by Penny Parkes
And she wasn’t there yet.
‘Look, I get to stay in a house by the sea with a Great Dane and a parrot—’
‘A ring-necked parakeet.’
‘Quite. So, it’ll be fine. A new adventure,’ Anna said firmly, essentially shutting down the conversation. ‘Now all I have to do is find the bloody place.’
‘Tiny village, massive house. I’m guessing you follow the smell of money,’ Emily joked. ‘And in all seriousness, could you please report back on what an ‘architect-designed house’ actually means. I mean, aren’t all houses designed by architects, or is there some rogue market in barmen sketching out houses on napkins that I don’t know about?’
Anna snorted. ‘I’m on it. And, just reading the email again this morning, this dog, Chewie? He really only eats raw food? I mean, I actually have to dice up steak and stuff?’ She gave a shudder of revulsion at the thought of doing that early in the morning. ‘No wonder he eats the furniture. I mean, I’m guessing, why else would you call a dog Chewie?’
‘I think it’s short for Chewbacca. Seriously, the bird’s called Leia, so there’s definitely something going on.’
‘This just keeps getting better,’ Anna said. ‘Is the boat called Han Solo?’
‘Who knows? Maybe? I know they’re not that old, just minted. And fresh out of London. So you’ll hardly be roughing it. Besides, they’re off to her sister’s wedding at their place in Italy, so they’re hardly going to be bored on the beach and breathing down your neck. You can relax.’
Anna blew out her cheeks, suddenly paralysed by the kind of bone-gnawing exhaustion that crept up on her from time to time. The very idea of meeting this couple, making a good first impression, being the confident, capable person they needed her to be, was simply overwhelming.
‘I’d best get going then,’ she said, trying to ignore the bitter taste of envy that still caught her off guard.
What a way to live.
‘And Anna? Maybe you could invite a friend, or I could come and join you for a bit? If I can’t persuade you to take some time off, then at least think about a little company.’ Her voice softened. ‘Nothing wrong with asking for help, you know. It’s a lot to process.’
Anna said her goodbyes and ended the call as firmly and politely as she could. It wasn’t the idea of Emily’s company that made her feel so uncomfortable, so much as anyone staying with her right now. She simply didn’t have the energy to be on parade, making conversation twenty-four seven. She rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes, counting slowly to one hundred, before turning the key in the ignition and setting off downhill towards the sea, windows down and the echoing sound of gulls growing ever louder.
* * *
Okay. So, on first impressions, ‘architect-designed’ seemed to mean either a house that was imposing and completely out of keeping with its surroundings, or possibly modern, innovative and really rather flash. Pulling to a halt and staring up at the stark-white and glazed behemoth in front of her, The Cove would apparently fit the bill either way.
As would its owners. Anna buried a smirk as she reached around for her overnight bag and caught sight of the couple pulling open the front door to greet her like a Hello magazine photo call. High heels, make-up, perfect blow-dry. And him in his white, white jeans, like the bloke in the Persil advert.
‘Hi! Hello there – before you hop out, could you possibly tuck your little car – so adorable – just around the side there?’ Fingers waggled, tennis bracelets sparkled, disdain that the Mini might sully the aesthetic written all across Mrs Lyndell’s face.
‘No problem,’ said Anna, wincing as the Mini started up again with a sputter of smoke from the exhaust. It was only really when she saw her choices through other people’s eyes that she felt embarrassed. Stuff just didn’t matter to her and, so long as her Mini got her from A to B, she couldn’t see the point in replacing it with something newer. Shinier. Soulless. She patted the Mini’s round dials apologetically, just in case it could read her thoughts, wondering whether she had officially lost the plot.
Striding over towards her, the man of the house knotted his soft, clearly cashmere, jersey around his shoulders a little tighter. ‘Hi. Hi, Anna. I’m Oliver, this is Liza. We’re so grateful you could come at such short notice. Come in, come in.’ He reached out a hand to take her bag, waiting expectantly for another.
