The House in the Clouds

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘Of course it is,’ she told him. ‘It’s the most perfect place in the world!’

  Chapter Five

  Abi sat in her car feeling stunned. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from being invited to Winfield by Edward Townsend, but it hadn’t been this. She had to bite her lip in order to stop herself from screaming with joy at the turn of events. She was going to live here. Her heart had known it all along and yet she’d allowed herself to slip into despair when the auction hadn’t gone her way. But fate was bigger than any auction. A dream couldn’t be stopped, could it? It would find you somehow.

  After leaving Edward, Abi had walked around the garden once again, knowing that she needed to burn off some of her nervous energy before she got into her car for the drive home.

  Home, she thought, now that she was in the car. This was going to be her home. This special place that she loved so dearly. Of course, she was only getting half of Winfield, but that was enough. It was a compromise for sure, but it was one she was happy to make because, until a few hours ago, she wasn’t getting any of Winfield. The place had belonged to somebody else. Edward.

  She thought about Edward Townsend now. She’d liked him and yet there was something guarded about him. Hadn’t he said that today would be about getting to know each other? Well, she hadn’t learned a thing about him and he’d only asked her a couple of questions about her business. Was that all he wanted to know about her? Whether or not she was a viable source of much-needed income for Winfield? He didn’t need to know about her thoughts and feelings about the world or anything about her family. He hadn’t even asked if she was married or not, but perhaps he’d read that she wasn’t in an online interview. There was enough about her private life online to sate even the most ardent fan.

  And should she have asked more about him? Surely he’d have mentioned if he had a wife and five screaming children? She’d noticed that he hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, but plenty of people didn’t. Maybe she should ask him when she got home. Drop him a quick email and say – by the way, is there a Mrs Townsend? Would that sound odd? Would he think she was a desperate single woman in search of not only a country estate but a husband too?

  Abi smiled. She’d leave it. They both seemed happy to be doing business with each other and that, surely, was enough. So what would that make them to one another, she wondered? Edward wouldn’t exactly be her landlord and he wasn’t going to be her boss. And they didn’t know each other well enough to be thought of as friends.

  Neighbours, she decided at last. Yes, they would be neighbours. Or perhaps something a little more than neighbours with their shared love of Winfield uniting them in quite a unique bond. Together, they would tear away all the rotting bits of the place and help restore it to its former glory. They would breathe new life into the long-forgotten rooms, repair its broken windows, restore the long-neglected garden, paint each beautiful wall and fill it with fine things and happy people.

  Partners, Abi thought. Perhaps she could think of her and Edward as being partners in restoration. That was rather a fine title, wasn’t it? Yes, she liked that.

  As she drove through the village and wound her way through the deep lanes of Sussex towards the motorway that would take her back to London, she knew that she was leaving a little piece of herself behind. A piece which she hoped to join once again very soon.

  * * *

  Edward Townsend looked at the business card Abigail Carey had given him. It was one of the prettiest he’d ever seen, featuring her signature sunflower. Edward was used to being handed dull beige business cards where the only highlight might be a slightly interesting font. This, though, was the card of an artistic soul. He didn’t know too many of those. He didn’t really get to meet them in his line of work.

  His line of work. He baulked at the phrase. He was unemployed. But he was still a financial adviser, wasn’t he? He had yet to make any clear decisions on his next move, but selling half of Winfield would, at least, buy him a little time. Abigail would buy him a little time. He’d liked her. He was still perplexed by a person who would just walk away from a successful company when it was at the height of its power, but he guessed he was going to have to try and understand that some people just didn’t think the same way as he did.

  But what a relief she’d said yes. Edward really hadn’t wanted to go through the rigmarole of putting the property on the market again, albeit half of it. It would have been taken out of his hands if he’d done that and he wouldn’t have been able to choose his buyer so easily. This way, he’d have total say in whom he shared Winfield with and it seemed a strange kind of fate that things had happened the way they had – with his friend having recognised the underbidder at the auction and her not having found another place yet and still being so very in love with Winfield. He’d seen that trait in her straight away. He’d watched as she’d glanced around the room he was in now and he’d seen that glorious glazed look upon her face as she’d taken in the view from the window. Indeed, Edward felt sure he wore the same look himself only perhaps he hid it better than Abigail did. He had the feeling that she was one for showing her emotions through both her art and her speech. It was one of the things he’d warmed to about her – she didn’t waste time being cagey. She loved Winfield and she wasn’t afraid to admit it. That was to be admired. So often in life, people hid behind artifice, saying things they didn’t mean or things they thought others wanted to hear, and what was the point of that? It was hard enough trying to navigate one’s way without having to deal with such nonsense. No, he thought, Abigail Carey was open and honest and kind. He could see that shining through her eyes.

  He shook his head. Why he was suddenly thinking about Abigail’s blue eyes, he didn’t know. But she’d had a way of looking at him that had been both mesmerising and disconcerting – as if she could see into his very soul. As if – at the very least – she understood him and his love for Winfield. And that was what bonded them. That was why he was so glad he’d reached out to her and felt as if he’d made a good decision. He wasn’t sure if anyone else would see it that way, though.

