Page 21 of The Mad Marchams

“You must be able to get bank loans for that kind of thing.”

“Now that I’m apparently in control of the family finances I’ll definitely have to look into that.”

“And grants.”

He looked interested. “Yes, I suppose there might be some public money out there to help renovate this old pile.”

She reached for his hand. “We can research all that this evening and then have a family meeting tomorrow to lay out your plans.” She paused. “I mean you can hold a meeting. I don’t even have to be there.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and lightly kissed them. “Seeing as you’re the person goading me into trying to save this place, you’d better be prepared to be right by my side. After my family hear the bad news, I might need some protection to stay alive.”

“I’ll protect you. I have a black belt in karate.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. “I think I’d quite like to see you body slam my brother Freddy to the floor.”

She winked at him. “Keep on my good side and you never know.”

They walked back to the dower house hand in hand and Colin immediately put the kettle on as Mabel dealt with the coffee.

“Does this house have its own address or is it considered part of Marcham Hall?” she asked.

“It’s a separate entity, why?”

“Because I’d like to get one of those coffee pod machines and I need a delivery address.” Mabel got out her newly linked up phone and looked at him inquiringly.

“It’s The Dower House, Marcham Hall, Marcham Lane, Marcham CM32 9ZX.”

Mabel chuckled. “That sure is a lot of Marchams.”

“That’s because the village was named after the hall. Imagine what it reads like when you add your family name on top of that lot. People look at you like you’re making it up.”

“I bet.” Mabel skimmed through listings for coffee machines as they talked. “Anything else you need while I’m ordering this?”

“Twenty thousand slate tiles and ten miles of sewage pipes?”

“Hmm… For some reason, they don’t seem to have any of those on the ’Zon. But they do have Oreos.”

“Which aren’t as good as a nice custard cream.”

“Says who?” Mabel placed her order and turned back to Colin.

He sighed and shook his head. “Everyone who lives in the UK.”

“Which isn’t as many as everyone in the USA, so we win. Double Stuff Oreos rule.”

After the coffee brewed, she poured herself a cup and headed into the sunny front room, her laptop tucked under her arm. On her phone, she’d noticed at least thirty email notifications from various members of her team. She was choosing to ignore them. She’d told them she’d be unavailable for at least a month, and it was irritating that they hadn’t believed her or thought she’d simply make time to reply. Even a week away from Silicon Valley was making her question her life choices. She didn’t need to work twenty-four hours a day, and she refused to let them make her think she did.

Colin came in with his tea and a packet of biscuits he set on the table between them.

“Help yourself.”

She fake-sighed as she noted they were chocolate-bourbons. “That’s the best you can do as an imitation Oreo?”

“Yup.” He took one out and dunked it straight in his tea. “Perfect.”

“At least I now understand why British biscuits are always hard and boring,” Mabel murmured. “They’re designed to withstand the rigors of being drowned in tea.”

“Not all of them,” Colin objected. “What about a nice Jaffa cake?”