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We’d continued several feet beyond a paved terrace when Cayman stopped and waved his arm. “I give you Surrey Hills and beyond.”
“Wow.” The views were spectacular and seemed to stretch on for miles and miles.
“This overlooks the farmland and the outbuildings,” he said, pointing down the terraced hillside.
“Are the horses yours?” I asked, motioning to several I’d spotted in a pasture.
Cayman grimaced. “Not mine, but my mum would prefer I claimed them. At least the ones she keeps here. She breeds Andalusians.”
I raised a brow. “Is she from Spain?”
“Her family was, originally.” He turned toward the house, and I followed. “You might gather I’m not what one would consider a proper English country gentleman.”
“Do they still exist?”
“Out this way, they do. Do you ride?”
“I enjoy it. However, I’m not here on holiday, as you Brits say.”
“Care to see the house?”
“I would. However, are you sure about this?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let you judge.” After opening the door, he waved me ahead of him. “The rooms on the main floor are all accessed from the reception hall. There are two sitting rooms, a kitchen, a formal and an informal dining area, two bedrooms, three lavatories, and a library. Upstairs are the other five bedrooms and two more sitting rooms, along with more lavatories.”
“Your definition of a farmhouse and mine are very different,” I said, following him into one of the sitting rooms. It had two sofas and a large square ottoman, all covered in purple velvet. Two chairs were made of red leather and two of black. Over the fireplace was a red abstract painting equal in size to the ottoman.
Cayman appeared as chagrined by the decor as he’d been when I asked about the horses. “My mother’s decorating style leans more modern.”
While none of the remaining rooms we visited were done in the same bold colors as the first, they were all equally contemporary.
“What do you think? Would you like to see upstairs?”
“Only if you want to show me. I don’t need to.”
“Any of the cottages?”
“Again, only if you think it’s necessary.”
We returned to the reception hall, and I put my hands on my hips. “This is far more than I imagined. I asked before, but I will again; are you sure about all of us working here?”
Cayman shrugged. “Might as well use it, right? The caretaker and his wife will be thrilled to have people to dote on. I’m afraid the staff gets as bored as I would if I lived out here.”
“As Z suggested, I’ll need to run it up my chain of command. We should talk price before I do.”
He folded his arms and looked out the window. “Hadn’t thought about that. Maybe base it on a combined per diem?”
“That could work. However, I’m sure a place like this costs far more than that.”
This time when he shrugged, I realized it was more of a nervous tic. “My mum will be happy there’s someone here,” he muttered.
We’d gone out the door and he was locking up when his cell vibrated. “Message from Puck, asking if we want to meet up at the pub.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The placewhere we met Puck was across the way from the building Londoners referred to as the “Walkie-Talkie” due to its distinctive shape.
“Nem lives in there,” Cayman said when he caught me studying it.
