15
BRAMBLE WAS STILL fast asleep with Katie snoring beside her when she heard loud male voices below, mingled with the occasional high-pitched interjection from Maria. It took a moment or two to focus before she remembered. Of course! It was Thursday morning and Anatole had arrived to start work on the roof.
She jumped up, while Katie rolled over and muttered something in her slumber. She was such a deep sleeper, that girl; once out for the count, almost nothing would wake her. Then Bramble pulled on the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn yesterday, checked her own sleep-soaked face in the mirror, made a snap decision that there was nothing to be done right now, grabbed an elastic band and hurried out of the room, yanking her knotty hair into a ponytail as she went.
Peering over the balustrade on the landing, she could see Anatole and three men standing facing Maria in the hallway below. The strangers were all in tatty jeans and T-shirts, while Anatole stood out in a smart pink polo shirt and pale chinos. You could tell just by looking at the group that they were having a disagreement, never mind the angry voices.
‘I told you, Miss Bramble is expecting us,’ Anatole barked, hands on hips.
Maria stood, arms crossed and ramrod straight, in front of the bronze statuette of a naked youth with a pipe, in a defiant stance that seemed to suggest if the men so much as tried to put a foot past her, she might just pick up the statue and smash them over the head with it.
‘And I told you that Miss Bramble has not instructed me to allow you in,’ she replied icily. ‘She is sleeping and I will NOT disturb her.’
She sounded very loyal for once and really rather protective. Bramble felt strangely touched. Maria had always seemed to her like the silent enemy, the spy from her grandfather’s ghostly camp. Now, though, with the not entirely welcome arrival of Anatole and his gang, it occurred to her that perhaps the doughty housekeeper wasn’t such an adversary after all and that when the chips were down she could be just the person you needed on your side.
None of them had noticed Bramble at the top of the stairs and she was half-inclined to tiptoe back to her room and bury her head under the duvet, for in truth she wasn’t entirely convinced that she should have agreed to employ the men at all. Anatole had texted her only yesterday to confirm that he would be starting work this morning, and she’d suggested – perfectly reasonably, she thought – that he might wish to view the job and discuss timescale and payment with her first, but he’d dismissed the idea out of hand.
Don’t worry, he’d written. It’s all arranged with Piers. My guys are the best.
Knowing that he and Piers were friends and that Piers thought so highly of him did reassure her, but still she was troubled by the prospect of engaging someone without so much as a site visit or a verbal estimate, let alone anything in writing. She could imagine her dad shaking his head and sucking in his teeth in that manner of his.
‘Get it down in black and white,’ he’d have said. ‘That way there won’t be any funny business.’
No doubt he’d also have advised her to obtain at least three quotes from other roofers, and written references too probably. He’d never buy anything, not even a dustpan and brush, without comparing prices and going out of his way to secure the best deal. There again, he was careful about everything, sometimes maddeningly so, and it wasn’t as if he had experience of renovating an ancient manor or working with a land agent. Besides, she reasoned, he’d never met Piers and had no idea how impressive he was.
Rallying, she was just about to venture down when Katie popped into her head and made her pause again. She should at least have discussed this with Katie, but she would have put up fierce resistance, too, on the quite unreasonable grounds that she’d taken against Anatole. No, thought Bramble, straightening up, caution was all very well but sometimes you had to take the plunge. The roof was a mess and it would be good to get it fixed before the winter. Besides, she didn’t want to offend Piers, who was going out of his way to help.
She cleared her throat loudly and they all turned to stare as she padded towards them in bare feet.
‘It’s all right, Maria,’ she said, trying to sound professional. ‘I can deal with this now.’
The housekeeper lowered her dark eyebrows, pursed her lips and didn’t move.
‘I’ve booked them in,’ Bramble went on. ‘They’re going to mend the leaks in the roof.’
Still Maria remained glued to the spot.
‘I know Anatole. He’s, um, a friend,’ Bramble continued, slightly desperate now. Her words seemed to do the trick, because at last the housekeeper gave a reluctant nod and started towards the door.
