“There are some lovely parts, some not too lovely, but you’ll get that anywhere. I live in Kent. I’ll take you to the village my cottage is in.”
I had a mental checklist in my mind of all the things I ought to learn on a first date. Where someone lived was obviously high up on that list. I ticked it off.
“How about we do that thing…that questionnaire thing we would have done had we made our date?” I asked with a laugh.
“Okay, you get five questions, then I get five. Deal?”
“Deal. Number one. How old are you? No…wait…that’s a lame…” I stuttered through my first question.
“It is lame, do you want to change your question?” he asked with a grin.
“Erm, what star sign are you?” I could have kicked myself, that was an even lamer question.
“Leo, now I get to ask a question.” He paused, pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as if thinking hard. “Does your husband’s betrayal still hurt?”
I stared at him. “Wow, I ask something as benign as your star sign, and you go for the killer question.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I never said there were any rules on what type of question could be asked. You don’t have to answer, take a pass,” he said, giving me a smile.
We had left the car park and were back on the motorway, and I guessed a minute or two had passed since he asked his question.
“You know, it certainly doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much it did. It wasn’t the betrayal that hurt the most, it was the lie we…he…had been living. My husband is gay, Ronan. He knew, I didn’t. He felt the need to have a ‘conventional’ relationship, for want of a better word. Then one day, he couldn’t do it anymore. I feel sorry for him, that he has wasted his life living the lie, although I understand why he did, and I feel sorry for the wasted years we…I…had.”
He cringed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Maybe that was too much of a killer question for our first date,” he said.
“So this is our first date? A dirty burger while driving up the motorway. Gee, you take a girl to all the best places,” I replied, with a laugh.
“I love your humour—it was the first thing that attracted me to you in that bar.”
I was stunned into silence. I hadn’t expected Ronan to be so forthright, so honest. Of course, there was a small part of me that started to tingle, and that tingle travelled south to my girly bits. It wasn’t just my ego that was inflating.
“My turn, killer question to you. Why did you get divorced and how long ago?”
“That’s technically two questions. She believes I cheated, and it was ten years ago, could be more.”
“Oh.” It was such a blunt confession, and I was confused at his lack of a definitive answer for how long ago it happened. The date I filed for divorce, and the decree absolute date will forever be imprinted in my brain.
“I’ll let you have an extra question because I’m sure you want to know why she believes I cheated,” he said. He hadn’t taken his gaze from the road ahead.
“It’s okay, I’m sure that’s private,” I said.
“So, is it my turn now?”
“Erm, yes, I guess so.”
He ran his palm over his chin and I could hear the slight scratch as his skin caught his stubble. That sound added to the tingle.
“Let’s go safe…How long have you known Joe?”
“From schooldays. He was part of my circle of friends. You know, I can't actually remember how we became friends, we just always have been. There was a little period of time where we didn’t see so much of each other. He went off to uni, moved away and then came back, and we picked up our friendship where we’d left off.”
As if on cue, my mobile vibrated in my bag. I could hear it clink against a set of keys. I pulled it up. “And as if by magic,” I said, as I answered. “I was just talking about you.”
“I hope it was all good. Where are you?” Joe asked.
“On a motorway.”
“Okay, and he hasn’t killed or done something nasty to you yet?”
“Since you’re speaking to me, I guess we can assume the first hasn’t happened, and as for the second, no. All’s fine in that department,” I answered, cryptically.
“Okay, I was just checking in. After your call this morning, I began to think. This is very out of character for you.”
“I know, and isn’t that wonderful. I’ll call you when we arrive, just so you know, I haven’t been murdered, or…”
Joe laughed, and I didn’t finish my sentence. I turned to look at Ronan, who was smirking while still concentrating on the road ahead.
“So, where were we?” I asked as I disconnected the call. “I think it’s my turn. What do you do for a living?”
“That’s easy. A little of this and a lot of that,” he said with a laugh.
“Not a good enough answer.”
“We never agreed on the quality of the answers. I get involved in fledgling businesses and help them get off the ground. I own property that I rent out. I have a couple of clubs, a bar that others manage because I like to stay in the background, and I renovate property to sell on.”
“Sounds…interesting,” I replied.
“What do you intend to do with the rest of your life?” he asked, I guessed the answer to my question was over.
“I have no idea. I’ve been a wife for the majority of it, and now I’m not, and although I don’t want to be married, I don’t want to be on my own all the time either. Joe seems to think that makes me a cougar; as if I’m always on the lookout for the next…” I shut up, quickly. I didn’t want Ronan to think I was desperate, which I bloody well wasn’t.
There was a very awkward pause.
“You know, it’s okay not to want to be on your own. You’ve done it already for what—a couple of years now? So what if it’s not your thing. Joe flits, from what I can see, from relationship to relationship, clinging on to the hope that my wretch of a brother might be the one, which he isn’t by the way, so I don’t think he has room to give advice.”
Had it been anyone else to criticise Joe, I might have snapped back a response. Although I bristled, it felt good to have someone actually understand where I was coming from. Of course, Ronan was absolutely correct.
