Ted and Betsy were looking at me oddly as I didn’t move.
‘Sorry,’ I shrugged to them. ‘I feel like I’m in a Jane Austen novel.’
‘Which one?’ Betsy asked, as we all crossed to the front door and I prayed the lock wouldn’t be tricky.
‘Pride and Prejudice, I think. That’s my favourite, anyway.’
Ted yawned but Betsy nodded agreeably. ‘I just love Keira Knightley.’
The front door yielded and I stepped back to allow them into the house first. This was their second viewing and I could tell they were interested but uneasy. By English standards, it was gorgeous, but I could see that the formal rooms might feel constraining. Ted and Betsy were probably accustomed to a ‘great’ room, or open space living. Happily, the kitchen had been modernised and was spacious enough to accommodate a casual dining space too. It even had a big red range cooker, which Betsy was eyeing with suspicion.
‘That’s an Aga,’ I told her. ‘I’ve never cooked on one, but I understand that once you get used to it, you’re hooked.’ Coincidentally, I had been reading an article about them in bed at Oak House the previous night. ‘Apparently, they’re enjoying a renaissance, even though they cost thousands.’
Ted was in a little sitting room, where French doors opened onto the sweeping lawn at the back of the house.
‘I suppose we could use this as the den,’ he called to Betsy.
We joined him and I noticed the attractive stone fireplace. Betsy glanced at it too.
‘Do you think it would be cold in winter?’ she asked me.
‘Well, if you’re used to Los Angeles, you’d probably want some nice heavy curtains.’ I pondered. ‘But it’s not too big, so wouldn’t cost much to heat.’
Upstairs, I asked them if two bathrooms for six bedrooms was a problem.
‘We don’t have kids,’ Betsy said – sadly, I thought. ‘So I think it’s okay.’
‘If guests all come at once, they can share,’ Ted shrugged. ‘Good of you to mention it, though, Grace.’
I revised my initial opinion of him – he wasn’t as irritable as I had thought.
‘I don’t understand the complete lack of closets.’ Betsy gestured round the master bedroom with some frustration. ‘What in the world do English people do?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘mostly we have stand-alone wardrobes. You might want to go shopping for a couple of those.’
‘Great,’ said Ted. ‘More to buy.’
‘But if I were you,’ I told Betsy jokingly, ‘I’d grab that small bedroom next door and make the whole thing into a giant walk-in closet.’
She giggled and I realised I’d stumbled on a great idea. Perhaps she owned mountains of clothes.
We didn’t spend long looking around outside the house, which was a shame, as I could happily have brought a picnic and spent all day. But they said they’d seen it last time and had liked the stables.
‘Do you ride?’ I asked Betsy.
‘Not much,’ she said, ‘but I wanna learn. English style. With the velvet hat and jacket and all.’
I smiled at her and silently hoped she didn’t plan to take up fox-hunting.
As I made sure everything was locked up before we got back in the car, I could hear them discussing the house in hushed tones. I wasn’t sure how they felt, but I knew I was smitten. I told them I’d be thrilled to go back with them, if they wanted to view it a third time.
‘Do you mind if we drop you on the edge of the village?’ Ted asked. ‘We’ve got dinner with friends this evening and need to run back to our hotel in Cambridge first.’
I didn’t mind one bit. They pulled over next to the duck pond and I slid squeakily from my leather seat before saying good bye. I doubted Amelia would lock up her office much before six, and I made my way back at a leisurely pace. The afternoon shadows were lengthening and Saffron Sweeting was glowing gently. A tractor rumbled by, but otherwise the High Street was deserted.
As I crossed the road by the post office, I noticed the elderly woman who ran it turning the sign on the door from open to closed. I waved at her and I’m sure she saw me, but she didn’t wave back. Obviously not a cheerful soul. I put her deliberately from my mind and wondered what to say to Amelia. It all seemed pretty unorthodox – after all, she hardly knew me, yet she’d sent me off with strangers and the keys to a two million pound house. Still, I had to admit I’d enjoyed the outing.
Amelia was leaning against her desk, arms folded, looking stern. Was I in trouble?