‘Er, Maria?’ Bramble called and she turned abruptly. ‘Sorry I forgot to tell you about this – and thank you for your help.’
Was there the merest hint of a smile on the older woman’s thin lips, an acknowledgement of Bramble’s rare words of appreciation? It certainly seemed so, but the smile vanished as quickly as it had come.
‘You must be careful these days,’ she commented stiffly, opening the door that led to the kitchen. ‘People can take advantage, you know...’
Once she’d gone, the atmosphere lightened considerably and Anatole exhaled loudly.
‘What a witch!’ he drawled, and the others snickered, revealing an assortment of stained, black and missing teeth.
The builders – all big, fairish fellows, with thick, muscly arms and weather-beaten faces – contrasted sharply with their much shorter, darker, well-groomed boss. One roofer had a long pink scar running across his cheek, another a shaved head and a broken nose, while the third had a pronounced squint that gave him a disconcertingly shifty air. A strong smell of cigarette smoke seemed to envelop them like a shroud.
‘She’s all right really,’ Bramble said, surprised to hear herself defending the housekeeper, for she never had before. ‘She worked for my grandfather for years.’
Anatole grimaced. ‘She’s like a bloody Rottweiler. You shouldn’t have her front of house, you know; it’s bad for your image. I’d keep her locked in the kitchen where she belongs.’
His misogynistic tone made Bramble cringe, and she didn’t like being told what to do in her own home either, but she decided to make no comment.
‘Where are you going to begin?’ she asked, feigning cheerfulness. ‘I guess you’ll want to tackle the worst part of the roof first?’
Anatole glanced questioningly at the man with the pink scar, who craned his thick neck as if to set the bones and muscles back in their proper place.
‘Scaffolding goes up first, guv,’ he said slowly, and Anatole rubbed his hands together, the backs of which were almost as dark and hairy as his arms.
‘Of course, naturally. One step at a time, eh? Gotta get the structure in place.’
Bramble was about to offer tea or coffee to everyone before they started, but Anatole took a large set of keys from his pocket and jangled them from a finger.
‘Righto. Gotta shoot.’ He bent down to brush a speck of dust off his cream suede loafers.
Bramble started. ‘Where are you going?’ She’d imagined that he’d be helping his men, or supervising them at the very least. ‘Aren’t you staying here to watch what they do?’
‘Oh no,’ Anatole replied airily. ‘I don’t get my hands dirty. Gus here knows what’s what, don’t you, Gus?’
Anatole flashed his small, square teeth at the man with the scar, who gave a toothless grin in return.
‘You can rely on us, guv. Don’t you worry about a thing.’ Then he eyed Bramble insolently. ‘The young lady can show us where the trouble spots are, can’t you, miss? I ’spect you notice where the rain comes pourin’ down on them pretty little tootsies?’ He pointed a nicotine-stained finger at her bare toes and chuckled at his own joke.
Bramble’s cheeks flushed pink with annoyance and she didn’t reply but followed Anatole to his silver sports car, parked outside. The gravel hurt the soles of her feet but she scarcely noticed.
‘When will you be bac
k?’ she said. ‘To check on them, I mean.’
‘I’ll be in touch,’ Anatole replied, pressing a button on one of his keys. The door swung open automatically and he lowered the sunglasses that had been on his head.
Bramble hesitated; it wasn’t the answer that she’d been hoping for.
‘Have they done a lot of work for you? Do you know them well?’ she persisted, but he didn’t seem to hear. ‘How long will the job take? I mean, when will they finish?’
‘Gus will give me a tinkle when he’s done,’ Anatole said at last, settling into his tan leather driving seat. ‘He’s a good man, solid. Feel free to ask him anything.’
For a moment Bramble contemplated cancelling the work right now, before they’d even begun. She could say that she needed more time to think; she could pretend that she’d spoken to her dad and that he’d recommended getting more estimates. It would be embarrassing, but she was the boss after all. The ball was in her court.