“I don’t think I enjoy my own company for too long and thank you for understanding,” I said. “I think it might be my turn but why don’t we save the remainder for later, over a glass of wine?” I didn’t want to expose myself any further.
“That sounds like a plan.”
It was dark when we weaved through the narrow lanes of a village and out the other side. There were no streetlights, no pavements; just fields either side until we came to a set of gates attached to ornately carved brick pillars. They were open, and we drove through what I could only describe as a park. Past mowed lawns, perfectly shaped bushes and trees until something akin to Buckingham Palace came into view.
“What the…?” I whispered, thankful the crunch of gravel under the tyres covered my words, or at least I hoped so.
We came to a stop. Ronan hadn’t looked at me as he turned off the engine. He sat with his hands on the steering wheel and his face staring ahead.
“Ronan?” I asked gently.
He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I saw his features soften a little as he looked towards the house and at the person who had opened the front door. I followed his gaze to see an elderly couple.
“Ronan?” I asked, again.
He turned to me and smiled. “Welcome to my home, Lizzie.”
The couple walked down the stone steps from the front door. The gentleman went straight to the boot and pulled out our bags, and the woman opened the passenger door.
“Lizzie, I’d like to introduce Maggie,” Ronan said. I noticed the soft tone to his voice, the fondness contained within the words. I smiled.
“Let’s get you inside. I have some tea ready for you. You must be exhausted,” Maggie said with a heavy Scottish accent.
/> “It’s been a long journey,” I said. I took her hand as she helped me from the car, not that it was needed.
She embraced Ronan, and I watched her wipe a tear. The gentleman nodded to me as he walked past with my bags.
I looked at the house, the manor, or stately home. I had no idea what it was officially called other than huge.
“When the sun comes up, and you can see the loch, it’s an amazing location,” I heard. I turned to Ronan who held out his hand, and I took it.
As I stepped through the front door, I was immediately reminded of a TV series that I’d loved. I struggled to remember the name, an English family that owned an estate in Scotland. Gilly was the gamekeeper, or maybe that was his job title, I couldn’t remember. Whatever programme it was, this house had to be the set. I was in total awe and instantly in love with the property.
Chapter Seven
I had been shown to a bedroom that was the size of my flat. My bags had been placed on a small table beside a wooden wardrobe. A dressing table contained a silver hairbrush and mirror set, a couple of vintage glass bottles that I imagined once held perfume, and a glass vase with small, heavily scented flowers.
I walked to the side of an enormous bed. It wasn’t that it was super king sized, but so high I would have to hop a little to get on the mattress. I ran my hand over a silver velvet comforter that was draped across the bottom of the bed. I loved the way the material changed colour as the fibres were reversed.
Heavy, floor-to-ceiling embroidered curtains were pulled across one wall. I doubted there was any point in looking out the window, it would be too dark, but I looked forward to the morning when I could see outside.
I was disturbed by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out.
Ronan stepped into the room. “Everything okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “This is an unbelievable house, Ronan. It's…”
“Really something, isn’t it? It’s been in my mother’s family for centuries. Tomorrow we can do the grand tour, and I’ll tell you all about my ancestry. For now, Maggie has set out some tea for us.”
I followed him along a wide corridor and back down the sweeping staircase. We crossed a vast hall to one of many doors, down another corridor and eventually found ourselves in an industrial-sized kitchen.
Copper pots hung over an Aga that looked as if it hadn’t been used for many years. The layer of dust and rust was a shame. On the opposite side of the room was a modern range, and the ping of a microwave seemed to dissolve the charisma instantly. Maggie retrieved a jug and, wincing at the burn to her fingers, she placed it on a scrubbed wooden table. Around the table were mismatched chairs; one or two had woollen throws over the back.
Maggie handed me a throw. “Here, take this. It gets cold in here at night. The cheapskates couldn’t extend the heating down here, and that old thing gave up on us years ago,” she said, nodding at Ronan and then diverting her gaze to the Aga.
“Maggie, half the house has no heating. At least you have windows that shut!” Ronan replied.
I heard a chuckle from behind. The elderly gentleman came into the room; he removed his gloves and scarf and took a seat. He smiled at me, a toothless smile that showed an expanse of gum.
“Where are your teeth, you old fool?” Maggie scolded.
He replied, in a deep-toned voice, something totally foreign, alien even, unrecognisable by only me. Maggie answered him, and Ronan laughed.
I didn’t want to be rude and ask for a translation, of course. Whatever language it was he spoke, I was impressed that Ronan understood. Learning another language had always been one of those things on my list.
“Charlie is Maggie’s husband. I’m not sure I introduced you earlier,” Ronan said.
Charlie grinned again and my hand itched to point out something that appeared to be stuck to his gum, a piece of greenery.
He spoke, and I did that thing. That thing that every foreign person hates; that thing that most British people do as if all foreign people are stupid and if we just speak louder and very, very slow, they’ll understand us.
“Thank. You. For. Taking. My. Bag. Upstairs,” I said, slowly and loudly. I was pleased not to have added, unconsciously, the obligatory hand gestures as well.