‘I travel light,’ Anna explained, scooping up her handbag and slamming the car door closed.
A flicker of intrigue crossed Oliver’s face as he sized her up. ‘A skill of the job, I imagine. Liza, darling, lessons to be learned here, I think.’
They stepped into the echoing white entrance hall, soaring a full three storeys high, light pouring in from a glazed wall that swept up from the ground on the far side. Beside the door was stacked a veritable indulgence of luggage, logoed and immaculate. Six, no seven, suitcases.
And one suit carrier, which Oliver picked up playfully. ‘This one’s mine,’ he joked with Anna, before quelling under his wife’s furious gaze. This was an argument that was clearly already well under way.
‘It’s a wedding not a pool party and I’m assuming you want me to look nice?’ she countered, pointedly giving Anna’s outfit a once-over that seemed to suggest that travelling light could only result in such sartorial failure as to be an embarrassment.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ Anna said, diplomatically changing the subject. ‘May I?’ She was drawn towards the glazed wall, framing as it did the perfect sea view, a swathe of blue ombré that seamlessly blended into the sky.
‘It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Oliver said. ‘And honestly, Chewie and Leia will be no problem. If you stick to the food and the walks and everything that Liza has written down for you, you’ll still have plenty of time to enjoy the village and the harbour. Have you been here before?’
Anna shook her head. ‘It’s so tucked away, I’m not sure I knew it existed.’
Liza wandered over to join them. ‘The trick to places like this is to catch them when they’re up and coming. Daddy did that over in Sandbanks, Dorset, you know, and made a killing.’ She sighed. ‘Of course then you have to wait for them to up and come.’ She scowled across the garden at the only neighbouring house in sight, a small bungalow in local stone with a large satellite dish balanced incongruously on the weathered slate roof.
‘Now, I don’t know how familiar you are with pedigree dogs, but Chewie has a very delicate system. No treats except the chicken livers in the fridge, and only his meals.’ She sighed again. ‘At least Sonja had the presence of mind to get that all sorted before she swanned off to her sister’s. So thoughtless, I mean really, we’ve had this trip planned for months.’
As if the very situation had offended her all over again, Liza stormed off.
‘Sonja?’ Anna ventured, hoping that Oliver might see fit to fill in the gaps.
‘Our housekeeper. She’s broken her ankle sadly. Can’t be helped.’ He paused, checking that his wife was out of earshot. ‘But actually do be careful on the marble floors in the bathrooms, won’t you?’ He looked out at the view again. ‘To be honest, I rather envy you a week of peace and quiet here. Chewie loves a good leg-stretch on the beach of a morning and then he’s done for the day. Do use the boat too, won’t you? I’d like to think that somebody’s having a good time.’
Moments before, she had found herself judging him, but the dejected look of compliance in his every gesture provoked a strange kind of pity.
‘I’m not much of a sailor,’ Anna said apologetically.
‘The sailboat in the marina is Liza’s and Liza doesn’t share. Anyway, it’s my little rowboat you’ll have the most fun with.’ He pointed down to the bottom of the garden, where a small wooden jetty extended out over the water and a fat red rowboat bobbed happily on the swell.
‘It’s lovely,’ Anna said simply, wondering at these two souls and how their lives had collided, or perhaps, more saliently, how Oliver’s had been subs
umed into Liza’s.
‘Anna! An-na!’ Liza called impatiently from somewhere in the middle of this stylised, oversized beach house. ‘Are you coming to meet Chewie or not?’
‘Oh-oh. Trouble,’ came a chirping voice from Anna’s left, and she couldn’t help but smile when she saw the bobbing yellow bird, a small collar of red feathers making her tilting head look a little like a helmet. Perched on the branch of a living tree in an enclosure bigger than Anna’s car, the little bird whistled. ‘Kisses?’ she asked, hopping forward to say hello.
Oliver grinned and, uninhibited, began making kissing noises, which Leia mimicked happily.
‘An-na!’ called Liza again.
