I turn my back on the lake and stand at the bottom of the steps, trying to take it all in. The architecture is sharp and almost futuristic with its clean lines, natural wood accents and open glass walls. Every floor-to-ceiling window offers aglimpse of something magical. A roaring fire inside, plush cream sofas, and that stunning view of the lake just beyond. It’s like something I’d expect a celebrity to own, never me. Never us.
‘Sorry about the fire in July.’ Ben grins. ‘Makes for too good a photo to miss.’
‘Can you believe this, Dev?’ I turn to him. ‘You won this with your ticket.’
‘Wewon it. You and me … Well, once I’d rescued the ticket off the floor.’ He gives me a cheeky grin.
Maybe this is Fate’s way of giving me a clean slate. If that’s the case I’m going to grasp it with both hands. I’ve always felt the past isn’t something you can just walk away from. Not really. But people do, don’t they? Turn over a new leaf, forgive themselves.
But old lies are still lies, and sometimes they find their way back to you. I shake off the thought, but it lingers, like morning mist curling off the cold, dark lake that makes my blood curdle just to look at it.
Now I’ve seen the place, it’s becoming easier to picture us living here. The brand-new version of us, waking up to those views, sipping coffee on the terrace.
This is the kind of place people escape to. A sanctuary. But it can’t be a sanctuary if I’m still hiding from myself. From Dev. The past is the past. There’s no reason for anyone to make the connection with who I used to be: people are too caught up in their own lives to worry about mine.
Sounds so simple when I think of it like that.
From where I’m standing on the wraparound terrace, the whole of Lake Windermere stretches out below. Her silvery waters are calm. The back of my neck prickles at the distant hills that seem to rise directly out of the water, their peaks blending into the pale clouds.
Cold, dark water.I take a moment to feel the ache and see her face before turning away.
Running my hand along the smooth edge of the glass balustrade, I glance at the small cluster of slate roofs dotted down the hill. They seem to belong to another time. It’s all so perfect, like a scene from one of those glossy calendars you keep hanging on your wall, wishing you could step inside it.
The terrace is immaculate, with huge wooden loungers draped with sheepskins, inviting us to sink in and relax. Along the edge of the balcony, neat, well-maintained planters are artfully arranged. Topiaries and herbs spill over the sides of wooden barrels, the scent of pine and rosemary mixing with the clean air. I can already imagine us here, curled up with blankets on those chairs, watching the changing colours of the landscape as the seasons turn.
I glance at Dev, enjoying the way his eyes also roam across the view. He’s just as awestruck as I am. The sheer scale of it, the beauty, the serenity, is overwhelming.
The glass doors at the front slide open smoothly as I follow Dev inside.
Click, click, click.The cameraman pads soundlessly around us, recording each and every moment. Every reaction on our faces. Every single expression. It’s pretty jarring that each intimate moment with my husband will probably be plastered over their website by tomorrow, but I’m trying not to think about that.
In the exquisite living room with its panoramic views, everything is bathed in a soft golden glow. The high ceiling only serves to make the space feel endless. Every room seems fluid, each space spilling seamlessly into the next, all of it connected by the warmth of the lights.
When Dev walks forward and starts to chat enthusiastically to Ben, the DreamKey guy, I hang back in the hallway andclose my eyes. The house has a good feel, all of it so welcoming with the trace scent of fresh paint lingering in the air. The solid oak floors and that sublime view: it’s a big leap beyond even my wildest dreams.
I hear someone whistling and turn, startled, when a man appears at the end of the hallway. He’s about five foot ten and lean, wearing dark clothes, with a tool belt slung low over his hips.
‘Oh, hi,’ he says, running a hand through a mop of unruly black curls. He looks over my shoulder. ‘Erm … is that guy Ben around? He let me in. I’ve boarded up the smashed window.’
‘Smashed?’ I frown. ‘They said it was just cracked.’
He points to half a house brick on the shelf in the hallway. ‘Definitely smashed,’ he says. ‘Someone lobbed this through it so –’
‘All finished there, Jack?’ Ben coughs behind me. He and Dev walk down the hallway.
‘Yep. All done, boss,’ Jack says brightly.
I step to the side as they join us. ‘Jack says someone threw a brick through the window,’ I say, looking at Ben and then Dev.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Ben says easily. ‘Just local kids pratting about. They know the property’s empty, see, so there’s no comeback.’
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, wriggling doubt tugs at my peace but I push it away.
Jack leaves and Ben takes a call, leaving Dev and me a bit of precious time on our own.
First stop is the kitchen where I feel as if I’ve walked into a magazine spread. Everything is polished, designed to impress, from the high wooden beams overhead to the sheer expanse of space stretching in every direction.
Dev gives a low whistle. ‘This place is …’ He doesn’t finish, just shakes his head as he takes it all in.