Charlie spoke and then cackled. Whatever the sound was, it could hardly be called a laugh. Maggie poured the hot milk from the jug into a mug half filled with chocolate and slid it towards me.
“His accent is a little heavy, dear. You’ll get used to it,” she said.
“Where is he from?” I asked, aware that I was being obnoxious in not addressing him.
Ronan chuckled. “Third farm up the lane. Obviously, that was many years ago. He’s worked here since he was a child, so he’ll have us believe,” he said.
I was a little confused.
“Yous think I’m a foreigner do yous? I was speaking Gaelic, lassie,” Charlie said, as slowly and loudly as I’d addressed him. He did, thankfully, have a mischievous smile.
“Yes…No…Sorry. I have a hearing problem,” I blurted out. “No, I don’t have a hearing problem as such, I…”
Maggie laughed. “It took me until I was in my mid-thirties to understand a word he said. I’m sure he does it deliberately. He spent way too many years out on the hills with nothing but the cattle, not another human in sight. Ignore him and drink your chocolate,” she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she passed. She punched Charlie on the arm.
While I sipped on my hot chocolate—something I hadn’t drunk in years—Maggie placed some sandwiches, cakes, and biscuits on the table. It was like an afternoon tea, only without the tea, and, I checked my watch, it was heading towards midnight.
I stifled a yawn at the sight of those little gold hands on my Breitling. I imagined Ronan must have been exhausted as he’d driven all the way.
“Do you want to take a plate up with you?” Maggie asked.
“That might be nice,” Ronan said, assuming the question was directed at him, or he was answering for me.
Maggie plated up two ‘midnight snacks’ I think Charlie called them and handed them to us. Ronan and I left the kitchen, and I followed back through the maze of hallways to the main stairs.
As we climbed to the first floor, Ronan said, “There’s another set of stairs from the kitchen, but I haven’t used those in ages. They would have been for the staff back in the day.”
“This is an amazing house. It must have been truly something to have lived here as a child.” I could imagine the hours of hide and seek.
“It was very lonely. We’ll do the grand tour tomorrow. You might be in for some rather interesting surprises. My mother was…bohemian I guess is the right term.”
He chuckled and that thing, that tingle happened again. I smiled at him as we stood at the top of the stairs.
“Did anyone show you your bathroom?” he asked.
“No, I literally stroked the bed lovingly, and you called for me,” I replied.
“Okay, follow me.”
I followed him back to the bedroom I’d been allocated. I placed my plate of goodies on the bedside table with my mug. One wall was panelled with dark oak, and it blended so well that I hadn’t noticed a door with a wooden handle. Through that door was a large bathroom, but what caught my breath was the bath. Standing beside floor to ceiling leaded windows was a claw-footed, enamel tub. I could immediately picture myself lying there and looking out over the lawns to the rear of the property, and then the woods beyond.
“This is wonderful,” I said.
“There is the shower, obviously, and the sink and whatnot. Just be careful, the water runs cold for a while before the boiler gets up enough steam to push hot water up this end of the house,” he said, with a laugh.
“You know, I really didn’t expect this. When you said you had to pack up your mum’s house, I thought she lived in a semi somewhere in a town.”
“I’ll own this house now, as the oldest son, but when I said pack up
my mum’s house, I guess I meant her personal things. You’ll see what I mean tomorrow.”
I watched as he covered his mouth to hide a yawn, and I told him, “Get some sleep, you must be exhausted. I’ll find my way to the kitchen in the morning.”
“I’ll just be across the corridor,” he replied.
Ronan left, and I stood in the middle of the room, once again sipping on the chocolate. I longed for a tea but had no desire to navigate to the kitchen on my own, despite my earlier statement that’s where I’d head in the morning.
I finished my drink and decided to unpack my bags, and then take a shower. Ronan was correct. I sucked in a deep breath and clenched my jaws tight to stop the squeal as ice-cold water hit my skin. I leapt from the shower, sliding on a thin towelling mat on the wooden floor, and wrapped my arms around myself. I turned around, reaching for the robe I’d left over the back of a chair when I realised anyone outside could see straight into the bathroom and my naked form.
I reached out to grab the curtains to close them when I saw—not that far below where I stood—naked, full frontal, and arms outstretched as if crucified—the embers of a cigarette light up as the smoker inhaled. It was too dark to see the face, and I wasn’t about to hang around to see if I could make out who it was. I pulled the curtains closed so fast, one half of the left one came away from the rail, and a layer of dust floated down, causing me to cough.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I whispered, pulling the chair close. I stood on it and rethreaded the curtain rings on the pole.
By that point, steam was starting to swirl from the shower cubical, so I assumed I finally had hot water. I took a quick shower, deciding that from then I’d only be using the bath. The shower controls appeared to have two settings, ice cold or scalding hot.
With my PJs on, my book, and the plate of snacks beside me, I sunk into what had to be the most comfortable bed I’d ever laid on. I wasn’t sure I managed a chapter before I could feel my eyelids drooping. I turned the corner of the page to mark my spot—laughing at the amount of fellow readers who would think that an act worthy of a fast track to hell—and then placed it on the bedside cabinet. I wriggled lower under the duvet and sighed.
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