‘Come on,’ said Oliver. ‘Come and meet the lad and then I’m afraid we’ll need to leave you to it.’ He glanced at his watch, a classic Cartier. ‘Bye, baby,’ he said to the little bird sadly.
‘Bye, baby,’ she echoed, bobbing her head and even Anna, despite her avian suspicions, couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter 13
Dittisham, 2019
With Liza’s volley of last-minute instructions still rattling in her head – her own name bastardised to the apparently more palatable Ah-na – it was almost a relief to wave them off on their trip. Anna smoothed down her hair from where Liza had tugged at her ponytail distastefully. ‘Try not to use the pool too much, it’s such a pain to clean the filters.’
There was a strange pleasure in knowing that, whether someone like Liza conceded it or not, there was a need in her life for someone like Anna. Like Sonja. It was surely necessary, after all, to have someone to look down on, in order to be that confident and so utterly convinced of one’s own superiority? That inner certainty was perhaps cast in the DNA of some people and, as ever, Anna found herself simultaneously awed and irked by this self-assurance that would always, always elude her. This absolute belief that theirs was the opinion that mattered, and that their wishes and desires should therefore eclipse all others.
But, how?
How did one even begin to quiet one’s inner anxieties, ignore those unspoken but unassailable doubts, so ingrained as to become lore?
Anna had no idea. Sometimes it was easier simply to watch and marvel, and try not to become obsessed with the wheres and whyfors that so intrigued her.
And yet – however disparaging the looks, the comments, and however begrudging Liza’s welcome – Anna was now here, living in the luxury of The Cove for the next week. The sun was shining, rippling across the frosted tips of the sea, and she had a new place to explore and, presuming she promised not to shed(!), then a beautiful indoor pool in which to swim. She had sweet little Leia to entertain her, who even now seemed to be working through the harmonies of ‘Bye Bye Baby’ with such innocent pleasure that it was hard not to be enchanted.
If she could just persuade Chewie that she wasn’t in fact the devil incarnate, then it could almost be the holiday that Emily had prescribed. She whistled once more to try and get Chewie’s attention and then went looking. The heavy, meaty smell hit the back of her throat as soon as she walked into the vast kitchen, the Great Dane seemingly proud of his deposit in the middle of the marble floor. He eyed Anna boldly, challenging her.
She threw open the French doors, gulping in fresh air, questioning yet again the sanity of this raw food diet. ‘Get out, you bad dog!’ she cursed, hoping that it wouldn’t come to a battle of wills or strength; he probably weighed more than she did.
‘Bad dog!’ echoed Leia from next door, before pealing into laughter. ‘Good baby! Bad dog!’
Anna stepped forward, refusing to blink, growling under her breath. ‘Get. Out.’
Chewie dithered for a moment, clearly so used to being the alpha in this household that he was unsure how to respond. Anna stepped closer again, until she could feel his hot breath on her chest. ‘Listen, Scooby Doo – just accept that I’m in charge here or it’s going to be a very long week.’ She stared him out, her own eyes beginning to water, but refusing to blink first and lose the only battle that mattered.
He wobbled for a moment longer then dropped his head and trotted obligingly out into the garden, cocking his leg up against one of the sculptures on the lawn on his way.
Anna breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the garden was apparently completely secure, and she could leave him out there for a moment while she dealt with the kitchen floor.
* * *
As was her habit, Anna took her time finding her bearings. It was part of the promise of a new place, a new adventure, to tease out the first tour of the house. Why rush, after all, from room to room when each new vista, each bookshelf, each silver-framed photograph could be savoured and scrutinised?
This was not, she always justified to herself, snooping.
She just needed to get the lay of the land, as it were, preferably in daylight, and in a house this big, she liked to make sure there were no surprises. Heated tongs left on, windows wide open, alarm clocks set for 5 a.m. – this was not her first rodeo and she was forever amazed by how carelessly people were content to leave their houses. And somehow the more decadent the home, the less care and respect it was afforded.
