by Anna Jacobs
‘No. I bet she’s gone up north with him.’
He glared at the house next door. ‘If that bitch’s car is still there tonight, I’ll make her sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘She’s the only one who could have arranged all this. That’s why she went to see my aunt in hospital.’
As they pulled up at a hotel, he said grimly, ‘At least we know where my aunt’s lawyer is. And where that place she’s inherited is. We’ll find him easily enough. And her, too.’
She looked at him in alarm. ‘You’re not going after her? George, no. Leave her in peace now.’
‘I shall leave her in peace after I’ve taken charge of the land she’s inherited. That’s the important thing, to maximize the profit from selling it.’
‘It’s not our land!’
He gave one of his sneering smiles. ‘No. But I’m going to look after her business matters, as I do for my mother. Wait and see. I’ll pull Emily into line.’
‘George, please don’t.’
He gave her one of his scornful looks. ‘Do you realize how valuable that land is? Several million at least. What’s she going to do with that much money at her age? She’s never been a spender.’
‘Nor have you.’
‘Only because I have nothing to spend. One day I will have. One day you and I will live in style, Marcia. And my aunt is the key. Her inheritance makes my mother’s money look like small change.’
She looked at him doubtfully.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be careful what I do. I won’t rush into anything.’
Six
Emily woke with a start as the car stopped. She realized she was holding Chad’s hand – again. He was still asleep, so she squeezed his fingers gently to wake him.
When he began to stir, she let go reluctantly and stretched her stiff body. She wasn’t even sure he knew they’d been holding hands.
He smiled at her. ‘You held my hand even in your sleep.’
So he had known. She was glad and blurted out without thinking, ‘I find it comforting.’
He reached out to stroke her cheek with the tip of one finger. ‘Ditto. You and I have been through some difficult times together, haven’t we?’
‘Yes. But we’re starting to put our lives to rights now.’
‘I hope so. There’s a lot still to sort out. And we can get to know one another better as we do it. I’m sure I’ll remember some more about myself.’
She wished she could find a way to help him with that; knew how it galled him not to know who he really was. But what he remembered was in the lap of the gods. What the two of them did from now on was in their own hands. ‘Where are we?’
Oliver spoke from the front seat. ‘I’ve stopped at the motorway services. I thought we could all do with a comfort break and something to eat. We might be able to buy some food here as well, enough to manage on till you can do some proper shopping.’
‘If I know Rachel, she’ll be bringing plenty of food. She got into the habit of that when her son and his family were still living in England. She’s brilliant. She can put a meal together at the drop of a hat. But you’re right, Oliver, we ought to buy a few necessities, in case she’s delayed.’
They didn’t linger long, grabbing sandwiches and a drink each, then stocking up on tea, coffee, milk, bread, butter, cheese, apples and jam, before setting off again.
Emily was feeling wide awake now and was looking forward to seeing her inheritance. ‘How long will it take us to get to Minkybridge from here, Oliver? And what’s it like? It’s such a strange name.’
‘No one knows where the first part of the name comes from, but there is a small bridge over a stream called Minky Brook. The place isn’t even a village, it’s barely a hamlet – there are a few scattered farms nearby, two rows of small labourers’ houses, and a small group of brash newer residences. One of which I live in.’
‘You don’t sound as if you like the newer houses.’
‘I don’t. But my wife said old houses were inconvenient and pokey, so we bought a new one. Minkybridge is outside Littleborough on the edge of the moors, just off the road to Todmorden. The older houses are mostly former handloom weavers’ cottages. I think they’re pretty, built of stone with a row of mullioned windows in the third floor to give light to the weavers in the old handloom days before the mills were built.’
‘You sound as if you love your history.’
‘I love the whole area, and yes, I’m fascinated by our local history. I’m just down the road from your aunt’s house and I often stroll along Minky Brook on fine summer evenings. You get some lovely views of Littleborough with Rochdale in the distance from there.’
‘Does the house I’ve been left have a weaver’s top floor?’
‘No. I’d have brought a photo of it, if things hadn’t happened so quickly. No one’s quite sure when the pub was first built, though perhaps we ought to call the earlier one an inn. It was for drovers bringing cattle and sheep to market and in the early days, they had a few small fields where customers could put their animals overnight. The land’s still there, which is why you have a developer interested in buying it.’
‘We do?’
‘Didn’t you get the letter about that? It’s Barton and Halling, a national company.’
‘No. George probably has it, and that’ll be why he’s so interested in taking over my business affairs.’ Emily sat fuming for a minute or two, then said, ‘Tell me more about the inn.’
He slowed down as traffic began to build up. ‘People crossing the moors to Todmorden often stopped there, not just drovers. When hiking became popular in the latter part of the nineteenth century, hikers used it, too, even more so in the 1920s and 30s. The old place continued to operate as a pub offering some basic accommodation right until a couple of decades ago.’
He sighed. ‘Not a lot of demand for it, though, and custom tailed off. Motor cars brought new people who were just out for the day, so they didn’t need to stay overnight. The locals used to patronize the bar. Some of the older men still complain about it closing. Actually, I agree with them there. I’d love to stroll up the hill for a pint in the evening.’
