The House in the Clouds

by Connelly, Victoria

  He went for a walk after that to try and clear his head. He took the route through the village, passing the huddle of cottages hunkering close together under their thatched roofs as if in an attempt to keep warm. Looking at them now, Edward almost envied their simplicity and smallness. Just think how easy it would be to live in a cottage. How practical it would be to heat and maintain it. You could virtually see the whole property at once, he thought with a grin. There would be very little to surprise you with a cottage, he believed. Or, if there were any issues, they would be relatively easy and cheap to deal with.

  But Edward hadn’t chosen to live in a cottage. He’d chosen a sprawling Georgian mansion. And he had the bills to prove it. He shook his head. It was only money after all, he told himself, and what was money for if not to spend? He’d just have to make some more. Besides, things were bound to get better soon. It would be spring before he knew it and his energy would pick up then as it usually did, with the promise of warmer weather when he could start to enjoy wild swimming again. And then winter and all the work and the money spent on renovations would be behind him and he’d have the summer to look forward to. He could spend more time outdoors then, enjoying the garden and the countryside. Now, that, Edward thought, was something to look forward to.

  But little did he know the news that February would bring.

  Chapter Four

  There had been no warning signs. Nobody had suspected what was about to happen and it was the very last thing Edward had thought would happen to him.

  He was made redundant.

  It was nothing personal, his boss had said. Your work is good. Second to none. Only it seemed he was second to somebody at the company his was merging with. A number of his colleagues had suffered the same fate too. Within a week, he’d gone from having his own office to being forced to clear his desk. There was a redundancy package, of course, but that would only go so far. Edward was pretty sure some of his clients would come with him in time, but most, he feared, would stay loyal to his firm. A firm that hadn’t stayed loyal to him, he couldn’t help thinking bitterly.

  And what about him? What was he going to do? He’d been at the company for twelve years and had never even considered working for anybody else. How long would it take him to secure another position somewhere? Or maybe even set up on his own? Because that was looking like a very real option now.

  But a little voice told him that these things would take time and he needed money now to pay all the people who were working at Winfield. Not only were there wages to pay but there were materials to buy as well as the basic running costs of such a large property. For the first time since taking on the project, Edward felt unsure of himself. It was one thing when you had a full-time wage coming in, but quite another to be cast adrift. Winfield was relying on him and he wasn’t at all sure that he could do the place justice anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was to let it down. The old place deserved better than that. So what were his options? He couldn’t spend money that he didn’t have and Winfield needed a lot of money, not just now but in the future too. Could Edward rely on himself one hundred percent to provide that money and to secure the future of Winfield? He could no longer be certain, and that was a feeling that left him shaken to his core.

  After several sleepless nights on his airbed, Edward called Stephen and invited him over.

  ‘Well, you know I’ve always thought you were crazy to take this place on,’ Stephen said as he paced up and down the hallway, glancing up at the grand staircase which swept like a graceful centrepiece in a classic film. Indeed, one half expected Vivien Leigh to appear at the top of it.

  ‘Crazy? You congratulated me for buying it!’ Edward pointed out, remembering the day of the auction quite clearly and how chuffed Stephen had seemed.

  ‘I was just being supportive,’ Stephen said. ‘It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I still want it.’

  ‘You mean, you’re not going to sell it?’

  ‘I couldn’t. At least, not properly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Edward ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve had an idea. I’m not sure if it’s just – well – ridiculous or not. But I’m not sure how many options I have.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Stephen asked.

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to help with that decision.’

  ‘You don’t need money from me, do you?’ Stephen had turned quite white.

  ‘Don’t panic!’ Edward told him. ‘It’s not money I need from you. It’s information.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. What sort of information?’

  ‘About that woman.’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘My underbidder.’

  Stephen frowned. ‘The woman at the auction?’

  ‘Yes. What do you know about her?’

  ‘Only what I told you before. She’s famous for those sunflower designs. Has quite a few shops. Or had a few shops. I think she sold her business.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘Not really. Just a headline I saw in one of those Sunday supplements.’

  ‘What’s her name again?’

  ‘Abigail Carey.’

  ‘And that was the name of her business?’

  Stephen nodded. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘Well, it’s just an idea at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Stephen raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  ‘Not that sort of an idea! A business proposition.’

  ‘Okay,’ Stephen said slowly. ‘How’s that going to work?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a bit of background work to do first,’ Edward said, ‘but let me tell you the rough plan.’

  * * *

  Edward wasn’t at all sure that Stephen was on board with his idea but, as with the day he’d purchased Winfield, his friend gave him his full support.

  ‘I guess it’s your call,’ Stephen told him before he left. ‘Let me know how it goes, won’t you? Or if you need me to come and bail you out if she turns out to be a mad woman.’ He’d chuckled at that, but it did leave Edward questioning his own judgement. This idea of his might not be such a good one after all. Still, he wanted to find out more and there was only one thing you did in the modern world when you wanted to find out about somebody. You googled them.

