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It was a short drive, down the hill to the main road, then Brandon turned left before the road veered away. He drove slowly along a pitted, overgrown gravel track. The track ended, opening up to more weed strewn gravel. It was a bigger space than Ryan was expecting, considering the narrowness of the track. He looked around curiously as Brandon steered the BMW carefully across the clearing, parking in front of a large, ancient redbrick building. Brandon fished a set of keys from the console and got out of the car. Ryan followed him when he walked to the wide double doors, pushed an ornate, brass key into the lock and turned it hard. He had to push at the door to get it to open, then he gestured for Ryan to step inside.
“Do you own this building?” He asked when Brandon pulled the other door open to let more light in to the dim, dusty interior.
“I do.”
“Interesting.” They were standing in a foyer with a high ceiling. At its peak was a dingy skylight. Ryan imagined that once it was cleaned, the entrance would be flooded with light. An intricate wooden staircase ascended to the second floor. Ryan could make out mosaic tiles under the grime at their feet.
“I’ll show you around.”
“Please do.”
“Right, so this is the foyer, obviously. The stairs go up to a long corridor with about eight rooms either side, no plumbing. Through here.” He gestured to a set of ornate, stained-glass doors and led the way through.
“Wow, what a space.”
“It’s something, isn’t it?”
Here was a large room with more mosaic tiled flooring, wood paneling on the walls, crystal chandeliers and fretwork on the high ceiling. French glass doors lined the far wall and through the grime, Ryan could see a big veranda. “Can we get through the doors?”
“Sure.” Brandon managed to carefully push one of the doors open. The hinges were stiff and he didn’t want to break the glass. They stepped out onto the veranda. Red brick pillars lined the edge, with shallow steps leading down to stubbly grass. Ten steps from the veranda, the beach started. It was a small beach, nestled between two high cliffs. Very secluded and private.
“This is great.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty happy with it. Built around one hundred and fifty years ago, by a doctor whose wife was terminally ill. They were from Melbourne, but she said she wanted to die by the seaside. So he built this for her, and when she passed on, he turned it into a palliative care hospital. When he passed away, he left it to his only son, who kept it running as a hospice, until he died too, childless and unmarried. It’s sat here ever since. Waiting for me, I guess.”
“And what are you thinking to do with it, lad? It’s a big house for one person.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t live in it. Come here.” Brandon gestured with his head towards the end of the veranda. Across the overgrown sea grass, nestled against the base of the cliff, edging the beach was a small, red brick house. Further back, closer to the road, was what could only be described as a cottage. “The big house for Georgie, the cottage for me,” Brandon explained when Ryan looked at him enquiringly.
“I see.”
Brandon looked at him uncertainly. “Do you think…” he pushed his fingers through his hair. “Do you think she might like it?”
“Living here?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, I think she would. I think she would like it very much. But I don’t think you need my opinion on that. You could just ask her yourself.”
“Right. But I didn’t want her to feel pressured, you know, if she didn’t like the idea.”
“Since you’ve already bought the building, it’s probably a little late to worry about that, lad,” Ryan said, in some amusement.
Blowing out a breath, Brandon smiled. “If you thought she wouldn’t like it, I’d do it up and sell it. Or something. I wouldn’t even tell her. But if you think she’ll really go for it, I’ll get moving on cleaning it up a bit, then I’ll show it to her.”
“She’ll go for it.”
Relief flickered across Brandon’s face before he said, “Great. Because there’s something else I have to talk to you about.”
* * *
“You’re nearly done with this.”
“Am I really?”
Ryan watched Georgie as she walked along the sand. She moved with only a slight limp now, strong and steady across the uneven, shifting ground. “Yes. You’ve done well, mo chroi.”
She slipped her hand in his. “I have, haven’t I?”
