As I walked Flynn through the plans, I had to keep reminding myself not to get carried away with the detail. He’d made it clear that time was an issue and I didn’t want to detain him longer than necessary for both our sakes. He scribbled in his notepad, shone his torch here and there and knocked on several walls as we toured the attic rooms before descending to the first floor.
‘Most of the rooms in the west wing are empty now. Darrowby’s cleared them and some pieces will get restored and returned with others going into an auction.’ I pushed open my bedroom door. ‘This is my luxury suite.’
‘You live here?’ Flynn looked surprised.
‘Yeah. I assumed Mark would have told you.’
‘Mark doesn’t tell me anything about you.’
‘Because you don’t want to hear it,’ I said, jokingly.
‘No. Because he knows you don’t want me to know anything.’
His voice was gentle with a tinge of sadness which was echoed in his eyes as he held my gaze. I hated how much I’d hurt him. He hadn’t deserved any of it.
‘So, erm… I use this room and there’s a Jack-and-Jill bathroom between this and the final bedroom which I use as an office. I was going to rent somewhere but I was struggling to find anywhere suitable to live and work. Oliver and Rosie said I could stay here as long as was practical. It makes it easier although it does sometimes get lonely on my own in such a big room in a huge building and…’
I tailed off, no idea why I was telling Flynn this and especially letting him know I was on my own and occasionally lonely. What was I thinking?
The tour continued and I stayed succinct and focused on the building project only, but thoughts kept pushing into my head about how amazing Flynn was to agree to come here when it couldn’t be easy for him to be around me. He could have said no to Rosie. Or he could have turned up and been arsey with me, demanding we talk before he’d even consider taking on the work. But that wasn’t Flynn’s style.
Eventually it was time to go down into the cellar. I opened the wooden door and flicked on the light at the top of the staircase to illuminate our way. There was a thicker and older door at the bottom, which I pushed open. Stepping into the cellar, I groped along the wall, trying to find the light switch. I eventually felt it in an illogical place round the corner and the lights flickered for a moment before settling into a dim yellow glow. Remembering what Oliver had said about the door being sticky, I turned to tell Flynn to prop it open.
‘Can you just?—’
But I was too late and the door had closed behind him.
‘Can I just what?’ Flynn asked.
‘I was going to ask you to prop the door open. Oliver says it sticks.’
He grimaced before pressing down on the handle and attempting to pull the door towards him, but it didn’t budge. He tried again several times, but to no avail.
‘You’re winding me up, right?’ I asked, grasping at straws as panic gripped me at the prospect of being locked in a cold, dark cellar with my ex-husband and all our demons.
‘I wouldn’t do that. Feel free to try.’
I did, rattling the handle with increasing desperation. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.
38
‘It’ll be all right,’ Flynn said, his voice calm and soothing. ‘We’ll look around then try the door again. So, what can you tell me about the cellar?’
‘Very little. I haven’t spent much time down here as it’s not part of the refurbishment plan. No windows, so they can’t use it for accommodation. I checked it over to make sure there’s no damp or structural issues and it seemed sound to me. Dougie spent longer down here and he didn’t have any concerns. It looks like it’s been used for storage. Oliver and Rosie say they haven’t a clue what’s down here.’
As I spoke, the lights – a couple of rows of exposed bulbs stretching to the far end of the cellar – kept flickering. Flynn picked up a duster abandoned on top of a crate and used it to avoid burning his hand as he went along one row and back along the other testing the bulbs.
‘They’re all screwed in tightly,’ he said, placing the duster back where he’d found it. ‘We might lose the light, not that it’s great anyway.’
He whipped out his torch and slowly walked down to the end of the cellar, shining it at the walls and ceiling. There was no point me trailing behind him so I decided to look in some of the boxes. The nearest ones to me were vintage timber shipping crates and, when I shone the torch on my phone into them, it appeared that six of them contained a mixture of glassware, crockery and ornaments, all carefully wrapped. I didn’t delve too far as I didn’t want to risk breaking anything. There could well be some beautiful and potentially valuable pieces in there but I’d need to take them upstairs for a proper look. Another shipping crate contained folded-up curtains and there was one with some lacework, possibly table runners and place settings.
Piled next to them were several cardboard boxes full of paperwork and old photos. I lifted out a black-and-white photo of a woman and a girl standing by the front door of the hall and flicked it over to see if anything was written on the back.Agnes and Rebecca, 28 July 1913.The date jumped out at me – exactly one year before World War I began. They’d have had no idea about the loss and destruction that lay ahead. I turned it back to the front, wondering who Agnes and Rebecca were and what had happened to them. I’d done some research into the owners of Willowdale Hall but those names weren’t familiar, although they could easily have been extended family or friends.
For the first time this morning, I felt a moment of calm. A box like this was a dream find for me and I could easily lose myself for hours in the history. At the opposite side of the room there was an old chaise with some padding bursting out of a hole. I carried the box over to it and gave it a wobble to make sure there wasn’t a leg missing, but it seemed to be secure. I couldn’t see Flynn but I could see his torch beam at the far end of the cellar so I sat down with the box beside me and rummaged further. Inside, there were stacks more photos, postcards, letters, invitations to parties and menus.
It wasn’t long before I felt the cold seeping in. At first, it was just my hands and I kept rubbing them together in an attempt to warm them but soon my whole body felt cold and I regretted abandoning my coat in the kitchen. I definitely needed it down here. The T-shirt I was wearing might be long-sleeved but it was only thin cotton and provided no protection. I wished I was wearing a fleece, but I hadn’t opted for trapped-in-cellar-chic when I’d dressed this morning.
Flynn returned and tried the door again but, after several attempts from him and from me, there was no way it was going to open. He couldn’t even try to barge it as it opened inwards.
