A House to Mend a Broken Heart

by Sherlock, Alison

  ‘Housekeeper?’ she asked. ‘So the place must be quite big?’

  ‘Of course.’ Hadn’t he told her about the estate? Sam couldn’t remember. It was highly likely that he hadn’t, as most conversations revolved around Cassandra.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course?’

  ‘It’s a stately home,’ he said, carefully. ‘My grandfather is the Earl of Cranley.’

  Cassandra swayed dramatically and had to hang onto the door for support. ‘Your granddaddy is an earl?’ she said, eyes wide with excitement. ‘My God! You’re like English royalty! What does that make you?’

  ‘An earl in waiting,’ he drawled.

  It wasn’t the first time that he had seen what the mention of an earldom could do to some people’s social climbing ambitions. But it had never sat comfortably with him. He suddenly wondered as to whether that was the reason he had shunned his inheritance for so long.

  ‘And what would that make me if we married? A Lady?’ Her eyes were gleaming.

  Married? He sat upright on the bed where he had been working on his laptop. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘The wife of an earl is a countess.’

  ‘Countess Cassandra,’ she murmured before dropping into a deep curtsey. ‘Do I get presented at court? You know, to the Queen?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he told her, his stomach clenching in fright. Why on earth had he told her?

  ‘You know, darling,’ she said, quickly heading over to sit next to him on the bed. ‘I finish this part of my tour next week. I could come back and visit England with you after that. See that big house of yours.’

  ‘It’s not mine. It’s my grandfather’s,’ he reminded her, feeling irritated. Cassandra had enough fame and fortune without needing an ancestral title as well.

  ‘For now,’ she whispered, leaning forward to nibble his ear.

  He let himself succumb to her touch for a few moments. Their sex life had dried up in recent weeks, thanks to Cassandra’s need for sleeping tablets to calm her down at night. He should have felt desperate for her touch but right now he just felt exhausted. ‘You know, I’m not sure a dilapidated stately home is the best place for someone with your sense of style,’ he murmured. ‘Besides, it’s pretty cold in there. You don’t want to get any kind of throat infection from all the draughts.’

  ‘I bet I’ll fall in love with it as soon as I see it,’ whispered Cassandra, moving her mouth across to cover his.

  As they kissed, Sam sent up a silent prayer that she would forget all about Willow Tree Hall. He had enough problems without his famous girlfriend itching to become the next Countess of Cranley.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Someone’s dumped a pile of rubble on my cabbages,’ said Bert the gardener, looking extremely stroppy.

  Annie sighed, thinking she knew how he felt. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll get one of the builders to clear it up for you.’

  Bert gave a grunt of disapproval as he dropped some freshly dug potatoes onto the kitchen table. He wasn’t the happiest of people at the best of times but his grumpiness had hit an even lower level in recent weeks.

  Annie stared at the soil splattered across the pine top but didn’t go to clean it up. After all, what was the point anymore? Willow Tree Hall was in disarray after only a fortnight of enduring Kevin’s so-called renovation.

  It’s a good thing it was now October, thought Annie. Halloween would arrive soon. Although they didn’t need any carved pumpkins from the walled garden or even the many cobwebs to make things seem spooky. The state of the house was frightening enough these days all by itself. It felt as if she was living in a true house of horrors.

  The trouble was Kevin’s team were so random in their work. She went to brush her teeth one night and found that the sink was missing in the bathroom of the staff quarters. The following day, Annie went to close the door of the drawing room and it fell right through its frame and into the hall. Arthur’s bed now had huge chunks of plaster covering it after the builders clambered around on the roof above. Annie was shocked at how much of a mess was made so quickly. Everything was covered in dust and there was no way she could keep on top of things. She longed for her old, dilapidated but relatively clean house. She wanted bathroom taps in showroom condition and light switches that would make a forensic scientist weep. But the dust and dirt invaded every nook and cranny of the house.

  A quick renovation didn’t appear to be the builder’s main aim. That seemed to be to make as much noise and mess as possible. The banging and crashing jostled for airspace with the sawing and hammering. It was horrendous.