‘There you are, Grace,’ she said. ‘We need to have a bit of a talk.’
So, I was in trouble, but I couldn’t quite think what I’d done.
‘Are you still planning to stay in Saffron Sweeting?’
‘Um, well, I’d like to, I suppose.’
‘Good.’ She nodded approvingly. ‘Ted and Betsy just called. They’ve made a generous offer on that house.’ The smile started in Amelia’s eyes and spread rapidly across her face. ‘You’re hired.’
CHAPTER 7
Amelia treated me to a fish and chip supper at The Plough, which, considering the commission I’d just made for her, was fair enough. It was a beautiful evening and we sat in the garden, accompanied by the pleasant blended aroma of warm beer, fried food and honeysuckle. It was early enough in the evening that children were eating, not bickering, and early enough in the summer that wasps weren’t climbing into everyone’s drinks. In other words, it was as good as it gets in an English pub.
Amelia was demolishing her battered cod as though she hadn’t eaten in three days. Actually, she was so busy, this might be true. I was on my second glass of Sauvignon Blanc and taking secret delight in my sudden success. Previously, I had felt like an awkward thorn in Amelia’s side; now I was flavour of the month and she was enthusiastic.
‘Grace, darling, you clearly have a bit of a talent for this.’ She paused to take a swig from an enormous glass of gin and tonic.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said modestly. ‘That house is so gorgeous, it basically sold itself.’
‘Not true, they were eating out of your hand. Bloody marvellous. So,’ she continued, ‘I need an assistant and I’d like you to consider it.’
I dipped a chip in ketchup, smiled politely, and waited.
‘Not full time, and you’d have to do some of the boring stuff in the office, but I’d like you to, well, translate for the Americans, show them that we understand their needs.’ She waved her ring-adorned right hand expressively. ‘The fact that you’ve lived there is excellent.’
I couldn’t remember a time when someone had tried to persuade me to work for them. Previously, it had been me doing all the running, either applying for jobs with multiple other grey-suited candidates or, recently, pitching my ideas for design work, trying to sound confident and capable. Now, after just one afternoon, Amelia was telling me I have a talent. This was a pleasant change, but scary too.
‘The thing is,’ I replied, ‘I was sort of planning to just take a few weeks while I think about what to do with the rest of my life.’ I shrugged sheepishly. ‘You know, my marriage and all that.’
‘I understand completely.’ She paused for a respectable instant before adding briskly, ‘But you might as well do something useful while you think. If you only help out for a few weeks and then disappear back to California, I won’t hold it against you.’
She was right: I couldn’t just sit around and mope. And I’d been surprised how much fun it was to look around the house and fantasise about how the other half lives.
‘But I haven’t found anywhere to live. I can’t afford to stay at Oak House indefinitely.’
Amelia saw that I had placed my knife and fork together and stole a few remaining chips from my plate. Technically, she was overweight, but she didn’t seem to care. The curves suited her well and her energy was attractive.
‘Yes, I hadn’t forgotten. I might be able to help with that. But I need to make a couple of calls in the morning.’
This was sur
prising news, based on her previous assessment of my chances of finding accommodation. I smiled amicably but wondered what she had in mind. Suspicious, I pictured myself in a sleeping bag on the floor of her office, or in a tent by the duck pond.
‘Come into the office tomorrow morning,’ she suggested – or commanded, I’m not sure which. ‘We’ll sort the details out then.’
I had to admire her headlong style. Where I saw only problems, she cleared obstacles out of her path in favour of immediate action. I was inclined to hesitate and deliberate, whereas she was boldly blithe. I nodded my agreement.
‘Super!’ She picked up the menu with gusto. ‘Want to share a sticky toffee pudding?’
~~~
I slept badly that night, not helped by the early June dawn and the cacophony of bird song which burst forth at 5 a.m. I snoozed for a couple of hours, tied the duvet in knots around my feet, then phoned Jem for advice.
‘Hope it’s not too early,’ I apologised.
‘Don’t be daft, we’ve been awake for hours. At least, Seb’s awake, I’m not fully conscious yet. Harry just left for work.’