But the opportunity quickly passed. Anatole pulled the door firmly shut and lowered the window, resting one elbow nonchalantly on the frame.
‘Must be off. Got a date with a prospective client on the golf course.’ He rolled his eyes and grinned again. ‘It’s a hard life.’
Then she watched him accelerate down the drive before disappearing around a bend, leaving a cloud of smelly exhaust fumes in his wake.
When she turned back, Gus and his mates had reappeared and begun unloading metal rods and brackets off the back of a truck, hurling them on the ground with a terrific crash and clang that set her teeth on edge. One of the rods caught the man with the broken nose on the shoulder and he let out a blood-curdling roar, along with a string of expletives. Bramble winced, because it must have hurt a lot, and offered him an ice pack or a plaster. The man, however, looked at her oddly, as if he didn’t understand what she was on about, pulled a small bottle of what looked like spirits from his trouser pocket and took a large swig.
‘This here’s better ’n any plaster,’ he said slowly, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and belching.
Bramble glanced over to where Gus was banging a very tall rod against the wall, sending bits of masonry flying. Presumably, when the scaffolding was in place they’d be shinning up and down like monkeys.
‘Um, do you think you should drink that if you’re going on the roof?’ she asked in a small voice, but the man with the broken nose was already strolling over to the wall, dragging a thick wooden board behind him.
‘Chuck us one of them long poles, Baz!’ shouted Gus to his mate with the squint, who was standing on the back of the lorry, and a pole flew through the air and landed at his feet with a clatter, narrowly missing his toes. Even Katie, Bramble thought, couldn’t sleep through this and would be down in a jiffy to find out what was going on.
She dreaded what her friend would say when she discovered that Anatole was involved, and dreaded even more the prospect of one of the workers getting hurt. If Anatole wasn’t going to supervise then she’d better keep an eye on them herself.
As she strolled back inside she caught sight of Katie hurtling along the landing, still in her crumpled pyjamas and wearing an expression that suggested she wasn’t impressed with the racket. For the time being at least, Bramble reflected gloomily, it seemed that her peace had been well and truly shattered.
*
Pat was no more, but life had to go on, and for Liz Tuesday morning came around once again alarmingly quickly. Determined to get herself back to the church hall, even though it had meant leaving Rosie still in bed, Liz had been relieved that it turned out to be a reasonably quiet session. She’d found herself worrying about her daughter, though, who’d already been upset by Tim’s rejection; the death of the old woman whom she regarded as a surrogate grandmother had been a double blow.
Still, Rosie’s moods were so changeable that it was hard sometimes to know how best to help. Liz had asked before leaving if she’d like to come with her, thinking that it might provide some welcome distraction, but Rosie had been grumpy and dismissive.
‘No way!’ she’d muttered from beneath her duvet. ‘It’s a waste of time. You’re never going to solve people’s problems by making a few meals. I don’t know why you bother.’
Liz had shut her mouth, determined not to pick a fight. Rosie hadn’t meant it – she’d just been out of sorts – but it had been hard not to retaliate when Liz, too, had been feeling so raw. It had taken a great deal of self-control to kiss her daughter on the cheek and remind her to make herself breakfast.
‘I’ll be back at two-ish,’ she’d said with forced brightness. ‘Let’s take Lowie for a swim. It’s another lovely day.’
Rosie had groused about something before turning away and pulling the covers over her head. Fourteen was a difficult age, Liz had thought, and sometimes it seemed as if her daughter was her own worst enemy, determined to push away the very person who knew and loved her best.
Having fetched her coat and bag from the cloakroom, Liz was saying goodbye to Jenny while she locked the doors to the hall when Rosie rang to say that she’d arranged to go to Plymouth with a friend, that the mum was taking them and that they didn’t know what time they’d be back. Liz was relieved in a way, as it meant that Rosie would be occupied, although she’d have liked a bit of company herself.