  ‘You’re really going to share Winfield?’ Stephen said as he sat down on Edward’s office chair.

  ‘You know I was thinking of it,’ Edward told him. ‘It’s the only way I can see of making it work financially. Why do you sound so surprised?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ his friend said. ‘I guess I never thought of you as a sharing sort of a person.’

  ‘First time for everything,’ Edward pointed out.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Anyway, I think it’ll be pretty safe sharing with her. She’s one of these artist types. They’re usually quiet, aren’t they?’

  ‘But what if she plays the bagpipes for a hobby? Or likes to blast rock music while she paints?’ Stephen said with a smirk.

  Edward smiled at his teasing. ‘Funnily enough, that’s not the impression I get from her.’

  ‘Well, it’s a risk.’

  ‘So is not doing the work that’s needed on Winfield.’

  Stephen glanced up at the ceiling that was giving him a plaster shower. ‘Yes, I see what you mean.’

  ‘She’s a good sort,’ Edward told him. ‘I think we’ll get on.’

  Stephen had taken his phone out of his pocket.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just looking her up again,’ Stephen said. ‘Ah, right!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s very pretty!’

  Edward frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Stephen grinned. ‘Well, I’d say it would be far easier to share one’s home with a pretty girl than with an ugly one, wouldn’t it? Oh, come on! That had to have something to do with it!’

  ‘It certainly did not. She just happened to be my underbidder and feels the same way about this place as I do.’

  ‘And you’ll be very cosy here together, I’m sure.’

  ‘Very funny!’

  ‘Seriously, thoug
h,’ Stephen added, ‘I’m pleased you’ve found a way through this. I’d have offered to take half this place off you myself, but you know I can’t stand big draughty rooms.’

  Edward nodded in understanding. It wasn’t everyone who was willing to take on a cavernous old building and he knew his friend preferred his small London apartment with every single piece of technology a modern man could need.

  ‘I love this place,’ Edward suddenly declared. ‘And I don’t want to lose it.’

  ‘Then you won’t,’ Stephen told him. ‘I know you and you usually get what you want when you put your mind to something.’

  Edward smiled. ‘I do?’

  ‘You know you do! Ever since our days at uni. You’re always so focussed on what you want.’

  He sighed. ‘Well, that’s good to know.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see what you and this woman–’

  ‘Abigail.’

  ‘Yes, Abigail. I can’t wait to see what you both do with the place.’

  * * *

  When Abigail left her flat, she was surprised to see a paparazzo standing outside on the pavement. It had to be a slow day in the news for someone to bother with her, she couldn’t help thinking. Unless he was after the young guy who’d just moved in down the street. Wasn’t he some talent show winner? She didn’t keep up to date with those sorts of things. Anyway, she disliked this sort of intrusion. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Winfield appealed to her so much. It was so wonderfully cut off from the rest of the world. It was, in fact, its very own world up in the hills like that, half hidden in the clouds during the winter months. She loved that. To her, it was so much more than a house – it was an escape.

  As she walked to a nearby market to stock up on fresh supplies, she wondered how much of London she would truly miss. There was the convenience of being able to get absolutely anything one wanted within a few minutes, she acknowledged that. There was the theatre and the wonderful shows, the restaurants and the cafes, the colourful street life and the ever-changing window displays of the shops. Was she crazy to leave it all behind for the solitude of a house in the middle of nowhere? There was only one small shop and post office in the village of Winfield. Could that satisfy someone who’d lived in London all her life? Growing up in the suburbs, she and her sister, Ellen, had been aware of the great metropolis just a short tube ride away, but they’d rarely had the money to enjoy it until they were working themselves.

  Abi thought for a moment about their slightly unusual childhood. They’d never known their father. He’d left when Abi was a baby and Ellen was just four. Ellen said she had no memory of him, only what her mother had told her and that hadn’t exactly been happy recollections. The trouble was, Abi didn’t really remember her mother either for she’d died when Abi was only six. It was something that wasn’t really talked about, even to this day. Abi had just accepted it because she’d been so young, but she often wondered what had happened. She’d asked Ellen a few times, but she’d always been vague and quickly changed the subject. She’d been ten when it had happened and Abi guessed that Ellen remembered more about it all than she was letting on. Maybe it was painful for her. Abi wasn’t sure. But Abi had never pushed her to say more.

  After their mother had died, they’d gone to live with her sister. Aunt Claire was a no-nonsense sort of woman who did her job in raising her two nieces, but gave nothing more than she needed to. They were clothed, fed and schooled and then told to get jobs and a place of their own as soon as they were able to. Abi was kind of grateful for that sort of upbringing because it had made her independent. She’d never been afraid to be reliant only on herself and she felt lucky that she’d always had her art as an escape because that had provided a safe haven during those tricky early years.

  Perhaps that was what was driving her now, she thought, with the purchase of her dream home and all the plans she had for it. Perhaps she knew that nobody but her was going to help her make her dreams come true. Nobody had knocked on her door and said, we believe there’s a talented artist here who can run a brilliant new company. And nobody was going to take her by the hand and guide her to her perfect home. Although she supposed that Edward Townsend had sort of done that, hadn’t he? She smiled at the thought. Anyway, Abi had learned that you made your own luck in life. She had discovered Winfield Hall and had made sure she was in the auction room that day. If she hadn’t been, Edward Townsend would never have been able to reach out to her.

