago whilst he had a rare day home from his world tour. He had quite liked her. He had even thought that there was a connection between them. Until she had sold their story to the press after a couple of dates and had given out intimate details of what he had thought had been a genuine romance.

He shook his head. He had been a fool to trust her. To trust so many people in his life that let him down. Now that he had lost his gran, it was left to Sam to be the only person that he could rely on and speak freely to.

The journey to Willow Tree Hall led him through Cranley village. From what he could see, it was a tiny hamlet with only a handful of cottages and shops. All the buildings were made from a sandy coloured stone, which made the whole place very attractive to look at.

It was all in stark contrast to his early years. Picturesque country scenes and the peace of nature had been in pretty short supply growing up in the inner-city concrete jungle of London’s East End. He had always enjoyed an affinity with wood and trees, which is why he had gone into carpentry, but lately he had stopped looking outside so much. There was never any time when there was another interview or concert lined up.

A mile or so on from the high street, the driver turned the car through some rusty iron gates and into the long driveway leading up to the house. Sam had only recently confessed that his grandfather was the 7thEarl of Cranley. But Arthur, Sam’s grandfather, had suffered with ill health during the winter and Sam had stepped up to take responsibility for the ancestral home, Willow Tree Hall, albeit reluctantly at first.

Bouncing up the drive, the driver slowed the car down to a crawl. Now Tom understood why Sam had recently purchased a Range Rover and got rid of his beloved Porsche. The potholes were massive.

Despite the huge craters in the narrow lane, Tom couldn’t help but appreciate the stunning setting. The driveway was long, bordered on either side by huge fields of grass and sun-bleached picket fences. In the middle of the front lawn stood a huge willow tree, presumably so ancient that the hall had been named after it all those centuries ago. The willow tree’s long boughs of newly blossomed green leaves swayed gently in the soft breeze.

Then the house came into view. Tom couldn’t help but be amazed. It was a large, wide-fronted building, two stories high and built in the same sandy coloured stone as the rest of the village. Like a miniature Buckingham Palace in shape, it had sixteen large sash windows spread evenly across the front. The centrepiece was a huge front door, framed by large round stone pillars on either side. Tom couldn’t believe that Sam lived in such a beautiful place. Nor that he knew someone of English nobility.

It looked stunning in the bright spring sunshine, especially now that the place had begun to be renovated. From what Tom had heard, it had desperately needed serious work only one year previously. All the sash windows appeared new, as did the doors, walls and most of the fixtures and fittings. In fact, Sam had ploughed most of his hard-earned money into making the place habitable. But somehow it had retained its air of aged splendour.

They parked up and the driver was just helping Tom out of the back seat when the huge double red front door opened.

Sam appeared and came outside to greet him.

‘How’s the foot?’ he asked, gesturing at the crutches, which Tom was fiddling with so he could stand up straight.

‘Not bad.’ It was a lie as it was still extremely painful, but Tom had never shown weakness to anyone. He had a vast supply of painkillers that he would most definitely need until the foot began to heal.

They were just about to head inside the hall when an elderly gentleman appeared at the door and walked towards them.

Arthur Harris, the Earl of Cranley, was an older version of his grandson Sam. They shared the same strong chin and tall build, although Sam was much broader and more muscular than the fragile-looking earl.

Sam had confided in Tom that, after the tragedy of losing both their parents, Arthur and his wife Beatrice had taken over guardianship of their grandsons and had done their very best under difficult circumstances. It had been a time of intense grief and Tom knew that the whole family had taken many years to come to terms with their loss.

‘Welcome to Willow Tree Hall,’ said Arthur, in his clipped aristocratic tone. He held out his hand, the other grasping onto his walking stick.

Tom fiddled with his crutches to reach out his own hand so they could finally shake.

‘Wretched things, aren’t they?’ said Arthur, gesturing at the crutches. ‘Got rid of mine a few months ago. I’ve only got this stick for the time being. Hoping my new hip will be fully operational soon.’

‘You just be careful,’ said Sam in a warning tone. ‘We don’t need any more accidents around here.’

‘He’s so bossy,’ said Arthur, giving Tom a wink. ‘And how long before you’re able to get rid of your crutches?’

‘About a week, the doctor said,’ replied Tom.

‘So what do you think of the house?’ asked Sam.