by Penny Parkes
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For Ollie
I am so incredibly proud of you…
Chapter 1
Oxford, 2019
Anna turned the large, cumbersome key in the lock and held her breath. This was the moment of truth every time; that first impression of her new home, however temporary. Somehow, whether by intuition or simply years of experience, Anna could always tell whether her new placement was in a happy home, or merely a glamorous shell of style over substance.
She dropped her single, efficient overnight bag at her feet and glanced around the echoing hallway of Gravesend Manor, even its name giving her a prescient shiver. Certainly nobody could accuse this rambling Victorian manor house of feeling cosy, and she had a fresh understanding of why its owners might prefer to holiday in the Caribbean sun rather than face another month of drizzle in the Oxfordshire countryside.
Her mobile buzzed in her pocket and she glanced at the screen before answering, relieved to have at least two bars of signal. ‘I’m already here,’ she said simply.
‘And is it just as Addams Family as you thought from the photos?’ laughed Emily, clearly shuffling papers as she spoke.
Anna looked around, wandering through from room to room, taking in the tapestries and polished mahogany furniture which were clearly oh-so-expensive but lent nothing to the welcome or comfort of the place. ‘It’ll be fine,’ Anna said reassuringly, to herself as much as Emily – after all, she didn’t have to live here, just keep the home fires burning until Captain and Mrs Fraser came home. ‘I mean, I’ve walked through three different sitting rooms and I’ve yet to find a warm one or a comfy sofa, but it’s only for a month.’ She paused. ‘It’ll be fine.’
Emily laughed, knowing her favourite house-sitter’s maxim all too well. They might rarely meet in person, but Anna’s commitment and flexibility meant that she was easily the most reliable, the most sought-after house-sitter on Home Network’s books. ‘Do you want me to get that embroidered on a pillow for you?’
‘It’s easy for you to say,’ Anna said, ‘sitting behind your desk with a cappuccino, sending me out into the middle of nowhere without so much as a handover from the owners.’ Anna walked into the kitchen, in search of the promised note that would explain her duties during her stay at Gravesend Manor.
That in itself was a little unusual; normally owners liked to meet their house-sitter in person, to hand over the keys and explain the foibles of the wonky shower, or the kitchen window that wouldn’t close, or the tendency of their whippet/Siamese/house rabbit to pine. ‘It’s a bit weird though, yes?’ Anna asked, spotting a simple Post-it on the kitchen table urging her to ‘make herself at home’. ‘If they booked me to house-sit months ago, why didn’t they allow time for us to meet?’
Emily sighed. ‘Nowt so strange as folk. They didn’t want to pay for the extra day, if you can believe that.’
Anna could easily believe that; even knowing that the captain and his wife were probably halfway to St Kitts by now, almost certainly near the front of the plane. It was all a question of priorities and some of her clients, especially the ones with inherited piles of stone, tended to view their homes as an encumbrance, an imposition on their time and their bank account.
‘Besides,’ Emily continued, ‘their son lives nearby and he’s dropping the dogs back with you tomorrow, so if you’ve any questions, I’m sure he’ll know the answer.’
Anna bit back her immediate thought, for fear of doing herself out of a job. If the son and heir lived quite so nearby, why couldn’t he look after his parents’ home for the next month?
Still, she thought, pushing back the curtains from the French windows in the kitchen and gazing out at the rolling, manicured lawns and topiary, there were worse places to spend her time. And once the omnipresent cloak of drizzle lifted, and the plane trees in the parkland were outlined against a clear blue sky, then Anna could spend her days outside with a book and walking the two spaniels that were to be her sole charges.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said again on autopilot, making Emily laugh. ‘And thank you, Em. I know these longer gigs are in demand, so I really appreciate you putting it my way.’
Two dogs to walk and cuddle, a crumbling manor house with more bedrooms than days of the week, and stunning views over the spires of Oxford. As job placements went, it was pretty special and Anna was determined not to let the incipient chill between her shoulder blades put her off. She dragged an Ercol chair over to the Aga and sat with her back to the glorious warmth. The ancient, clanging heating system at Gravesend might not be up to snuff, but the Aga was about to be her new best friend.
* * *
The next morning, Anna groaned and pulled the blankets over her head – anything to block out the insistently perky ringing of church bells at such an indecent hour. She wriggled her toes to try and improve the circulation and wondered whether a quick trip out to pick up a decent duvet might improve her stay no end. Sheets and blankets, she sighed. Whoever thought that was still a good idea?
It always took a few moments for Anna to find her bearings when she woke up in the mornings; an occupational hazard she’d become accustomed to. Nevertheless, it always gave her a jolt, triggering that automatic glance to her kit bag, never unpacked, just opened out for ease of access. A triumph, Emily would say, in travelling light and achieving, as espoused by women’s magazines everywhere, the ultimate capsule wardrobe. Perhaps it was just easier to see it that way than to consider it an obvious outward sign of a person constantly braced for moving on?
The ringing continued and Anna admitted defeat, pulling on several jumpers over her pyjamas to combat the chill and heading directly for the fancy espresso machine she’d spotted in the kitchen. Pulling her hair back from her eyes, attempting to tame her unruly mane as she yawned her way downstairs, Anna’s only thoughts were focused on the caffeine in the next room.
