by Jane Green
“Mmm. Well, this is beautiful,” Joe says sarcastically, which Alice ignores.
“Would you just forget the house?” Gina says. “Think about the land. Sandy, show us the pond before these two have a heart attack.”
Sandy leads Gina, George, and Joe through the woods as Alice pokes around on the terrace. She knows they’re not supposed to be interested in the house, knows that Joe would level it in an instant and build a huge monolithic manor house in its place, but the more she looks at the little house, the more she is able to visualize what it could become.
Those horrible sliding doors could be ripped out and replaced with French doors, that terrace could clean up beautifully, and look at where the sun is, see how it’s west-facing, imagine how it would look with hundreds of terra-cotta pots spilling brightly colored pelargoniums, lavender bushing out of the beds on either side of the stone steps leading down to what would have once been a lawn.
“Alice!” She jumps as she hears Joe’s voice, and runs down the steps to join them, stopping as she sees them standing by the edge of what Alice would describe not as a pond, but as a lake.
The waters are a murky green, algae covering the entire surface, but it is immediately apparent what it could be.
Gina stands behind Joe and gives Alice a large grin and a thumbs-up as she approaches to hear the tail end of a conversation Joe is having with Sandy.
“. . . so you could take down all these trees without Planning permission?”
Sandy nods enthusiastically.
“Really? Nothing?”
“Really.”
Alice approaches. “So you could decimate all this lovely forest and build whatever you want?”
“Decimate, yes. Build whatever you want, no. It has to go through Planning and Zoning, but with three acres you could almost have a free rein.”
“You could put the pool there,” George murmurs, leading Joe through the trees. “Tennis court over there. Eight-thousand-square-foot house here.”
“And I could make the little house lovely. It could be our guest house.” Alice can’t help herself.
“What? That old wreck?” Joe turns and looks at her as if she’s mad.
“That old wreck could be gorgeous,” Alice says defensively. “You know I could make it lovely. Sandy, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the history of this house, would you?”
“Well, oddly enough this house did have a history. There was a famous local author called Rachel Danbury who lived here.”
Joe and Alice look at her blankly.
“I know you won’t know her, but she was quite famous around here. Her most well-known book was called The Winding Road, and it was set here in Highfield. She wrote it in this house, and there was uproar at the time because apparently she wrote about all the locals. Anyone she’d ever had a disagreement with was in the book, thinly disguised.” Sandy laughs.
“I’d love to read it,” Alice says. “Do they have it in the library?”
Sandy shrugs. “You could try, but I think it’s been out of print for years. I was brought up in Easton, and I remember my parents having a copy when I was growing up, but I haven’t seen one for years. Try the library, though, and I’ll ask around. I’m sure someone’s bound to have a copy. It’s an interesting house. Seriously. And one that would be a perfect guest house,” Sandy concurs.
“And it is a great investment,” George repeats.
Joe takes a deep breath and turns to Alice. “I thought we weren’t going to buy a house today?”
“Does that mean we are?” Alice holds her breath as Joe turns to Sandy.
“So,” he says. “How much should my first offer be?”
14
The sun streams through the window, causing a puddle of sunlight on the bare hardwood floor. Alice quietly throws back the duvet as she slips her feet into slippers and walks softly out of the bedroom, picking up a sleepy Snoop on her way out the door.
Joe is snoring as she makes her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, opening all the doors and windows as she walks the length of the room. Snoop clatters over the floor toward the French doors leading onto the patio and runs outside to the garden.
Alice fills the kettle, puts it on the stove, and goes to stand by the back door, unable to resist a smile as she breathes in the fresh morning air.
It’s mid-October, and the Highfield wreck, as Joe has come to call it, is almost unrecognizable.
They closed on both the house and the apartment by the end of August, and since then Alice has been in Highfield, in the country, almost all the time, trying to make the little house habitable, trying to entice Joe to fall in love with the country, and although he has yet to fall in love, he is astonished at what a transformation Alice has made with just a fresh coat of paint and several dozen cans of floor wax.
The house is now light and bright, each wall a brand-new white. The bathroom is still untouched since the 1970s, an avocado green plastic that Joe detests, but at least it is clean, and as soon as they manage to find a decent plumber, Alice has sworn to rip it out and put in a new bathroom.
The kitchen is large and unmodernized, but Alice loves it. It isn’t Joe’s domain, and the only item he’s expressed a preference for is a Viking stove, and only because it’s the best money can buy. Alice loves the scratched marble countertops and the old chipped butler’s sink. She loves the old-fashioned country cupboards and huge walk-in pantry.
A landscaper has been in, taken down dozens of trees around the house, and severely pruned the ones that remain.
The water in the pond has been treated, the pH balance has been restored, and it is starting to look like less of a bog and more like a pond, although there is still quite some work to be done before Alice dares put any fish in.
The exterior of the house has also been painted, the shutters now a glossy black, and window boxes have been added, which Alice has planted with lobelia and trailing geraniums even though summer is practically over and they will undoubtedly be killed by frost within weeks.
