by Kate Ryder
I sat a moment longer, savouring the view, before reaching over to the passenger seat and picking up my bag and camera. As I opened the car door, one of the dogs looked up and started to approach. I hesitated. Sensing someone watching me, I gazed up at the barn. Nick stood at the open door, casually dressed in jeans and sweatshirt with a mug in one hand. He appeared happy and relaxed. The Weimaraner crossed the stone parking area towards me.
‘Don’t worry about Baron,’ he said. ‘He likes the fairer sex.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
The dog sniffed my leg and I gently stroked its silver-grey velvety head.
‘You’re a handsome boy,’ I said softly, and the dog pushed his head strongly into the palm of my hand. ‘You didn’t tell me you had dogs,’ I called out, and instantly cringed. I didn’t know Nick. Why would he have told me?
He didn’t reply but continued to study me.
I took a deep breath and approached the barn. ‘This is fabulous.’
Baron followed closely behind.
Nick smiled and moved aside so I could enter. ‘It’s a work in progress. Hopefully it will be fabulous, but not yet.’ Looking back at the two dogs still playing on the grass, he called, ‘Casper, Tilly. Come.’
The German shorthaired pointer paused in its rough and tumble game with the Golden Retriever and responded obediently.
‘Tilly, come!’ Nick called again. ‘My sister’s dog. Tilly stays with the boys when Helen goes away.’
I smiled and gazed around the amazing space. An open-plan living area about fifty feet long, substantial oak beams rising to the atrium and floor to ceiling glass along the full front elevation created a definite ‘wow’ factor. However, he was right. It was, indeed, a work in progress and there was still some way to go before the finished product emerged.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ Nick asked. ‘The kettle’s just boiled.’
‘Thanks.’
He walked to the kitchen, at ease in his surroundings, with the Weimaraner at his heels. The pointer settled down on a well-worn, brown leather couch as Nick’s sister’s dog disappeared through an open doorway to my left.
‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Nick called over his shoulder.
‘How long have you lived here?’ I asked, removing my scarf and jacket.
‘Just shy of two years. I should have finished by now but work’s taken up a lot of my time recently. Not complaining, though.’ He opened the fridge door.
‘It’s a great spot,’ I said, sitting on the couch next to the pointer.
‘I was very fortunate,’ he said modestly. ‘Kate and Simon up at the house are good friends of mine. When they heard I was looking for somewhere to develop they offered me this barn with a couple of acres.’
Friends indeed.
‘The planners needed a little more persuasion, though.’ He approached with a mug of coffee in one hand and a packet of biscuits in the other. ‘But once I’d explained my plans and demonstrated how low a carbon footprint the whole project would have, they soon rolled over.’
He laughed, that lovely soft sound, and my heart went into free fall.
Passing me the mug, Nick placed the packet of biscuits on a chunky wooden coffee table and invited me to help myself.
‘I’d like to take photographs to accompany the article, if that’s OK with you?’
‘Good idea. It’s a great day for photos,’ he said. ‘We can get challenging weather here, being so high up. It rolls in from the sea and sweeps across the valley, but this barn has withstood many a storm.’
I looked up at the glass atrium two floors above. ‘Isn’t it noisy in the rain with all this glass?’
‘No, not noisy, more muffled. We’ve used two sheets of glass, seven millimetres thick, bonded together with a specially formulated resin for the atrium and glass roof panels. It dampens the vibrations and sound waves by forty per cent. It also blocks eighty-six per cent of ultra violet light and transmits sixty-six per cent of visible light. It also has very low solar heat gain, which helps to keep the barn cool in summer and indirectly warm in winter.’ He smiled at me and then teasingly asked, ‘Got that?’
I laughed. ‘I have, actually.’
‘I’d say the rain’s more of a comforting sound,’ he continued softly, ‘especially when lying in bed looking up at the night sky.’
The thought of lying in bed with him! I couldn’t meet his gaze and concentrated hard on suppressing the embarrassing blush that threatened to break out. Why did he have this effect on me?
‘I’ll show you around when you’ve finished your coffee.’
‘I’d like that very much,’ I said, quickly patting Baron who had come up looking for biscuits.
We chatted a while longer and I took notes. Nick told me he’d carried out most of the work himself with the help of a few friends in the initial stages. His idea was to sympathetically restore the barn using natural materials, where possible, with the ultimate goal a home as carbon-neutral and economical to run as was practicable. I loved hearing him talk. He was so passionate about the project. When he later showed me round, it was obvious that the craftsman in him had cut no corners and even the walnut dining table was lovingly created. It was a unique building and one that was being renovated with great integrity.
We started the tour on the ground floor and Nick laid out his vision for me. I took photographs and wrote furiously on my notepad, as I tried to keep up with his enthusiasm. It was a large L-shaped stone barn with enormous timber roof trusses and he explained that the doors I’d entered through were where the original threshing doors would have been. These had been replaced with glass panels set within a steel framework rising two storeys to the roofline – very contemporary and a huge statement.
‘These doors face due south,’ he explained. ‘They’re on the sunniest side of the barn so we’ve used tinted, toughened glass as this absorbs more solar radiation than clear glass.’