‘Perhaps we should reopen it.’
‘You’d not make much of a living and you’d have to work hard. Penelope closed the pub completely after her husband died. She said that sort of life was too hard for a woman on her own. Be warned, though. Hikers still knock on the door asking for refreshments. Penelope used to give them cups of tea, said she enjoyed the company. She was a feisty old dame. I was very fond of her.’
‘I liked her the few times I met her,’ Emily agreed. ‘Did she live there on her own?’
‘Yes. People worried about her safety, but she always used to say nothing bad would happen to her at The Drover’s Hope. And it didn’t. She died peacefully in bed of old age. Ninety-two, she was, and still looking after herself, apart from help with the shopping.’
‘Why did she leave the house to me? Do you know?’
‘I do, because I drew up the will. She said you were the only relative of your generation who didn’t suck up to her to get hold of the property and . . .’
‘And what?’
‘Well, this puzzled me, but she wouldn’t explain. She said you were the right person to have The Drover’s Hope. She said you’d bring the old place back to life again, that it’d give you hope and then you’d give hope to others. And I was to tell you that.’
‘I wonder what she meant.’
Chad was listening with great interest. ‘Sounds a fascinating inheritance. Was the old lady psychic?’
‘She had a way of foretelling what would happen sometimes, I must admit. I don’t really believe in the supernatural, but sometimes there are things which are hard to explain by logic.’
‘I believe there’s something beyond this life,’ Chad said quietly. ‘And I’ve sensed the presence of ghosts many times, particularly in very old buildings.’
Emily waited, but he didn
’t go on, only sat frowning, so she asked casually, ‘Do you live in an older house, Chad?’
‘I have a flat, for convenience, but one day I’m going to live in the country.’ He stopped in shock. ‘Why couldn’t I remember that before?’
‘I should think when you stop trying too hard and relax, things will be more likely to come back to you,’ Emily said. ‘And perhaps your mind will work better now you’re away from that horrible geriatric unit. I know it used to make me feel terrible, as if the place was smothering me.’
‘I only remember the flat hazily, what my bedroom was like, for instance. I can’t remember the address or any useful details. Someone did such a thorough job of beating me up and removing all forms of identification, I have to wonder if they didn’t intend me to survive.’
‘You were beaten up that badly?’ Oliver sounded shocked.
‘Yes, I keep getting flashbacks about it.’ Chad grimaced. ‘Very painful flashbacks. Two men. I can remember some of my bank details as well – at least, I think I can remember which bank it is – but until I remember my name and so on, I won’t be able to access my money, will I?’
‘It can be arranged once you do remember your name. That’s the key.’
Chad shook his head sadly.
Oliver looked at him sympathetically. ‘This is an unusual situation. I really want to help you two, and I will, but at present, I think we should concentrate on getting you settled into The Drover’s Hope tonight. Tomorrow I’ll pick you up and take you to the bank to take over the accounts, Emily, then we’ll go shopping.’
‘Thank you. Is all this part of the legal service?’ Emily saw his grin in the driving mirror. The expression made him appear almost boyish, in spite of him having very little hair left.
‘Heavens, no. It’d cost you a fortune, the way law firms charge for their services by the quarter-hour. No, it’ll be my pleasure to help you as a private individual . . . if you want me to, that is.’
‘I do want your help. I not only need to get hold of some money, I need to buy a new car.’
‘You’ve got plenty of money coming to you once probate is settled, so there won’t be much of a problem with that.’
‘I’ve got enough in my own account to buy a car straight away.’
She turned to Chad, who was looking wistful. ‘You’ve remembered some more things today and I’m sure other information will come back to you.’
‘For the first time, I’m beginning to hope. If I can stay with you in the meantime, Emily, I shall be eternally grateful.’
It was strange, Emily mused as they continued driving. Chad had talked about hope just now. Penelope had spoken to her lawyer of Emily finding hope at The Drover’s Hope and giving it to others.
Was it happening already? She really liked the idea of doing something as worthwhile as that.
And perhaps, if she were very lucky, George wouldn’t pursue her any longer.
She gave a wry smile. It wasn’t actually her he was pursuing; it was her money.
Would he stop? Somehow, she doubted it.
Oliver stopped the car by the side of the road that led up across the Pennine range, the backbone of northern England. He pointed ahead. ‘You can see The Drover’s Hope from here. Look up the slope in that direction!’ He pointed. ‘That’s it, sitting on the rise to the right of the main road.’
Emily leaned forward to study the building – no, several buildings. Mine now, she thought, and something warmed inside her.
The house was far larger than she’d expected, even after Oliver’s description, a sprawling, uneven mass of dark slate roofs on a stone building that was two storeys at the front. She couldn’t see the rear clearly from here. The building wasn’t of any particular style, but she found its irregularities interesting.
Since the traffic heading over the Pennines towards Todmorden was very light, Oliver slowed down to a crawl before they got to Minkybridge. He pointed to a house set back from the road, modern and of a comfortable size. ‘That’s my home, but I’ve been thinking of buying a renovator’s dream now and working on it.’
‘Are you good at do-it-yourself stuff?’