Alice slips her feet into Timberlands, fills her pockets with doggie treats (“Never go anywhere without them,” Harry said. “You can train anytime, anywhere”), picks up her coffee, and steps out the door into the “yard.” How funny, she had thought, to call three acres of woods, and a pond, a “yard.”
“Come!” she says to Snoop, reaching down and giving him a treat as he obediently runs up to her, and the pair of them set off across the lawn.
Alice walks slowly, sipping her coffee and smiling as she looks around. The only noises are the birds, a group of bright red cardinals hopping around the lawn, and the occasional rustle of a squirrel.
She reaches the water and sits down on a huge tree trunk that must have fallen down during a particularly bad storm. The water is still filthy, still overhung and dark, but Alice has never been happier in her life.
Finishing her coffee, she walks back up to the house, standing on the patio for a while as she shivers in the chill of the early morning air. Still sunny, October is nevertheless edging toward winter, and the leaves are about to transform into the rainbow of colors for which New England is famous.
Alice examines her handiwork. She’s pulled weeds out of the stones one by one, scrubbed the patio of moss and mold, brought in pots filled with flowers to add some much-needed color before winter.
It is almost unrecognizable. Alice perches on the arm of a green Adirondack chair and examines her nails, now short and ragged, testament to everything she has done to turn this house into a home.
She still has a long way to go. Windows need replacing, and chimneys need repairing before winter. The gutters are being fixed next week, and in an ideal world she’d love to build a small extension off the kitchen, but she’ll wait. After all, Joe still thinks they’re going to build a huge McMansion on the other side of the pond.
But Alice is quite happy. This little house with its crooked floors and rickety stairs is everything she has ever dreamed of, and
already, after just a couple of months, she feels as if she has been here forever.
She hears a rustle behind her and turns slowly to see if she can see anything. Last week she had jumped as something moved on the lawn. Looking out, she had gazed in wonder as five deer slowly walked across the garden. She knew she ought to shoo them away—everyone had warned her about the deer carrying ticks, which in turn carried the dreaded Lyme disease—but there was something so magical about seeing deer in their natural habitat, she just watched them in awe until they meandered off.
Four hours later Joe is on his laptop reading the paper online, visiting his regular sites, a cup of strong coffee at his side. Alice is unpacking her books, stacking them on the shelves either side of the huge stone fireplace in the family room as Pachelbel fills the room from the large stereo in the corner—the one item that Joe insisted on buying immediately.
“Hello?”
Alice jumps at the unfamiliar voice and turns to see a woman, about her age, standing in the open doorway of the family room, holding a plate covered with tin foil.
“Yes?” Alice, in her very English way, is both polite and formal, completely unused to strangers walking into her house, even if they are smiling.
“You’re Alice?” Alice nods. “I’m Sally. Sandy told me you’d moved in and I wanted to come up and say hi. I made you an apple pie.”
“You did!” Alice almost laughs, shocked at how very American this scene is, amazed because this would never, ever happen in London. “How completely lovely of you. Come in, please. Would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one.” Sally walks in, just as Alice hears a squeal from outside. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought my daughter, Madison. I think she’s just fallen in love with your dog.”
Alice smiles and walks to the door to see a little girl, aged about two, running after Snoop, who is slightly bemused, having never seen someone this small this close, nor this eager to catch him, before.
“Say hello, Madison,” Sally says.
“Lo,” Madison says, not looking up. “Doggie! Madison catch the doggie?”
“Oh, she’s lovely,” Alice smiles. “Would she like a drink?”
“She’s fine. Crazy about animals though. She’ll come inside in a minute.” Sally places the plate on the counter and turns around with a smile. “So how are you settling in?”
Alice takes a deep breath. “Do you think it’s too early to say I absolutely love it?”
“Probably, but we moved here from Manhattan six years ago, and I fell in love with it after about five minutes.”
“Six years? So you must know pretty much everything about the town.”
“Not everything, but enough. I can probably help you with anything you need to know.”
“Mommy.” Madison bounds through the door, followed closely by Snoop, who seems delighted to have found a friend. “I have the doggie?”
“No, honey.” Sally crouches down and smiles. “You can’t have this doggie, but maybe when you’re a little bit bigger and can deal with the responsibility, you can have a doggie of your own.”
“I have a doggie,” Madison says again, nodding to herself, then wanders off to examine the contents of the kitchen cupboards.
“Do you have children?” Sally asks, as Alice pulls some plates out of their wrapping paper and hastily washes them.
“No. Not yet. I’d like them though. Soon.”
“Hello.” Joe walks into the kitchen, eyebrow raised at the strange woman sitting at the kitchen counter. “I’m Joe.”
Alice turns to admire her husband, looking particularly sexy and rumpled in his oldest jeans and a faded polo shirt, barefoot as he pads over to Sally to shake her hand.
“Hi, how are you?” Sally says with a genuine smile, shaking his hand as Alice breathes a sigh of relief. She may not believe Joe is anything more than a terrible flirt, but she sees the effect his charm frequently has, and she bristles instantly when she sees yet another woman fall under his spell. Watching Sally, just as with Gina, Alice fails to detect even the smallest hint of flirtation in her voice. Thank goodness for that, she thinks. A woman I can actually trust.