  Edward had to admit that he was surprised how much coverage there was on Abigail Carey. She was quite famous, he realised. And beautiful, with long vanilla-blonde hair that curled down to her shoulders, large blue eyes and what he believed was described as a peaches and cream complexion. Not that that had anything to do with, well, anything, but he couldn’t help making the observation. And there were plenty of photos of her online – interviews on websites, features in online newspapers and fan sites for her shop and products. It was pretty impressive, he had to admit.

  Then he read the news reports of her having sold her business and he frowned. Why had she done that? It was a sound business that was doing well. That concerned Edward for a moment, but then he realised she had money because she had been bidding for Winfield Hall, hadn’t she? And maybe she was starting another company. Entrepreneurs often did that, didn’t they? Perhaps she was the sort that started one project and then got bored and moved on to a new venture. Yes, he thought, that was probably it. Anyway, he could always ask her. If they were going to be partners, it would only be fair to know where they stood with each other. Perhaps he’d ask to see her business plan. That would put his mind at rest, wouldn’t it? But what if she asked to see his? It was all right him sitting in judgement of her, but what if she wanted to know his plans? He’d been made redundant – what would she make of that?

  But you also own Winfield, he told himself, and she wanted Winfield.

  Anyway, maybe she was retired now. Maybe she didn’t have any plans to work again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Well, he was actually. He thought it was very strange indeed. A person needed an occupation, he believed. One shouldn�
�t just sit around all day without a purpose. He would have to make sure she wasn’t one of those types of people. He didn’t think he could bear that.

  Switching his laptop off, he put the kettle on and wandered through to the hallway, dipping in and out of the rooms the builders had been working in earlier that day. It seemed eerily quiet now that they’d gone, the rooms returning to their natural state of silence. For a moment, Edward wondered what it would be like to live here alone – to have so much space all to himself, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Not only was it impractical, but he wasn’t at all sure he’d enjoy the reality of living in such a large place on his own. He wasn’t exactly a gregarious person. He didn’t need people around him all the time and he’d always valued his privacy, but he liked the idea of people being nearby. In their own homes, of course.

  Anyway, it was becoming very clear that he couldn’t afford to live in Winfield on his own. Not that he’d ever planned that. It was much too large a property for one single man. And, seeing that he’d always planned to let out a percentage of the space as apartments, where was the harm in taking that idea further?

  * * *

  Abigail had been sitting at her desk overlooking the river. She’d given herself the exquisite pleasure of opening a brand new sketchbook that morning and had been doodling in it ever since, careful to switch her phone off and to ignore her computer. The February light was a soft dove-grey and Abi had had a crisp, brisk walk first thing. Now, she was settling down to some work. Well, not work really. She had allowed her mind to wander and her pencil to do its own thing. She wasn’t quite sure which direction she was going in and she didn’t want to put any pressure on herself. After the recent sale of her company and the press interest, she wanted to create a safe little cocoon with her work. She needed to get back to basics and remember her first love of drawing. When had she last just sat down and doodled? She really couldn’t remember and that made her sad.

  Her pencil paused in mid-stroke and she glanced out of the window and then she did something that was fatal: she looked at her computer. It was after eleven. Maybe she should check her email? Just quickly. She wouldn’t hang around and get sucked in – she’d just do a quick sweep to make sure she wasn’t missing something important, and she wouldn’t make the mistake of going to any social media sites. Since people had been tagging her and sending all sorts of hateful messages for leaving her company, Abi had closed all her accounts down. By simply removing them and herself, she’d managed to reclaim a certain amount of peace in her life, but she still couldn’t get some of those messages out of her head. Why were some people so nasty? Why did they feel so entitled to jump into her life and give their opinion? She’d never have dreamed of reaching out to others in the way that some had reached out to her. It was truly baffling. But that was the crux of social media, wasn’t it? Everyone had their little corner of the universe from where they could shout and be heard. Well, Abi wasn’t going to listen anymore.

  Trying to put all thought of online negativity out of her mind, she checked her email. There was the usual stuff – messages from friends checking up on her. Another from her sister who was complaining about the latest drama with her children. Then there were the companies reaching out to her hoping to woo her with a job offer or secure an endorsement for their products. The thing was, Abi had signed a non-compete clause when she’d sold her company so her hands were tied for the next few years. She’d wanted freedom and now she had it.

  As she scrolled through the messages, there was one that caught her eye. It was from somebody called Edward Townsend – a name she didn’t recognise. But she definitely recognised the name in the subject heading.

  Winfield Hall.

  She clicked on the message.