The large open-plan living space was divided into a study and living areas, all with oak flooring. A crisp slate flagstone floor defined the dining area and the bespoke kitchen units were also handcrafted from oak.
‘The barn is warmed through under-floor heating, powered by an individual ground-source heat pump,’ Nick continued, ‘and both warm and cooling air is distributed around the property through an energy-efficient, whole-house system of ventilation.’
At the far end, beyond the kitchen, a door opened to what would one day be a utility room and downstairs bathroom. A staircase led up to two guest bedrooms with large Velux windows that cleverly opened to provide glazed balconies, each taking full advantage of the glorious views down the valley to the sea. This part of the barn, still in the early stages of development, was designed so it could be used as a separate annexe, if required. The utility room doubled-up as a kitchen and one of the bedrooms would transform into a living room.
At the other end of the main living area, centrally situated between a door leading to the study and another accessing a large side porch with downstairs cloakroom, a beautiful wooden spiral staircase led up to the galleried area. As I followed Nick up the stairs, he explained it was made from the yew tree donated to him by The Hyde; the same tree from which he’d created the sculpture in the courtyard at his shop.
I was about to say ‘I love yew,’ when I realised how it would sound and managed to swallow my words just in time. We emerged onto the galleried area, which was, in fact, an open-plan master bedroom overlooking the living space. It was an incredible room with massive exposed A-frame trusses rising to a glassed apex. One wall, glazed from floor to ceiling with a door leading out onto a balcony above the porch, afforded fantastic panoramic views down the valley and over the English Channel.
Studiously, I averted my eyes from the extra-large king-size bed, but when he showed me the en-suite shower room I could not dismiss the tell-tale signs of a female presence. Neatly arranged on the counter was a selection of make-up, face creams and straightening tongs. I did
my best to ignore the obvious confirmation of Sarah in Nick’s life and commented on the travertine tiling to the floors and walls and the clever use of neutral colours. The only window in the room was a glazed arrow slit but there was plenty of light as the sloping ceiling was clear glass. Gazing at the large double walk-in shower, I thought how wonderful it must be to bathe under the stars and then immediately had a vision of Nick and Sarah sharing hot, steamy interludes. Flustered, and with despondency nipping at my heels, I asked if I could have a look around outside.
As we descended to the living area, Nick called to the dogs. Accustomed to their master’s voice, Baron and Casper rose immediately and waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs. Tilly, however, remained seated by one of the couches, enthusiastically wagging her tail.
‘Come on, Tils, old girl. You’ll get left behind.’
She clambered to her feet and followed him through to the porch where he took his reefer jacket from the coat rack. Retrieving my jacket and scarf from the chair, I picked up my camera and followed him outside. Even though it was a sunny day there was a cold nip in the air and I wrapped the scarf snugly around my neck.
We ascended steep steps to the rear of the barn, which brought us to a terrace above roof level where two storage tanks were located. Nick explained that private well water was pumped into the tanks before gravity delivered the water to the property. In addition, a rain butt at the far end of the barn collected water from the roof.
The light had a wonderful quality on that January afternoon. I took several photographs that I knew, even by my amateur efforts, would look pretty special. I followed Nick down a side track, noting how Baron always kept an eye on his master.
‘Even though Baron runs off with the other dogs, he never lets you out of his sight,’ I commented.
‘Weimaraners are a one-person dog,’ Nick said. ‘Although they’ll be friendly towards people they tend to be loyal to just one person. And Baron’s been with me eight years so we know each other’s foibles fairly well!’
We crossed the driveway, past the parked cars, and walked towards a log cabin positioned a short distance from the barn. This housed a diesel-powered generator, which Nick explained provided power to both the dual 240V and 12V lighting/electrical systems. Beyond the cabin was a wind-powered generator.
‘The barn stands at seven hundred feet above sea level and it’s often windy up here,’ he said. ‘In fact, there’s so much stored energy from the wind turbine that we give a lot back to the national grid.’
We? I had tried to ignore it up until then. Was that simply a figure of speech or was it a reference to him and Sarah? It sounded cast in cement.
I attempted to make notes as he spoke and take photos at the same time. Although agitated at the thought of his long-term relationship, I was aware, once again, that in Nick’s presence I experienced a delicious calming of the soul.
As we walked down a flight of roughly hewn steps from one terrace to another, I spotted strategically placed life-size wooden animal sculptures. A couple of pigs rooted amongst the trees, there was a preening cockerel and a scratching hen on the middle terrace, and on the bottom terrace, a hissing goose stood at the edge of a large lake. I photographed the sculptures and said I would like to include them in the feature.
‘Examples I did for my students,’ Nick commented.
‘How long have you been tutoring?’
‘This is the third year I’ve run the evening class at Bridport. It’s a general carpentry course but last year’s students wanted to concentrate on more creative aspects, so I created these to show what can be achieved.’
‘They’re great in this setting,’ I enthused.
‘Yeah. I didn’t think they looked out of place.’
At that moment, Casper tore past us. Leaping straight off the terrace onto the one below, he bounded into the wet, reedy area at the edge of the lake. Tilly followed closely behind.