  As she filled a paper bag with some peppers, she wondered how long it would be until she could move into Winfield. A whole month had passed since her visit. She’d swapped a few messages with Edward since then, but hadn’t been down to Winfield since. What took so long with a bit of paperwork? Abi was always baffled by it. She was a cash buyer and she wanted to buy as much as Edward needed to sell. It was all agreed. So why did it take so long? It really was very frustrating. In her heart, she had already moved so it was exasperating that the world didn’t move at the same pace.

  Edward had warned her that work would continue on Winfield for the rest of the year if not longer. Abi was aware of that and of the noise and mess that would mean, but she couldn’t wait to make it her home anyway and leave London behind. As much as she’d loved living there and growing her business, it was time for a change – a different pace of life. What was it she’d thought on the day she’d viewed Winfield? She needed a place to breathe. That was it. She could no longer breathe in London.

  Her sister had managed to escape the city when she got married, moving first to a pretty village in Hampshire and then to the outskirts of Brighton. Abi hadn’t yet told Ellen of her own plans to leave London. She supposed she’d have to let her know at some point, especially as she’d be living in the same county as her sister.

  As she filled a bag with apples, Abi thought of Ellen. When they’d been girls, they’d often been mistaken for twins as Abi had been tall for her age. They’d worn their hair the same – shoulder-length blonde curls, and their clothes were the same because their aunt didn’t like shopping and just grabbed two of everything in the appropriate sizes.

  But, now, Ellen Fraser wore her hair short. It was what Abi thought of as a busy mother’s haircut – a style that you could tumble out of bed with and not pay the slightest bit of attention too. It was a shame, Abi thought, because it made her sister look older somehow, less feminine, perhaps, less soft around the edges. Aunt Claire would have approved, no doubt.

  One of the reasons Abi had wanted to move to Sussex was to be closer to her sister. Well, if she was being absolutely honest with herself, it was to be closer to her nieces: ten-year old Bethanne and six-year old Rosie, whom she adored. She loved her role as aunt and spending time with them was always a treat. Something which couldn’t be said for spending time with her sister, she mused.

  It was a sad fact that Ellen Fraser nee Carey was one of life’s pessimists. If there was a downside to anything, she would find it, focus on it and turn it into her reality. Abi, who was an unapologetic optimist, found that being with her sister was so emotionally draining that she tried to limit their time together. Abi had been known to ring ahead to try and gauge her sister’s mood before committing to an actual visit. On several occasions, she’d also offered to take the girls out, thus leaving her sister some much-needed time to herself. Ellen always seemed delighted by this. Well, delighted in her own subdued way.

  ‘You’ve no idea how much I need this time,’ she’d say in her woebegone way when Abi arrived, her short hair dishevelled and a look of pure resignation to the agonies of life etched across her face.

  Abi would grab the girls and sneak out as fast as they could. After all, there were only so many times you could say, ‘Oh, no,’ or ‘Oh, dear,’ or ‘Well, I’m sure things will get better soon.’

  But, oh, those nieces! They were worth a quick run in with their tormented mother. How Abi adored them and she was so looking forward to them visiting Winfield. They would love it, wouldn’t they? With its man
y beautiful acres and easy access to the downs, there would be infinite possibilities for adventures. She’d just have to make sure Ellen didn’t follow them around, pointing out rabbit holes where ankles could be twisted and bramble bushes that might scrape a little girl’s skin.

  Abi was never quite sure how Ellen’s husband put up with her. Douglas Fraser worked in training – a job which meant he spent a fair amount of time away from home. This didn’t please Ellen who often complained that she was, essentially, a single parent, bringing up their two children alone. Yet, whenever Douglas was home, Ellen would complain about that too. Perhaps he’d chosen his job very deliberately, Abi thought, knowing that it would allow him at least some respite from the constant barrage of complaints he received from his spouse.

  Abi finished her shopping and walked back home along the river. The spring air was cool and she could feel strands of winter in it still. She wondered what Winfield looked like today. Would there be primroses opening in the garden? Would it be warmer or cooler up on the downs than in London?

  As she reached home and put her shopping bags down, she got her phone out and called her sister.

  ‘Hey, it’s me,’ she said a moment later.

  ‘Abi. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good. How are you?’ she dared to ask.

  ‘Oh, my god! You wouldn’t believe what’s going on here. We’ve got some guy in the back garden taking a tree down. It’s been threatening to collapse for months and our neighbours have been kicking up a stink about it. But the noise, Abi!’

  ‘It won’t last forever.’

  ‘And the mess! It’s going to be left to me to tidy it all up, I know!’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you imagine,’ Abi told her. She then listened to Ellen as she continued her rant against the tree guy, against the paper delivery boy who’d completely shredded the paper in the letterbox – again, and the local supermarket who’d given her the wrong change. Abi let Ellen get it all out of her system before she dared to speak.