  Later that morning, Annie and Megan both stared up in horror at the the rotten balustrade on the stairwell being hit with a hammer and disintegrating onto the entrance hall floor. Annie then looked down at the huge pile of what now looked like kindling on the floor and tried not to despair. But when she found Kevin to complain, he just shrugged his shoulders and took it all in his stride. ‘It’s an old house,’ he told them, grinning manically. ‘It’s going to take time.’

  As he walked away, Megan turned to look at Annie. ‘You need to call Sam whilst there’re still a few bits of house left standing.’

  ‘I’ve tried over and over,’ Annie told her.

  Having given up trying to relay her fears verbally to Sam, she had started to send through photos instead on a daily basis. Even he was beginning to sound worried when he finally returned her call later that afternoon.

  ‘Look, I’m sure it will all turn OK in the end but I can’t deal with it now,’ he told her. ‘I’m halfway across Arizona in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘No, we’re in the middle of nowhere,’ she retorted. ‘You’re in a hotel with hot running water, heating and windows.’

  There was a brief pause down the line. ‘You don’t have windows?’

  ‘Not in every room these days.’

  He sighed. ‘I’ll talk to Kevin.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ she said sarcastically. ‘He’s always got a good excuse, if you can even get him to answer his phone, that is.’

  ‘Look, I’ll be home on Thursday. I mean, I’ll be back at Willow Tree Hall on Thursday,’ he added, quickly.

  She couldn’t help but smile at his slip of the tongue at the word ‘home’.

  *

  ‘I’m sure everything will seem better soon,’ Annie told Megan, later that morning, as they headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

  ‘That’s because in the countryside no one can hear you scream,’ muttered Megan, grabbing the biscuit but finding it empty.

  Even her laidback friend was beginning to crack around the edges, thought Annie. She watched as Megan turned to face the builders who were on yet another of their many unplanned breaks, making themselves at home in the kitchen.

  ‘Right, you lot,’ she told the builders, using her scary mummy voice. ‘You’ve finished all the biscuits so clear out and give us a bit of peace and quiet for five minutes.’

  Most of the builders took the hint and left, but the remaining two men deliberately took their time to finish their drinks.

  ‘Most women don’t want to get rid of two fine specimens like us,’ said one of them, flexing his bicep which, although impressive, had the adverse effect of making his T-shirt rise up and show an extremely large, hairy stomach.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Megan. ‘I do actually have a fantasy of having two men at once.’

  There was an audible gulp from the builders.

  ‘I’d like to have one cleaning and the other doing the ironing,’ added Megan. ‘Now get out.’

  Finally left alone, they both sank down at the kitchen table in exhaustion. They had spent the morning taking down all of the books in the library and boxing them up. Finally, everywhere was builder-friendly and cleared of anything precious or sentimental.

  But the electricity was still intermittent. The boiler lay in pieces in the utility room so there was therefore no hot water or heating. And, if anything, it was even colder because some of the w
indows had fallen out and shattered thanks to the scaffolding outside the house unexpectedly protruding through the glass.

  However, Annie was surprised to find herself relieved that Sam would be returning to the house later that week, if only for a brief stopover before leaving once more.

  Alone again that evening, whilst going through the study, she found a box of liqueur chocolates. They were possibly out of date but she was past caring. Rose had received them as a present for her birthday but didn’t like them. Reluctant to throw them away, Annie broke open the packet and sucked out the alcohol as she wandered around the room. Arthur’s papers and bills were piled up in a random manner and she was unwilling to delve too deeply and thus invade his privacy. She would leave them for Sam to look through. Instead, she packed up a few books that she had found on one of the bookshelves. But hidden amongst them, she found an old scrapbook. Expecting it to be full of family history, she sank onto the rickety wooden chair, flicking through the pages and expecting to see Rose in one of her many fashion shows.

