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Tap-tap-tap. She was certainly desperate to get out of this house. The sound of her impatience echoing through the house was both agitating and infuriating.
At the top of the stairs, Rosie hurtled past the Eppings into the main bathroom and kicked her underwear behind the basin before they followed her in.
‘I suppose this is a decent-sized room at least,’ said Cecilia, frowning at the stain on the bath enamel that wouldn’t come off, however much Rosie scrubbed. She ran her hand across the shower curtain before pulling her hand back as though she was burned. ‘Is that mould?’
Itwasmould – a spot of black fungus the size of a five pence piece where the curtain rested against the tub. Rosie forced herself to smile.
‘This room would certainly benefit from a new suite, including a walk-in shower, but that could be installed fairly inexpensively. The main thing is this room is a fabulous size and would make a wonderful master bathroom for the main bedroom that overlooks the sea. You could charge a premium for that sort of accommodation.’
‘The main bedroom is where?’ asked Cecilia, already bored with the bathroom and Rosie’s ideas.
The bedroom caught her attention a little more, and she spent a couple of minutes looking around, before wandering off along the landing to investigate the other rooms by herself. Charles stayed put, gazing through the window across the cliffs to the sea. The wind that had sprung up was whipping at the waves and there were white horses as far as the eye could see.
‘The view from this room is rather magnificent,’ he said, after a few moments.
‘It really is,’ Rosie enthused. ‘Whatever the weather, sun or cloud. Watching a storm front roll in across the sea is amazing.’
‘I can imagine.’ He pushed a hand through his snow-white hair. ‘I also imagine that your mother liked living here.’
‘She loved it.’
‘But you didn’t.’ It was a statement, rather than a question.
‘Just because I live elsewhere, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love this house.’
Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose not, otherwise why would you be trying so hard to save it?’ He picked up a silver-framed photo of Rosie from the chest of drawers. ‘Was this your mother’s bedroom?’
‘Why?’
Now that did sound rude, but Rosie’s patience with her inconveniently early visitors was wearing thin. They owned the house, but it was still her home for the next few days. She took the photo from Charles and carefully placed it back exactly where it had been before.
‘I was merely interested to know what became of your mother, after Evelyn’s death.’
‘Didn’t you ever try to contact her yourself?’
Charles regarded Rosie for a moment before turning his attention back to the ever-moving water. ‘I don’t deal directly with tenants.’
‘Even a tenant who was great friends with your sister? A tenant who you remembered had a sweet tooth?’
Colour flooded Charles’s face and he opened his mouth to speak, but his wife beat him to it.
‘What are you two muttering about in here?’ she called from the doorway. When neither of them answered, she marched across the room and hooked her arm through her husband’s. She seemed pale under her carefully applied make-up, and jittery, as though she’d seen a ghost.
Rosie’s antipathy towards this cold woman softened slightly. Living in the middle of Dartmoor, with the snow piling up in winter, must be rather lonely, however much money you had.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked. Cecilia hesitated, suspicion etched across her face. ‘I promise it’s not a bribe to save the house. I think I’d have to do rather better than a cup of Earl Grey. You just look like you could do with catching your breath.’
‘We don’t have the time.’ Cecilia paused again and her voice was softer when she added: ‘But thank you.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to show us the other bedrooms and then we can leave you in peace.’
Once Rosie had shown them the bedrooms – and suggested that the attic could be converted into an additional bedroom with en suite facilities at a relatively low cost – Cecilia declared she’d seen enough.
‘What’s your verdict on Driftwood House?’ asked Rosie, nervously, as the couple stood at the open front door. The weather had turned and clouds bunching over the sea promised showers by tea time.
‘My husband and I will discuss it and we’ll be in touch. Thank you for your time.’
Rosie wasn’t an idiot. Cecilia clearly hated Driftwood House and would be pushing for it to be demolished. And Charles would agree, if his apparent indifference to the house was anything to go by. He’d hardly said a word since their tetchy exchange in the bedroom.
Cecilia walked towards the Range Rover but Charles hesitated in the doorway. ‘Was your mother happy here at Driftwood House?’