I pictured her glugging instant coffee in their little kitchen. Then I told her what had happened yesterday.
‘So, she’s offering you a job and you’re in a tizz about taking it.’
‘Yes. It just feels a bit sudden. I’m still such a mess,’ I said.
‘But she’ll pay you to look at houses and translate American?’
‘It looks like it. But not much, I expect. And I came here to think, not work.’
‘Er, but the money would come in handy, right?’
‘Right, yes, it would.’ That was definitely true.
‘And she’s not forbidding you from thinking at the same time?’
‘Well, no, I suppose not.’
‘Grace, honey …’ Jem paused. ‘I mean this very kindly, but honestly, what have you got to lose? Give it a try.’
She had a great point. Compared with what I’d already lost, this was nothing.
~~~
A little before we reached Mary Lou’s house, Amelia turned left along a road I hadn’t yet explored. Slowing almost immediately, she made another turn and bumped her dark green Mercedes along what appeared to be a farm track. Through a thick hedge on our left, I glimpsed a large but uninspiring house. To our right was swaying cow parsley and a field which contained a crop I didn’t know. After a couple of hundred yards, we turned sharply left and Amelia parked the car on a rough patch of gravel in front of a little cottage.
Originally of brick but now painted white, the cottage had small, irregular windows. The dark slate roof was pitched at a strikingly steep angle. At both ends of the cottage were tall chimneys, neither of which looked perpendicular to the horizon. The front door appeared to be no more than six feet tall, with its own little pitched roof to protect it. On either side, a straggling yellow rose clung to the wall. The overall impression was like something out of a Beatrix Potter story and I looked around for Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.
‘It’s very cute,’ I said as we got out of the car. ‘Is it one of your listings?’
Amelia hadn’t yet explained why we were here. She had shown me a few of the clerical tasks at Hargraves, declined to commit to an hourly rate of pay, but promised a significant bonus if I landed new clients who purchased houses. Then, she had locked the front door of the office, twirled around the sign to read Back Soon, and bundled me into her car.
‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘The solicitors dug up some God-awful problem about access, so it’s off the market.’
She scrabbled in her beautiful leather handbag and pulled out door keys.
‘It belongs to Grey Stoke House.’ She waved the keys at the hedge which separated us from the bigger house. ‘But it turns out the track we just used is on the land of the farm next door. So, technically, a buyer would be purchasing a house with no legal means of getting to it. The farmer’s smelling money and is demanding an exorbitant sum for that twelve-foot strip of land. The legal beagles are having a field day.’
I was having trouble keeping up. ‘So, you can’t sell it?’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘It could take several months to sort out. Anyway, I suggested to the owners they might fancy a spot of rental income in the meantime.’ She looked pleased with herself.
‘Wow,’ I sighed, as a swallow swooped past us into its nest under the eaves. ‘It’s lovely, but I don’t think I could afford it.’
Undeterred, Amelia picked her way across the crunchy gravel and began unlocking the front door.
‘Hargraves & Co will cover your rent,’ she called to me. ‘But understand, darling, you’ll get booted out when I can sell it.’
Cover my rent? To live in this beauty, with actual roses round its door?
‘Can you do half days at the office, Tuesday to Friday, and all day Saturday? I’ll make sure you don’t starve,’ Amelia added, as the big black hinges of the door opened squeakily. ‘What do you say?’
‘Thank you so much,’ I croaked in a voice as rough as my new front door. ‘It’s adorable.’
~~~
When I moved in the next morning, I quickly understood that the cottage wasn’t completely adorable, but I didn’t appreciate its full repertoire of quirks until I had lived there for forty-eight hours.
My first impression when Amelia had allowed me time for a quick look around was of white-painted walls, low ceilings and oak beams. The kitchen was sunny and not too dated, plus there was a working fireplace in the living room, which might make for cosy evenings as summer slipped away. The cottage was partially furnished, with timeless, sturdy pieces.
My subconscious interior design voice had declared it a fabulous blank canvas, and asked for a five-figure accessories budget to transform sparse into stylish. My practical, just-left-my-husband voice had promptly replied that a set of sheets, some towels and a few kitchen tools would be fine.