  To her shock, she discovered a whole load of newspaper clippings. At first they seemed a bit random until she turned some over and realised that they were all about Tommy King and some other rock bands. Wherever Sam’s name had been mentioned, it had been underlined with a red pen. She carefully closed the scrapbook, making sure that the everything was secure inside before reaching for another chocolate. She sucked out the sweet liquid, deep in thought. Arthur had never mentioned his eldest grandson to her in all the months that she had been living there. There had been no visits and no phone calls. She had seen the way he had disapproved of Sam when they had met at the hospital. And yet, here was a book stuffed full of Sam’s achievements. A book that his grandfather had made, so obviously full of pride at his accomplishments. Pride that had been hidden away.

  Annie sighed and shook her head sadly. She knew what pain a family at odds with each other could cause.

  Maybe, just maybe, Sam and Arthur could find their way back to each other.

  With a little bit of help from her, of course.

  *

  Having done what she could in protecting the ground floor of the house, Annie moved on to save the upstairs rooms. So when Rose popped in later in the week, Annie used the opportunity to persuade her to pack up her precious fashion collection.

  They stared at the three large wardrobes of clothes that Rose had collected over the decades and were brimming with every conceivable fashion.

  ‘Of course, some I inherited from my own mother,’ said Rose, reaching out to bring down a pale gold jacket and wide satin skirt. ‘Christian Dior’s new look, they called it. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Annie nodded. ‘It is,’ she said, reaching out to stroke the material. ‘When was the last time you wore it?’

  Rose looked at her blankly. ‘I can’t remember, darling. Not much call for Dior at bingo around here.’

  In fact, Annie had never seen Rose wear many of her vast array of designer outfits. It was such a stark contrast to the photographs that she had seen of Rose only a few years previously, dressed from head to toe in beautiful clothes.

  ‘It’s so feminine,’ sighed Rose. ‘Look at that waist. So lovely to show off your figure; unlike those awful kaftans in the seventies.’

  Taking the hanger from Rose, Annie gave the outfit a gentle shake, causing a cloud of fine powder to rise up in the air. The dust had even crept into the wardrobes. So she carefully folded it into a cardboard box that she had already lined with a sheet. It wasn’t ideal but hopefully it wouldn’t be for long.

  ‘This is more your style,’ said Rose, bringing down a pale dress that would have barely skimmed the thighs. ‘Mary Quant and her miniskirts. So revolutionary. This would look good on you, lass.’

  Annie held the dress against her, thinking she had never worn anything like this in her life. ‘How did you sit down in it?’ she asked.

  ‘Carefully and with your legs closed,’ said Rose, with a sexy gurgle of laughter. ‘Do you want to try it on?’

  Annie was tempted but then she realised that one of Kevin’s builders was peering in the window at them. ‘Maybe later,’ she said. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to keep a few pieces back rather than pack them all away?’

  Rose sank down onto a nearby chair with a weary sigh. She glanced down at her brown cardigan and trousers. ‘Drab clothes for a drab life,’ she murmured. ‘Where have I been these past couple of years?’

  Annie perched on the end of the bed, waiting for Rose to continue.

  ‘Love is a funny thing and loss certainly isn’t. I was so upset when beautiful Beatrice passed away. I know she was my sister-in-law but she was also my best friend. After all, we’d all grown up together at the local school. Arthur was so upset as well, of course. We’ve sort of been grieving ever since. ’ Rose looked up and gave Annie a teary smile. ‘I thought I was doing all right. But truth be known, I haven’t really looked at these clothes since I moved here. Each one holds such memories, you see?’

  Annie nodded. She understood about grieving for loved ones. And about best friends as well. She, Megan and Eleanor had been thick as thieves throughout their childhood. Growing up as neighbours, they had become close friends. Even after Annie’s stepdad had moved the family away from Cranley, they had still kept in touch. Contact had become a bit more sporadic once Eleanor had moved to London but they had still tried to get together whenever Annie had shore leave. These days, she was probably closer to Megan because they saw each other every couple of days. But it still felt as if there was someone missing. She was hoping that when Eleanor came home at Christmas, to visit her mum, they could become closer once more.