“You know, the two of you should really come over to our house,” Sally says. “We’ll introduce you to some of the neighbors. What are you doing next Saturday?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Alice says. “We haven’t met anyone yet, so there isn’t a single date in the diary.”
“Great! Both of you come over for a barbecue. Around five, how does that sound?”
“Sounds great,” Joe smiles.
“Good. In the meantime you both have to have some of this pie. It’s still warm, fresh out of the oven.”
“Another cook?” Joe reaches into the drawer for forks as Alice cuts the pie, releasing the delicious aroma of apple and cinnamon into the air. “You two are clearly going to be best friends.”
“I hope so,” Sally smiles. “Sandy said I’d like you and she was right.”
“Oh, good,” Joe says smoothly, digging into the pie. “We aim to please.”
“So what are they like?” Chris, Sally’s husband, wipes his hands on a cloth and walks out of his workroom.
“They seem really nice,” Sally says, putting down Madison, who runs instantly into Chris’s arms.
“Hi, sweetie.” He scoops her up. “Did you have a nice time?”
“I have a doggie,” she burbles. “Doggie is Soop.”
“Doggie soup? Yeuch!” Chris makes a face and Madison starts laughing. “That sounds gross.”
“Not doggie soup, Daddy!” the little girl giggles. “Doggie Soop.”
“They have a dog called Snoop,” Sally laughs. “That’s what she’s trying to say.”
“So? Are we going to be friends with them?” Chris puts Madison down and turns to Sally.
“You’ll like them. She’s kind of British and a bit reserved but seems really nice, and he’s incredibly charming with a dangerous twinkle in his eye.”
“You mean he came on to you?”
“No!” She shoves him. “Not me. But he seems the type to maybe play around. Gosh, would you listen to me? What a terrible thing to say. Anyway, they’re coming for a barbecue next Saturday at five, so you can make up your own mind.”
15
In the abstract Joe loves having a place in the country, couldn’t wait to tell his colleagues, his clients, about their “weekend house,” but the country has never really been his cup of tea, and he’s been happy to let Alice take over these past few weeks.
Joe loves living in New York, would be quite happy if he never traveled farther north than Ninety-first nor farther south than SoHo, other than for his work on Wall Street. He loves the pace, the people, the lifestyle, and if there is any hindrance at all it is Alice.
He is still trying with Alice, God how he is trying. He has—again—mentally renewed his commitment to her and is trying his damnedest to be the husband he knows she wants him to be, but he’s in New York, where there’s temptation on every cross street, and he can feel the itch beginning again.
Just the other week he’d been at a client dinner at Le Colonial. He arrived early, went upstairs to the bar, expecting to have a quiet drink, perhaps review some papers, but the music was throbbing and the room was crushed with beautiful people. He watched with amusement, noticing how everyone spent their time looking around the room to see if they were missing something, or someone, more interesting, and found himself drawn to a dangerous-looking brunette in a tiny black dress and high leather boots.
He was just enjoying the frequent flirtatious glances, the hint of a smile from her as she realized he was staring, when his client showed up. Ah, well. Better for it to be over before it had begun. Nevertheless, he had gone back up to the bar when the dinner was over, had hoped she would still be there, but of course she had gone.
And Alice? Alice now feels much the same about New York as she did about London. Easier only because she is anonymous in New York, doesn’t fe
el the same pressure to be the perfect trophy wife. But Alice is beginning to spend more and more time in the country, and the longer she stays there, the more work she does to the house, the more she falls in love with it and the less she wants to leave.
Alice has knocked down walls and discovered raised wooden paneling that was hidden sometime in the 1960s. She has ripped up the linoleum in the kitchen and discovered wide old oak planks. She has found the room that must have been Rachel Danbury’s office, and finds she can spend hours sitting on the window seat in there, gazing up at the trees, thinking about nothing other than how at peace she feels.
The more she discovers about the house, the more she feels as if she knows the writer. She has yet to lay her hands on a copy of The Winding Road, but it’s as if Rachel Danbury’s personality is embedded within the walls, the very foundations of the house, and Alice is slowly drawn into her spell, falls more in love with the house with every passing day.
There are times, however, when Alice has to go into the city. She does so reluctantly, but Monday to Friday—or Tuesday to Thursday if she can get away with it—go in she does. To the theater with Joe, to openings at the Met, charity benefits at the Frick, restaurants, bars, and clubs. She goes in to have her highlights done at Frederic Fekkai, to shop at Bergdorf Goodman for the requisite black-tie outfits, to lunch with Gina at Jean-George or Le Cirque 2000—the only thing she truly enjoys about coming into the city.
Alice is astonished at how close she and Gina have become in such a short space of time. “My replacement,” Emily had said with a sniff in mock disgust, but to a large extent it’s true. Emily is her oldest friend and will always be her best friend, but with the distance now separating them, Emily can’t possibly understand what her life is like.
And she and Gina seem to have so many things in common. “We’re so lucky,” Gina says repeatedly. “You and I have such wonderful husbands. Can you believe how lucky we are?”