I had driven into Newmarket to procure these basics, for once taking little pleasure in choosing between blue or cream sheets and striped or dotted towels. My non-existent budget meant my options were limited, and the act of buying a cheap set of Argos china made my split from James more final. By the time I had arrived back at Oak House to tell Lorraine that this would be my last night under her roof, my mood was sombre.
Curled up in bed with the complimentary shortbread tin for the final time, I wondered what James would think of my new job and home. He had always been supportive of my career ambitions, even the ill-fated decision to leave my safe, dull job at the university and start my own design business.
Now, I was sufficiently removed from recent events to know the self-imposed stress of launching a business hadn’t helped our marriage. I second-guessed every decision I made, and when James and I were together, which wasn’t often, I was insecure and anxious. Whenever questioned, he’d simply said, ‘Don’t worry so much, Gruff. Do what makes you happy.’
Clearly, these had been empty words, as he could hardly expect me to be over the moon about his purple-tinted affair with Rebecca.
As I switched off the light and listened to the gentle summer breeze ruffling the leaves of the oak tree, I recalled the weeks before his trip to Las Vegas. I had certainly been wrapped up in my own problems, but how on earth had I missed what was going on? I couldn’t help but wonder at what precise point my husband had given up on us.
~~~
It took just one trip in the little yellow car to move my entire possessions from Lorraine’s bed and breakfast to the cottage. Even as a student, I had owned more gear than this. However, it certainly made the whole moving process less painful: an hour after leaving Oak House, I had unpacked and was drinking tea in my own kitchen, determined to tackle the coming days like a strong, calm, single woman.
I was strong and calm through the afternoon as I stocked up on essential groceries, evicted spiders from the bathroom and managed not only to find the ancient boiler, but even to rekindle its pilot light. But in th
e early evening, when I entered the kitchen to fix a snack, I spotted a brown tail disappearing under the cooker. My composure deserted me and I bolted halfway up the stairs, then sat down abruptly and sobbed.
Just at the point where I had soaked a couple of tissues, searched my pockets in vain for more, and remembered I hadn’t bought any toilet paper, my mobile phone rang. It was Amelia, to ask how I was settling in.
‘I’m sorry,’ I gulped at her. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’
‘Why ever not?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m no use to anyone at the moment.’ I hiccupped. ‘I shouldn’t have said I’d work for you.’
‘Darling, you’re just a bit stressed. You’re making some big changes.’
‘I forgot to buy toilet paper.’
She laughed heartily. ‘Well, that’s hardly the end of the world, is it?’
I pictured her at her desk, twirling a shoe on the end of her foot.
‘Grace, I know it’s not easy when your marriage ends. Give it some time and don’t worry so much.’
‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘I saw a rat. In the kitchen.’
‘Darling, you most certainly did not. It was probably a mouse.’
Of course, I thought, she would say that: she’s an estate agent.
‘Just a little mouse,’ she continued. ‘He didn’t mean you any harm. But if you’re troubled by it, I’ll get a man out there tomorrow.’
‘Right.’ From my vantage point on the stairs, I kept my gaze fixed on the spot where the rodent had disappeared.
‘Now, why don’t you go and have a hot bath and maybe open a bottle of wine? Things will look better after a good night’s sleep.’
I said nothing, hugging my knees and sniffing pathetically.
‘Okay?’ Amelia asked.
‘Yes, okay,’ I said, wondering if the post office would still be open to sell me toilet paper. And rat poison.
CHAPTER 8
The draughts were terrible, the hot water was a lottery, and if I turned on too many lights at once, the fuses blew. No matter how many times I trundled my car up the driveway, I shook my bones to bits as we fell into every single pothole, and I mentally renamed Grey Stoke Cottage to Pothole Cottage. Nonetheless, I quickly bonded with my quirky little abode and learned to get along with its foibles. I saw no more evidence of rodent occupation and decided perhaps the mice had moved out the same day I moved in. Either that, or they were too clever to get caught in the peanut butter baited trap I left for them.
Saving Saffron Sweeting Page 6