‘Look at that mad dog,’ Nick exclaimed. ‘I swear he thinks he’s a water spaniel!’ He laughed; that good-natured, infectious sound. Jumping down to the terrace below, he called to his dog. ‘Casper, get out of there.’
The dog turned and immediately retreated from the water. Tilly, however, waded up to her belly amongst the reeds, obviously reluctant to leave the lake. Eventually, after much persuasion, she emerged draped in weed and vigorously shook herself.
‘Argh! Bad girl, Tils,’ Nick said, jumping out of the way of the impromptu shower, but he was laughing as he said it. The dog gazed up at him with soulful eyes.
‘I’ll explain the significance of the reed lake, Maddie, and you’ll understand why it’s not good for these rebels to go wading around in it.’
He looked up at me standing on the terrace above him and held out his hands and, suddenly, I had the feeling we were about to take a momentous step. As I placed my hands on his shoulders and looked into his open, tanned face and clear blue-grey eyes, I experienced the strongest sensation we had done this before. Holding me under my arms, he lifted me gently down to the terrace below. As he did so, a great hush descended – a deep silence, like a held breath – and I became aware of an incredible light shining from my body. As our eyes locked, I knew this was how it should be. It was as if time had stopped. We were in a place where there was no time; the normal laws of the universe did not apply. Somehow we had stolen back time. And then words came to me, which I did not fully understand.
‘Oh, such joy to look upon your face again and feel once more a touch long still…’
As swiftly as it had happened, the moment passed. I heard Nick explaining how connecting to the main sewer had worked out prohibitively expensive, as well as impractical, so a reed bed purification lake was created that naturally filtered all waste water from the barn.
‘The pond naturally balances and recycles the waste water. Once processed, it’s then pumped back up to one of the storage tanks above the house for re-use.’
As Nick talked, I wondered if he had experienced anything just then. Had he noticed any slight shift in the order of things? He didn’t appear to have, but I was certain that when our eyes had locked I’d seen a flicker of emotion and a question forming. I was still pondering this when Nick interrupted my thoughts.
‘How are you for time, Maddie?’
I glanced at my watch. ‘OK. I’m only working the evening shift at the pub.’
‘Would you like to stay for lunch?’
We were standing next to each other but looking straight ahead at the view. My heart started thumping loudly.
He turned to me and smiled. ‘Nothing special I’m afraid. My skills lie more in wood than food, but if you’d like to stay I can rustle up something.’
‘Stay,’ whispered my heart.
‘Go!’ screamed my mind.
And so I stayed.
Sitting at the dining table, chatting companionably while he prepared lunch, I noticed how capable he was in the kitchen. Here was someone who could look after himself although, instinctively, I knew there were very few times in his life when he’d had to. I felt myself falling deeper into the abyss and knew that my heart should not have won the debate. I should have put some distance between us and, by now, be heading back to Walditch. But I was powerless. Some greater force directed me and I was merely an actor with but a small part to play.
10
I spent the following week working on the article that I planned to submit to Colin for EcoWorld magazine and was pleased with the way it was coming together. I had several good photos to choose from and wanted to have it finished in time for Nick’s visit on Thursday when he came round to fit the oven door. I wasn’t sure if it was an extra service he’d offered or whether it simply fell in with his normal work ethic. Either way, it was a generous gesture.
I’d just returned from a shopping trip to Bridport and was parking the car when I saw Janet approach from the direction of the Blacksmith’s Arms. She held a small brown paper parcel in one hand and waved it at me. I climbed ou
t of the car, opened the boot and grabbed the bags of shopping.
‘Hi, Janet. What’s up?’
‘This came for you at the pub.’ She held out the package to me. ‘Brian said Mrs McKendrick’s son-in-law dropped it in yesterday ’cos he thought you might be working.’
I took the package from her. On it, in spidery writing, were the words The Olde Smithy.
‘He said his mother-in-law’s been dispatched upstairs.’
I glanced at her, perplexed. Then the penny dropped.
‘Oh, you mean she’s passed away,’ I exclaimed, taken aback by the way the man referred to his mother-in-law’s death.
‘S’pose so.’
‘Thanks for bringing it over, Janet. See you Friday.’
Saddened by the news, I continued up the path towards the cottage and wondered what the package contained. After emptying the shopping bags and lighting the wood burner, I made a coffee and settled down in the chair by the fire before Storm had a chance to monopolise it. Then I opened the package. Inside was a small, sealed envelope addressed to Mary and a well-read hardback entitled, Dorset – the effects of the Civil War. I opened the envelope and carefully unfolded the letter. The handwriting was frail.
My dearest Mary,
I am so thankful to have met you. I should have liked to have talked with you at greater length but the good Lord has told me I am approaching the end of my life, although my daughter assures me otherwise (she does so try to protect me from the natural passing of time, bless her). I am very tired these days and I do look forward to being reunited with my husband. As you and I know, Mary dear, life goes on.
I was very happy living in your cottage for over thirty years, once I had learnt to accept its special ways (Hugh was always unaware and lived within its four walls in blissful ignorance).