‘Well, hel-lo, Miss Anna,’ drawled an unfamiliar voice from the kitchen doorway. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’
Anna froze, suddenly all too aware of how clingy her beloved Snoopy pyjamas actually were. The man in front of her was familiar only from the multitude of silver-framed photographs decking the mantels and windowsills, charting his rise to adulthood. Andrew Fraser in the flesh. So much for ‘popping in with the dogs around lunchtime’ as his mother’s Post-it had suggested.
One glance at the delight on his florid face at catching her unawares made Anna wonder whether that had actually been his exact intent.
He didn’t say anything else for a second or two, allowing his gaze to travel over her intrusively.
Anna took a deep breath and managed the last few stairs without tripping; he wasn’t the first lascivious Lothario to ever cross her path. Giving her jumper a hearty tug to cover the image of a smiling Woodstock on her bottom, she stepped forward confidently, business as usual. ‘Good morning. You must be Andrew. I wasn’t expecting you until later, but since you’re here, perhaps we can get this coffee machine up and running while you talk me through the dogs’ feed and exercise schedule?’
She walked past him into the kitchen, looking around for the promised canine companions, only to find two brown-eyed spaniels sitting soulfully outside the French windows despite the downpour.
She reached for a towel and strode over towards the doors. How the Frasers treated their dogs was entirely their own lookout, but no dog was catching pneumonia on her wat
ch. Capability was her byword as a professional house-sitter and she saw no issue with taking the initiative.
‘They’re not house pets,’ chided Andrew, even as he switched on the coffee machine and followed Anna’s suggestion, much to her amazement. ‘They’re working spaniels and they’re not to be mollycoddled.’
‘Of course,’ said Anna easily, as she pulled open the doors and deftly rubbed their wet fur dry, smoothing damp, curling tendrils away from their eyes and introducing herself in the process. The pliability and affection they both showed as she dried them suggested that Andrew and his mother might just have differing views when it came to the family dogs, especially when both spaniels instinctively curled up together on the dog bed beside the Aga.
‘The black one’s Angus, and the chocolate-coloured one is Betty,’ Andrew volunteered, as the steam from the coffee machine clouded his glasses and pinked his cheeks.
Anna felt herself soften towards him, quietly betting to herself that he was ninety per cent bravado. She couldn’t help wishing she was dressed for this meeting, or indeed had brushed her teeth, rather than piling out of bed and straight into work mode, but it couldn’t be helped.
‘So,’ she said, sipping at the excellent espresso he placed on the kitchen countertop for her. ‘Have your parents arrived safely?’
He shrugged. ‘They’ll let me know if there’s a problem.’
Anna just nodded, learning so much about the family dynamic from that simple statement alone. ‘Okay then. So I’ve had a chance to look around and your parents didn’t leave any specific instructions. Is there anything I need to know – about the house, the dogs, the post?’
Andrew glanced over at the dogs, both slumbering contentedly in the warmth. ‘No dogs on the furniture. Two meals a day. Two walks a day. The details are in the utility room. And just pile the post on my father’s desk in the study.’ He paused. ‘No need to open any of it,’ he said sharply.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Anna replied. ‘I was just offering to note the date of arrival, as some of my clients request. Sometimes they like telephone messages to be emailed over, that kind of thing…’
Andrew frowned. ‘They’re on holiday. I think the world will cope with their absence for a few weeks. Just keep the house safe, lights on in the evening, etcetera, look after the dogs. Quite the cushy number for you, I would imagine?’
Anna sipped her coffee again. Whether his parents deemed her services value for money was really not her place to discuss. She did know that her unrivalled rating on the Home Network website meant that her care and attention to detail was something her clients appreciated. Trust, responsibility, confidence – those were the watchwords of her job and she endeavoured to always do her best with each and every placement.
Different houses, different requirements, certainly different personalities to contend with, but for Anna the upside was always the same – for every residency gave her a place to call home, for a little while at least; a place just to be, where none of the details were of her choosing. The ability to move on without attachment was just as important to Anna as the carousel of changing locations was to her spirit of adventure.
‘I’m very lucky,’ she said simply by way of reply, a wealth of unspoken sentiments colouring her words. ‘Angus and Betty will be just fine,’ she said reassuringly, getting to her feet. There was no outcome from Andrew’s impromptu visit that could be improved by having him here longer. ‘Do let me know if your parents would like an update. Being away for weeks often sounds so much more appealing than the reality, doesn’t it?’
Andrew turned on the doorstep, obviously reluctant to leave. He cleared his throat. ‘And if you’d like to go out for a drink on Saturday, I can show you around Oxford?’ he offered, colouring slightly.
‘That’s so kind,’ said Anna, ‘but I have a friend’s wedding to attend. I’ll be back to take care of the dogs though, so no worries there.’
Andrew turned away, rebuffed despite her best, most professional efforts, and Anna pushed the heavy studded door closed behind him. She sighed; the notion of domain never ceased to be confusing in this job. Still, she glanced across at Angus, who was wagging his tail tentatively against the Aga and watching her every move – at least she had a little company. And as long as there were dog biscuits in her pocket she wouldn’t be short of affection either.