  ‘I’m just feeling old,’ sighed Rose. ‘What’s your excuse for your bland clothes?’

  Annie gave a start at her bluntness before looking down at her familiar jeans and jumper. ‘Dust and dirt from the builders. No use me wearing Dior with that lot about.’

  ‘Didn’t you ever wear anything pretty?’ asked Rose.

  Annie had a vision of a party dress that she wore to the last birthday party she had celebrated whilst her father was still alive. ‘Not for a very long time.’

  It had been something of a relief to wear the chambermaid’s outfit on the ships for ten years.

  ‘You don’t like standing out, do you?’ said Rose. ‘Unusual to be so self-conscious when you’re as beautiful as you are.’

  Annie shrugged off the compliment. ‘If you get told you’re ugly and useless for long enough, you start to believe it.’

  Rose gasped and reached out to grab Annie’s hand with hers. ‘Darling girl. You’re so wrong about yourself. You’re absolutely lovely. And the person who told you otherwise should be hung up by their entrails. I presume it was a man’

  Annie eventually nodded.

  ‘Isn’t it always?’ Rose stood up. ‘You know what? I think Beatrice would be horrified if she saw me today. I mean, brown! Ugh. Hand me those bin liners, love. I’m keeping some of these gorgeous clothes back. It’s time to bin the beige and brown!’

  It took some time to pack away the first wardrobe full of clothes as Rose stopped to admire every outfit and decide whether or not to keep any items for the next few weeks whilst she was staying with Beryl. But she lingered the longest over a beautiful red evening dress. ‘It’s Givenchy,’ she told Annie. ‘Just like Audrey Hepburn wore in Funny Face.’

  ‘It’s stunning,’ said Annie, stroking the smooth satin. ‘When did you wear it?’

  ‘Never. I leant it to Beatrice for a party here one night,’ said Rose, with a soft sigh. ‘I was already on my first divorce and had come back here in disgrace, as per usual! Anyway, she and Arthur had been hovering around each other for a while. I thought it might help give him the push he needed.’

  ‘And did it?’ asked Annie.

  Rose smiled. ‘She looked beautiful. When she came down the stairs, my brother stared at her as if an angel had come down to earth. And that was it. Magic.’
r />   Annie sighed as she carefully packed away the dress. Magic was something that had only happened once to her.

  ‘You know, I’ve never asked who he was,’ she heard Rose say.

  Annie turned around. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The one who broke your heart,’ said Rose softly. ‘The reason that a lovely, attractive girl like you is still single.’

  Anne shook her head and turned away once more. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said. ‘Ancient history.’

  ‘But the hurt is still there.’

  Annie didn’t reply, the unexpected tears filling her eyes.

  Rose gave her a hug. ‘Just don’t let it stop you living the rest of your life with someone else,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got you and Arthur, haven’t I?’ Annie told her.

  Rose laughed. ‘And we’re back onto the subject of ancient history again.’

  Chapter 13

  In the kitchen, Annie stared into the almost-empty pantry. Where did all the food go? On the way home from visiting the hospital the previous day, she had stocked up at the supermarket. But the week’s worth of biscuits and coffee had already disappeared. How much could one team of builders get through?

  The milk was almost gone as well, thanks to the continuous cycle of coffee and tea-making that appeared to go on all day. It didn’t help that there was no dishwasher, so the mugs continued to pile up in the sink.

  She played the radio on her phone constantly all day as well. Rather than mask the silence of the near-empty house as it had so often done, it now added to the endless noise that invaded Annie’s ears. She reached forward to switch it off when a familiar tune began to play. It was Rocky Relationships’ one and only hit.

  The force of the memory almost knocked her down. Suddenly, she was no longer in a draughty, cold kitchen but on that ship’s balcony on the Baltic Sea being kissed by him. She could feel the thrill of his arms around her. Smell the sharp tang of his aftershave, the soft smoky breath as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. Taste his lips on hers.