‘Hopeless, but I’m sure I could organize tradesmen to work on a renovation project. I love watching those home improvement programmes on television. Jeremy – my son – pulls a face when I talk about doing that. But if I ever find an old place that speaks to me, I’ll buy it and have a go at renovating. The only good thing about being widowed is that you can please yourself completely about what you do.’
He sounded deeply sad, and there was always a warmth in his voice when he spoke of his wife. Emily liked that.
Oliver speeded up again and shortly afterwards pulled off the road into a typical pub car park, a large, square expanse of crumbling tarmac between the main building and the road. It had potholes here and there, and the edges were crumbling badly. There was no inn sign hanging outside on the wooden post, but the hooks for it were still there in the square frame at the top. There was a smaller sign by the door that read The Drover’s Hope.
‘I like the look of the place,’ Chad said. ‘It’s a real mix-up of architectural styles, but somehow they look attractive together – or they would do if the door and window frames were painted and some of those cracked roof tiles replaced. Shouldn’t be a difficult job.’
‘You sound as if you know what you’re talking about,’ Emily said when he fell silent.
‘I felt as if I did.’ He sounded faintly surprised.
Oliver switched the engine off, then flourished one hand. ‘Emily, meet The Drover’s Hope. Drover’s Hope, this is your new owner, Miss Emily Mattison.’
‘Ms,’ she corrected automatically.
‘Sorry. I usually try to remember. That really matters to you, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. My marital status is no one else’s business, and when some people say “Miss” to an older woman, they get a slightly sneering look, as if it’s wrong not to have been married. It was my choice not to marry, because I’ve never met anyone I felt I could commit to for the rest of my life.’
She had tried living with a couple of men, and she had left them, not the other way round. Both times she’d hoped the relationship would come to something before it was too late for her to have children, but it hadn’t. She’d grown tired of the men, decent sorts but not right.
Sometimes she mourned the fact that she didn’t have any children, but you had to take life as it came. At least she’d had an interesting job, involving travel at times, one that had given her the option of retiring early. To the rest of the world she’d been a secretary, but her job had involved so much more.
And what was she sitting here reminiscing for? Chad and Oliver were waiting for her. She opened the car door and got out to join them, studying the house – her house now.
She didn’t want to travel any more; she wanted to settle somewhere and put down roots, big deep roots. As she looked at the old house, a voice seemed to say Here! in her head, and a warm feeling of coming home had her moving towards it without waiting for the others.
For all its imperfections, she fell in love with the place as quickly as that.
‘What do you think?’ Oliver asked when he caught up with her.
‘I love it. There’s something . . . I don’t know, appealing about it. I feel it needs to be cherished, so that it can come into its own again, though as what, I don’t know. I’d not like to run a pub.’
Silence greeted her remarks so she turned to Chad. ‘What do you think?’
‘I agree absolutely. I love the look of the house too. It sounds silly, but it feels like a real home.’
He frowned as he turned to stare at the moors that stretched away into the distance, his eyes following the road as it wound higher and higher over the treeless slopes. ‘You know, there’s something familiar about this sort of scenery. I must have visited Lancashire before.’
‘You don’t have a Lancashire accent. Yours has a bit of the south-west in it
, I think. Not Cornwall or Devon – Somerset or Wiltshire, perhaps.’
‘Do you think so?’ He stared for a minute longer, then rubbed his temple, as if it ached. ‘Damn! Some memory was hovering – I could almost catch it – but it’s gone again.’
‘Shall we go inside now?’ Oliver had been waiting patiently, allowing them time to take things in, but now he moved past them, pulling out a key. It was a huge, old-fashioned metal object like something out of a fairy tale. ‘I hope nobody’s broken in. It’d be child’s play to pick this lock, but Penelope wouldn’t let me have more modern locks installed, let alone a security system.’
‘If we can do it without damaging the door, I’d not object to putting better locks in and installing a security system as well,’ Emily said. ‘I’m a big believer in prevention where my own safety is concerned.’ Leon had taught her that. She hadn’t put an alarm system in her house in Kings Langley because she’d been intending to sell. How strange that she’d instantly wanted to protect this place!
As Oliver continued to fumble with the lock in vain, she held out her hand for the key. It felt comfortable in her hand, as long as her palm and fingers combined, made of rough, blackened iron, very old. It slid easily into the big keyhole and she felt a sense of satisfaction as it turned with a dull clunking sound.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, then turned to hold out her hand to Chad. ‘Come and explore our new home with me.’
He took her hand and they went inside.
Having him here felt right, too, she realized. Very right.
The minute George’s car had turned out of the street, Rachel threw the remaining bits and pieces into her own vehicle, switched on the security alarm in her house and set off for Lancashire.
She kept an eye on the vehicles behind her, checking in the rear view mirror to make sure George wasn’t following her. She kept just as careful an eye ahead of her, in case he was taking the same route. But to her relief, she saw no further sign of him.
After a few minutes she settled down to enjoy the drive, not pushing herself too hard. She stopped once for a coffee and snack, and she met no traffic jams, thank goodness, though the traffic was heavy as she circled Manchester on the M64 ring road.