‘What?’
There was a short pause with some rustling in the background. ‘I lost track of time. Sorry, Sophie. It’s my most annoying habit, getting absorbed in my ideas.’
‘No problem. I’m at your disposal, and it’s no chore to wait in such beautiful surroundings.’
‘That’s very kind of you. Oh, and speaking of which, how did your tour go? No! Don’t answer that. I’ll see you in the kitchen asap.’
After another apology, we heated up the soup and made sandwiches with thick slices of rustic bread and crumbly cheese.
That’s not quite true. I made lunch, Hattie faffed about rearranging the fruit bowl, did a quick sketch of a hare on an old envelope, and set the table.
We chatted about the grounds, and the projects Gideon had been working on, and she asked a dozen questions about living in a motorhome, all of which I answered factually, and to the point.
‘How long have you lived like this?’
‘Seven years. Once I went from helping out friends of friends to a proper business, visiting strangers, I needed a car and a place to stay. Finding hotels or an Airbnb was a pain when I didn’t know how long I’d be there, and living out of a suitcase soon grew frustrating, so a motorhome seemed like the perfect option. Even better once I’d got Muffin.’
‘Hmm.’ She picked up her sandwich. ‘You must have been young. You did very well to be able to make such a significant purchase.’
I knew full well what she was hinting at. However, unlike the usual prickle of discomfort, there was something about Hattie that made it easy to answer her.
‘I’d inherited some money.’
Her aquamarine eyes watched me for a few seconds, as if taking in far more than my words. ‘Well, it sounds like you made a very solid investment. In my wandering days, mobile homes used to turn me green with envy. I hope you’ll let me have a snoop inside at some point.’
‘Of course.’ I smiled, grateful for her tact. ‘I’m not sure Flapjack would squeeze in there, though. He might have to watch us through the window.’
‘Oh, that monster always finds a way!’ She laughed.
Once we’d eaten and made a pot of tea, Hattie invited me to follow her up to the top floor.
We climbed a creaking wooden staircase with a faded carpet running down the middle. At the top was a heavy door with an iron lock that Hattie opened with a key clasped in a quaking hand.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked as she gripped the door handle before pausing, chest rising sharply as her eyes squeezed shut.
After a weighty moment, she gave a firm nod, eyes opening again with a glimmer of determination. ‘I’ve not crossed this threshold since the renovators moved everything up here, when I first came back in 2006.’
‘How long had you been away?’
She sighed. ‘Sixteen years. In many ways, a lifetime. But that story is for another day. If we don’t start at the beginning, none of the rest will make sense. Come on, let’s do it.’
She twisted the handle and the door swung open with an ominous squeak.
Entering the room was like stepping back through time, the only clue the room had been abandoned for so long being the clouds of dust motes swirling in the beam from the open doorway as Hattie squeezed through piles of boxes to hurriedly pull thick drapes open. I followed suit with the other side of the room, the pale afternoon light shimmering through grimy panes of glass, revealing velvet-effect wallpaper in deep purple and cream, dotted with paintings featuring scenes from the Riverbend grounds.
There was a bedframe with a yellowing mattress, a wardrobe, chest of drawers and dressing table made of ornately carved mahogany that I instantly recognised as valuable. Hattie pointed out two doors on the far side of the room that led to a bathroom and dressing room, and the remaining space was stacked with wooden crates, trunks and plastic boxes, their modernity jarring with the antique furnishings.
‘Was this your parents’ room?’ I asked as Hattie stood motionless, her eyes darting across the contents.
Her mouth twisted up at one side. ‘My father considered the attic room for servants. Not that any still lived here when he moved in. His room was below us. After he died, I knocked through into two other bedrooms and a bathroom and rebuilt them as the studio. This was my mother’s room.’ She moved across to the dressing table, gently stroking her finger through the thick layer of dust. ‘She died in this bed, so it was the last place I saw her.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ If Hattie had been here when her mother died, given how long she’d been away, Hattie must have been fairly young when it happened. How young, I supposed I would find out soon enough.
She turned to me, smile wavering, her face pale. ‘Yes, I believe you really are.’
‘Would you like a few moments to yourself? I can fetch us both a drink.’
‘Oh, my goodness, no! The last thing I want is to face this alone. That’s why I invited you here.’
