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It isn’t long before we’re on the motorway and driving out of Castle Eden, first heading south and then west. There are two motorways we can take, both of which circumvent the North Pennines which sit in between the North East and North West of the country. Jack chooses the A66, the more southerly of these roads, and the one that passes through Darlington, then to Barnard Castle, eventually to Penrith, and finally to Keswick, our intended destination, I’d learned. It’s a two-hour journey through fairly rural landscape, getting busier as we pass through towns and cities, then returning to countryside as we travel in between towns. Once past Penrith, the landscape starts to feel quite different with hills cropping here and there. I’m always amazed at this country, how such a short period of time driving can take you through such wildly different landscapes.
The car ride is smooth and uneventful. A couple of hours of radio music and chit chat. It feels natural, like we’ve done this a million times. I’m not sure what to think of that since this isn’t even a relationship, certainly not in the normal sense of the word. What is this? Some sort of secret friends-with-benefits type of situation? I don’t overthink it. Just be in the moment and enjoy it for what it is.
We don’t actually go to Keswick, like I think, though. Instead, before reaching the outskirts of the town, we turn down a narrow lane, passing a few houses along the way, until we arrive at what must be where we’re staying, and I realise that Jack’s initial description was clearly an understatement. I wouldn’t call this a little cottage. It’s a delightful, detached country house, bigger than anything I’d ever lived in. White stone exterior, pale blue shuttered windows, and creeping vines and ivy filling in any empty spaces in between. I could imagine red and coral roses climbing up the trellises affixed to the stone wall exterior in the warmer summer months. It is so picturesque and not at all the type of house I’d pictured.
‘Nothing fancy, huh?’ I say as we get out of the car.
He smiles devilishly, as though I’d complimented him in the best way possible.
‘Okay, let’s see. It should be here...’ Jack goes to the side of the house and lifts up a couple of plant pots. ‘Aha! Here it is!’ He holds up a key. ‘Asked my neighbour to leave it out. Now, let’s go in and get it warmed up,’ Jack said.
It was just as charming on the inside and yet again I can’t help but wonder who’s responsible for decorating his houses. Wait a second. Houses. Plural. Who is this guy?! I knew I was falling for Jack. Hard. But I was also realising that I have no idea who he is. And I am determined to find out a little more about him now that we’re on holiday together. After all, he was the one who’d said we would use this time to get to know each other better... Which sounds like an odd thing to do for two people who don’t have a relationship and who are pretending they barely know each other.
‘It’s beautiful.’
He takes a cursory glance around the house. ‘Needs more paintings.’
‘More flowers?’ I suggest, referring to his huge collection back at his house in Castle Eden.
His eyes darken and his lip quirks. ‘Most definitely.’
A bottle of wine, a fresh loaf of bread, and some cheese lay on the countertop. I point to it. ‘Did your neighbour leave that for you, too?’
‘Probably Huguette, his wife.’
‘You’re lucky to have such nice neighbours.’
‘They’re great. They were friends of my parents’. They’ve known me a long time. They own the B&B just down the road.’
Here’s my chance to find out a bit more. ‘Did you live here as a child?’
‘No, not really. We visited a lot, though. It was my stepdad’s. I inherited it when he passed away.’
I’m instantly sorry I asked because Jack now has a distant look on his face, one, I’ve noticed before, which he tries to hide quickly. I wish I could reach out to him, to tell him it was okay to let his feelings pour out, but he’s already busying himself with getting a fire lit in the woodstove.
‘The boiler should be working fine but I’ll get this fire started up first. It’s a nice heat. And I’ve always loved the sound of a crackling fire.’
I remember the one he has in his kitchen back home. ‘Is that why there’s one in your kitchen, too?’
Jack finishes lighting the starter and deftly closes the door of the stove before the flames leap out. ‘Yes. I can’t even begin to imagine the countless hours I’ve spent staring into the fire, mulling over something or other. It’s like painting. It just immediately takes my mind off things, transports me to someplace else. Or at the very least, it calms me. It’s soothing.’
I nod. He’s right. Staring into the fire as the flames leap about and the wood begins to glow does have a calming effect. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I ask.
‘Just relax. I’ll bring the suitcases up when I’m done here. Unless you’d like to put the kettle on?’
Yes. I could make some tea. I fill the kettle with fresh water and plug it in. I find some lovely stoneware mugs in a cupboard and some tea bags in a tin on the worktop. As Jack carries in the bags from the car, I bring the cups of tea into the sitting room which faces the rear part of the property. The windows offer a spectacular view. Thorny, long-stemmed rose bushes dot the back garden and a table and chairs sits in a small patio area covered in pale beige pebbles. Then further, a larger grassy field. Much further, I could see the distant outline of water, a lake.
‘Is all of that back garden yours?’ I ask as Jack walks into the room.
‘Yes. Why, thinking of all the things we could get up to out there?’ he says with a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ I say, playing along. ‘Perhaps, on those wrought-iron chairs, although that doesn’t look very comfortable. The little garden house out there looks like it must be very lonely.’
‘Why go outside when we have a perfectly warm house right here?’ he walks over, bends down and kisses my neck.
‘Very good point, Professor.’
He stiffens and sits down on the sofa beside me. ‘Ugh, don’t remind me. There’s so much I have to do and it just piles up the longer I’m away. The emails don’t slow down and the work never stops.’