Case in point, the array of sodden towels on the bed in the master suite.
Without Sonja to pick up the pieces, who exactly was supposed to handle the mouldering heap?
As ever, a house-sitter’s role involved walking the line between privacy and duty of care.
Anna, of course, picked up the towels.
Four bedroom suites later, each with their own spacious bathroom, dressing room, and sweeping view, it was hard not to begrudge her own quarters downstairs. Sonja’s quarters, to be precise, the entire square footage of which would fit into one of the ensuite bathrooms with room to spare. A small, rectangular window looking out at the wall of the pool house, should you be inclined to stand on tiptoe. One tiny, crispy blue towel awaiting her at the foot of her bed, compared to the bountiful array of silver-grey softness stacked in every bathroom.
Anna frowned, the temptation to move up to one of these bedrooms overwhelming.
Chewie’s bed in the sitting room was better appointed than her own.
Would it be so wrong?
And then she thought of Liza’s expression, her obvious distrust of a stranger in her home, and professionalism prevailed.
Sure, wouldn’t it be night-time anyway?
There were fresh sheets on her bed, food in the fridge and, with the doors securely locked, a cocoon of anonymity around her – just one house amongst many. What did it actually matter where she slept?
* * *
Later that evening, as the view from the Eames armchair in the sitting room darkened and the lights on the boats in the harbour flickered like fireflies, Anna sat spellbound. Even the slightly ominous presence of the cavernous, empty house behind her was an irrelevance. The whoosh of the tide coming in was the only sound she could hear, still not enough to drown out the thoughts in her head.
With only a stack of pristine Architectural Digest magazines to read, Anna lay one finger across her bruised brow-bone and considered her options.
Here, and at Gravesend Manor, there had been an unwelcome shift in her role. To these people, she was simply staff. No better, or more valued, it seemed, than the woman who broke her ankle scrubbing their floor. Of no more importance than a woman to be coerced and bullied.
She wasn’t kidding herself that hers was a prestige career choice, but freedom and flexibility had always been the draw of this life. Yet somehow now, without her diary planned out months in advance, that same freedom felt rudderless. Hollow. The next few weeks a yawning void, without boundaries or purpose.
Already the week here felt like a place holder, as though she were treading water until she could get back on track. But back on track to where, she could almost hear Kate’s voice protesting.
First World problems, she reminded herself, stroking Chewie’s head on her lap and trying to force herself to relax into this lap of luxury.
Docile and affectionate after their showdown in the kitchen, Chewie hadn’t left her side and she’d even got used to Leia’s habit of suddenly and loudly muttering ‘tick-tock-tick-tock’ over and over again in the background.
Reaching for her journal, she flicked back through the last few pages. Bermuda. Orkney. Thailand. Tenby. Holland Park. Her words and sketches painted a picture that projected each placement afresh into her mind’s eye. Her random aesthetic collages made her smile. Illustrated sugar packets and the eye of a peacock feather, simple portals to the past on a single page.
And, of course, her words; each line carefully, eloquently, considered to rouse the senses.
Every one of her journals became her treasure. Soft, battered leather with cream pages, her writing a work of art.
Personal. Perceptive. Perfect.
Yet the last entry made her hesitate; so filled with optimism and excitement for Kate’s wedding.
And not a word since.
At least, no words she would sully these pages with, for sometimes it was better to forget.
She closed the journal and tucked it away. If good editing could make a writer’s words soar, then surely she could be forgiven for editing her own story from time to time.
She breathed out slowly and picked up her phone instead, flicking through emails and typing deftly in the half-light.
Words on a screen always felt liberatingly transient to Anna. No need for fine-tuning, fine penmanship or, indeed, self-censorship. A temporary repository for ugly, half-formed thoughts. No commitment required.
As her typing slowed, the purge of words dwindling to a trickle, she sat back, exhausted.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would find a bookshop. With a book in her hand, she could feel at home anywhere; tried and tested to soften even the most jarring of relocations.