Instead of going straight home, she decided to take a detour to Shannon’s house, calling Jean first to let her know that she’d be a little late for Lowenna. Liz would have visited Shannon earlier had it not been for poor Pat, but as she crawled through traffic – stuck behind caravans too big for the winding country lanes and waiting while two overheated motorists got out of their cars to have an argument – she wondered if she’d made a mistake.
Thankfully, the traffic started to ease further up the cliff, and as she approached the rusty entrance gate leading to Polgarry Manor she almost crashed into Bramble, driving too fast in her ancient VW. Both women jammed their feet on the brakes in the nick of time and Bramble leaped out.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, looking flushed. ‘I wasn’t thinking; I was a million miles away.’
She was so apologetic that Liz couldn’t be annoyed for long, and she listened sympathetically while Bramble went on to explain that some workmen had arrived last Thursday to fix the manor roof.
‘They’re terribly thirsty. They’ve already had about ten cups of tea each, and we’ve run out of milk.’ She made an anxious face. ‘I hope they do a good job; they seem a bit slapdash, and the noise is unbelievable.’
Right on cue there was a loud bang that seemed to echo around the fields, sending flocks of startled birds flapping into the sky, followed by a cacophony of male shouts.
Liz put her hands over her ears and pulled a face. ‘I see what you mean. Are they a local firm?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bramble shrugged. ‘They were recommended by my land agent, Piers.’
Liz nodded, remembering the suave chap with the silver-flecked hair whom she’d met coming out of the fishmonger’s in the marketplace.
‘They work for Piers’s friend, who’s a property developer,’ Bramble added. ‘Piers says they’re very good.’
There was another deafening crash that made both women nearly jump out of their skins.
‘You’ll have to get earplugs,’ Liz joked, her hair standing on end.
‘And a tin helmet,’ Bramble added ruefully.
They chatted for a few minutes more and Bramble said that she and Katie had decorated one of the bedrooms, which was looking lovely, but she wished that they’d made more progress with the garden.
‘The weather’s so amazing; it’s a shame we can’t really enjoy it. There’s nowhere to sit where the grass isn’t three feet high and covered in nettles.’
A thought flashed through Liz’s mind and she decided to try it out, reasoning that the worst that could happen would be a straight ‘no’. To her surprise and pleasure, however, Bramble listened with mounting interest and made enthusi
astic noises.
‘Well, if you think she’d be up for it... it could be a great idea.’
The sun was beating down on Liz’s back and neck and she longed for a cool drink and a sea breeze, but she was all the more determined now to pay Shannon a visit before returning home. After the women parted, Liz continued up the lane, before turning sharply left and driving along the gravelly dirt track that led to the girl’s house, taking care to avoid the large pothole that she’d fallen foul of previously, and parking her car at the bottom of the woody slope.
On reaching the top of the mound on which Shannon’s cottage stood, she glanced around quickly, taking in the thin beige curtains at either window, one with a broken pelmet dangling sadly, and the same green box that she’d seen before, overflowing with rubbish. The sweet peas and busy Lizzies in the neatly kept flowerbeds were there, too, but aside from all this there was something very different about the place that made her skin prickle uneasily.
For a start, the rusty old bike was gone and the long grass had been roughly cut, perhaps with a pair of shears. Most significantly, however, her eyes soon fell on the long line of fine-looking terracotta pots leading up the path towards the closed front door, filled with masses of strangely familiar brightly coloured flowers that seemed to wink mischievously in the sunshine.
Liz’s heart missed a beat and she scanned anxiously left and right. Soon her worst fears were confirmed for there, by the fence under a small fruit tree, not very well hidden, was Jean’s statuette of the boy on the bicycle, complete with overflowing blooms in his front basket. He was only about three feet high but he must have weighed a bit, and Liz couldn’t help wondering how on earth he’d been transported here, along with those heavy pots. They were far too heavy to drag up the hill single-handed.
Her first instinct was to scurry away somewhere private and give herself time to think, but it was already too late because Liam had spotted her out of the window and he appeared on the doorstep to say hello.
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