Chapter 2
Oxford, 2019
Anna couldn’t deny that her usual polish and professionalism had deserted her. First there’d been the awkward introduction to the owners’ son in her pyjamas and then, as she distractedly went through the motions all week, one rule after another had gradually fallen by the wayside, culminating in her spending last night with two incredulously delighted spaniels on her bed, not to mention a plate of fancy cheese for midnight snacking, as she read a glorious first edition from the captain’s well-stocked library into the wee small hours.
A certain ambivalence about this posting seemed to be creeping in that would do her professional reputation no good at all should the Frasers rumble her flagrant disregard for their strictures. The only problem being that she simply couldn’t convince herself to care.
It was just so out of character, so unusual for her to loosen her hold. But her hold on what, she asked herself, as she pulled into a fortuitous parking space near Christ Church Meadow early that morning.
For the last ten years, she’d been focused, driven really, to fill her diary with bookings and rack up the five-star reviews that were the only true measure of success for a house-sitter. This wasn’t rocket science, she reminded herself – keep the house safe and clean and the pets hale and hearty. Not always an easy ride, to be sure, but certainly within the realms of possibility.
Excitable whimpering from the back of the car brought her back into the moment; there was plenty of time for soul-searching in the middle of her sleepless nights. Besides, she was already running late. Not that Kate would expect any different, she thought. Old habits, etcetera etcetera.
Opening up the boot to allow Angus and Betty to leap down and twirl around her ankles, Anna slowly breathed out. Perhaps coming back to Oxford had been a mistake. After all, she’d only taken this particular booking to be nearby for Kate and Duncan’s wedding. Would it really have been so awful to miss it, or to have just popped in and out – a flying visit – without committing herself to weeks of dreaming spires and disconcerting memories?
The morning mist on Christ Church Meadow held no answers, only the crisp warmth that signalled the imminence of summer, and birdsong that carried amongst the trees echoing off the buildings nearby. The three years studying here had been the longest that Anna had ever lived in one place and some of the happiest she had ever known, yet coming back was never easy.
‘Pod! Pod? Anna? Over here!’
Anna looked up, squinting through the mist as the early striations of sunlight lit up the figure striding towards them with a bounce in her step. Ever the tomboy, Kate’s jeans had seen better days, her wellies gaped at the calf and an ancient college scarf was swathed around her neck. ‘Didn’t you hear me, you mad sod, I’ve been hollering for ages!’
Anna found herself caught up in the kind of effusive hug that was second nature to Kate, doled out in times of both happiness and sadness, and testament to her sheer enthusiasm for life. ‘Morning,’ said Anna, muffled into Kate’s shoulder, blinking hard to settle herself before the inevitable Twenty Questions could begin.
‘Well, don’t you look like death warmed up?’ Kate said, stepping back to take stock. ‘Although you two are gorgeous, aren’t you?’ She fussed Angus and Betty, and Anna couldn’t help but smile. Erratic, distracted, but sheer genius when it came to philosophical debate, Kate was the most unlikely blushing bride she could think of, and yet the love match with Duncan was almost visceral in its strength.
‘So, are you excited or nervous?’ Anna asked, as they fell easily into step.
Kate shrugged. ‘I’m remarkably relaxed about the who
le thing to be honest.’ She gave a filthy laugh. ‘My attention’s focused more on the honeymoon. I cannot wait to just get on that plane and be somewhere warm with a cocktail in my hand.’ She tucked her arm through Anna’s as the dogs romped delightedly through the long grass. ‘I’ll even have time to read something that isn’t another de Beauvoir treatise. Say, maybe a friend’s manuscript?’
Anna shook her head. Four minutes thirty seconds. It was a new record even for Kate. ‘One day,’ she replied easily, well versed in evasion.
It niggled, of course it did, the whopping great lie that had taken on a life of its own. But still, it was somehow easier than conceding the truth.
But Kate was like a dog with a bone this morning. ‘I just think that maybe some editorial input would be good. You can get too close to a manuscript, you know? Lose all objectivity…’ She took a breath and Anna knew exactly what she was going to say before the words came out of her mouth.
‘A decade is an awfully long time, Pod. I mean, it’s great that you can do this house-sitting thing while you write, but you have a First from Oxford. You could literally do anything…’
Anna called the dogs to heel and gave them each a treat. ‘I could. As could you…’ She didn’t need to ask Kate how many degrees she really needed – the girl was addicted to learning, it seemed. Or possibly hooked on the heady aroma of ancient books in the Bodleian. With Kate and her all-or-nothing approach to life, it was sometimes hard to tell.
‘So seriously – you’re getting married tomorrow and we’re talking about books?’
Kate laughed. ‘We always talk about books. And anyway, I’m not the one choosing my house-sits by whether they have a nice library or not.’
‘True. And I may or may not have spent last night eating cheese and reading a first edition Virginia Woolf.’
‘Not at the same time!’ Kate exclaimed, the colour draining from her face.