Rosie raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Boots?’
‘I have a slight footwear addiction,’ I admitted. ‘I love boots, particularly brightly coloured ankle boots.’
‘Which she hardly ever wears because she never goes out.’
‘Georgia!’
‘It’s true! But that’s going to change now you’re back home. Quiz night every Thursday for a start.’
‘But I couldn’t answer any of the questions so I can’t help you win. Why would you want me on your team?’
‘Because it’s not about the winning. It’s about being with you. We need to make up for lost time.’
Tears glistened in her eyes and I felt another rush of guilt at how much I’d hurt my sister by moving away. She’d never let on but there’d been a few comments recently which had opened my eyes. I’d make it up to her. I’d make it up to them all. Even Flynn at some point but it would take a while to build up to that because I’d hurt him the deepest.
11
When I woke up on Saturday morning, I lay under my duvet for several minutes listening to Willowdale Hall breathing. Georgia laughed at me when I told her I could hear old buildings breathe, which was rich from somebody who talked to books. I loved the phraseif walls could talk. I wish! The things these walls must have seen – the good times and bad, the joy and the pain.
I usually struggled with sleep the first night in a new place but I’d slept so well last night. It probably helped that the bed was familiar. When Flynn and I separated, I didn’t want anything from the house. It would hurt too much to have all the reminders of family life around me so I’d told Flynn he could have everything. I’d already taken what I needed – my clothes, books and the contents of my office. The flat in Newcastle had only been sparsely furnished so I’d splashed out on a few essentials which were now in my temporary home. The bed had been too heavy for me to reassemble on my own so, when Oliver arrived back from work last night, he and Rosie had assisted me. They’d also offered to help me unpack my books onto the shelves but I’d told them I’d do it myself across the weekend. I didn’t want to impose on their already generous hospitality.
I’d be on my own for most of today. Being a Saturday, it was Rosie’s busiest day for riding lessons and Oliver was running a morning surgery then meeting his dad for a hike. I’d expressed surprise at that as I’d thought Hubert Cranleigh was Oliver’s dad but they’d told me it was a recent discovery and a long story which they’d share over a bottle of wine one evening.
I’d been given free rein of the ground and first floor of the hall, told I could open any door and explore, although Oliver had suggested I avoid the top floor for now due to several rotten floorboards and the cellar because the door was sticky and they’d hate me to get trapped down there on my own. I would need to see both but there was plenty of time to do that and just exploring the ground and first floor would keep me busy for a long time.
A Jack-and-Jill bathroom connected my new office and bedroom so I showered and dressed. Heading downstairs to make a coffee, I ran my fingers along the walls, wondering what secrets they kept. Places like this were full of them and I suspected that the discovery that Hubert Cranleigh wasn’t Oliver’s biological father was simply the latest in a long history of whispers, scandal and secrets.
The ten-year-old me would have been beside herself with excitement if she’d known that the grown-up me would one day get to look around Willowdale Hall, but she’d never have believed that I’d also get to live and work here. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was about the estate that had captured my heart at such a young age. Was it the mystery of a building that couldn’t be seen from the road? Was it because it was by far the biggest house in the area? Or was it because I’d already fallen in love with history and this was a wonderful example right on my doorstep? When I’d first seen Willowdale Hall from that boat on Derwent Water, it had been even grander and more imposing than I’d imagined and now here I was inside with access to nearly all the rooms. Talk about a dream come true.
During my tour of the hall as part of my interview, Oliver and Rosie had told me that they mainly lived between three rooms – the library in the west wing and the kitchen and their bedroom in the east wing. In the enormous kitchen, they’d pointed out the obvious – that it was dated, in a state of disrepair and in need of a major overhaul. Their bedroom was above the kitchen and Oliver told me he’d moved into it as a teenager and it hadn’t been decorated since way before that. I could see why he’d chosen it. It had a stunning view over the garden and the lake and was so big that it could have a sleeping/dressing area as well as a section devoted to relaxing or studying without looking cluttered. Oliver and Rosie spoke very matter-of-factly about the kitchen and bedroom but their demeanours completely changed when they showed me the library and it wasn’t difficult to see why. It was dated and needed a few repairs here and there but, unlike the rest of the rooms in the house, the library felt warm and loved and that’s where I headed first with my coffee.
I opened the door and leaned against the frame, hands cradled round my mug, taking it all in. Floor-to-ceiling shelves ran all around the room, the higher shelves accessed by a ladder on a rail. A pair of sofas and an armchair were positioned round a fireplace to my left and there was a shabby chic writing desk and chaise longue on the right – pieces which I absolutely loved and which gave a real sense of history to the room.
Stepping inside and closing the door behind me, I turned right and worked my way round the library, running my fingers over the oak shelving, the desk and the threadbare fabric on the chaise longue. When I reached the other side, I smiled at the candlestick, picturing the sparkle in Rosie’s eyes when she’d tipped it to one side and, with a click, the bookcase had rotated by 180 degrees to reveal a secret miniature library inside. I tipped the candlestick now, opening the hidden door and stepped inside the room where Oliver’s mum, Kathryn, had loved to read.
I lowered myself onto one of the two high-backed armchairs, switched on the standard lamp between them, placed my mug on a coaster on the coffee table and breathed in and out slowly while I gathered my thoughts. Their plan was to convert the east wing into their living space and the west wing into holiday accommodation and that didn’t make sense to me when the library was the only room to which they both clearly had an emotional attachment. Something like this could be recreated in their home but it wouldn’t be the same because it wouldn’t hold the precious memories Oliver had of his mum being in here. He’d talked about her loving baking and the kitchen being her pride and joy but it was obvious to me that the strongest and happiest memories he had of Kathryn were in the library. And why build a new secret room when there was already a fabulous one right here?
After I finished my drink, I explored the rest of the ground floor in the west wing, moved up to the first floor then returned to the library to pull together some thoughts on how they could keep the library within their living accommodation.
I was still at the desk when I heard voices and was shocked to see it was already half five. I’d been so absorbed in my work that I’d been oblivious to darkness falling. Moments later, the door opened and Oliver and Rosie appeared, both red-cheeked from a day in the cold.
‘Aren’t you chilly?’ Oliver asked, rubbing his hands together as he headed towards the fireplace.
‘Layers and these.’ I held up my hands to show off my fingerless gloves. I’d worked in so many old properties over the years, many of which were empty with no functioning heating, that I came prepared. A long-sleeved thermal T-shirt was the perfect base layer, topped with wool or fleece tops and a down-filled gilet; all ideal material for trapping heat. I also usually carried a chargeable hand warmer in my coat pocket.
The dogs lay down on the rug in front of the fire while Rosie scrunched up some newspaper and soon the room was aglow with the flames. They left the dogs with me while they went to get changed – Rosie out of her riding gear and Oliver out of his muddy hiking clothes – and said they’d be back shortly to find out how my day had gone. That should give me just enough time to finish off the sketches I wanted to show them.
The room was warming nicely and, by the time Oliver and Rosie returned, I’d shed my gilet and gloves and moved to the rug to stroke Toffee and Chester.
‘So, how’s your day been?’ Rosie asked, handing me a mug of tea.
‘Fantastic. I completely lost track of time and nearly missed my lunch. This place! Honestly, I can’t thank you enough for letting me be part of your plans.’
‘I spy a notepad,’ Rosie said, nodding towards my sketchbook. ‘Have you been working already? You were meant to be settling in.’
‘I couldn’t help myself. So many ideas I didn’t want to lose and I’ve got something major I want to run by you, although I can wait until later if you’d rather relax.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ Oliver said. ‘Fire away.’
