Emma removed their halters and leads and the trio had a drink and a munch on the hay hanging up in the shack.
‘I’ll walk the others later,’ she told me as she hung up the halters and leads. ‘I want to check the perimeter fence and clean the water trough first. You’re welcome to stay longer.’
I appreciated the invite but I’d decided to check out Keswick market so I told her I’d head off. ‘Thanks for letting me join you on your walk. That’s set up my day perfectly.’
‘I enjoyed the company. Don’t work too hard. It is the weekend, after all.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘The first walk of the day is at ten so, if you’re ever at a loose end first thing, you’re welcome to stop by for a chat, although be warned that I’ll probably thrust a rake and shovel at you and ask you to get scooping.’
‘I’d be happy to help.’
‘Excellent. Could be the first step in finding you a work-life balance while you’re here. We’ll soon have you all relaxed and any wounds healed.’
‘No wounds to heal,’ I said, ‘but I hear you about relaxing. I’ll try my best.’
We said our goodbyes and I thrust my gloved hands into my coat pockets as I strode down the lane, kicking at a frost-covered stick.No wounds to heal?If only!
16
I returned to the hall intending on having a coffee before heading into town but I felt on edge, my parting words to Emma swirling round in my mind. My wounds were so deep that I couldn’t imagine them ever healing and it was fair enough that I hadn’t shared that with a woman I’d only just met, especially when she was the half-sister of my new client. But why tell her an outright lie? There were so many other things I could have said in response.Sounds perfectorI’ll look forward to the hall working its magic.Anything but a declaration that I had no wounds to heal. Willowdale was a small village and Emma was bound to find out about Noah at some point. What would she think of me then? Who loses their son and declares they have no wounds to heal?
While the coffee machine whirred and filled my mug, I stared out of the kitchen window, eager to focus on something nice in the hope of quietening the noise in my head. The lawn sparkled in the winter sun and I loved how unspoilt it was, stretching out into the distance to the trees and the lake beyond. I thought about what Autumn and Rosie had told me about the willow tree avenue which had inspired the setting of Autumn’s books. That would undoubtedly look beautiful with the frost clinging to the branches. I couldn’t see the willows from here but I felt compelled to see if they were as spectacular as I imagined. Leaving my mug on the machine, I pulled my wellies and layers back on and left by the side door. I wasn’t sure exactly where the willow trees were but if I followed the edge of the lake, I’d happen upon them.
My breath caught when I found Derwentside Dell and I could immediately see why Autumn had been so inspired. The trees had been planted in two rows creating a walkway between their droopy branches, which followed the curve of the lake before rising up a slope. The outer branches sparkled with the frost and there were sprinkles of frost along the walkway where the branches weren’t dense enough to shelter the ground. The dappled light from the low sun created an ethereal feeling and I smiled at the thought of Autumn’s fairies and woodland animals dancing in the shafts of sunlight.
Autumn had probably visited Derwentside Dell during all weathers to capture the light and the colours for her illustrations, but I took some photos from outside and under the arches to share with her, just in case this particular morning presented something she hadn’t previously captured. There was enough space to walk all the way through the willow avenue, although I had to duck occasionally to avoid getting my hat snagged on the branches.
The lake continued in a curve towards a two-storey boat house which had to be where Hubert Cranleigh’s car had been hidden. What a shocking situation that was. I slipped my phone into my pocket and pulled my gloves back on as I crunched my way across the lawn towards the structure.
Much as I loved beautiful big old properties like Willowdale Hall, tiny structures like this could just as easily capture my imagination. I’d always been fascinated by Bridge House in Ambleside – one of the Lake District’s most recognisable and smallest buildings. Now under the care of The National Trust, the tiny seventeenth-century two-roomed house on a bridge over Stock Beck had originally been an apple store for nearby Ambleside Hall, specifically built on a bridge to avoid land tax. It had changed purpose many times over, being used as a counting house for the nearby mills, a tearoom, a cobbler’s, a chair maker’s and even home to a family of eight. The latter particularly sparked my imagination, wondering how two adults and six children had lived in such a tiny space – way smaller than the boat house in front of me.
Oliver and Rosie hadn’t said anything about their plans for the boat house. There was no sign of the tree which fell down on the roof last year but the damage from it hadn’t been repaired. Perhaps that was an indication that they were planning to have it pulled down. I could understand why they might want to but, in my opinion, it would be a travesty to destroy it. I walked round to the other side on which the tree had landed, grimacing at the gaping hole in the roof. The double wooden doors onto the lawn were buckled and hanging off, and I knew without looking that there’d be some water damage inside as a result of a year’s exposure to the elements, but the rest of the building appeared to be in good condition.
I whipped my phone out and took several photos as my mind whirred. There was such a demand these days for unique holiday destinations, the quirkier the better. Rooms in lighthouses, windmills, treehouses, shepherd’s huts, underground bunkers and so on were let for a premium. Refurbishing the boat house as luxury accommodation for two would require a minimal outlay, relatively speaking within the scope of the whole project, but would bring in a speedy high return.
A dog brushing past my legs made me jump. ‘Chester? Where did you spring from?’
Moments later, his partner-in-crime Toffee appeared with Alice not far behind. On Tuesday, Rosie had invited me to join her and Alice for lunch at Horseshoe Cottage. When Rosie returned to the stables, I’d stayed for another hour. Alice was so warm and friendly, just like her daughter, and I’d loved spending time with her.
I waved at Alice and she waved back, which was a good sign as I was acutely conscious of being beside the boat house and unaware of her feelings towards the building now.
‘Exploring the grounds?’ she asked, smiling as she came closer.
‘Autumn and Rosie told me about the willow tree avenue so I wanted to take a look at it, and then I spotted the boat house.’
She looked past me towards the building, her head cocked onto one side. What must she be thinking right now looking at the building where Hubert Cranleigh had hidden his car for all those years?
‘It’s looking a bit sad and sorry with that hole in the roof and the doors hanging loose,’ she said eventually, turning her gaze back to me. ‘Did Rosie tell you what happened in the storm? I told her she could.’
‘Yes. She wanted me to hear it from her rather than someone else. I’m so sorry. Finding the car must have been really difficult for you.’
‘At the time, it was horrendous, but that tree coming down saved me. They say you sometimes have to hit rock bottom before you can make your way up again and that was certainly true for me. I had a breakdown that day but it was the start of my recovery.’
She wandered over to the boat house and ran her hand down the stonework. ‘It’s still a beautiful structure, even in its sorry state.’
‘I think so, and the location is incredible. Those views! I was just thinking that it could be refurbished and make a fantastic unique escape, but I wasn’t sure how that proposal would go down after what happened.’