  Dear Miss Carey

  I’m the new owner of Winfield Hall and it’s been brought to my attention that you were my underbidder. I have a unique proposition for you and would like to invite you to Winfield at your earliest convenience. I don’t want to sound overly dramatic, but this house needs you.

  Yours sincerely

  Edward Townsend

  Abi sat staring at the message. The last person she’d ever expected to hear from was the new owner of Winfield Hall and he said he had a unique proposition for her. Why would he say something like that? Why not just say, can you help me with the decorating, as most people asked? It was perplexing. She thought about emailing him back to explain that she wasn’t really doing interior decorating anymore. In fact, she’d never really done it in the past either. It was just one of those common misconceptions people had about her. She could do it, though. She’d helped many of her friends out, producing mood boards and helping them choose fabrics and papers from her own designs. It was always fun and she couldn’t wait to see how she could help the new owner of Winfield. But there was a part of her that wondered if it would hurt too much to see the place knowing that it could never be hers.

  Still, curiosity got the better of her and she emailed him back.

  Dear Mr Townsend

  Would tomorrow at eleven o’clock suit you?

  Best wishes

  Abigail Carey

  Five minutes later, she got his reply saying, yes, that would indeed suit him.

  * * *

  Abigail set off for the drive down to Sussex on a particularly fine morning. It was good to get out of the city and she wound her window down as soon as she turned off the main road towards the village that she’d once thought would be her home. The February air was chilly but delicious and she inhaled deeply as much to calm her nerves as to shake the last vestiges of London from her lungs.

  She turned into the steep lane that led away from the village, following it around several bends until it became a track. Driving over a cattle grid a moment later, the rumble of her car tyres seemed to mark the entrance into another world and Abi could feel her shoulders losing some of the tension from her long drive. She took a long, deep breath, the silver-blue freshness of the air so clear and sharp and heady. The landscape of the South Downs opened up to her right, its proud hills rising up sharply to the very heavens.

  And then she gasped as she glanced left. There it was – golden and graceful in the late winter sunshine. Winfield Hall. How strange it was to see it again and to know that somebody was living there. Somebody that wasn’t her. It wasn’t in Abi’s nature to be bitter, but she couldn’t help feeling the same sadness she’d felt on leaving the auction room that day. She hadn’t got this place out of her system yet, had she? Perhaps she never would.

  Slowing her car down as she entered the sweep of gravelled driveway in front of the house, she noted the other vehicles and two large skips, and she could hear the sound of banging coming from inside. It seemed odd that Mr Townsend was thinking about decorating already when the builders were still at work, but maybe he’d found a quiet little corner of the hall to call his own and wanted to get that just right so he had somewhere to escape to.

  She sat in her car for a moment, gazing up at the hall’s large sash windows. It was a true beauty and she wished with all her heart that she’d been able to make that winning bid. But could she have done it? Should she have risked everything and saddled herself with a massive mortgage just after walking out on her company? As she sat in her car now, gazing at the friendly face of the building that she loved so much, a part of her berated herself for not pushing just a little bit harder to make the place her own.

  Abi reached across to the passenger seat where she’d placed a small portfolio of her work, taking it with her as she got out of the car and walked across the driveway. She remembered the last time she had done so and how she’d had that remarkable feeling of coming home. Well, so much for premonitions, she told herself.

  The front door was open and she went inside, mindful of the workmen all around her and wondering if she should be wearing a hard hat. Sure enough, a burly looking man approached her, a frown on his dusty face.

  ‘You can’t come in here, love,’ he
said gruffly. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Townsend.’

  ‘He’s not in here. Try the back.’ He pointed with a stubby finger. ‘But be careful!’

  She nodded.

  Walking in the vague direction the builder had pointed, Abi passed the magnificent staircase, glancing up just as a shower of dust descended. She coughed and kept walking.

  As she left the noise of the building work behind, she could hear the voice of a man on the phone and followed that, hoping it might be Mr Townsend. Sure enough, she saw him a moment later in a large room overlooking the downs which was empty save for a desk with a laptop on it and what looked like an airbed on the floor. She grinned. This was obviously his home for the time being.

  She gave a little wave as he glanced up from his call and saw her for the first time. She didn’t recognise him from the auction, but he had dark sandy hair and a nice, open face, Abi decided and, despite being surrounded by builders, he looked as neat and crisp as if he was putting in a day at the office, albeit in jeans and a casual shirt. Some people had that ability, didn’t they? To look neat and tidy even when slumming it and Mr Townsend, she thought, was one of those people.

  She watched as he ended his call and strode across the room, hand outstretched towards her.

  ‘Miss Carey?’

  ‘Abigail, please.’

  ‘Abigail,’ he said, an awkward smile on his face. ‘Sorry about the call. Chaos here.’

  ‘I can see,’ she said, returning his smile only a little less awkwardly, she hoped.

  There was a kind of tension in his expression and a furrowing on his brow that spoke of worries and stress.